Rochester was languid, laconic and as dry as a nun's gusset. He an intriguing mix of Ted Hughes and Walter Matthau. He mumbled when he spoke. 'You alright petal?' he growled as he approached, like we were meeting for the thousandth time.
We walked a little way, Boo happily trotting ahead through the spiky grass with his strange crab-like gait. I longed to put my arm though Rochester's, but was too nervous to do so. We were very close though. The wind was arctic, we retreated to the cafe for a cup of tea. Poor Boo was tethered like a toddler outside the cafe, watching us with his beady eyes. Rochester took him a bowl of water and a packet of biscuits. We talked about family, teaching, relationships and whether the freakish discovery about SB (the brother) was something that could be overcome.
Later we had about 200 steps to climb, back from the cafe by the sea to the headland. For some reason Boo decided he just wouldn't or couldn't climb them. He plonked his bottom on the stairs and stubbornly refused to move. Then he started to cry and shake. Rochester carefully and gently carried him up the 200 steps. That was the moment I fell for him, the strength and tenderness towards poor shivering Boo. We back to my car and I was willing him to kiss me. But he didn't. That came later.