LITMIR.BIZ

       1

      With a history that spanned more than a century, Victoria Park had changed surprisingly little in the intervening years. The original geometric design, which incorporated manicured lawns, intersecting pathways and ornate flowerbeds had been faithfully preserved within its sandstone walls. It couldn’t compare to the unrestrained Cheshire countryside that circled the town of Sedgefield, but what the park did offer was a consistent link from one generation to the next.

      There had, of course, been some changes over the years. The trees lining the main avenue had matured, dirt paths had been paved, cobbles had been replaced by concrete, and the bowling green, bandstand and children’s playground had all undergone various cycles of disrepair and rejuvenation. But for the most part the park’s gentle evolution had gone unnoticed.

      In one particular corner, on the north side of the ornamental lake, the passage of time had been noticed least of all. It was here you would find a single wrought iron bench nestled between a steep embankment and the water’s edge. It was one of the park’s originals although it was true to say that visitors were more likely to remember the view they had taken in, the conversations they had shared or the thoughts they had explored rather than the unremarkable seat they had settled back upon.

      There was, however, one person who had noticed the bench. She knew each curve of its intricate iron frame and every wooded knot buried beneath the layers of chipped paint. But then Maggie Carter knew Victoria Park better than most. She had grown up in Sedgefield and now lived close enough to hear the creak of the park’s gates from her doorstep. It called to her and she rarely resisted, even in the depths of winter when the wind gathered momentum across the playing fields and sucked the air out of her lungs.

      The main avenue which sliced the park in half led directly to Sedgefield High Street where Maggie worked, but given a choice she preferred to meander along its circuitous twisting paths. Only occasionally, if the weather was too awful, was she forced to forgo her usual detour to the lake. Thankfully, today was not one of those days.

      Harvey sniffed the air as they made their way through a small coppice where, overhead, branches scraped nervously against each other in the breeze. April was

Скачать книгу