Under an Amber Sky: A Gripping Emotional Page Turner You Won’t Be Able to Put Down. Rose Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ aware of hearing the greeting but took no notice. It cannot have been aimed at her; she didn’t know anyone here. But then it came again, another ‘hello’ that was nearer and more insistent and she saw r, with a swift look about her, that there was no one else in the vicinity so she must be the addressee and anyway, why would someone be randomly speaking English if not to her?

      She turned around and her mystification intensified as found herself looking up at a tall man with a beanie hat pulled down over his forehead. His identity was further hidden by the dark glasses he was wearing against the glare of the sun refracting off the snow.

      ‘Mrs Taylor? Sophie?’ The man held out his hand. All of a sudden, Sophie realized who it was. Darko, the translator. She took his gloved hand in hers and shook it. She remembered that she’d liked him, back in the summer, even though their meeting had been brief and entirely focused on the purchase of the house. He’d had an air of quiet competence and authority about him, enhanced by a smile that was kind and genuine. And, she recalled, under the hat were the coal-black curls of Sir Lancelot.

      ‘Have you time for a coffee?’

      Darko’s request, simple, straightforward, interrupted her thoughts and took her by surprise. She had become so accustomed to being alone, these last, solitary weeks. Being alone is a fact, something you either are or are not, whilst loneliness is a feeling. She had experienced both. Now she felt that she had forgotten how to talk, how to interact at all.

      ‘That – that would be lovely,’ she stuttered, effortfully. ‘Thank you.’

      Darko gestured for her to go ahead of him through the gates into the old town. ‘Please – this way,’ he said. ‘Take care as the cobbles are slippery where the ice still lies.’

      Sophie smiled at his old-fashioned courtesy and concern for her wellbeing.

      ‘I’m so pleased to see you here,’ he went on. ‘I expected you to be a summer-only visitor, as most foreign buyers are.’

      ‘Well, I …’ Sophie couldn’t think of a simple explanation for her out-of-season presence. ‘I like it here,’ she settled on, and left it at that.

      Darko was weaving a complicated route through the maze of lanes and alleyways. Sophie had not even begun to get her bearings here, despite her now frequent visits. The place was small enough never to get truly lost and every meandering revealed new squares and streets she’d never seen before, so she had no desire to make a mental map. Serendipity had, on several occasions, brought her to an organic health food shop and a superb bakery, and there was nothing else she had needed so far. The many souvenir shops and boutiques were mostly closed and anyway she had no use for trinkets, fancy clothes, or shoes.

      ‘I’m taking you to my favourite café,’ said Darko, as if to explain the complicated route and the passing of many seemingly suitable hostelries. ‘It has the best coffee and an open fire, which is a treat on a day like this.’ He paused, a look of concern clouding his face. ‘And the hot chocolate’s really good too. You might prefer that, as you look so cold,’ he added.

      Sophie smiled again at his consideration – and as she did so, became conscious of a strange aching in her jaw that she could not at first understand. And then it dawned on her that it was the effort of smiling, of using muscles that had not been worked for so many weeks, that was causing the pain. The vague grins she gave her fisherman did not count; all facial expressions were necessarily underplayed with him as she had no idea if she were listening to a story of a bereavement or a birthday and did not want to insult or offend with the wrong reaction.

      She turned to look back over her shoulder at Darko, who was close behind her, watching over her in case she took a tumble on the stones despite his warnings.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve warmed me up already.’

      As soon as the words were out, she thought how peculiar they must sound. But Darko just flashed her a generous smile. Perhaps Darko, unwittingly, was the one who would rescue her from her exile from the human race.

      Over coffee, he told her that he’d learnt his excellent English at school, followed by a summer season working on farms all across Britain. Now, as well as being a translator, he was a lawyer and had a number of British clients who he acted for in property purchases and other matters.

      ‘A lawyer,’ Sophie repeated after him, stirring her coffee unnecessarily vigorously. ‘Just like Matt.’

      Darko raised his eyebrows. He’d taken the beanie off in the warmth of the café, and its absence seemed to accentuate the depth of expression in his black eyes and the luxuriance of his tumbling hair.

      ‘Who is Matt?’ he asked, casually. ‘Your boyfriend, maybe?’

      Sophie let her spoon clatter back onto her saucer. She had forgotten that Darko knew nothing about her; all he had done in the summer was translate legal proceedings and a document. Naturally, he had not been apprised of her personal situation.

      ‘Matt is – was – my husband, actually,’ she replied slowly.

      Darko nodded.

      ‘But he’s dead.’

      The words blurted out before she’d thought about them and immediately she regretted it. She didn’t want to tell anyone, recoiled from talking about Matt. At least, that’s the way she’d thought she felt. But now, in the warm fug of the café, with the sun burning through the black ice outside and glinting against the windowpanes, she suddenly wanted to tell this almost-stranger everything about him.

      Darko’s eyes had darkened, if that were possible, with her words. ‘I’m sorry.’ He reached his hand across the table, to where hers lay beside her cup, and patted it briefly, gently.

      ‘Thank you.’ Sophie sniffed and wrinkled up her nose but it was to no avail. The tears were coming, tears that she couldn’t believe she still had after all the weeping weeks. The kindness of strangers, she found herself thinking, as she fumbled for a tissue. Funny how that could make one dissolve, all stoicism eradicated. In between sobs, she told the story of what had happened to Matt, how she had come to purchase the stone house and what had induced her to move to a country she had only previously spent two weeks in.

      Darko didn’t seem surprised by the latter information. ‘Everyone who comes is beguiled,’ he stated, without hubris. ‘But for you – it’s a big step. You are very brave.’

      Overcome once more, Sophie couldn’t speak to reply. She shook her head and continued to cry until her face, her scarf, and the tablecloth were soaked through with tears.

Chapter 8

      The day after her chance meeting with Darko, Sophie awoke and looked around her bedroom with fresh eyes. The snow was gone already, as if sucked back into the sea and the mountains. It had left behind it the hopeful fresh green shoots of new growth and days that, albeit slowly and almost imperceptibly, were getting longer.

      She lay in bed and scrutinized the room – or what she could see of it from behind the high end-board. Her cleaning had been perfunctory to say the least, the worst of the grime gone but that was it. High above her, in all four ceiling corners, spiders’ webs drifted in an impalpable breeze. The window surround was grubby from half a century of hands leant against it, the paint on the walls cracked and crazed with age. She needed to take the house – and herself – in hand.

      Throwing СКАЧАТЬ