Mary John bowed her head. "Yes, Reverend Mother."

"And you have the prescriptions?"

"Yes, Reverend Mother. They’re in my pocket."

"Then off you go. Take the parcel to the post office first."

Mary John pushed a wisp of short brown hair under the grey wimple, picked up the heavy parcel by its string, and bending her head slightly against the thin drizzle, set off down the drive from the convent. A small sinful flutter of pride stirred her heart: Reverend Mother had chosen her, out of all the novices, to do the village errands.

It was eight months since Mary John had entered the convent, and as she followed the grey tarmac towards the village, past damp green hedges, she thought that the outside world was, really, as drab as life within the walls of her new home. The string of the parcel started cutting into her fingers, and she changed hands.

"You look as if you could do with a hand," said a kindly voice, and she turned to see a young man with shoulder-length fair hair, a healthy tan and honest, bright blue eyes, dressed in a brilliant white shirt, blue jeans and clean white trainers. A small rucksack hung between his shoulders.

Flustered, she shook her head and said: "Oh, no, really, it’s perfectly alright, I’m only going into the village to deliver this to the Post Office, and pick up the prescriptions from the chemist."

"Would it bother you if I walked beside you? I’m on my way to the village, too." His smile was sincere and gentle.

Mary John blushed and shook her head.

"Come on, give me that before you cut your fingers off." He took the parcel from her and walked alongside, as Mary John wondered guiltily what Reverend Mother would say if she knew she was walking with a man.

"Let's go this way," he said. "It's a short cut". He indicated a track leading off to the left, and saw Mary John’s indecision.

"Reverend Mother said I was to keep to the main road," she said hesitantly.

"I’m so sorry. I quite understand, we’ll keep on the main road," he smiled his gentle, sympathetic smile.

"Well, if it’s a shortcut, I don’t suppose she would really mind," said Mary John, who suddenly didn’t care whether Reverend Mother would mind or not, and the two of them turned onto the track, which led up a short, steep hill. At the summit they paused, and looking down on Stretton she was surprised to see how the normally dreary little grey village looked surprisingly charming, bathed in the gentle sunlight that had replaced the chilly gloom in which she had set out.

"If you're in no great hurry, we could take the path to the left, which winds somewhat but is particularly scenic. Unless of course you would sooner make haste?"

The last thing in the world Mary John wanted was to make haste. She was going to savour this encounter for the rest of her bleak life, and she was going to make it last for just as long as she possibly could, Reverend Mother or no Reverend Mother.

Unslinging the rucksack from his back, he said: "Fancy a little bite to eat? Would you fancy sharing a crust with me?" Without waiting for an answer, he withdrew a white linen cloth which he spread on the grass, and laid out a crisp French loaf, some butter, paté, cheese and a peach which he sliced in half. The small rucksack further yielded a bottle of wine and a glass.

Mary John's eyes widened in amazement and greed. It was so long since she had seen food which tempted the appetite, but she was not at all sure about the wine.

"I really shouldn't," she said uncertainly, 'I'm not allowed ...'

"But surely just one small glass, on a hot day, after a long climb, surely that would be alright? After all, Jesus himself ...," he coaxed, smiling his soft smile.

She hunched her shoulders in a gesture of resignation, and accepted the cool glass from him, savouring the crisp dryness of the wine. The sun was shining down and the day was getting hot, and she was uncomfortable in the grey cardigan.

As if reading her thoughts, he nodded and said "It’s got hot all of a sudden, hasn’t it? Would you like to put your cardigan in the rucksack?"

With the shapeless grey woolly safely stowed, and feeling delightfully satisfied and very relaxed, Mary John gazed down at the valley below, noting the lushness of the vegetation, the carpets of multi-coloured wild flowers, the softness of the sunlight on the grass and trees. There were no houses or ugly pylons to spoil the scene, and just the one long straight road stretching into the distance, and on which there seemed to be no traffic.

'"It's so peaceful, beautiful" she smiled. "I didn't think places like this still existed."

"Oh yes, they're still there if you know where to look, and if you have the right eyes to see with. Sadly, too many people no longer know how to see beauty, or appreciate it. They rush through their lives in too much of a hurry, and all the wonders of the world pass them by. But you have a beautiful soul, you appreciate these things. I knew that as soon as I saw you."

Mary John reddened. Here she was sitting in the sun with a man who knew she had a beautiful soul! She tried to retract under her long shapeless skirt her thick ankles, encased in grey stockings and sensible flat shoes. He was studying her intently, and she wished she had dark eyelashes or long shiny hair or elegant hands.

She suddenly blurted out: "'I'm so plain. I've always been plain, plain and fat. When I was a child everyone always used to say to me: 'Never mind, once you grow up you'll lose your puppy fat and become pretty, but I never did. That's why ....."

'Now then, stop that! What a way to talk! Beauty, Mary John, comes from within. Beauty is not a thing of flesh. It is kindness and love, that’s where true beauty lies."

He touched her round little chin with one fingertip, and Mary John thought she might faint with ecstasy. She wondered how he knew her name, but she was getting past being surprised any more. What a day this was turning out to be!

She would have like to ask him about himself, but was too shy, and decided that just for today she was going to take every bit of enjoyment she could find, as she knew it would never come again.

"Have you every done anything quite on the spur of the moment, with no thought for the consequences?" he asked suddenly.

Without waiting for a reply, he went on.

"I believe, you see," he explained in his dark brown voice, "that life is for living, that it only happens once, and that you must reach out and catch every opportunity while it’s there, or else live wondering what could have been. The gift of life is so precious, it is a sin not to live it to the full."

She nodded, and he stood up, offering her his hand and pulling her gently to her feet.

"Look down there," he murmured. "We can turn on the path here and be in Stretton in a quarter of an hour. Or," he paused, "we could just keep on walking, down into the valley and along the road, and see what happens."

Mary John gasped.

'You don't mean ..' she enquired, round-eyed.

"Yes. Come with me. Come and find what could be, what lies in the future. Walk with me towards the sun, through fields of flowers. Break out from the ordinary, dare to be, to take what you want, be what you want. Will you come with me, Mary John?" he asked, holding her plump little hand with the neatly cut finger-nails in his slender, tanned fingers.

Mary John was dumbfounded and stared back at him with her mouth hanging open.

"Well, Mary John, what do you say?" he asked softly, smiling the gentle, honest smile.

Mary John’s heart was racing, pounding in her grey-clad chest. For the very first time in her life someone had noticed her, had seen beyond the plain features and the tubby body, and had seen the beauty that lay within. In her mind she saw day after grey day stretching into the future, the bleakness of meals taken in silence, days beginning in grey dawns and stretching endlessly to grey dusks, days of work and prayer and self-discipline. Or what? What future in following this strange young man whom she did not know, but with whom she felt completely safe?

She reached up and pulled the grey wimple from her head, releasing the coarse, carelessly chopped brown hair, and threw the cloth to the ground. She took the prescriptions from her pocket and tucked them into the string of the parcel.

"As soon as we pass a telephone, I must call and let them know. I mean, it wouldn’t be right to just go. We’ll have to tell them where the parcel and prescriptions are."
"Mary John," he smiled at her, "you are beautiful".

"Lead on!" she cried, with a daring she had never suspected.

And so Mary John walked happily with the young man, away from the greyness of her past and the grey prospect of her life in the convent. She walked beside him down the long straight road, drinking in the colours of the flowers, the hundred green shades of grass and leaves, the warmth of the sun and the smell of hay.

They came to a small stream, and the young man suggested that they cool themselves in it’s clear waters. Mary John took off the sensible shoes and shamelessely wriggled out of the grey stockings. On the banks of the stream his clean white trainers sat neatly beside the sensible shoes.

Mary John was happier than she had ever dreamed she could be, as she sat on the bank of the stream, with her stubby little pink toes wriggling in the water, admiring his elegant little cloven hooves.