Page 90 of The Seaside Homecoming
Sonali nodded and finished her tea.
Claire was surprised at her acceptance but made no comment.
After cleaning up the breakfast things, Claire put on sturdy half boots, a bonnet, and a long pelisse over her day dress, as Mr. Hammond had warned her it might be windy and cooler on the hilltop. Then she went up to meet the men in the hall.
In his shabby brown suit, Mr. Filonov put her in mind of a pack mule carrying a heavy load: easel, canvas, folding stool, and a case of art supplies. She offered to carry something for him, and he handed her the collapsed easel. Mr. Hammond carried the heavier stool.
Mr. Hammond, dressed in his usual kit, led the way, stool under one arm, walking stick in the other. They took the Byes footpath along the River Sid, then crossed the wooden bridge near the water mill.
They walked along the road for a time, passing a wagon loaded with produce and a man in a donkey cart. Eventually they diverted from the road and took a narrow path, which grew steeper as they went.
As the path curved and the foliage thinned, the sea below came into view. Breathing heavily, Mr. Filonov stopped and said, “You go on. I will paint here.”
They helped him set up his stool and easel before continuing onward and upward.
Mr. Hammond strode in front of her, occasionally swinging his stick at some unsuspecting bush or sapling growing along the path.
After a time, Claire called, “May I go first for a while? You are taller and blocking my view.”
He turned to face her, then stepped to the side of the trail. “Of course, madam. Would you like to borrow this?” He held out his walking stick, which seemed to her an affectation.
“No, thank you. I am not yet feeble enough to need a stick.” She grinned at him, hoping he would not mind her teasing.
“Feeble, am I?” he replied with a crooked half grin of his own. “Well, I am older than you are, after all.”
“Exactly. And I would not want to deprive you of your crutch.”
A sparkle lit his eyes, which she credited to her playful gibe. He gestured her ahead of him with a lift of his hand and a little bow. “Watch how you go.”
She swept past him, feeling oddly triumphant, and led the way up the path as it wove between shrubs and brambles. She called over her shoulder, “Now the view is much better!”
From behind her, he said, “I disagree. I find the view from here pleasant indeed.”
Claire’s mouth slackened and her cheeks warmed from more than the exertion. Had he meant ... Surely not. She considered delivering a set down, but at that moment something fell across her face.
She shrieked and stopped midstride, swiping at the web that had draped itself over her like a filmy veil. Something crawled down her neck, eliciting another shriek of alarm. “Get it off! Get it off!”
“What is it?” Mr. Hammond hurried forward, dropping his stick as he came.
“A web. I think a spider crawled down my neck. Look. Is it still there?”
He took his time inspecting her—neck, bodice, waist—then he braced her shoulders and turned her the other way. “If therewas a spider, it probably jumped for its life when you shrieked like that. No, wait, here it is.”
She felt him graze her back as he flicked it off. She shuddered.
Then he turned her once again toward himself, studying her. A translucent string hung from her bonnet, and he carefully peeled it away, then dipped his head to look beneath the brim to better search her face.
“All gone?” she asked.
He reached out and gently cupped her jaw, tilting it one way, then the other. Then he brushed light fingertips down her nose and across her cheek.
“Find something?”
Humor danced in his eyes. “Only a few freckles.”
She huffed and pushed away from him. “Not very gallant to mention them—especially when you have some too.”
He picked up the stick from where he’d dropped it and once again offered it to her.
