He did not recognise her at first, for she’d changed her clothes. From the summer frock, the sunhat, and the sandals, she’d altered her getup to khaki trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. She still had on her sunglasses-so did he for that matter, for the day continued bright-and her footwear was again largely inappropriate for what she was doing. While she’d given up the sandals, she’d replaced them with Wellingtons, a very odd choice for a summer stroll unless she intended to trek through the bog.
She spoke first, saying, “I thought this was the same dog. She’s the sweetest thing.”
He might have thought she’d followed him to Longslade Bottom and Hinchelsea Wood, save for the obvious fact that she’d got there before him. She was on her way out; he was on his way in. He was leery of people, but he refused to be paranoid. He said, “You’re the woman looking for Monet’s Pond.”
“I did find it,” she replied. “Though not without ending in a cow pasture first.”
“Yes,” he said.
She tilted her head. Her hair caught the light again, just as it had done at Boldre Gardens. He wondered, stupidly, if she put sparkles in it. He’d never seen hair with such a sheen. “Yes?” she repeated.
He stammered, “I know. I mean yes I know. I could tell. From how you were going.”
“Oh. You were watching me from the rooftop, were you? I hope you didn’t laugh. That would be too cruel.”
“No,” he said.
“Well, I’m wretched at map reading and not much better with verbal directions, so it’s no surprise I got lost again. At least I didn’t run into any horses.”
He looked round them. “Not a good place to be, this, is it? If you’re bad with maps and directions?”
“In the wood, you mean? But I’ve had help.” She gestured to the south and he saw she was pointing to a distant knoll where an enormous oak stood beyond the wood itself. “I very carefully kept that tree in sight and on my right as I came into the wood and now that it’s on my left, I feel fairly sure I’m heading in the direction of the car park. So you see, despite stumbling onto a thatching site and into a cow pasture, I’m not entirely hopeless.”
“That’s Nelson’s,” he said.
“What? D’you mean someone owns the tree? It’s on private property?”
“No. It’s on Crown land, all right. It’s called Nelson’s Oak. Supposedly he planted it. Lord Nelson, that is.”
“Ah. I see.”
He looked at her more closely. She’d sucked in on her lip, and it came to him that she might not actually know who Lord Nelson was. Some people didn’t in this day and age. To help her out while not embarrassing her, he said, “Admiral Nelson had his ships built over Buckler’s Hard. Beyond Beaulieu. You know the place? On the estuary? They were using up a hell of a lot of timber, so they had to start replanting. Nelson probably didn’t put any acorns in the ground himself but the tree’s associated with him anyway.”
“I’m not from this place,” she told him. “But I expect you worked that out yourself.” She extended her hand. “Gina Dickens,” she said. “No relation. I know this is Tess-” with a nod at the dog who’d settled herself happily at Gina’s side-“but I don’t know you.”
“Gordon Jossie,” he told her and clasped her hand. The soft touch of it brought to mind how work roughened he himself was. How filthy as well, considering he’d spent all day on a rooftop. “I reckoned as much.”
“What?”
“That you weren’t from round here.”
“Yes. Well, I suppose the natives don’t get lost as easily as I do, do they?”
“Not that. Your feet.”
She looked down. “What’s wrong with them?”
“The sandals you were wearing at Boldre Gardens and now those,” he said. “Why’ve you got on wellies? You going into the bog or something?”
She did that bit with her mouth again. He wondered if it meant she was trying not to laugh. “You’re a country person, aren’t you, so you’ll think I’m foolish. It’s the adders,” she said. “I’ve read they’re in the New Forest and I didn’t want to run into one. Now you’re going to laugh at me, aren’t you?”
He did have to smile. “Expect to run into snakes in the forest, then?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “They’re out on the heath. They’ll be where there’s more sun. Could be you might run into one on the path as you cross the bog, but it’s not very likely.”
“I can see I should have consulted you before I changed my clothes. Have you lived here forever?”
“Ten years. I came down from Winchester.”
“But so have I!” She gave a look in the direction she’d come from and said, “Shall I walk with you for a while, Gordon Jossie? I know no one in the area and I’d love to chat, and as you look harmless and you’re out here with the sweetest dog…?”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’m just following Tess. We don’t need to walk at all. She’ll take herself into the wood and come back when she’s ready…I mean if you’d rather sit instead of walk.”
“Oh, I would actually. Truth to tell, I’ve had quite a ramble already.”
He nodded to the log on which he himself had been seated when she’d first emerged from the trees. They sat a careful few feet from each other, but Tess didn’t leave them, as he’d thought she would. Rather, she settled next to Gina. She sighed and put her head on her paws.
“Likes you,” he noted. “Empty places need filling.”
“How true,” she said.
She sounded regretful, so he asked her the obvious. It was unusual for someone her age to move into the country. Young adults generally migrated in the other direction. She said, “Well, yes. It was a relationship gone very bad,” but she said it with a smile. “So here I am. I’m hoping to work with pregnant teenagers. That’s what I did in Winchester.”
“Did you?”
“You sound surprised. Why?”
“You don’t look much more’n a teenager yourself.”
She lowered her sunglasses down her nose and looked at him over their tops. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Jossie?” she asked.
He felt a rush of heat in his face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to. If that’s what it was.”
“Oh. Pooh. I rather thought you might.” She shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head and looked at him frankly. Her eyes, he saw, were neither blue nor green but something in between, indefinable and interesting. She said, “You’re blushing. I’ve never made a man blush before. It’s rather sweet. Do you blush often?”
He grew hotter still. He didn’t have these sorts of conversations with women. He didn’t know what to make of them: the women or the conversations.
“I’m embarrassing you. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to. I tease sometimes. It’s a bad habit. Perhaps you can help me break it.”
“Teasing’s all right,” he said. “I’m more…I’m a bit at sixes and sevens. Mostly, well…I thatch roofs.”
“Day in and day out?”
“That’s ’bout it.”
“And for entertainment? For relaxation? For a diversion? A break?”
He tilted his chin to indicate the dog. “That’s what she’s for.”
“Hmmm. I see.” She bent to Tess and petted the dog where she liked it best, just outside her ears. If the retriever could have purred, she would have done so. Gina seemed to reach a decision, for when she looked up, her expression was thoughtful. “Would you like to come out for a drink with me? As I said, I know no one in the area and as you do continue to seem quite harmless and as I’m harmless and as you have a lovely dog…Would you like to?”
“I don’t drink, actually.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You take in no liquids at all? That can’t be the case.”
He smiled, in spite of himself, but he made no reply.
“I was going to have a lemonade,” she said. “I don’t drink either. My dad…He hit it rather hard, so I stay away from the stuff. It made me a misfit in school but in a good way, I think. I’ve always liked to be different from others.” She rose then and brushed off the seat of her trousers. Tess rose as well and wagged her tail. It was clear that the dog had accepted Gina Dickens’ impulsive invitation. What was left for Gordon was simply to do likewise.