The Gypsy Madonna - Book VI- Extract

I had never seen my mother like that; at least, not that I could remember. It was the way she walked, her hips swaying from side to side, so that her dress danced about her body as if it had a life of its own. She looked beautiful. She looked happy. When we reached the stable block they lingered talking on the cobbles. The horses were out with Jacques Reynard but the place smelt of their sweat, hay and manure, a smell that would cause my heart to stumble with nostalgia years later when I crossed the Atlantic to set my roots down in a foreign soil.

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