Polly was waiting when Will arrived with the boatyard’s Land Rover after breakfast on Sunday morning to pick up her and the two dogs.
“How long will it take to reach the moor?” she asked, settling herself in and snapping her seatbelt on.
“About half an hour,” Will said. “Shouldn’t be too much traffic around this time of the morning.”
Will was right and they were soon speeding through picturesque villages with their thatched roofs and colourful cottage gardens. Rattling over a cattle grid onto the moor proper the scenery began to change as Will drove further inland. Enclosures with granite stone walls and gnarled wind-battered old trees gave way to open moorland.
Pulling into a gravelled parking area, Will finally stopped the Land Rover.
“That’s some view,” Polly said gazing at the wide panorama before her. “So much space.”
Clipping Solo and Rosie onto their leads, Will and Polly took the right hand path out of the car park which soon petered out and they were walking across the moor itself. The grass here had been nibbled almost out of existence by the various animals that roamed freely over the moor.
As they walked Will asked, “So tell me about yourself, Polly Jones. Any brothers or sisters?”
Polly shook her head. “No. Spoilt only child that’s me.” She shortened Rosie’s extended lead slightly pulling her back from some foul smelling mess she’d wanted to roll in.
“Anyway, there’s not a lot to tell — I’m quite boring really. Hate boats as you know, but love the countryside. This to me is wonderful,” she said looking around. “Had various office jobs after college before landing my last job managing a travel agents. Did that for three years before I was made redundant. I used the redundancy money to set up my business. —so now I’m a virtual assistant to whoever wants to pay me. Your turn.”
“Well, for a start I can’t imagine my life without boats in it, although I also love all this countryside,” Will said. “I’ve never been to college although I did manage a couple of A levels. Dad wouldn’t let me join Robertsons straight from school. Insisted I needed to get some experience away from here. So I did some yacht deliveries and saw the world. But now I’m back home and I’m staying.” He glanced at her. “And, just for the record, you are not boring, Miss Pollyanna.”
At the unexpected use of a name nobody had called her for years, Polly felt the tears welling up. Biting her lip, she scrambled in her pocket for a tissue.
Will looked at her, concerned. “What did I say?”
Polly shook her head. “Sorry. It’s nothing. It’s just my dad used to call me that when he was teasing me.” She gave an unladylike sniff. “I’m fine.”
“Sure? I promise not to use it again if it upsets you,” Will said.
Polly smiled. “It was nice hearing it again actually,” she said. “Now which way do we go?”
“We’re making for that tor,” Will said pointing to a bundle of large rocks on the horizon. “And then we’ll pick up the old china clay railway track to head back to the car. With luck we should see some Dartmoor ponies along the way.”
“Ooh,” Polly said. “That would be good.”
“Yeah, Angie told me you were into horses.”
He’d been talking to Angie about her again? Inwardly Polly speculated about what else Angie might have told him.
They walked past ancient stone circles, a small reservoir, groups of sheep, and then to Polly’s amazement the ground began to slope away and within minutes they were standing on a narrow strip of sandy beach alongside a stream.
“This place is full of surprises,” she said, laughing as Solo chased Rosie into the water and got their leads tangled. “I thought it was going to be all bogs and granite outcrops.”
“We have to cross the stream via those stepping stones,” Will said. “Mind you don’t slip.” He released both the dogs from their leads before stepping onto the first stone and turning to give Polly a helping hand.
His hand grasped Polly’s firmly and she tried to ignore the giddy shiver of breathlessness she experienced as her hand was engulfed in Will’s work roughened one. Once she was safely across the stream he let her hand go as they put the dogs back on their leads.
“Seems a shame they can’t run free,” Polly said.
“Impossible at this time of the year. Too many in-lamb sheep around, not to mention the ground nesting birds,” Will said.
The moor on this side of the stream started out as a gentle gradient but soon became steeper and covered in ferns before levelling out once again. In the distance Polly saw four or five of the legendary Dartmoor ponies clustered around the bottom of the tor she and Will were aiming for.
They settled into a rhythmic walk, with Will telling her bits about the history of the moor. The way the granite and china clay quarries that used to operate on the moor were initially responsible for the single track railway line built for transporting the granite off the isolated terrain.
“Of course back in the 1800s it was all done using pony power,” Will said as they reached the tor and stopped to watch the grazing ponies.
“I’m surprised we’ve seen so few ponies,” Polly said. “I always thought Dartmoor was full of them.”
Will shook his head. “Not these days. Less than three thousand of them now — and they all belong to someone. No purely wild ponies up here any more.”
“Love that piebald one,” Polly said. “I plan on buying one just like him one day.”
“Right, time to make tracks for home,” Will said glancing at his watch.
An hour later and two very tired dogs were spreadeagled on the back seat of the Land Rover as Will drove homewards. They were nearly back at The Captain’s Berth when Will asked, “How’s the business report for Worldsend coming along? Nearly finished?”
“Hoping to complete it in the next couple of days,” Polly said. “I need to be home by this time next weekend.”
“Like to come to a beginning of the season party Friday night?” Will asked. “A few of the local businesses get together to wish everyone a good year. There’s usually a band and a bit of dancing.”
“Sounds like fun, thank you,” Polly said. “And Will, thank you for this morning, I’ve really enjoyed myself.”
“Me too,” Will said.