A Dream of Wessex Read Online Free Page B

others, and constructed along the same lines. Even the goods on offer were similar, at first sight, to those peddled from stalls all along the Boulevard. The wooden surface of the counter had been covered with a green woollen cloth, and spread out across this was a selection of hand-crafted goods: wooden bowls and candlesticks, ornamented chess-sets, brooches and armbands set with polished semi-precious stones, unglazed pottery; each item seemed well made and substantial, but with an appealing roughness to the finish that served only to emphasize the essential craft.
    In this way the goods differed from those offered at the other stalls, for they sold inexpensive but uniform wares, mass-produced in cooperatives on the mainland. This individual quality was not lost on the tourists, for the stall was attracting more customers than most of the others.
    Cro glanced disparagingly at the goods, and at the people selling them.
    There were two women and a man behind the simple counter. One of the women sat upright on a stool at the back, but she was at ease and with her eyes closed. She wore the clothes that the Commission men had immediately recognized, the plain, dull-brown hand woven garments that were worn by the entire community at Maiden Castle. The man and the other woman were both younger, although the man - who was thin and pale, and had prematurely balding hair-was moving slowly, as if tired.
    Mander and Cro lingered by the stall for a few moments, and although the young woman serving noticed their approach she gave no sign of recognition. Mander, who had often remarked to himself on her pretty face and attractive figure, was hoping she might look his way again so that he could give her a secret reassuring smile, but she seemed determined to ignore them.
    At last they walked on, and went up the steps to the patio of Sekker’s Bar.
    As they sat down at a vacant table, a distant explosion sounded across the bay, echoing from Purbeck Island in the south. This was the cannon mounted above Blandford Passage, which was fired twice a day to warn shipping and swimmers of the flood tide. At this hour of the day few people would be swimming, and apart from the fishing boats outside the harbour there were only one or two private yachts in sight. As usual, many people moved to the sea wall at the sound of the cannon, for a first sight of the tidal bore, but it would not be visible for several more minutes.
    Cro said: ‘How much do you know about the new man?’
    ‘Harkman? As much as you.’
    ‘I thought he’d been appointed to your department.’
    Mander shook his head, but vaguely; an evasion, not a denial. ‘He’s working on some kind of research.’
    ‘Is he English?’
    ‘No, British. His mother defected from Scotland.’ Mander looked across the Boulevard, and out to sea. ‘I gather he’s visited the States.’
    Cro nodded as if he knew this already, but said: ‘West or East?’
    ‘Both, so far as I know. Look, I think that must be Nadja Morovin.’
    A man and a young woman were strolling past Sekker’s, arm in arm. The woman whom Mander had indicated, wore a wide-brimmed hat low over her face, but her sleeves were rolled up and her skirt was short, provocatively revealing the pallor of her plump limbs. The glamorous couple were affecting not to notice the fact that she was instantly recognizable, and as they walked slowly through the crowd they seemed not to realize that the people approaching them were stepping unobtrusively to one side. Behind them, people stared openly, and a short way away a young man - apparently a tourist from the States - was taking one photograph after another, using a powerful telephoto lens.
    A few moments later, Mander and Cro lost sight of them as they went into the tide-skimmer shop.
    ‘Isn’t that the hydrofoil?’ Mander said.
    Cro looked out to sea again, then stood up for a better view, even though the patio at Sekker’s gave one of the best panoramas in town. Several hundred