Annie sat up in bed, the sun streaming through the window. The box, with its’ faded red ribbon, lay untouched by the side of the bed. She looked at the clock. “10:00 am! Good grief!” Annie couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept through the night. Well, at least not since Quentin had… Annie shook her head defiantly. “Pull yourself together girl,” she told herself. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!”
Annie put the fragile linen box by her bedside table, quickly made the bed, threw on some clothes and dashed down the stairs two at a time. In her faded jeans, hiking boots and woolly jumper, and with her unruly red hair pulled into a messy pony tail, she looked young and carefree.
“Thank you Mrs Cundy!” said Annie gratefully to herself as she boiled the kettle and made herself a cup of coffee with the supplies that had been left ready for her arrival.
Coffee in hand, Annie spread the map out in front of her. It was a beautiful day, and she was going to take full advantage of the good weather with a long walk – preferably one that took in a pub for lunch. “Hmmmm…” Annie’s fingers drummed the table and traced a circular route. “Brassington, I think.” According to her Peak District Guide there were two pubs to choose from, The Miners Arms and Ye Olde Gate Inn. Annie figured one of them would be bound to be serving food.
Annie set off down the long drive, veering off by a large lime tree down a public footpath. It was early spring and the meadows, framed by dry stone walls and rickety limestone outbuildings created a scene of rural idyll. Late snowdrops and early daffodils jumbled companionly together along the seemingly endless path. Sheep, a few with tiny lambs, dotted the grass, their occasional bleats interjecting the birdsong in the air. Annie made a mental note to sit down as soon as she got back to Parwich Heights and write Quentin’s parents a very nice thank you letter. This was just what she needed.
After about an hour, the path dipped down into a valley and Brassington spread out before Annie. “Another charming little village!” thought Annie happily. She wandered down the road and went into The Gate Inn. It was an old building, and the windows were quite small. Annie had to blink a few times to let her eyes adjust – despite being the middle of the day, it was quite dark.
She walked up to the bar and ordered a half pint of lager. While the publican pulled it, she looked around, taking in the huge fireplace and shining brasses on the wall. Suddenly she gave a start – it was the man from the night before! There was no mistaking his dark curly hair and rugged good looks. He had a pint glass of bitter, and was reading the paper whilst absentmindedly stroking the head of a gentle black Labrador which lay at the floor by his side.
He saw Annie looking at him and smiled warmly at her. “You okay, can I help you with anything?” he asked in a kind tone.
“Ermm, uhh,” Annie stammered, her face blushing bright red at the thought of their encounter the previous night. And now he had the nerve to pretend like he’d never even seen her before, let alone acknowledge how rude he had been. She didn’t want to even be in the same room as him.
Annie squared her shoulders. “No, thank you very much; I don’t require any help from you! And I can see you are no worse for wear either!” Annie left her beer untouched on the bar, walked to the heavy oak door and lifted the heavy steel latch. She looked over her shoulder for a final retort. “Although I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear,” she added hastily as she walked into the bright sunlight “that I am on foot today!”
As the door slammed behind her, the man smiled in bewilderment, scratching the lab behind the ear who thumped his tail appreciatively in reply.
The barman called over to him. “Hey Justin, what was that all about?”
“I have no idea! I’ve never seen that woman before in my life.”
Justin and his brother were regulars at the Gate and knew the owner, Paul, well.
“It beats me,” Justin added ruefully.
“What beats you, little brother?” An equally tall, equally handsome man slumped down on the bench opposite Justin and grabbed the sports page.
“A crazy red head, that’s what beats me. She accused me of doing something, I’m not sure what, and suggested that I’d be pleased she wasn’t driving. Crazy!”
“A redhead?” asked Justin’s brother. “Pretty little thing, curvy, crazy hair, lots of freckles – kind of feisty?”
“That would be the one. Who is she?”
“I have no idea.”
Justin took a long swig of his beer. “Let me get this straight. You are in the WC while a redhead who I know is not from around here has a go at me for no apparent reason, you are then able to describe her perfectly, yet don’t know who she is. Explain please. Now.”
“Don’t you get snarky with your big brother young Justin!”
“C’mon, Jason, what gives?” Justin knew his brother had a bit of a bad boy streak, and he was worried about what had happened to the girl.
“Let’s just say we ran into each other last night in Parwich.” Jason chuckled at the recollection. He hadn’t been hurt, but couldn’t help teasing the pretty redhead; it had been fun to rile her up. “I think she’s renting the gamekeeper’s cottage at Parwich Heights. Heard Mrs Cundy mention something about it in the shop. Some story attached to her – a plane crash or something. I’m not sure.” He pushed his empty glass across the table. “Your round little brother!”
“Would you lay off the little brother routine please Jason? I mean, little brother by what – all of 10 minutes?” He drained his own glass and looked into his brother’s dark brown eyes – carbon copies of his own, and chuckled. “Sometimes,” he said ruefully “I bloody well hate being your identical twin!”
∞∞∞∞∞
Meanwhile, Annie had stomped over to the Miners Arms and was consoling herself with her second beer of the day – although this was the first one she had managed to drink. She ordered a cheese sandwich, consulted her map, and decided to forget all about the dark haired stranger she had managed to encounter twice in the short space of 24 hours. “It’s like having a bloody stalker,” she murmured to herself.
The walk home did much to revive her spirits, and by the time she strode up the drive to Parwich Heights she had nearly forgotten about her lunchtime encounter.
She took her boots off, popped a chocolate in her mouth and lit the fire. It was chilly. Annie padded up the stairs in her thick woollen walking socks to her room with the intention of grabbing her slippers and a good book from the large selection lining the bookcase in her bedroom. Instead she spotted the little box. Picking it up she said “I’d forgotten all about you!” Annie pulled on her slippers, and carried the box carefully down. She grabbed a check throw from the sofa, and wrapped it around herself. Sitting cross legged on the couch she put the box gently on her lap and pulled at the frayed and faded red silk ribbon.
“So, Great great grandma Grace,” what do you have for me here?” She lifted the lid of the box carefully, revealing yellowed tissue paper. Annie parted the paper gently and looked at the contents: letters, a very old newspaper clipping and a delicate golden ring set with a ruby, and what Annie suspected were two beautifully cut pink diamonds.
“Gosh…” Annie said out loud thoughtfully, looking at the ring, and holding it up in the firelight. “Where could this have come from?”
Annie looked down at the small diamond ring gracing her own hand. It had belonged to her mother, and her mother’s mother. An engagement ring passed down through the years from mother to daughter. When Quentin had asked Annie’s widowed mum for her hand in marriage, Annie’s mother had given both her consent, and the ring, to Quentin with her love and best wishes for their future happiness.
But if this wasn’t Grace’s ring, then whose was it?
Parwich Heights 
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