The Sweet Dove Died Read Online Free PDF Page B

imagine that one might come upon something of value at a village jumble sale, but one never knew and it was worth trying. It would certainly be more interesting than visiting the country antique shops, ‘seeing other dealers’ stuff’, as Humphrey had put it, for this was the village where Phoebe lived and he intended to call on her. Although they had parted abruptly she had been very careful to write down her address, almost like Eve presenting Adam with the apple.
    The first mad rush of the sale was over by the time James entered the hall and paid his admission fee, and as a stranger he felt conspicuous. It was natural that people should stare at him but he wished he had thought of some kind of camouflage so that his head and face need not be quite so nakedly exposed to their curious gazes. Yet if he had worn, say, a panama hat and dark glasses, would he not have been even more conspicuous? Of course the fact of being male singled him out from the crowd of women, most of whom seemed to be shapeless, fat and middle-aged. This did not appear to be the kind of function that men attended, except perhaps the clergy, but no clergyman was visible, only the Scoutmaster with a little group of Scouts and Cubs.
    Here, obviously, was where one picked up a Chelsea figure for sixpence, thought James, approaching a trestle table where some bits of china and bric-a-brac were lying. The first object that caught his attention was a salt and pepper set in the form of two cats, with the appropriate holes in their heads, on a little stand.
    ‘That’s nice,’ said the woman behind the stall, but without much conviction and not at all as if she really expected James to buy it.
    ‘Not quite what I’m looking for,’ he said, his eyes straying to other hideous trifles. Would there come a time when even these would be sought after by collectors? he wondered. It might almost be worth buying them up and starting an antique ‘supermarket’ on his own – rather amusing, but of course his uncle would frown on it.
    Evidently there was nothing for him here, but out of politeness he bought a little china castle, though it was chipped, not realising that there was no need to be polite at a jumble sale. He wondered if he should ask the way to Vine Cottage – he was sure any of the helpers at the jumble sale would have been only too pleased to direct him – but decided against it. When after some time he did find it, he sat in his car in the lane before going up to the door.
    The tall thin girl in jeans who came in answer to his knock seemed a stranger, only just recognisable as Phoebe, though he remembered the long mouse-coloured hair held back by a ribbon band. But was this the face – pale, peaky and altogether too natural-looking – that had seemed intriguing in the candle-lit restaurant?
    She seemed disappointed too, as if he had not come up to her expectations, whatever they might have been.
    ‘So this is the cottage,’ he said, looking round the bare little room. It seemed very dark with its small windows.
    ‘The room needs more furniture,’ she said. ‘I’ve only brought a few things of my own.’
    He wondered which they could possibly be.
    ‘This lamp,’ she said nervously.
    He glanced at the converted wine bottle as if it were beneath comment. ‘You could easily get a few pieces – there are lots of sales round here,’ he suggested.
    ‘I might get landed with a case of stuffed birds.’
    ‘And very nice too,’ he retorted, slightly on the defensive. ‘Victoriana are still quite desirable.’
    There was a silence after this rather prim statement. Perhaps feeling that he did not find her as desirable even as a case of stuffed birds, Phoebe began desperately to offer him coffee or a drink but he refused both. ‘Would you like to see the garden?’ she asked at last.
    They strolled out into the overgrown garden. James remarked on the vine which sprawled over the back of the cottage.
    ‘Yes, that’s why it’s called Vine