Yes, he gave her pleasure to watch.

Pleasure and a sharp wrench of distress as well, because he was always at a distance. She had tried to get to know him. He mocked her, clearly determined in his view that she was fluffy nonsense. She’d made a fool of herself when she’d tried to express a view about poverty and responsible birth control. Although what had possessed her to share her opinion on such a matter? It was hardly small talk. Her mother always insisted there was a reason for small talk. It was a way of throwing a rope across a huge chasm; if enough ropes were tied together they made a bridge. Vivian was too impatient for that. She had seen so many stuck at the stage of ‘Isn’t the weather good for the time of year?’ and that wasn’t at all satisfactory. She’d hoped he’d be intolerant of small talk too.

He’d forgotten all about her. Even though it was she who had brought him here, freed him from that dark and dingy cell. One would expect gratitude.

Not that she wanted his gratitude.

She’d watched him politely nod at the old women who hung around thresholds in gossipy clusters, even though he must be aware that, as often as not, he was the vilified subject of their conversations. He smiled at the clusters of kids playing hopscotch or marbles. The men who spat at him, he looked in the eye.

He never glanced her way.

He seemed impervious to her. She was used to having an effect. Had she lost it all? Her looks? Youth? Vitality? She had just turned twenty years old; could it all have vanished, washed down the plughole as she scrubbed leeks grown in her own garden?

She’d seen him stop to talk to Timmy Durham, practically the only other young man left in the village. The one they said was dropped when he was a baby and was therefore not fit for service. Timmy smiled back and, short of pals himself, sometimes followed Howard through the village. She thought Howard would try to shake him off, but he didn’t.

One day, as she fed the hens, she noticed the two of them mending the roof on the barn. She stared from a distance, secure that she was concealed behind an enormous pile of firewood and the washing that was flapping on the line. Timmy held the ladder steady; he passed up the tools and materials that were needed. She could see that Howard was explaining to him exactly what was required; Timmy was listening intently, head cocked to one side, face twisted with concentration. After five minutes or so, Howard looked up and stared right at her. It was as though he’d known she was there all along. Sensed her. She didn’t know how to reconcile that with believing he had forgotten her existence. His eyes bored holes. Somehow his glance embodied everything he stood for. It was independent, peaceful, challenging.