Many times, as he tried to sit still, he semi-jumped. It was almost her – but never her enough. Pretty girls, plain girls – boys too – rode past. He wrote another postcard to his father and Alyson and pictured their delight at hearing from him twice in a short space of time. Might make Christian, on being excluded, sit up a bit.He broke away from his vigil at lunch time and walked up the main street, past shops with old fashioned wooden showcases. Up one narrow street leading off it, he concentrated on the sight of an ancient tower with a cluster of trees reaching the skies from its top.The chances were that Patricia ate her lunch indoors – rather than cycling about. He dipped into a wine store. Beneath it was a cave that housed about a thousand bottles, covered in dust and cobwebs. Not only had bottles escaped the war but, also, many of the drinkers who went before it.These sporadic perusals of waiting and wandering lasted for four days. On the fifth he sat, at his usual place outside the bar and Patricia rode past, looked in his direction, smiled, parked her bicycle and joined him.Her presence did nothing to help with his inner commotion.
