The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir by Jennifer Ryan

Author:Jennifer Ryan [Ryan, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical, Humorous, General, Romance, Family Life, Small Town & Rural
ISBN: 9780008163723
Google: N9DrDAAAQBAJ
Publisher: HarperCollins UK
Published: 2017-02-22T16:00:00+00:00

I sprinted up the narrow path and plunged into the wood. I hadn’t been in Peasepotter Wood for years, and yet I still remembered all the tracks, the path to the Pixie Ring. Alastair was heading into the Chestnut Patch, the place Kitty and I used to play as children, their broad, barrel-like trunks as old and sturdy as the whole of England. I thought about her, and how we’d been friends, so long ago.

Alastair suddenly stopped in a clearing, so I darted behind one of the larger chestnuts, peeking my head around the side where I could watch through the shrubbery.

Then I spotted a man up ahead approaching him. He was stocky and powerful, built like a gladiator and dressed in an old suit that was obviously not his as it was too short in the legs and arms.

They spoke for a while in low voices, and I stared at the stranger. He must be a criminal in hiding, living rough, perhaps in the wood itself.

He was furious about something, that was for certain, and I was suddenly afraid for Alastair, afraid for our little village, and utterly petrified of what might happen if he found me there.

Alastair was calmly engaging with him, his hands gesticulating as if trying to pacify him. He took a small packet from his inside pocket and handed it over, and the stranger took it cautiously and went to put it in his pocket, but then changed his mind and wrenched it open, examining the contents. For some reason I’d expected it to be a wad of money, but it wasn’t. There were two little black booklets, and as he turned them over in his hands, I recognized first a ration book and then a passport. Alastair was helping this man to escape the country.

The stranger was getting more heated, flinging the booklets back in the packet and shoving it into his pocket, and as his voice became louder, snarling through the bracken, a flash of frozen horror shot through me as I realized that he wasn’t speaking English. The language he was using, without any doubt, was German.

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