Patrick leaned back in her father’s old chair, the one she had once offered to Farmer Bilton, and smiled at her. He looked so very handsome in the twilight. His teeth and light eyes contrasted starkly with his sun-darkened skin. She wondered if he took his shirt off in the afternoon heat and guessed that he did as it was hardly soiled. His back must have been sorely scratched by the bundles of reeds and brambles he carried away from the pond. ‘I should show you the gun before the light goes completely. Do you still want me to?’ ‘I do.’ In fact, Quinta looked forward to brandishing it at Farmer Bilton. It would surely stop him coming over here and bothering her. Patrick stood up and went to the cowshed, returning to the front door with his rifle. She wondered where he had hidden it for she had looked in there since his father had left and could not see it. She had even moved old straw and tools but still could not find it. ‘Come outside,’ he said, ‘and get used to the weight first.’ She did and almost dropped it, it was so heavy.
