Dialogues of the Dead

Hat Bowler's lunch had passed with much less drama. He had taken Rye first of all into a wooded gully where they spotted enough birds to justify the expedition. She listened to his expert commentary with apparent interest but he was careful not to go on too long and risk boredom setting in. Also he was aware that the clouds were getting ever lower and wanted to make sure that their lunch at least was not spoilt by the inevitable rain. They found a sheltered spot under a huge outcrop of rock from which several loose boulders had detached themselves over the years. He set about kicking it clear of sheep droppings and, when he caught her watching him with some amusement, he said apologetically, 'Yeah, I know, it's like eating in a sheep's toilet, but they know a thing or two about shade in summer and shelter in winter.' 'Where there's shit there's shelter, isn't that what the shepherds say?' laughed Rye. 'I'll have to remember that. OK, that does it, I think.' They sat and ate the assortment of sandwiches he had provided. Despite his promise to be founder of the feast, Rye produced from her knapsack a chocolate-iced sponge cake which she sliced in two. 'Hey, this is good,' he said. 'You bake it?' 'That's not surprise I hear, I hope?' 'Gratitude and delight,' he said. : Things were going well, he felt. She gave every sign of enjoying his company as much as he was enjoying hers, but any hope he had of their growing closeness easing itself into a bit of al fresco grappling vanished when as they drank the rest of the coffee, the; rain began, not much, more an undeniable moistness of the air| than real spots, but enough he guessed to dampen ardour if applied i to naked skin. 1 Quickly they packed up. 'What do you want to do?' he asked. 'I haven't come all this way to leave without taking a look at the famous tarn,' she said. 'And I've not forgotten your interesting bits.' The rain still hadn't really taken a hold by the time they reached the tarn, with the dampness in the air manifesting itself in the form of a general mistiness rather than a downpour. They stood at the water's edge, straining their eyes through the vaporous air towards the further bank where a low stone building was just visible. 'Isn't that the view that Dick painted?' said Rye. 'More or less. Slightly different angle, and a lot better visibility. But that's certainly Stangcreek Cottage.' He put the binoculars to his eyes and added, 'Looks as if there's someone there. I can see smoke coming from the chimney.' 'Oh, good. Somewhere to shelter if this gets any worse.' 'Look, we can head back to the car now if you want,' he said anxiously. 'Worried your make-up might wash off?' she mocked. 'I thought you were the tough outdoor type. Can we walk right round the lake?' 'Well, it's all right as far as the cottage but then it starts to get a bit boggy as you get near to Stang Creek itself. That's the main feed stream for the tam, but all the water that comes running off the hills back there is looking to find a way out too, and the ground's full of little creeks and inlets. No way you aren't going to get your feet wet...' 'You must have been bitten by a rabid duck, all this hydrophobia,' she cut him short. 'Come on. Let's move!' He followed her, mentally noting that macho protectiveness cut no ice with Rye. As he'd promised, there was a track of sorts round the northern side of the mere, dangerous to a car's springs but easy terrain for walkers. The mist thickened as they walked, cutting visibility down to about twenty yards with occasional tantalizing glimpses across the water, and wrapping them in a grey but not unpleasing cocoon. There was very little sound and what there was came mysteriously as from a great distance. No birds sang and the gentle lapping of