Cinnabar Summer by Danielle Shaw

Author:Danielle Shaw [Danielle Shaw]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780709099413
Publisher: Robert Hale
Published: 2012-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

Leaving Stephen with his tea, Rosemary headed for the shower. He, meanwhile, took stock of his surroundings. Last night in the moonlight this room had been merely a blur of distorted shapes and shadows. The bedroom itself wasn’t large. Apart from a brass bedstead, bentwood chair and some shelves, there was only a simple wash-stand, complete with china jug and basin. With no space for a wardrobe, a small alcove had been screened off in the same floral print as the curtains – he presumed for Rosemary’s clothes.

Far removed from her small yet elegant family house in the home counties, Stephen studied Rosemary’s selection of books, photos and sentimental treasures displayed upon the shelves. There was no need to ask her about her life. It was all here in this room.

A shuttered look came over Stephen’s face. How different from his own flat, where his walls, unlike Rosemary’s, were practically bare. They divulged nothing of his life, past or present. Quite simply because there was little he wished to be reminded of. Nothing he cared for other than a single family photograph album, kept in a bedside cabinet.

After breakfast, when Rosemary suggested a walk, Stephen agreed immediately. Weeks of filming had left him mentally and physically drained. Now, with the sun shining brightly in a vast expanse of azure-blue sky, he breathed in great gulps of ozone-laced air and reached for Rosemary’s hand. What was it she’d also said? With the Easter holidays over and this part of the coastline well away from the main tourist trap … What could be more perfect than being alone with her?

Newly invigorated, Stephen bent down to kiss the top of her head, a warm glow pervading his body. Saying nothing, Rosemary simply looked up at him and smiled. There was no need for words. It was almost as if her own relaxed state of being (a far cry from the tense, nervous woman he’d taken to bed last night) had transmitted itself through their entwined fingertips.

Strolling hand in hand, Rosemary took great delight in pointing out assorted wildlife, numerous wild flowers and nesting sites of visiting birds. Stephen was fascinated. His attention drawn to a bird singing high on the wing, he learned how the drier slacks of dunes provided the ideal nesting spot for skylarks.

Moments later, approaching large clumps of yellow ragwort, Rosemary explained, ‘It won’t be long now before these are all covered in cinnabar caterpillars.’

Stephen grimaced, reminded of the dreaded cabbage-white caterpillars that plagued his father’s vegetables.

‘Oh, but you’d love these,’ she said playfully. ‘They might begin life as Watford supporters but they soon transfer their allegiance to The Blades.’

Stephen turned to follow her footsteps into the sand dunes. ‘You’ve lost me, I’m afraid. I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘The cinnabar. From black and yellow caterpillars they transform into magnificent black and scarlet moths. Although some purists might argue black and vermilion. In case you were wondering … not all moths come out at night.’

‘Moths, butterflies. I wouldn’t know the difference anyway,’ Stephen remarked with a grin.

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