Angel of Brooklyn Read Online Free PDF Page B

the small, almost hidden tufts of lily of the valley with their tiny scented flowers and glassy emerald leaves. Behind them, they could hear the faint shouts and screams of the children in the field, the farmer whistling for his dog.
    ‘This must be quite a change for you,’ said Jeffrey.
    ‘Well, there sure is a lot of green around here, hardly any buildings to speak of, and the people seem so …’ She bit her lip carefully, and glanced at Jeffrey, wondering if she should continue. ‘Well, they seem awful uptight,’ she added, looking at her feet.
    ‘Yes, yes, you’re right, of course. Are you unhappy here? Are they making you unhappy?’
    ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘It isn’t that at all. It’s just that I’m used to a different way of life altogether, and I’m used to crowds, to watching people enjoying themselves, though of course there were plenty of times when it would just grate on my nerves.’
    ‘What was it like?’
    ‘Chaotic. Crazy. A constant battle of noise.’
    ‘How on earth did you put up with it?’
    ‘There are quiet places everywhere, if you know where to find them.’ Smiling, she picked some grass from her sleeve. ‘And what about you? You don’t look or talk like a farmer’s son, or a quarryman. So?’
    ‘I’m an artist,’ he told her. ‘Well, I illustrate advertisements.’
    ‘Sounds interesting.’
    He smiled. ‘It can be.’
    ‘What about your family?’
    ‘Like you, my parents are dead. Long dead. Influenza. My sister Agnes is married and living in Hampshire. Husband’s a wealthy banker.’ He pulled his face and shuddered. ‘Has two delightful children.’
    Beatrice laughed. ‘And you live alone?’
    ‘Quite alone. In Fox Cottage.’
    ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘I know it.’
    They could see the water in the distance. There were cottages to their right. By an open gate, three grey kittens were curled on a hessian sack, quivering in their sleep. The sky was softening as Jeffrey tapped her arm.
    ‘Lionel,’ he mouthed. And through the window, they could see him, hunched over the kitchen table, blowing eggs, holding them gently; he sent the soft insides dripping into a bowl. He couldn’t see the two of them. He was concentrating, his hands trembling as he placed the hollow robin’s egg delicately onto the cotton.
    ‘My father didn’t bother with the eggs,’ she said, walking on. ‘He went straight for the bird.’
    ‘Really? My grandmother had a stuffed bird on one of her favourite bonnets. A tiny thing. It looked like it had just landed there, resting for a moment. I quite expected to see it taking off again.’
    ‘Oh, they never do that.’
    They walked towards the reservoir, past the cottage where Mary lived in bed.
    ‘The water changes,’ said Beatrice. ‘Today it looks like glass.’
    ‘Would you like a closer look?’
    They climbed over the stile, Jeffrey catching tight hold of her hand as she lifted her skirt a little. The trees were rustling, the water breaking gently over the small brown stones.
    They walked up the bank of tufted grass with its sprinkling of daisies. Beatrice could just make out Jonathan unloading the empty hamper. She waved, and he raised up his arm.
    ‘Just think,’ said Jeffrey. ‘The people of Liverpool will soon be filling their bathtubs with these little grey waves.’
    ‘I like the look of Liverpool.’
    ‘Well, I expect that after all those days at sea, any town or city would appear more inviting than great chunks of water and the walls of your cabin.’
    ‘It had a feel to it,’ she said, rubbing the back of her neck. ‘Things were going on.’
    ‘Oh, it’s a lively place all right, and one that I shouldn’t like to visit after dark, though I am told that one of my better known designs is currently plastered all over its walls.’
    ‘How exciting,’ she said, sitting on the grass. ‘It must be a wonderful feeling. Like seeing your name in lights?’
    ‘Hardly.’ He hesitated, wondering whether to join her,