excerpt
As Will approached he saw that she stood at least an
inch taller than his five-foot-six frame. What he could see of her
blonde hair was short and curly. These facts he noted with little
interest. But when she turned her long-lashed blue eyes on him his
step faltered. He had the momentary impression he might drown
in their depth.
Reluctantly he turned away to accept two large suitcases from
the conductor. Placing them on his cart, Will prepared to retrace
his steps along the platform. The conductor hollered “Aboard” and
jumped back onto the coach. The train whistle shrilled, the wheels
turned and gathered speed, moving the coaches out of the station.
Will and the young woman stood alone on the platform.
She looked around, clearly bewildered, glancing first in the direction
of the station house then across the expanse of gravel and
blowing dust to the main street. She appeared to scrutinize each
building as her head turned slowly from left to right. Will could
only guess what she must think of the old store fronts, most of
which were in need of a coat of paint. When her eyes finally came
to rest on the town hall, the most impressive building on the street
with its long flight of stairs leading to the upper floor, she sighed
and looked back at the station.
Will relieved the woman of her hand luggage and set off with his
cart. “Where d’ya want these?” he called over his shoulder.
She hesitated, then hurried to catch up to him, her stylish high
heels clicking on the planks. With one hand she clutched her hat
which was threatening to become a victim of the hot wind.
“Well … I don’t know. You see, I’m to be met here so I’m sure my
… uh … friend will arrive at any minute.”
“Might as well wait in the station then. It’s more pleasant.”
Will pushed the waiting room door open but the air that met
them belied his words. Her nose wrinkled, presumably at the fusty
odour of the old station house. Will dumped the luggage on the
floor and banged the door shut as he went out. When he walked
into his office he saw, through the wicket, the woman sitting on a
wooden bench near the window.
For a considerable time she sat without moving. Perched on the
edge of her seat, her eyes constantly darted from the window to the
door. Not once did she glance in the direction of the wicket behind…
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 