A Man For All Seasons by Jenny Brigalow Page A

brushed his. “That'd be great,” she said.
    Carefully he followed behind. He could barely distinguish her in the gloom, but he could hear the whisper of her breath, and her soft scent filled his senses. He breathed in deeply. In his mind's eye he could see her, but strangely it was the girl in the painting he could visualise, not the living breathing woman before him. Vaguely he felt as if he'd missed something, somewhere along the way. But the thoughts drifted away as light flooded out of the kitchen door as Seraphim entered the kitchen.
    He blinked in the sudden glare of light. Seraphim, half in and half out of the pantry presented a strange sight. She'd put on a heavy, navy blue coat over her nightie, which hung just below her knees. Her long legs and feet were bare. Emerging from the pantry, she smiled triumphantly, a half sack of what must have been carrots held in one gloved hand. Wrapped in a black scarf, her face looked pale, and the eyes huge and luminous. Strangely exotic. Strangely beautiful.
    “Found them,” she pronounced. “Come on.”
    He followed her to the cloak room and took the sack from her while she slipped her feet into black wellington boots.
    She must have sensed his eyes upon her for she glanced at him and made a small grimace of dismay. “Not exactly designer wear, is it?”
    “You look just fine,” he said. To his ears the words seemed as flat as day old beer. But to his surprise the generous mouth turned up in a smile.
    She bobbed a funny, mock curtsey. “Why, thank you kind sir.”
    Silently he took the coat she offered to him, and slipped it on. Together they moved outside. The cold bit like a dingo trap. They both stopped as if by silent command. Around them, beneath its sprinkle of silver fairy dust, the world twinkled and glimmered under the moonlit sky. It occurred to him then that it was the perfect setting for his companion. It seemed as if she could magically fade into the white of the night, like a snow sprite.
    She looked at him. “Hell it's cold!”
    He laughed, as her words cleared away his strangely fanciful notions. Her breath frosted before her and one hand clutched the scarf around her face. She was, of course, just flesh and blood. There were no words in his vocabulary to describe his emotions when she reached out and took his cold hand into her own soft, woolly one and led him down the silvery path.

Eleven
    A snowy white owl glided over the empty yard, its broad wings making no sound. They paused and watched until it disappeared beneath the cover of a large cedar tree behind the walled garden.
    At the sound of their footsteps the horses began to stir, and soon twenty faces peered at them curiously over the half doors of their stables.
    Seraphim led Chad to the first door and patted the grey face. She turned but he'd anticipated her request and she took the carrot he offered and fed it to the horse. “This is Shadowfax. He's six now. I named him when Dad bought him as a yearling. I was in a Lord of the Rings phase at the time.”
    Slowly they made their way around the rows of eager faces. At each door they stopped and Seraphim introduced each resident and fed a carrot. She was not surprised to find that he knew a number of the horses by name.
    At Pollyanna's door she felt a tug of sadness and regret. The big mare sniffed her head gently and blew a warm stream of air into her face. Seraphim gave her several large carrots and hugged her around the neck to say goodbye.
    Chad finally broke the silence. “She's a nice mare.”
    Seraphim nodded and patted her neck before reluctantly moving on. “She is very kind and very generous. Really, she doesn't have a bad bone in her body.”
    “Good horse.”
    She felt ridiculously pleased by his words. Not so much by what he said, for his words were few, but more so by the underlying approval in his tone. Approval for Pollyanna, of course, but also, she felt sure, for herself.
    When she'd bumped into him at the house (and gotten