As she neared them she could see through the trees into the field beyond where three brightly painted, old-fashioned caravans stood on the long grass with their doors flung wide open, steps leading from their dark interiors to the ground. A cluster of muscular cart horses grazed lazily in the sunshine and a line of washing hung from the back of one caravan to a crooked stick which they had obviously found in the wood. The girls climbed over the fence and ran up to stroke the horses who continued to eat as if they hadn’t noticed them. ‘What a lovely sight,’ mused Cicely, opening the gate. ‘I love having them here because they look so picturesque. Marcel says he’s going to paint them. Panazel’s very proud, though. He’d hate to think of himself as a picture on a chocolate box. One has to be tactful. But between you and me it really is a quaint sight, isn’t it?’ Audrey agreed and followed her across the paddock.
‘Mummy, isn’t he sweet!’ Leonora cried in delight, patting the horse’s neck. ‘Do you think we can ride him?’
‘You’ll have to ask Panazel,’ said Cicely. ‘There’s a smaller one, a pony, but I imagine he’s taken him out for a ride.’
‘They’re going to be riding at Colehurst House,’ said Audrey, smiling back at Leonora who was angling for her mother’s attention.
‘Of course. Heavenly,’ Cicely exclaimed, sighing with nostalgia. ‘I used to spend the entire summer galloping across those hills when I was a child. They’re going to adore that school. If I had daughters I’d send them there too.’ Audrey wondered why she had never had children, she obviously liked them and her home was tailor-made for them. But Cicely seemed to harbour no bitterness and besides, she had her dogs who now circled the caravan and horses barking loudly. The horses continued to munch on the grass, lifting their heads up every now and then to survey the scene and nod away the flies. Then just when the twins were about to sneak a peek inside the caravans one of the horses neighed loudly and pricked his ears forward as Panazel and Florien emerged from the woods that lined the end of the field leading a small piebald pony whose back was laden with two large barrels of water. ‘He’s very handsome, don’t you think?’ Cicely hissed at Audrey.
‘Very,’ Audrey replied, watching them approach. Panazel was tall and strongly built with the rough, unkempt appearance of a man who has worked all his life with his hands and lived off the land. His skin was darkened by the outdoors and weathered by uncertainty as well as the years and he walked bowlegged at a slow pace, as if the days were long and life was long so there was no reason to hurry. His son, Florien, watched the strange people who waited for them by the caravans with suspicious eyes partly obscured behind a long black fringe. He was twelve years old and went to the school in the village when he remembered. He hated school and sat sulking at the back of the class dreaming of riding up on the hills and working with his father in Mrs Weatherby’s garden.
‘Good day to you, Mrs Weatherby,’ said Panazel, nodding his head in respect. Florien mumbled the same then stared at the twins with eyes the colour of bark. The twins stared back at him with curiosity; they had never seen a real gypsy boy before and he was more handsome than any of the boys they had met in the Argentine.
‘I’d like you to meet my sister-in-law who’s going to be living with me for a few weeks while her daughters settle into their new school. They’ve come all the way over from the Argentine.’ Panazel nodded at Audrey and Florien looked at the twins with more interest than ever. Although he didn’t know where the Argentine was, he imagined it was somewhere very far away. He wondered whether they spoke English or French perhaps, he knew a bit of French from school. ‘This is Alicia and this is Leonora,’ continued Cicely, pointing at the girls. Florien was at once taken with Alicia whose beauty never failed to bewitch and Alicia, who recognized the look of admiration that had suddenly lit up his face, smiled at him self-confidently. ‘Alicia wants to watch you kill a chicken,’ said Cicely. Alicia looked at Panazel who frowned his disapproval. He thought it an odd request from someone so lovely.
‘When will you be eating chicken again, Mrs Weatherby?’ he asked, taken aback by the child’s lofty gaze as she continued to fix him with her pale eyes.
Cicely shrugged, ‘Well, I hadn’t thought, really. I suppose we could have another for lunch tomorrow, we do have trillions of chickens, don’t we, Panazel?’
‘There’s no shortage of chickens,’ he said and chuckled.