Crescendo

He stared at the impudent curve of her cheek, the slight smile on her small pink mouth. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'Am I?'

The crunch of grass disturbed their concentra­tion on each other. They started, looking round,

and the mild surprised eyes of a sheep gazed at them from the top of the hill. They laughed and the sheep skipped away in dismay.

Gideon stretched out again and ate some more of the food, lying on his side, watching the shadows chasing across the grass lower down the hill.

Marina ate a little salad and an apple. Her face was flushed with sun now and she felt sleepily dis­inclined to move. A hooded crow flew down and watched them avidly, stalking to and fro like Ham­let on the battlements of Elsinore, waiting for the crumbs of their food. Gideon had laid out the chicken on a paper napkin. Suddenly the crow leapt forward and grabbed a piece of chicken, flap­ping away with it in its beak.

They both burst into laughter. 'Do you think he'll eat it?' asked Marina, and Gideon nodded.

'Crows are flesh-eaters.'

'Ugh, how horrid!'

'They steal fledglings from nests, didn't you know?'

'I suppose I did. I just never thought about it. I know butterflies eat carrion because Grandie told me long ago. I was disgusted. They look so pure and ethereal, yet they feed on putrid flesh.' She shud­dered. 'It makes one see them in quite a different light.'

'Life's more complicated than it seems,' Gideon agreed.

He lay on his back, his hands locked behind his head, and stared at the sky. Marina saw his eyes close and the harsh features smooth out into peace. The lines of his mouth softened and grew gentle.

The bones relaxed from whatever tension was hold­ing them. At ease like this, Gideon looked a gentle, tender man, his mouth curved warmly, the glitter of the clever black eyes hidden under those heavy lids. His lashes lay in a black arc across his cheeks.

She let him sleep, unwilling to disturb him. Some more sheep appeared to crop noisily on the short turf above them. A few gulls swooped in the blue sky above the village, their wings white curves against the sky. The sea glittered in the sunlight, dancing blue waves receding into a haze which hovered some way off shore towards the horizon.

Gideon snorted and she saw his lids flicker. Bend­ing, she watched consciousness come back into his face. He opened his eyes and looked-up at her. She smiled at him, the limp fine drift of her silver- white hair drooping towards him.

He put a lazy hand to it. 'Moonlight,' he said deeply.

'You slept very deeply.'

He frowned. 'How rude! I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise. I didn't mind—I had company.'

He raised his brows.

Marina glanced at the sheep and down at the gulls. 'There's always plenty of company around if you look for it.'

He smiled again, his mouth tender. 'Like Emma and Meg?'

Marina's eyes opened wide, their blue gleam vivid. 'How do you know about them?'

'Your grandfather told me,' he said, but there had been a brief pause before he spoke and she wondered if she was imagining all these odd little glances, strange little silences. H

e had said she had a vivid imagination, but Marina wondered.

She glanced at the sky. 'I think we should start going down. Grandie will wonder where we've got to.'

She rose and he extended a lazy hand. Laughing, she pulled on it and he rose to her side. Still holding her hand, he looked down at her. 'You're pink. You've caught the sun.'

'My skin!' she moaned. 'I can't be out in the sun for a moment without turning lobster red.'

'Not lobster today,' he assured her. 'More of a salmon pink.'

She laughed. 'Oh, thanks. You're very reassur­ing.'