Saddle the Wind
“But on the other hand you are rather young.’ Having already been interviewed by Mrs Andrews – and presumably having passed the test – Blanche now faced the woman’s husband. She sat in a wing chair before him in the library of Highfield, the Andrews’s house on the edge of Ashton Wick, a village two miles to the west of Colford. In his early fifties, David Andrews was a solicitor, a tall man, lean and angular, with a heavy moustache. ‘When we advertised the post,’ he said, ‘my wife and I rather h...ad in mind someone a little older.’ ‘I shall be nineteen next month.’ ‘Even so …’ He looked perplexed. ‘And how will you get here every day, from Colford?’ ‘Walk.’ ‘You won’t mind that?’ He gestured to the window, beyond which a November sun shone down on a well-kept lawn. ‘It’s a fine day today – but what about when the snow comes. Two miles isn’t far – but in very bad weather it might seem a very long way.’ ‘I’m young, sir. A two-mile walk won’t mean much to me.’ He smiled.MoreLess
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