Howard won two sets easily without needing to exert himself. Jean only hit her stride in the second set, managing to get a few first serves in and hit an occasional winner, but by that time she was too hot and breathless to play on. When she looked at her watch she was surprised to see that it was nearly five. The hours in Howard’s company had sped past. It would be six before they reached home even if they left now. She felt duty tugging at her with its remorseless grasp.
Seeing her glance at her watch, Howard said, “This might be a good time to make a move. If we get caught up with tea we could be hours.”
“Yes,” Jean agreed, both grateful and despondent. “There’s Margaret to think of.”
“And your mother.”
Jean nodded. “I won’t forget today.”
This was no idle remark. In the days ahead she would think of little else, replaying their conversation and luxuriating in every remembered detail of their surroundings.
“We must hope there will be others,” said Howard.
“Yes, why not?” said Jean, knowing exactly why not.
The absence of Gretchen, so unexpected and fortuitous, could hardly be depended on in the future, but this was not something that could be said, or even thought, by anyone with a conscience.
They rejoined Aunt Edie, who had been woken by the arrival of Mr. Noakes bringing a basket of eggs and a jar of honey, in return for which he received a box of the second-best apples. He had brought a folding canvas fishing stool with him, perhaps accustomed to being offered no seat, and was now perched beside the sun lounger, displacing Chester, who had been bribed with a mutton bone. They were holding hands and leaning toward each other but jerked apart as Jean and Howard approached. Aunt Edie seemed quite flustered in his presence, her previous languor deserting her.
“This is Mr. Noakes, who I might have mentioned,” she said. “He looked after me when I came off my bicycle.”
“I’m very pleased to think you are keeping an eye on her,” said Howard.
“It’s a privilege,” said Mr. Noakes, looking at Aunt Edie with misty devotion. “I would do more if she’d let me, but she’s very independent.”
“He’s been very good to me,” she replied. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.” She squeezed his hand and this time she didn’t let go.
“It comes to something when your eighty-three-year-old aunt makes you feel you’re playing gooseberry,” said Howard when they were on their way.
Alongside the remains of the hamper, four crates of apples and a sack of cobnuts were stacked in the boot. On the back seat were the promised spoils of Aunt Edie’s clear-out—a musquash cape, a satin evening dress and three pairs of shoes last fashionable in 1920 for Gretchen; a jewelry box of tangled chains, broken strings of pearls and coral bracelets for Margaret. To Jean she had given an emerald pin brooch missing one of its stones.
“I’d always assumed she found him a nuisance, but apparently not.”
“They certainly seem delighted with each other,” Jean agreed.
“I’ve never seen her so flirtatious,” said Howard. “It made me feel quite uncomfortable. I don’t know why.”
“Perhaps you feel they are too old for that sort of thing.”
“Maybe. It seems a bit undignified. But romance shouldn’t be the preserve of young people, should it?”
“No, certainly not.” Jean felt the injustice of any prejudice that might one day apply to her and was determined to smite it. “I’m sure inside they feel the same emotions as an eighteen-year-old. The yearning for approval and love doesn’t change. The aging body is just cladding.”
“You put it so nicely,” said Howard. “And imagine if dignity was all we had to look forward to in old age!”
They drove in silence for a while through the sunken lanes with exposed tree roots and overarching branches—great cathedrals of beech and oak with their vaulted roofs of sunlit green.
“If you leave me that brooch I’ll mend it for you,” Howard said finally. “It needs a new stone.”
“You don’t need to go to any trouble,” said Jean. “It’s fine.”
“It’s no trouble,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m a jeweler. Anyway, I’d like to. It’s one thing I can do for you.”
“In that case, thank you.”
“Aunt Edie’s gifts are kindly meant but often more trouble than they’re worth. I dread to think what Gretchen will have to say about that fur. And the shoes.”