She knelt beside him and followed his gaze to what she called the swimming pool, a hollow in the stream bed deep enough to wallow in. A flash of silver broke the surface and leaped among the lazily circling flies. He turned to her and smiled, a day's growth on his hollow cheeks. His face was tired, but his eyes were bright as he shielded them from the sloping sunlight with a cupped hand.
'There's scores of them. Must be the pure water,' he said.
'I suppose I should feel blessed.'
'Too right.' He held her gaze with a playful, questioning look. 'May I?'
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth without waiting for an answer, his skin rough against her cheeks as he stroked her hair.
'You don't mind?'
'Why would I?'
He drew back, letting his hand drop to her shoulder then slide down her back to her waist. 'I don't know.' He shrugged. 'It's been a while.'
Jenny stared down into the stream, watching the school of fish dart through a shaft of milky light. 'I'm sorry. I've been useless.'
'I was worried about you.'
'I'm OK,' she lied.
'Ross decided to stay with his dad?'
'Yes ... it makes more sense for him to be in town.'
'And you've been hiding away here getting lonely.'
'I've had a lot of work.'
He gave her a look which said she could do better.
'I know I've not been much of a girlfriend.'
Steve grinned. 'Girlfriend? I've never heard you call yourself that before. Wow.'
She contrived to look hurt, but a laugh forced itself out. One of relief, of having a distraction from herself. And he looked handsome tonight, somehow more confident in his new life as a nearly-qualified architect. He still remained partly the romantic backwoodsman who had brought the countryside alive for her, telling her the names of every plant and tree, showing her where the deer stood at night and where the fox slunk through the hedges, but he seemed to inspire more trust now that his world had expanded beyond the boundaries of his out-of-the-way farm.
'I know it threw you when I said those things . . .' He sounded almost apologetic, referring to when he had told her he was in love with her, but too embarrassed to repeat it. 'It must be tough coming out of a marriage, all the baggage ...'
She nodded, no more ready to have this discussion now than she had been three months ago.
He paused, trying to fathom her expression. 'That day you went to see you father - what happened?'
'Nothing.'
He gave her the searching look, the one more intimate than the sex that had first disarmed her. 'The shutters came down that day, Jenny, I felt it. Was it just because of what I said? I was only being honest.'
'Partly ... I don't know.'
'I didn't want to spoil it between us.'
'I know what you wanted.'
'If you don't want things complicated, why don't you just say so? Put me out of my agony.'
He touched her lightly on the shoulder, longing for an answer she couldn't give. As he lifted his hand she caught it and brought it to her lips. 'Can we talk about this afterwards?'
They didn't make it to the bedroom or even indoors. They made love on the grass as urgently as they had the first time last summer. She was young again, feeling his every touch, his every minute caress with an electric thrill, until at last they both exploded in the scattering colours of grass and sky and spiralled slowly back to earth, a pair of gently fading butterflies.
She brought tea outside to the table as the sun dipped beneath the crest of the hill. They sat side by side, she leaning into him as he told her about his plans for when he was qualified. The firm he was attached to had lost out on a lot of business recently: clients' budgets weren't stretching to the extra cost of the ecological buildings in which they specialized. The chances of a full-time position were slim and he'd no choice but to start looking elsewhere. So far the only interest had been from a British firm in Provence. The money was appealing, but it would mean taking beautiful old farmhouses and turning them into vulgar, air- conditioned villas for ex-pat retirees. He hadn't spent seven years of study only to ditch his principles at the first sight of a cheque.