farmworker. It was walking with a brisk city gait. And it was wearing a trilby hat, which looked absurd with the bright banded sweatshirt. Only one man in Wallney would be fool enough to turn himself out like that for a walk. Jack Sydenham; the stupid, cocky and revolting Jack Sydenham.
But, stupid and revolting though he was, he was still a man. The loneliness of this spot made that the most important fact about him. A man, bigger and stronger than she was. And she was letting him herd her like a sheep, drive her further and further from the safety of her house.
With a spurt of rage, she decided to call his bluff. She would face him out. She would lean against the next gate and wait for him to pass her.
She found her gate and leaned against it. She considered pulling out a long stem of grass and chewing it, to show just how casual she felt about him. But she decided against it; it would only give him an opening for one of his stupid remarks . . . So she just waited, feeling his eyes tickling over her cheek and jaw, terrified her thin skin would blush again, and give her away. She heard the swish of grass, the slight thud of his foot upon bare soil, the crunch on the odd patch of gravel some farmer had once used to mend the path.
‘Morning,’ said Jack Sydenham, in a falsely-hearty voice. ‘Nice morning for a walk!’
She turned, feigning surprise. ‘Oh, Mr. Sydenham! Are you taking a day off, too? Things slack at the shop?’
His knowing eyes dropped; the knowing grin was wiped off his face. She knew he had not even bothered to think up an alibi for himself, an excuse for being on the path at this time of day. Fool! But along with her exultation at catching him on the hop she felt her heart sink. He was following her; there was no chance now that he’d been here by accident, on some innocent errand.
‘Got a few things to do, down at the beach,’ he said at last, his voice sharpened a little with anger at being caught out.
‘Fishing?’ she asked, with a sudden wild spurt of mockery, surveying his totally empty hands. Surely attack was the best form of defence?
‘Just things,’ he said sullenly. ‘I’ll walk along wi’ you.’ And he raised an arm towards her, in a curling arc. It left her with only two choices. Either she moved off towards the sea, in the direction he wanted, or she let him touch her.
A bolder woman would have stood her ground; let the hand touch her, and greet it with an icy glance, a flinch of disgust that would really put him to flight. But Rose had never had that kind of boldness, and she was aware of being alone.
She moved off towards the sea, in front of him. He was content to follow behind. It was not reassuring. Now her backside was tingling, and the backs of her thighs. She was sure he was looking at her figure, in the nastiest possible kind of way. And it was unnerving, not being able to see him.
‘There’s room to walk two abreast,’ she said, stopping abruptly. Then was sorry for what she’d said. The word abreast contained the word ‘breast’ and he looked at hers, now, with the slight smile of a secret joke on his face.
Still, he had to walk beside her after that, and she took care to drop back a little, so that he could no longer look at her, but she could look at him, without having to meet him eye-to-eye. And she stayed silent, trying to force him to say something. They said whoever broke a silence first was the weakest . . .
‘You enjoying your grand vacation, then?’
She almost said, ‘Till you came along to spoil it,’ but bit her lip just in time. Then she just said, ‘Yes.’
‘I would have thought you would find us dull, after all the grand things you’re used to . . .’
‘What sort of grand things are those?’
‘Foreign travel. Tunisia? Thailand?’
He was really asking where her husband was. It wouldn’t do any harm to let him know she had a husband.
‘My husband can’t get away from his firm at the moment. They’re very busy.’ Then she added, ‘He’s hoping to get down at the weekend.’
‘Only hopin’? He must be busy!’
She said, defiantly, ‘They are!’ But she didn’t sound convincing, even to