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Chapter 03
"I suppose your job as a ... postman ... gives you lots to look at - especially when people are hanging out their washing." The suggestion was insulting but Amelia-Rose didn't care.
She pushed the basket of wet clothes behind her with her foot. She didn't want him to see her personal things and she at once resolved to move the clothesline to the back garden in future away from prying eyes.
"You've no right to invade a person's privacy!"
Anger was welling up inside her now and also a hint of fear. The cottage had no neighbors and she was living alone.
It crossed her mind that by coming to this idyllic retreat she just might have replaced one form of vulnerability for another.
Waving goodbye to the City of London was supposed to have soothed the pain she'd felt from the sudden disintegration of her marriage. Her ex-husband loved the pubs and clubs of Central London with all its sense of urgency, big money deals and, it now seemed, it's female company. The one place she was sure not to bump into him was on the quiet roads and byways of the West Country, so this was where she had come.
The great hope during these last few honeymoon weeks, since she'd moved into the cottage, was that time and distance would ease the hurt and then slowly she could start rebuilding her life again.
Nearby on the river, she could hear the sound of splashing and the excited voices of a boy and a girl. One day, perhaps she would also be able to share again their pleasure and uncomplicated enjoyment.
But for now she knew that dreams were no more than dreams and the reality was this overgrown garden with its washing line strung between two trees, a wedding dress that she was making clean ready for the charity shop and this postman who was standing too close to her and who didn't seem to want to go away. Worse, he'd now reached out and was stroking the soft material of her wedding dress and this made her feel as if he was stroking her.
There was a sharp scream from nearby and both of them turned their heads in the direction of the riverbank. It had the dreadful finality of a call for help cut short. Furious flapping followed and seconds later a small hawk fluttered into view, gained height only slowly flying upwards, looking injured. Feathers from the hawk's wings drifted down through the branches of the oak trees at the end of the garden. She gained height only slowly, struggled in the air and then fell behind the chestnut trees bordering the river.
"I was watching that kestrel earlier hovering for a long time keeping an eye on something that had taken it's fancy. This time of the year, it'll have young to feed somewhere. It must have decided to have a go and have got more than it bargained for," the postman said quietly.
Their eyes met again. His were determined and hers were wary.
"Nature and the countryside brings a short life for many," the postman said, calmly.
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