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“He was rich, whilst Alfred had little more than the clothes he stood up in.

”We should remember,” he added, “that this was just after the war. Things were hard for a lot of families, including Anne’s.” They both fell quiet.

“It did sound as though it was a hard decision for Anne,” Terence resumed.

“She didn’t succumb to the pressure immediately.

“She and Albert apparently continued to meet in secret, in a quiet spot . . .”

“Under the oak tree,” Jenneth finished for him. Terence nodded. “The woman who lived in the cottage at the time allowed them their privacy, Albert said.

“I think he was well-liked in the village.

“But after Anne told him she’d decided to marry the other man, he left and settled here.”

“Did he ever marry?” Jenneth wondered.

“No. He made a good life for himself, but he never forgot Anne.”

“That was why he had the local newspaper sent to him – in case there was anything about her in it,” Jenneth realised. “That’s right.”

“So he heard about her death from the paper?”

“Yes. When he read that she’d asked for some of her ashes to be scattered beneath their tree . . . well, it seemed to him that she’d never forgotten him, either.”

Over a second cup of tea Terence explained how Alfred had given him the letter addressed to Front Oak Cottage.

“He wasn’t feeling well enough to post it himself, he told me, and indeed he died that night in his sleep.”

There was another silence.

“I felt uneasy about the letter,” Terence went on. “But I’d promised and . . .”

“It’s OK,” Jenneth said. “I understand.”

And she did. For the first time, she felt able to discuss the letter.

“I don’t know for sure,” she said hesitantly, “because I didn’t open the package, I just buried it, but from the feel of it I think there may have been a ring inside.”

“Maybe one he’d bought her,” Terence suggested.

They talked a while longer, with Jenneth telling him what she knew about Anne, which wasn’t much.

“I’m quite good friends with Anne’s daughter, Elena,” she explained.

“But Elena is much more likely to talk about her father, whom she absolutely adored.”

“Does Elena have any brothers or sisters?” Terence asked.

“No. She was an only child.”

“I wonder,” he continued after a pause, “whether Alfred may have been Elena’s father.

“It was just something he once said to me that makes me suspect . . .”

He broke off as his wife came into the room to say their meal was ready and that Jenneth was welcome to join them.

She hadn’t eaten all day, beyond a snack on the motorway, but she said she’d best be on her way. She’d disturbed them enough and it was getting late.

The roads were thankfully quieter on her return journey, and when she left the motorway there was no other traffic at all, just Jenneth and a large moon shining down.

****

From the window of his sitting-room, Flyn was looking at the same moon.

On his lonely walks in the fields behind the cottages, he’d often welcomed its companionship.

The walks had been to help him sleep.

But it had grown on him that the truth was he didn’t want to sleep.

Jenneth had told him that she’d decided to leave the city for the countryside because she’d had dreams of forests and pastures.

It was as though they were calling her, she’d said.

He had moved here because of disturbance to his slumbers as well. But his were nightmares.

The blare of emergency sirens, the glare of lights.

He’d been all right. Just a few scratches. The man in the other car was, too.

But because of the way his vehicle hit the wall, Marisa, his wife of just two wonderful years, was dead.

It wasn’t his fault – the accident report was clear about that.

Not your fault. Everyone said so: his friends, colleagues, family, and Marisa’s family, too.

He should have been grateful for their support. But he wasn’t.

They were good people, trying to help him. Yet he had lost his temper with them.

He supposed it was the guilt. Whatever anyone said, he’d been the one driving the car, hadn’t he?

So he’d made the decision to move away from everyone who knew what had happened.

He hadn’t cared much where he went, and he’d ended up in his present job simply because he was offered it. Same with his cottage in the village, too.

The place had been available and it had a decent rail connection.

There was no way he would get behind the steering wheel of a car again.

Lately, things seemed to have been getting better.

He no longer took nocturnal walks, and the nightmares had stopped.

Finding himself at last ready to believe that the accident was in no way his fault, he’d even pondered buying a car again.

Michele at work was selling hers, but it wasn’t quite what he wanted so he’d decided to leave it for the moment.

His thoughts returned to Jenneth.

Where was she? He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong.

Again, he wished he had her phone number. Who might have it? She spent a lot of time up at the Hall, he recalled.

It had been after he mentioned Elena’s mother’s ashes being scattered beneath the oak tree behind Jenneth’s cottage that she had seemed to change.

Putting on his jacket, he set off for the grand building.

As he approached the entrance, all lit up against the darkness, he noticed Isabella sitting on a bench with Nathan.

Weren’t he and Jenneth meant to be dating?

Suddenly, Flyn realised what had caused his change in attitude, and why he hadn’t bought Michele’s car.

The high spot of his day was getting a lift into town from Jenneth, which he wouldn’t need if he had his own vehicle.

Somewhere along the way, he’d fallen for her.

****

On the last leg of her drive back to the village, Jenneth pulled her car into a lay-by when her phone rang. It was Elena.

“Where are you?” Elena asked.

“Driving home,” Jenneth said warily.

She hadn’t decided quite what she was going to do with the information she’d discovered.

“Right.” Elena paused and Jenneth realised she sounded awkward.

“I feel I should tell you this,” Elena said, “before you hear it from someone else.

“I don’t want it to affect our friendship . . .”

Jenneth frowned. What was coming next on this day of surprises?

“The young man you brought with you to the party?

“I’m afraid he’s here tonight with Isabella.”

At some point on her journey, Jenneth had found herself thinking about how Nathan had ingratiated himself with Isabella.

“It won’t affect our friendship, Elena,” Jenneth replied, “not one bit.”

She’d always recognised he was ambitious, but now she was ready to accept a feeling that had been growing on her.

He used people to further those ambitions.

He’d dated her because he’d thought she’d help to expand his family business.

She’d had a successful career in PR. She knew all the tricks.

Jenneth had seen Nathan’s face when he’d finally glimpsed the grand inside of the Hall.

Isabella knew all the right people and could open all the right doors.

“It won’t last with Isabella, Jenneth,” Elena continued.

“Honestly, it’s OK,” she reassured Elena.

“Good. Well, look, the reason I phoned is he wants to speak to you.” “Nathan?”

“No, your neighbour. I’ll pass the phone to him.” “Hi,” Flyn said.

“Hi. Is something wrong?” “No, but I was worried when you didn’t go to the gym today and you weren’t at home.

“And what with you asking about private detectives the other day . . .”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, “and I don’t need a detective. Something was puzzling me, but it’s sorted out now.”

“See you soon then?” “Yes.”

Twenty minutes later, she parked her car at the cottage and went down to the old oak tree.

“I did it,” she said to herself. “I solved the mystery.”

Was it a story that should be heard, she wondered. Should Alfred and Anne’s love be acknowledged? Her mobile rang again. To her surprise, it was Nathan.

“I saw your car coming into the village a few minutes ago,” he said. “Fancy a quick drink?”

She smiled. It seemed Isabella had got fed up of him in record time!

Before she could reply, he continued.

“I didn’t have a chance to ask before you hurried off, but why were you interested in subscribers from outside our area?”

“I was just wondering whether small newspapers like yours attracted readers from further away,” she said.

She didn’t like lying, but there was no way she was telling Nathan the real reason – he’d have the story all over the next issue of the paper with no regard for anyone’s feelings.

She’d answered her question about whether Alfred and Anne’s story should be told.

It should not. They’d kept it secret all their lives.

Who was she to go broadcasting it now, especially since it might cause pain to Elena, who’d been so kind to her.

“So, the drink?” Nathan reminded her.

“No, thanks,” she said and ended the call.

Flyn was coming out of his cottage towards her. “You’re home,” he said. “Home,” she repeated, thinking how the village had come to mean more to her than anywhere else she’d lived.

She knew why. Didn’t they say home was where the heart is?

Suddenly, she realised, her heart was with Flyn.

Just as her opinion of Nathan had worsened over the time she’d known him, the opposite had happened with Flyn.

He’d become special to her some while ago, but she’d sensed an armour round him that had made her think there was no chance of a relationship between them.

But when he’d phoned her tonight, something in his voice, and the look on his face now, had given her hope there was a very good chance!

Beside her, the oak tree started making whispering noises.

But was it just the wind stirring its branches?

Or were they perhaps recalling the sad love affair that had once been played out beneath them, and now chattering in excited anticipation of witnessing a new and happier one?

Smiling, Jenneth reached out and touched the tree’s bark, then took Flyn’s outstretched hand.

The End.