Hannah Fielding Echoes Of The Past

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It was at the end of her talk that she found out. She was just answering a question from a lady fascinated by the Elgin Marbles, when a man’s voice broke in:

“You know, to this day the Greeks hotly contest that we have the right to keep these artefacts in Britain. They think Elgin had no right to take them, and that the museum should send them back to Athens, to stand alongside the rest of the Parthenon Marbles.”

From the first word, the man had turned Lydia to stone. Not because his words were contentious – which they were to Lydia, a loyal employee of the British Museum – but because she knew that voice.

“Hello, Lydia,” he said while she just stood there, utterly frozen. “It’s been a long time.”

Her body moved as if on autopilot, turning her so that she could see him.

A soft “Oh” escaped her lips as she took him in: tall as ever, and with the same startlingly blue eyes and slightly crooked smile that she remembered. The grey amid his chestnut hair was new – but it suited him. He had somehow always seemed so much older than a twenty-something back when she had known him.

Back when she had known him… it had been almost fifteen years!

“Daniel,” she said. “I… how… it’s…

” She wasn’t aware that she had moved, swayed, but she must have, because suddenly his hand was on her arm, steadying her.

“Let’s sit,” he suggested. Lydia looked around. Vaguely, she registered that the lady with the Elgin questions had discreetly melted away. The crowd had dispersed, and the room was quietening.

She saw a bench, and raised a trembling hand to point at it, but Daniel, it seemed, had other ideas.

“Lunch,” he declared.

“Come on.”