There are several houses poised on the edge of a cliff, too few to be called a village. It looks like the houses have just roosted there, like birds, and will fly away at any moment. It’s windy when Enid steps from the bus, so windy that it knocks her suitcase against her legs and tries to rip the cardigan from her shoulders. The bus exhales and moves off. Enid looks around, thinking he hasn’t come, but there he is, standing stiffly beside a telephone pole. He’s wearing a suit. They walk towards each other at the same time, embrace awkwardly. He pats her back. She knocks her face against his collarbone. “You dressed up for my arrival,” says Enid. “I’m touched.” “Don’t flatter yourself. It was either this or my holey green jumper and torn grey flannels. I don’t have much company, and the birds don’t care that I look a fright.” James takes Enid’s suitcase from her. “Is this all you have?” “I travel light. My flat was bombed in the war, remember.
