The Quiet Bloom

ge had no

t and the hills unspoiled. The road, now sun-dappled and lined with eucalyptus, welcomed her with the faint ru

unched against the gravel path that led up to her grandmother's old house - a two-storey dwelling of red clay bricks an

s - a well-published literature lecturer at the Universi

of jasmine and

nhabitant, veiling bookshelves and windowsills like mourning cloth. She stood in the centre of the parlour, letting her eyes trac

The first true

-

abour was almost therapeutic - it asked nothing of her heart, only her hands. As she

- the back. Th

ite shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, arms veined and sun-kissed. In

not a question, but a stat

es

e glanced over her shoulder at the once-blooming flower beds behind the house, now wilted with

of his stance. He was not a man given to pleasantries, she sensed

accepting the basket. Th

r chat, disappearing behind a tall hedge of rosemary t

-

s the sun gave its last sigh beyond the hills. The scent of lavender drifte

niel

his restraint, his quiet grief, perhaps - felt lik

n't come he

me here to

-