The Ivy Tree Read Online Free PDF Page A

why . . .
    If I had some suspicion of the answer, I wasn’t prepared to wait and see if I was right. I looked round me for my handbag.
    He said quickly: ‘What is it?’
    The bag was on the ground at the foot of the Wall. I picked it up. ‘I’ll have to go now. I’d forgotten the time. My bus—’
    â€˜But you can’t go yet! This was just getting exciting! If your great-grandmother knew about Forrest, it might mean—’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose it might. But I’ll still have to go. We work Sunday evenings at my café.’ I got to my feet. ‘I’m sorry, but there it is. Well, Mr Winslow, it’s been interesting meeting you, and I—’
    â€˜Look, you can’t just go like this!’ He had risen too. He made a sudden little movement almost as if he would have detained me, but he didn’t touch me. The rather conscious charm had gone from his face. He spoke quickly, with a kind of urgency. ‘I’m serious. Don’t go yet. My car’s here. I can run you back.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t think of letting you. No, really, it’s been—’
    â€˜Don’t tell me again that it’s been “interesting”. It’s been a hell of a lot more than that. It’s been important.’
    I stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜I told you. This sort of thing isn’t pure chance. I tell you, it was meant.’
    â€˜Meant?’
    â€˜Ordained. Destined. Kismet.’
    â€˜Don’t be absurd.’
    â€˜It’s not absurd. This thing that’s happened, it’s more than just queer. We can’t simply walk away in opposite directions now and forget it.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜ Why not? ’ He said it almost explosively. ‘Because – oh, hell, I can’t explain, because I haven’t had time to think, but at any rate tell me the address of this place where you work.’ He was searching his pockets while he spoke, and eventually produced a used envelope and a pencil. When I didn’t answer, he looked up sharply. ‘Well?’
    I said slowly: ‘Forgive me, I can’t explain either. But . . . I’d rather not.’
    â€˜What d’you mean?’
    â€˜Just that I would rather – what did you say? – that we walked away in opposite directions now, and forgot all about it. I’m sorry. Please try to understand.’
    â€˜I don’t even begin to understand! It’s perfectly obvious to me that this likeness of yours to Annabel Winslow isn’t pure chance. Your people came from hereabout. I wasn’t only joking when I said we were long-lost cousins . . .’
    â€˜Possibly we are. But can’t you grasp this? Let me be blunt. Whitescar and Winslows and all the rest may mean a lot to you, but why should they mean anything to me? I’ve been on my own a good long time now, and I like it that way.’
    â€˜A job in a café? Doing what? Waiting? Cash desk? Washing up? You? Don’t be a fool!’
    â€˜You take this imaginary cousinship a bit too much for granted, don’t you?’
    â€˜All right. I’m sorry I was rude. But I meant it. You can’t just walk away and – after all, you told me you were nearly broke.’
    I said, after a pause: ‘You – you take your family responsibilities very seriously, don’t you, Mr Winslow? Am I to take it you were thinking of offering me a job?’
    He said slowly: ‘Do you know, I might, at that. I . . . might.’ He laughed suddenly, and added, very lightly: ‘Blood being thicker than water, Mary Grey.’
    I must have sounded as much at a loss as I felt. ‘Well it’s very nice of you, but really . . . you can hardly expect me to take you up on it, can you, even if our families might just possibly have been connected a hundred years or so ago? No, thanks very much, Mr Winslow,