Pockets
Back turned, Bert was talking to the badger and mole, the two countryside gentleman who had invited them to tea. Mr Burnham and Mr Milton were their names. Perfect hosts, they were sharing the variety of flowers in the front garden, having finished the afternoon tea. Bert had been happy to oblige. Even so, he knew that it was nearly time to leave.
They walked across the pebbled path, discussing their favourite plants, hardly noticing that one of them had fallen behind.
Mary could hardly think of flowers or tea, or even the gentlemen's favourite river. She knew it would soon be time to leave and she would have to say goodbye. Not to her new friends but to an old one.
The wind had called. Faster than she had anticipated; yet, there was no doubt she would go where the wind took her. No questions asked. Except one. Bert had requested one more day before she opened her umbrella, and it had seemed impossible to say no.
She watched him walk ahead; Mr Burnham on his left, Mr Milton on his right. Three gentlemen, only one human. Absorbing the way his dark hair ruffled in the slight breeze, the sound of his voice as it lilted in enthusiasm, and the way he looked so dapper in his tweed suit. Suitable for the occasion.
The thought made her smile lessen, contorting into a frown. Her hand slipped into her dress pocket, pulling out a silver pocket-watch, laying prettily in the palm of her hand. Five minutes. That's all she had left.
Slipping the watch back into the pocket, she noticed Bert peer over his shoulder. Clearly searching for something, or rather, someone. He caught sight of her, a grin spreading. She returned the smile, eager in its own right.
Mary supposed five minutes was better than nothing.