The rest of March passed by uneventfully, and blossomed into one of the warmest Aprils on record. Since the inexplicable outburst from Mrs Cundy, Annie had made every effort to avoid contact with her ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ landlady, and had only made occasional visits to Lillington Hall. Instead, she’d spent time getting to know some of the locals in the village, and exploring the surrounding Derbyshire countryside. It was a welcome distraction from the increasingly strange goings on of recent weeks. Although she had been relieved that one mystery at least had been solved, when Wendy confessed on behalf of Jason to the peculiar note that had been left pinned to the door of Parwich Heights. ‘Pompous ass!’ she thought, ‘Just goes to show, money can’t buy everything…in particular brains, in the case of Jason Lomas!’ She’d quickly come to the conclusion that that family were trouble – and were not to be touched with the proverbial barge pole.
One of her favourite pastimes of late was to amble through the village early in the morning, before anyone had risen. Annie enjoyed this time of day the best, and today was no exception as she set off down the hill past Rookery Cottage, and the jumble of antiquated stone cottages lining the narrow road.
A gentle breeze ran through her hair, as the sun was beginning to emerge above the fiery blaze of the horizon. The deepening blue of the sky above already promised another wonderful spring day. The stillness of the morning was enchanting, and belied the hive of activity that would develop in the village in the coming hours, as people gradually began to wake. Her only companions now however, were the multitude of birds as they struck up the captivating melody of the dawn chorus.
As she drew in the crisp fresh air of morning to revive her senses, Annie thought how lucky she was to be living in a place like this. It certainly was the pick-me-up that she had desperately needed. It helped her to forget the tragic events that had led to her arrival here. As the weeks passed by, the nightmares were gradually beginning to fade. Not so long ago, she could close her eyes and conjure up every minute contour of Quentin’s face – breathe in the aroma of his exotic aftershave. It was as though if she reached out, she would be able to touch him and fall into his comforting embrace. Now though, when she tried to recall his features, they appeared as a hazy outline, which seemed to recede further into the darkness the harder she tried to concentrate.
She spent the next few hours in this quiet state of contemplation, unaware that her feet had covered so much ground, and was amazed when she glanced at her watch that it was heading towards 10 o’clock as she re-entered the village. Passing Jubilee Pond, she waved to Fiona who lived in the collection of cottages in the triangle of land just beyond. She was tending to Poppy and Pippin, a cow and her young calf. Poppy the mother, with a dark brown face and huge brown eyes was licking her arm with a ferocious affection, as Fiona petted the young calf nibbling contentedly on a piece of straw. ‘What a lovely morning’ she called out ‘could you use some milk this morning?’ Annie was planning a baking session later that afternoon, so gratefully accepted the 4 pints of fresh creamy cow’s milk that Fiona offered, and after a pleasant interlude of idle natter continued on her way.
Just as she was nearing the Sycamore, Annie jumped with a start as she heard a commotion across the road, and saw one of the cottage doors crash open.
‘When I get back I want you gone, do you understand?’ There was a pause, and then the voice returned with a menace. ‘Do…you….understand… Bitch?’…..Annie could see a small figure cowered in the doorway, with a huge hulk of a man leaning over her – each word punctuated with a blow to the woman’s cheeks. The small figure slumped to the floor, as the man thundered down the path to the gate, flung it open and wheel spun in a cloud of smoke into the distance in his 4×4.
After witnessing the scene with a sense of disbelief, Annie rushed across, and ran down the garden path ‘Fern…Fern… are you OK?’ She reached down to put a reassuring hand on the slender shoulder. The golden ringlets which had escaped the dishevelled ponytail, rested on the woman’s crimson cheeks, which glistened with wet tears.
‘Why do you let him do this to you?…You know he’s not worth it’…Annie’s heart broke as she looked at the devastation that the pitiful excuse of a man had visited upon this gentle young woman.
The two had struck up a strong friendship over the last couple of weeks. Annie warmed to Fern’s simple uncomplicated outlook and sense of humour. They had met at the Zumba class held in the village, and had enjoyed a few drinks at the Sycamore, and even had a couple of ‘girlie nights in’ at Parwich Heights. It was during one such evening, that Annie had discovered the heartbreaking story that lay hidden behind Fern’s placid smile. It was only then, that Annie realised there was a haunting emptiness that lurked beneath the twinkle of her extraordinary green eyes that she’d not noticed before. Fern had just been married for a year, but realised almost immediately what a mistake she had made. Annie vehemently argued that she should simply leave, but Fern despite her unassuming beauty had no self-belief, so resigned herself to the fact that this was her fate.
Annie raised her friend from the floor and held her tightly. Fern sobbed uncontrollably, her face pressed into the warm folds of Annie’s gilet. They remained there for what seemed an eternity, Fern desperately clinging on to every ounce of love that she could take from her friend – as if it would somehow heal the hurt.
‘Is everything OK?… ’ Annie jumped as she hadn’t heard the figure approaching. She turned to see the perfect physique of Aiden O’Connell striding up the path. If she hadn’t been so pre-occupied, she would have melted in his troubled gaze. ‘I was calling in for a paper, and I thought I heard something kicking off’. The lilting Irish burr surprised Annie, as she was so used to the precise English accent, which he obviously assumed for his role.
‘I think everything’s OK now, but I’ll stop with her for a while. Thanks Aiden’. Fern raised her face slowly and took a sharp intake of breath, choking on another sob, and lifted her red-rimmed eyes to look up disbelievingly. ‘Is that….. Is that who…who I think it is?….’ To Annie, it had become an everyday event to be surrounded by the film crew and stars, so had forgotten how incredulous it must be to have one of the world’s most renowned actors to be stood on your doorstep.
Annie chuckled to herself ‘Yes, this is Aiden O’Connell, movie star extraordinaire!’ Aiden’s eyes lit up, and a smile passed his lips, dimpling his cheeks, as he was used to getting this reaction in the street. However, his smile promptly disappeared as he looked upon Fern’s tear stained cheeks, and he could see the bruises beginning to stain the otherwise perfect peachy cream skin. He reached forward, as if to wipe the tiny droplets from her face, but Fern flinched.
‘For goodness sake!…Just you let me get my hands on the brute that did this to you.’ A rage had consumed his features, as he contemplated the atrocity of the situation. ’If I get hold of him, I’ll kill him, I tell you I’ll kill him… and that’s a promise. That’s no way to be treatin’ a Lady’. Annie was taken aback by his intensity, but was grateful for the protection that he was offering her friend.
‘I think we’ll be OK from here Aiden. Thanks for your concern.’ She put a hand on his arm and cast him an appreciative look.
‘Alright, if you’re sure?’ He looked one last time at Fern, who returned his stare like a wounded animal, vulnerable but alert.
‘Yes, we’re fine…Thank you for your trouble’ She murmured.
‘OK …but if he ever does anything like that again, you let me know…you hear?…’. Reluctantly, he turned to go. Turning once with a backward glance, and then he was gone.
Fern fell back onto the doorframe, and sighed heavily. ‘What have I done to deserve this?…….’. Annie had no answer, as there was no reason to what she had just witnessed. She suppressed a sob herself, which eventually escaped into a desolate sigh. ‘I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure…this can’t continue’. She lowered her gaze and met her friend’s eyes like a school teacher reprimanding an unruly pupil, issuing an ultimatum. ‘And you know it. This has to stop now!’
∞∞∞∞∞
As expected, it turned out to be a glorious day, and after a little friendly persuasion, Annie managed to get Fern to join her for a quick drink at the Sycamore – after first storing Poppy’s milk in the cool fridge for safekeeping. It really was unnaturally warm for the time of year, and Annie disrobed herself of her oatmeal gilet, as the sun was beating down fiercely now. As they passed through the narrow, stone stile to the gardens, a collection of locals were already basking on the lawns in the heat of the day.
Annie took a second glance, as she passed a portly chap engaged in animated conversation, waving his pint pot to emphasise some point –as his companions chuckled in unison. His face flushed from working in the fields, exposed to the full heat of the sun. However, it was the turquoise cardigan that was wrapped round his head ’turban style’ that amused Annie. She was tempted to believe that this was possibly the ‘village idiot’, until one of the sleeves dropped slightly to reveal the sunburnt pate, explaining the reason for this somewhat unorthodox attire.
Fern seated herself at one of the benches, and laughed as she watched as her friend was initiated into the intricacies, and peculiarities of village life and characters.
‘Alright Paul?’ Fern lifted a hand in acknowledgement
‘I dunn’a know, but th’a knows th’a shall be better with a pint inside me!’. He raised his glass in mutual acknowledgement, and a large grin spread across his plump cheeks as he continued relaying his tale to the group of friends gathered around him.
A few moments later, the two women were enjoying a drink of their own as they sat and chatted, attempting to forget the rather unpleasant start to the day.
Janet, waddled out of the pub heavily pregnant with her first child – the intense heat was not helping, and it was unclear which was warmer – slaving over the stove in the kitchens or out here. As she passed amongst the benches collecting glasses, she stopped to talk to Annie and her friend.
‘Are you going to the St George’s Day parade tomorrow?, there’s a bit of a do on at the Memorial Hall later – and drinks back here if you fancy…’ Janet perched herself on the end of the table, in an attempt to relieve the weight from her feet for a moment. Annie had really appreciated Janet’s efforts to welcome her to the village, it had made settling here so much easier.
‘Oh yes… I saw something on the Parwich website, what time is it starting again?’ The Landlady knew all the ins and outs, and it was agreed that Annie would call round for Fern in the morning, and they would see how the day developed from there. Eventually Janet couldn’t avoid the mounting chores any longer, and bid them farewell, as she limped through the wooden gate and back to her duties.
It was a couple of drinks and a plate of sandwiches and chips later, that Annie found herself recounting the strange events that had happened since she’d arrived in the village, and since opening the box left to her by her great great grandmother.
‘I feel certain that something happened all those years ago, but I’m damned if I know where to start in trying to find out.’ She pushed the last chip around the plate, trying to catch the final remnants of tomato ketchup, ‘and it doesn’t help that I’ve lost those letters.’ She paused momentarily, and bit down on the chip, the frustration clearly visible in the furrows of her brow.
‘I can’t believe I didn’t look at them before they vanished…now I’ll never know why Grace saved them to pass on to future generations of the family!’. Fern listened intently, mesmerised by the classic beauty of the redhead. She envied Annie’s undoubted confidence, and couldn’t for the life of her understand why she hadn’t been snapped up by one of the Lomas boys, but then again they probably didn’t deserve her.
All of a sudden, a thought struck her. Of course, why hadn’t she thought about it before? ‘Well, if anyone can help you it would be Edie…Edie Swindell.’ Fern watched as Annie’s eyes lit up with anticipation.
‘She must be nearing 100 now, but she knows everything there is to know about what’s gone on in Parwich. She’s fascinating to listen to really, knows all the local folklore too’. Fern gestured back towards Jubilee Pond, ‘She lives in a little cottage up on Creamery Lane….mind you’ll have to catch her before 3 o’clock as that’s snooze time, and you won’t get any sense out of her then!!’ Annie, jumped to her feet and reached across to embrace her friend, feeling an increasing sense of excitement at possibly coming closer to knowing Grace’s secret.
‘Anyway, I best be getting off now’. Fern said with a timid smile, rising from the bench and feeling at the tender spots of red that had begun to flush her breastbone. This time, not bruises but sunburn, as she’d caught the full rays of the sun.
‘But what about you know who?’. Annie gestured to the humble cottage across the road, fearing for her friend.
‘Oh him!’. Fern scoffed with a muted scorn ‘If I know Nathan, he’ll not be back for a few days now. When he does come back, he’ll have flowers and chocolates and be as nice as pie’. She paused, ‘To him, it’ll be as if nothing ever happened!…’ .
‘And you?…What about you Fern?’. Annie knew it was a hopeless cause, as she watched Fern shrug her shoulders and seemingly surrender to her fate.
‘I’ll survive.’
‘At first I was afraid, I was petrified….’ Annie choked on the remnants of her wine, as she watched Fern pirouette, grabbing a rolled up crisp packet and singing the Gloria Gaynor hit into it, as if it were a microphone. ‘Did you think I’d crumble, Did you think I’d lay down and die…Oh no, not I….’. Annie joined in to the strains of ‘I will survive’, amazed at the resilience of her young friend – before collapsing into a heap, as they laughed like a pair of hyenas.
‘OK Gloria, if you’re sure you’ll be OK?’ Fern nodded, ‘Then I’ll pay a visit to old woman Swindell, and see if I can’t shed any light on this story’. Annie had the bit between her teeth now, and was determined to find some answers.
∞∞∞∞∞
It was almost 2 o’clock as Annie climbed the slopes of Creamery Lane, she was feeling a little the worse for wear after being too long exposed to the ferocious heat of the sun, and was beginning to regret that third large glass of rosé! Although Annie, had never been there before, from her friend’s description she knew that she was approaching Edie Swindell’s place.
Behind an old stonewall and overgrown hedge, lay a little cottage submerged in the shadows. The dilapidated wooden gate, creaked in protest at being opened, and Annie decided not to close it to, just in case it fell off its hinges. Under the porch, a flaking green door lay slightly ajar, and Annie shivered as she stepped into the shade of the garden beyond the wall.
She tentatively knocked on the door. ‘Hello, Mrs Swindell…are you there?’ She paused awaiting an answer, hearing none, she ventured again..’Mrs Swindell?….’.
The hoarse voice that responded indicated that Annie had indeed located a lady of some age – either that or she was a very heavy smoker. ‘Who’s there?….’.
‘My name’s Annie…Annie Carruthers. I’m a friend of Fern Johnson, she said that you might be able to help me with some local history.’ It was as if a switch had been flicked, and the old lady emerged from her slumber, the excitement in her voice was tangible.
‘Well, what you waiting for dear, come in, come in and let’s see if old Edie can’t help you.’
Annie almost fainted in the heat that met her as she opened the door. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dingy darkness of the room, after the blaze of the sunshine outdoors. A small coal fire was well banked, and roared ferociously in the grate. It was more than sufficient to heat the pokey little room. The small wrinkled figure sat huddled in a rocking chair by the side of the fire her face like a walnut, a tartan blanket draped across her knees for additional warmth – tiny sheepskin slippers peeping from under the folds.
She lifted a gnarled, misshapen hand, and gestured for Annie to sit down on the armchair at the other side of the fire. She wondered if all old people had crotched antimacassars, as she fondly remembered her Nana’s own spectacular examples.
‘It’s so kind of you to see me Mrs Swindell…,’ but Annie stopped abruptly as the old Lady interjected vehemently.
‘Edie please, I’ve not been Mrs Swindell for nigh on 40 years, since Earnest died. Edie will do just fine’.
‘OK, Edie it is then’. Annie went on to relay a little of her history, eventually culminating in the box of treasures left to her by her great great grandmother. All the time Edie Swindell surveyed her youthful guest carefully, from behind her tortoiseshell spectacles, every now and again emitting a guttural ‘mmmm’ which Annie thought was almost Yoda-like!
However, it was when Annie showed her the striking ring that she wore on the index finger of her slender right hand that the old woman really sat up, her rheumy grey eyes opened wide like a wizened owl.
‘Well I never.’ She paused, seemingly unable to find her voice, which had disappeared almost into a raspy whisper. ‘I had my suspicions, but that…’ Edie struggled to raise herself, and reach forward for Annie’s youthful hand. The twisted craggy fingers trembled slightly, as the old woman felt the soft buttery gold of the ring, almost as if trying to determine that it was real. Annie’s heart was beating furiously, as she watched the old lady drift into a hypnotic state, never taking her eyes from the ring.
Finally, the silence was broken as a hot fragment of coal spat from the fire, landing on the threadbare mat in front of the hearth. The black scorch marks that peppered the fabric, showed that this had been a regular occurrence over the years, and the orange glow of the ember flickered briefly and faded into a smouldering grey ash. It seemed to rouse Edie from her trance, as she adjusted her spectacles and shuffled in her seat as if to make herself more comfortable for the epic tale she was about to relay – one that had remained untold for many years now.
She sat back in her chair, and tilted her head back, staring at some point on the low beamed ceiling above, and then shut her eyes tightly as if to expel any light that may be remaining in the dim room. The air of concentration was palpable in that moment, as Edie Swindell transported herself back through the centuries to evoke the details of the tale that had passed through the aeons of village folklore, and until this moment had been in danger of being lost for all time.
‘It was over 250 years ago that it first began.’ She paused momentarily and squinted through one eye to see if her visitor was paying attention. Seeing the eager youthful face waiting on her every word she continued.
‘His name was Tobias Twigge, he was the gamekeeper for the Parwich Estates. Some say he was a dark brooding chap, maybe even arrogant – but that would be an injustice to the dear departed. My grandmother always insisted that her family had known him to be a truly good man at heart. Perhaps, just born into the wrong times, for you mustn’t forget my dear – how different life was then. None of this modern shallow life we know today, love was hard earned – but once gained, endured and was the more powerful for it. It was also a society where each had their own place, and the divide between the classes was a given. Everyone from farm labourer to duke or duchess knew their lot in life, and no-one would dare to cross the line.’
Annie listened enraptured, as she visualised the scene of village life in Georgian Parwich centuries before. The scene played out as she hung on Edie’s every word.
‘Or so it was most of the time. In the case of Tobias however, a summer’s day in 1750 was to change his life forever. For it was his fate to meet with the young Lady Georgiana, sister of Lord Samuel Fitzwilliam of Lillington Hall. She was only a young girl of eighteen, but already men were falling at her feet vying for her hand in marriage. Her beauty was legendary, soft porcelain skin flushed with rosy cheeks and lips like ruby rosebuds. Yet it was her hair, as jet black as shimmering coal some said, that had the men captivated.’ A wry smile creased Edie’s lips, as she considered with irony her own thinning snowy white curls.
‘Anyway, where was I?’ After a prompt from Annie she resumed, ‘Ah yes…’.
The tale that unfolded was of a forbidden, passionate love that defied the rules of hierarchy. Two young people who threw caution to the wind, to experience the joys and pains of true love – whatever the cost. Tobias, was a young man who held a brutal magnificence in Georgiana’s eyes, from the moment she first laid eyes on him as she trotted on horseback up the rise to Parwich Hall. She had brazenly devoured the sight of the dark skinned gamekeeper as he bent to splash his face with the cool refreshing spring waters. His jacket lay on the stone trough, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled above his elbows to reveal powerful forearms which glistened in the sun, as he squatted before the spring – scooping up handfuls of clear, cleansing water from the bubbling spring, letting it cascade over his long ebony mane.
As the horses hooves passed by on the lane behind him, the dark gypsy figure turned his head to look in the direction of the gaze that was burning through his very skin. Transfixed, he observed the lavish black eyes that consumed him. Involuntarily he rose, possessed by a force, which worked deep within his core. Tobias had witnessed many wonders of nature, but before him was a rare beauty indeed – one which he instantly felt driven to possess. However, he was rudely roused from his reverie, as a riding crop struck him harshly on his left cheek leaving an angry weal on the weathered skin.
‘You will bow before the Lady Georgiana, and keep your eyes lowered. Have you no respect you heathen?’ Tobias, begrudgingly complied and averted his eyes as the pompous aristocrat passed by, sneering at the pathetic creature.
‘From that moment on, many say that he was bewitched.’ Edie sighed, ‘Inexplicably drawn together they were….’
‘Gosh that must have caused quite a stir round here at the time!’ Annie sat agog, aware of how totally inappropriate such an attachment would have been in those days. Although, all too often history was littered with tales of grand ‘gentlemen’, even Kings having their wicked way with lowly peasants, siring bastards which were discarded and hidden up and down the country, and no-one even blinked an eyelid. In fact, it was almost considered some ancient tribal rite. So why should it be any different for Tobias and Georgiana, albeit that the roles had been reversed? Annie found herself growing to like this unconventional pairing, and hoped that their tale would have the ‘happy ever after’ that they deserved, although something told her that it wasn’t to be.
‘Oh, they knew they were playing with fire, for sure’. Edie lowered her gaze, staring above the rims of her spectacles at her captive audience ‘and Tobias, God rest his soul tried to resist his feelings for Georgiana’s sake, to spare her the shame. But it was meant to be, and that was that.’
‘So what happened?’ Annie quizzed, anxious to know more.
‘OK, hold your horses, I’m getting there, just be patient young lady… my mind’s not what it used to be!’ The redhead, duly chastised, held up a hand in acknowledgement, and let the elderly sage continue in her own time.
‘Tobias, being the gamekeeper for the Estate, lived in a small cottage called Parwich Heights up yonder end of the village.’ Edie raised a misshapen finger, indicating some point in the distance. Annie’s eyes opened wide with amazement, and her jaw dropped – however, wisely decided against interrupting the Old Lady again, it was more than her life was worth.
‘Georgiana made more frequent visits to the Hall that Summer, her brother was convinced that she’d fallen for the eldest Son James Levinge, so encouraged her visits – it was considered a good match, a very good match indeed. However, as was customary in the day she was always chaperoned by her Lady’s Maid Eliza.’ Edie cleared her throat, and reached for a glass of water on the side table, taking a sip to ease the irritation. Her hands quivered slightly as she wiped her lips before continuing.
‘However, what Samuel didn’t count on was the fact that the roguish Master Levinge had in fact taken quite a fancy to young Eliza, and was more than accommodating of Georgiana’s requests to ride up into the hills ‘to take the air’. To any prying eyes, it was a respectable party of young folk enjoying the pleasures of the countryside. However, just beyond Parwich Hill Georgiana would watch the dappled mare and chestnut stallion of James and Eliza head into the shelter of a wooded copse. The first time it had happened, Georgiana had reservations, as she felt that she was using her closest companion as a pawn in her intricate game. However, she watched as a flush of anticipation coloured Eliza’s skin with each new encounter, and knew that her servant took great pleasure from these meetings. The fact that it also benefited her Lady was a secondary concern for Eliza.’
‘But what of Georgiana and Tobias?’ Annie prompted with a sense of exasperation.
‘I’m building up to that young Lady, patience is a virtue!!’ Edie raised, two silvered eyebrows heavenwards as if to emphasise her point, before resuming the tale.
‘Eliza attended on her Lady’s every needs, and in the most intimate confines of her bedchamber. She alone was privy to what happened in the time between Georgiana leaving her and the Master to spend their treasured hours alone together in the copse. She’d come upon him by accident at first, but since that first meeting Georgiana had been on the hunt for her enigmatic ‘gypsy Prince’ as she called him, and through sheer grit and determination she found him.’ Edie shook her head as she contemplated what was to come.
‘Despite what we are all led to believe, love at first sight is a rare thing indeed, and the feelings that Tobias and Georgiana had for each other were truly unique. As I said before, Tobias, tried to resist the urge to give in to his feelings, but he hadn’t reckoned on Georgiana’s spirit. She snared him, like one of his rabbits, and he was vulnerable to her formidable charms’. Annie visualised a Heathcliffe-like character, rough and unrefined, dumbstruck and awkward in the presence of such a delicate, gracious beauty. Dreamily, she imagined their first encounter, the pure animal magnetism that sparks between a man and a woman – made all the more intense, as what they were to experience was illicit love.
‘Georgiana was a true lady, and was no brazen hussy mind.’ Edie re-iterated. Keen to emphasise that the Lady’s passion exceeded pure carnal desire. ‘She visited the cottage on numerous occasions that summer, and they’d spend hours talking, sharing their dreams – and contemplating how different their lives would be had they been born into different families. This was their precious time, and Georgiana loved to fuss about the home as if she were a simple housewife – prettying the stark practicality of Tobias’s den with small vases of meadow flowers. They would have been content to steal these moments of shared tranquillity, but something was to happen later that year as autumn approached that would have a devastating effect on their lives….forever……’
A few moments passed, and Annie became aware of the slow rhythmic tick-tock of the clock on the mantelpiece, and realised that Edie had stopped her spellbinding version of ‘Jackanory’. The old Lady’s head had rolled forward and her chin was rested on her chest. At first, Annie was afraid that the old dear had popped her clogs, but was reassured when she saw Edie take a deep breath and emit a loud snore.
‘Mrs Swindell….Edie..’ Annie reached across gently tapping on the saggy arm of the white nylon cardigan. When there was no response she tried more vigorously, ‘Edie, wake up…you’ve not finished the story yet…’ However, the wrinkled eyes remained stubbornly closed, and it was clear to Annie that this old lady wouldn’t be conscious again this side of Sunday.
‘Damn, drat and double blast!!!’ Annie exclaimed. She’d been given a tantalising view into bygone times, but was left even more mystified than before as to how this fitted into Grace’s story. Reluctantly, Annie stood to leave, adjusting the tartan blanket to make sure that Edie was comfortable, and then tiptoed tentatively to the door. With an exasperated sigh, she looked back towards the frail old lady, before gently closing the cottage door behind her.
Not for the first time today, her head was reeling, and this time it wasn’t just the wine!
Parwich Heights 
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