beneath his great girth. He ate in silence, neatly and with concentration. He watched me eat, too, anxious that I should appreciate the food.
'That was lovely,' I said. 'Homemade, I think?'
The gap between the two cats was about ten feet, and to converse we had to raise our voices slightly, giving the conversation a somewhat theatrical air, as though it were some performance. And indeed we had an audience. In the rain-washed light, close to the edge of the woods, a deer, stock-still, regarded us curiously. Unblinking, alert, nostrils twitching. Seeing I had spotted it, it made no attempt to run but decided, on the contrary, not to be afraid.
My companion wiped his fingers on his napkin, then shook it out and folded it into four. 'You liked it then? The recipe was given to me by Mrs. Love. I've been making this cake since I was a child. Mrs. Love was a wonderful cook. A marvelous woman all round. Of course, she is departed now. A good age. Though one might have hoped- But it was not to be.'
'I see.' Though I wasn't sure I did see. Was Mrs. Love his wife? Though he'd said he'd been making her cake since he was a child. Surely he couldn't mean his mother? Why would he call his mother Mrs. Love? Two things were clear, though: He had loved her and she was dead. 'I'm sorry,' I said.
He accepted my condolences with a sad expression, then brightened. 'But it's a fitting memorial, don't you think? The cake, I mean?'
'Certainly. Was it long ago? That you lost her?'
He thought. 'Nearly twenty years. Though it seems more. Or less. Depending on how one looks at it.'
I nodded. I was none the wiser.
For a few moments we sat in silence. I looked out to the deer park. At the cusp of the wood, more deer were emerging. They moved with the sunlight across the grassy park.
The stinging in my leg had diminished. I was feeling better. 'Tell me… ' the stranger began, and I suspected he had needed to pluck up the courage to ask his question. 'Do you have a mother?' I felt a start of surprise. People hardly ever notice me for long enough to ask me personal questions.
'Do you mind? Forgive me for asking, but- How can I put it? Families are a matter of… of… But if you'd rather not- I am sorry.'
'It's all right,' I said slowly. 'I don't mind.' And actually I didn't. Perhaps it was the series of shocks I'd had, or else the influence of this queer setting, but it seemed that anything I might say about myself here, to this man, would remain forever in this place, with him, and have no currency anywhere else in the world. Whatever I said to him would have no consequences. So I answered his question. 'Yes, I do have a mother.'
'A mother! How- Oh, how-' A curiously intense expression came into his eyes, a sadness or a longing. 'What could be pleasanter than to have a mother!' he finally exclaimed. It was clearly an invitation to say more.
'You don't have a mother, then?' I asked.
Aurelius's face twisted momentarily. 'Sadly-I have always wanted- Or a father, come to that. Even brothers or sisters. Anyone who actually belonged to me. As a child I used to pretend. I made up an entire family. Generations of it! You'd have laughed!' There was nothing to laugh at in his face as he spoke. 'But as to an actual mother… a factual, known mother… Of course, everybody has a mother, don't they? I know that. It's a question of knowing who that mother is. And I have always hoped that one day- For it's not out of the question, is it? And so I have never given up hope.'
'Ah.'
'It's a very sorry thing.' He gave a shrug that he wanted to be casual, but wasn't. 'I should have liked to have a mother.' 'Mr. Love-' 'Aurelius, please.' 'Aurelius. You know, with mothers, things aren't always as pleasant as you might suppose.' 'Ah?' It seemed to have the force of a great revelation to him. He peered closely at me. 'Squabbles?' 'Not exactly.' He frowned. 'Misunderstandings?' I shook my head. 'Worse?' He was stupefied. He sought what the problem might be in the sky, in the woods and finally, in my eyes. 'Secrets,' I told him. 'Secrets!' His eyes widened to perfect circles. Baffled, he shook his head, making an impossible attempt to fathom my meaning. 'Forgive me,' he said at last. 'I don't know how to help. I know so very little about families. My ignorance is vaster than the sea. I'm sorry about the secrets. I'm sure you are right to feel as you do.'
Compassion warmed his eyes and he handed me a neatly folded white handkerchief. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'It must be delayed shock.' 'I expect so.' While I dried my eyes he looked away from me toward the deer park. The sky was darkening by slow degrees. Now I followed his gaze to see a shimmer of white: the pale coat of the deer as it leaped lightly into the cover of the trees.
'I thought you were a ghost,' I told him. 'When I felt the door handle move. Or a skeleton.' 'A skeleton! Me! A skeleton!' He chuckled, delighted, and his entire body seemed to shake with mirth. 'But you turned out to be a giant.'
'Quite so! A giant.' He wiped the laughter from his eyes and said, 'There is a ghost, you know-or so they say.'
It's much better now.' 'Wonderful. Wonderful.' Our voices were murmurs in the softening light. 'Who exactly was Mrs. Love?' 'The lady who took me in. She gave me her name. She gave me her recipe book. She gave me everything, really.' I nodded. Then I picked up my camera. 'I think I should be going, actually. I ought to try for some photos at the church before the light quite disappears. Thank you so much for the tea.' 'I must be off in a few minutes myself. It has been so nice to meet you, Margaret. Will you come again?' 'You don't actually live here, do you?' I asked doubtfully. He laughed. It was a dark, rich sweetness, like the cake. 'Bless me, no. I have a house over there.' He gestured toward the woods. 'I just come here in the afternoons. For, well, let's say for contemplation, shall we?' 'They're knocking it down soon. I suppose you know?' 'I know.' He stroked the cat, absently, fondly. 'It's a shame, isn't it? I shall miss the old place. Actually I thought you were one of their people when I heard you. A surveyor or something. But you're not.'
'No, I'm not a surveyor. I'm writing a book about someone who used to live here.'
'The Angelfield girls?'
'Yes.'
Aurelius nodded ruminatively. 'They were twins, you know. Imagine that.' For a moment his eyes were far away.
'Will you come again, Margaret?' he asked as I picked up my bag.
'I'm bound to.'
He reached into his pocket and drew out a card. Aurelius Love, Traditional English Catering for Weddings, Christenings and Parties. He pointed to the address and telephone number. 'Do telephone me when you come again. You must come to the cottage and I'll make you a proper tea.'
Before we parted, Aurelius took my hand and patted it in an easy, old-fashioned manner. Then his massive frame glided gracefully up the wide sweep of steps and he closed the heavy doors behind him.
Slowly I walked down the drive to the church, my mind full of the stranger I had just met-met and befriended. It was most unlike me. And as I passed through the lych-gate, I reflected that perhaps /was the stranger. Was it just my imagination, or since meeting Miss Winter was I not quite myself?
GRAVES
I had left it too late for the light, and photographs were out of the question. So I took my notebook out for my walk in the churchyard. Angelfield was an old community but a small one, and there were not so very many graves. I found John Digence,
Though I looked, I could not see the Angelfield name anywhere. But it did not puzzle me for more than a
