Daglingworth was as pretty as a hundred other little Cotswold settlements. Built around the intersection of two insignificant little roads, it enjoyed a peace and quiet that undoubtedly elevated the property values. The map clearly showed how the modern A417 had replaced older routes to Cirencester, with Daglingworth most likely a point of some importance at some long-gone time. But now the little lanes led nowhere but to other secluded villages or simply formed loops back to the big main road. The starting point of the footpath was somewhere close to the Fosters’ house, and she scanned the lane for a sign. Back towards the centre of the village was an elevated path running alongside the road, presumably constructed in order to keep pedestrians and their dogs clear of any traffic. The houses in view were mostly discreet stone cottages, the colours showing their age.
Peering at the map, she concluded that the path she wanted was adjacent to the old school a little way further down to the right. She set off that way, and found she’d guessed correctly. Pausing to inspect the converted school, she drifted back in time to when it would have rung out with childish voices and a summoning bell. Now it seemed to have become a single dwelling, boasting very generous living space. ‘All right for some,’ she muttered.
A grassy lane presented itself, running in roughly the expected direction, but with no official indication that it was a public path. ‘Must be right,’ said Thea and let the dog off the lead. Hepzie ran ahead a little way and they proceeded comfortably along, enjoying the sunshine and listening to birdsong. The gradient was just enough to make her aware of her breathing. ‘Not as fit as I should be,’ she sighed. Perhaps if she did this walk every other day, she would notice an improvement.
The lane itself was interesting, and she wondered whether it had once been a well-used thoroughfare. It was hard underfoot even after a muddy winter, and was just wide enough for tractors and cars to traverse if necessary. It crossed the little road on which she had driven into the village a few hours earlier and headed for Itlay, which turned out to be almost too small a place to justify a name of its own. The view became more open and traffic was audible. The uphill slope had levelled out, much to her relief.
Hepzie seemed safe enough running free, and the absence of an eager dog pulling at her arm made it easier to pursue her own thoughts. Thoughts which tended towards Drew, as if to a magnet. Drew’s cool, gentle hands; his attentive grey eyes; his easy charm and boyish humour – five years Thea’s junior, he did strike her as inescapably boyish. Falling in love had not embarrassed Drew as much as it had Thea. She had still not disclosed the full extent of her feelings to her daughter, nor to any other relatives. The truth was leaking out, bit by bit, but nothing had actually been said to them. Since the dramatic events around Christmas, less than three months earlier,love h
