Finding Your Way Back. Chapter five (standard:drama, 6808 words) [5/6] show all parts
Author: Cyrano	Added: May 31 2009	Views/Reads: 2199/1652	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
For James the sad events have been acted out in a blur, yet the facts are what they are. Eileen is dead. From this point forward life must be lived anew. But there remains the question: Why?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Eileen. There's no problem. I know things are not great for you.” He 
paused to consider. “Hell Jenny, it solves a problem for me. I need 
somebody for the shop and who better? You know the customers and you 
would be doing me a favor. I have a lot of stock to shift.” 

They chatted for a while and she took quiet satisfaction from the look
of disappointment on his face when she glanced at her watch and 
announced that the schoolchildren would be waiting impatiently for her. 
He made her promise to come and see him again, then accompanied her 
down the drive and waved as she drove away. He continued to look for a 
full minute after the bus had disappeared from sight. 

The visit had raised his spirits and he started off on his walk with
lightness in his step.  He would walk every day. This would represent 
something positive and it would be good for the constitution; the 
exercise and fresh air would do him a power of good. It would get him 
out of the house and give him something to look forward to. He settled 
into this new daily routine. Up early, tea, toast and his favorite 
thick cut marmalade. Vitamin tablets, 'You need them at your age', 
Penny had insisted. Wait for a chat with the postman bringing a handful 
of cards. Shedding the odd tear reading the messages and then walking 
briskly around the lanes and bridleways. The lonely walks were welcome 
exercise, good for the body, but not good for the soul. He had too much 
time to think. Admiring the scenery, looking over hedges, standing to 
look at the river was very pleasant, but he needed more. He needed 
something to get his brain back into gear and walking was merely the 
starting off point. 

Almost every day he would return to the house to find a parcel awaiting
him on the doorstep; a dozen fresh eggs, a few scones, an apple pie or 
a couple of small cottage pies in foil containers. Simple, thoughtful 
and practical gifts left anonymously. These little things meant a lot 
to James. She was gone but he remained part of their community. They 
were still thinking of him and at least they did not want him to starve 
to death! 

The spring weather held but on some days the sunshine from the sky made
no inroads to brighten up his spirit. These were flat dull lifeless 
gray days when mundane chores, such as getting out of bed and shaving, 
were a steep mountain to climb. What was there to get up for... a 
relentless torrent of questions and all leading to one word, why? He 
had no appetite for food; sustenance came from black coffee and cigars. 
And what if he coughed, who the hell cares?  Closing eyes and staring 
down into Hades and feeling locked in a closed loop of questions and 
answers with no remission. The outside darkness creeping down, merging 
with the inner darkness and creeping to a lonely bed with no 
sleep...and still the question why? 

Another bright day, a brighter spirit, new optimism and a determination
to do something, anything...an invigorating shower, a shave and a clean 
shirt, then a journey in the car to somewhere, anywhere. But anywhere 
is nowhere. And so back to the house, sitting with closed eyes, back 
into the loop asking why, with no intrusions into this microcosmic 
world. Just endlessly why? 

Then visitors and calls from Penny. Long walks to the grave and looking
down through the earth and seeing her lying peacefully and smiling with 
folded arms, wearing that favorite pink suit. Then the long walk home, 
thinking. And back into the remorseless loop. 

Some evenings brought visitors to the house. Many were uncomfortable
events with strained and over polite conversations timed to the minute 
by discreet glances at wristwatches. When close friends appeared so did 
the bottle and there would be a dose of good old-fashioned crack with 
no predetermined constraints of time. They told him of their favorite 
stories of her. Time passed quickly and it was like old times. Almost. 

He decided it was time to return to work. He had kept in touch with
Frank and although he had tried to disguise the fact, James could tell 
that his friend was struggling to keep on top of the business. When he 
rang him to tell him of his impending return, he could hear Frank 
breathe a sigh of relief. He wasn't in the best of moods as he told 
James that Wilma had cabled him to tell him of her imminent return from 
the jungle. 

“A full week early,” said Frank. “She could have given me a bit more
notice than that. Have to cancel a weekend conference to go and meet 
her off the bloody banana boat in Liverpool of all places. You would 
think she would show a bit more consideration than that, wouldn't you?” 


“What's the problem, Frank?” 

“Bloody Wilma.” Frank spoke with unusual intensity. “She'll be all over
me when she gets back. She's a bit on the serious side but she still 
gets bloody passionate when she gets back from these trips. I won't get 
a minute's peace. She'll have me bloody worn out. Then when she's had 
enough of that, toads will be next on the agenda. You won't be able to 
move for them. She'll have the poor little sods pinned up all over the 
place. Christ James, it's great to see the back of her for a week or 
two, but there's a heavy price to pay when she comes home.” 

He could hear James laughing at his plight. “And you needn't be so
bloody smug either, James. If she thinks you need a bit of looking 
after, she could be round to see you on a regular basis. Then you would 
find out what it's like and you won't find it so bloody funny. Best get 
yourself back to work. Oh, and by the way,” Frank added as an 
afterthought, “the bank manager's pestering me to go and see him. 
Something about being overdrawn and well, generally making a bit of a 
nuisance. He's threatening something or other, but I've been keeping 
out of his way. I left messages that you'll sort it out when you 
return. You'll get more sympathy from him, things being what they are. 
You know. Christ James,” his voice died in exasperation, “I've enough 
problems with Margaret and Wilma without him poking his bloody big nose 
in. You can sort it out next week when you get back. Nice talking to 
you, see you soon.” James put the phone down and took reassurance that 
even in this turbulent period of his life, some things never change. 
There would be plenty to do when he got back to work and it sounded as 
though the invoice tray would have to get his full attention to start 
to bring in some cash. Frank had obviously been too busy in other 
directions to worry about such trivial matters. And what was Frank up 
to with his secretary, Margaret? It appeared that his wife's arrival 
had put the tin hat on some clandestine scheme of Frank's. James 
laughed to himself. It would be good to get back. 

He had just turned on the TV in the sitting room to catch the early
evening news and was settling back in his armchair, when the vicar 
arrived. 

“Hello Graham, nice to see you, come on in. To what do I owe this
pleasure?” 

“Just thought I would pop in and see how one of my flock was getting
on,” said Graham. “Now the family are away I thought you might like a 
bit of company.” 

“Can I get you a drink, or this that an unnecessary question?” Unabashed
by this mordacious invitation, Graham replied if James was having one 
he would certainly join him and a drop of his best malt would be most 
welcome. 

“And if you're not having one yourself, I'll still certainly join
you,”added James. 

He poured out a couple of generous measures, switched off the television
and they raised their glasses to each other. 

“Have you decided what you are going to do now?” Graham enquired as a
friend and as a  man of the cloth. 

“Yes, I've already made my plans.” 

The long lonely walks, the hours spent gazing at the room walls, the
dark bedroom ceiling, had been thinking time of her, of nothing; of 
her, of work; of her, of golf, and of his future. 

“I'm selling this house, I'm selling the shop, and I'm going to buy
something smaller.” 

Graham was surprised. “You're not going to leave us. Moving away, are
you?.” 

“No, I'll stay. I like it here.” 

They sipped their whisky before Graham broke the silence. 

“Don't you think that this is all a bit sudden? You don't have to rush
into things. There is plenty of time.” 

James had thought about time a lot in the past few weeks. Contrary to
what Graham had he said did not consider he had a plentiful supply of 
that precious commodity. The sudden death of his dear wife had hammered 
this message home to him. Three score years and ten meant he had less 
than one score left.... perhaps. And what did that score hold in store 
for him? It would certainly not be taken up by disco dancing and pub 
crawls or bungee jumping or any other such young man's pursuits. Those 
days had long gone and the zimmer frame awaited him in the not too 
distant future. If a new life was to be built he had to get on with it. 
Quality decisions do not necessarily take up a lot of time. He had all 
of the facts he needed and so he could formulate his plans without 
recourse to delay and procrastination. 

“No, it's what I've planned”, said James with the confidence of a man
who knew exactly where he was heading. “Well really it's what we had 
planned together. Sell up the house, sell up the shop and buy some 
place smaller with a lot less land. We were going to retire and spend 
time traveling. Stay somewhere warm in winter. You know, just for a 
month or two.” Graham nodded his understanding. “We had it all planned, 
a happy retirement and we would live happily ever bloody after.” His 
voice became louder. “But it didn't work out, did it?” Then he gulped 
down a shot of whiskey and there was silence. 

“No it didn't work out for you. But you have to draw some comfort that
she couldn't have coped with a long illness”, reflected Graham. 

If these words were designed to give him some comfort, they failed.
James continued in a voice of unbridled bitterness. 

“It's just as well because she didn't bloody get one. She never had any
say in the matter. Nobody gave her a choice. It just happened. Hit from 
behind by a bloody great sledgehammer. And the sledgehammer wasn't any 
bigger than the nail of my little finger.”  He raised his finger to 
illustrate the point. “But it was enough. It didn't need to be any 
bigger than that. That is all it took to kill her.” James sipped at his 
drink. “I'm sorry Graham,” he apologized, “I didn't mean it like that. 
It just came out...  it's just the way I feel about it.” 

“No need to apologize James, I know how you feel.” He stood to leave.
“Must be going James, I'll call next week to see you.” 

“It'll have to be in the evening, I'm going back to work.” 

“It'll feel very strange being on your own. Don't rush into anything.
You'll see, time will be a great healer, but it will take time. It will 
take longer than you think. Look after yourself.” 

James was glad to be back in the comforting asylum of his office.
Nothing much had changed during his absence except the heaps of paper 
were higher than usual. Much to his surprise, the private and personal 
secretary to the directors, Margaret, gave him a warm uninhibited 
embrace, hugging him for a full minute or more. 

“I could get used to this sort of thing Margaret,” he whispered tenderly
into her ear pushing to one side an earring in the style of a bunch of 
bananas. 

Margaret offered him no encouragement. It was not within her nature to
discriminate between what was spoken in jest and what was not.  “Well 
don't build your hopes up, I've enough problems with the other one,” 
she said, stonily. “He's getting dafter as he gets older.” When she had 
disengaged herself, she minced off in a tight fitting, violently bright 
purple miniskirt. The peroxide blonde bouffant remained perpendicular 
throughout the short journey back to her office. 

It was late morning before Frank popped his head around the door of the
office to see James. The heaps of paper on his desk were slowly 
diminishing while the waste bin  was rapidly filling up as James got 
into the normal swing of things with his system of filing. 

“I see you're getting through the pile of paper alright James. It's
quite amazing how it all builds up,” said Frank, blandly. 

“It's also quite amazing no-one has dealt with it while I was away. Some
of this is quite important,” said James, also blandly. 

“Oh, is that so”, said Frank. “I hope you are getting it sorted out
then.” 

James confirmed that the issues he regarded as being important were
getting sorted out and that he had spoken to the bank manager. In a 
short while he was going for a run out around his contracts, which 
would take him the rest of the day. Tomorrow he would start looking at 
one or two new jobs, which required some attention from the offices of 
B.U.Ltd. The day passed quickly and every-one he came across expressed 
concern and sympathy. Business friends, clients, architects, suppliers, 
all made a point of coming over to say a few words. He thought how this 
contrasted with his first trip into the village where he had been 
conscious that most people on the street had avoided eye contact with 
him. Some had crossed over the road or turned around and it had left 
him puzzled and unsure. But at his office and on the work sites things 
were very different and he felt welcomed and reassured. 

The next few days saw James settle back into something of a regular
routine at work. The most pressing thing that Frank put onto his desk 
appeared to be a request from a lady to design and build a new 
conservatory and kitchen extension. As was usual with Frank, there was 
a very brief discussion couched in broad generalities and then an 
excuse to dash away to some further appointment with the story only 
half told. 

“She's an existing customer, “ he had explained. “Don't know much about
her, but she's been pestering me for a couple of weeks to go and see 
her. She's just moved into this house and she wants something doing 
quickly; she'll be in all morning today and you should pop round and 
see what she wants.” Frank was about to leave the office when James 
said it would be useful to know her name and where she lived. 

“Oh yes”, said Frank, smiling. “She's called Lavinia Lavender, and she
lives at Orchard Cottage. You know that place that's just been sold at 
auction. Best of luck.” And he was gone. 

James called round later in the morning. 

His first impression was that it was a pretty little cottage built of
traditional stone walls with a stone flagged roof and small paned 
windows. There was a BMW convertible in the drive so he assumed there 
would be someone at home. A knock on the front door brought no response 
other than the barking of a dog. He waited a while and then went around 
to the back of the house. He was on the third knock when the kitchen 
door opened. She looked down on him from the two steps that led to the 
back door and he introduced himself. 

“Hello, I'm James Parr from B.U.Ltd. Frank said you wanted some work
doing, and so here I am. You must be Lavinia Lavender.” 

“Yes, hello, that's me.”  She looked down at him rather as though he had
just walked through some dog dirt. Then he realized that from her 
position on the top of the steps, she was physically and not 
metaphorically looking down her nose at him. At least that is what he 
hoped she was doing, because it was not a bad looking little nose. And 
it fitted quite nicely into a rather pretty face. 

“You'd better come inside,” she said without enthusiasm. Then she turned
into the house and James thought there was also a rather nice trim 
little backside trying to burst out of her tight fitting designer 
jeans. 

“You must excuse the mess, I'm still moving in and haven't had time to
unpack anything yet.” She led him into the front room. Her black 
Labrador joined them. She introduced him to James as Troy. “They don't 
like to miss out on anything.” She patted the dog fondly on the head 
and it muzzled against her knee. She gestured James to take a seat. 

“I was rather expecting to see Frank, he normally does all of my jobs. I
like Frank, he's very thorough and always looks very smart,” she said 
whilst casting an inquiring eye up and down James' clothes. He felt 
himself cleaning the top of one dirty shoe against the back of the 
other. 

“I understand that you want something designed, and that is what I do.
So if you are going to have a new conservatory drawn up and built, well 
then you've got me”, he said, politely. 

“Oh I see.” She nodded. 

“Well let's get started. What do you want me to tell you?” she
continued. 

“Just tell me what you have in mind. Give me an idea of your
requirements and we'll take it from there.” He pulled out his old 
tattered notebook and eventually found a small pencil and announced his 
readiness to take notes. 

She wanted a new kitchen to replace the existing one. She wanted a large
utility room and she wanted a very large conservatory. “I like large 
things,” she emphasized. 

These appeared to be simple requirements but complications followed
almost immediately. “I want the kitchen to flow into the conservatory, 
and I am on a very limited budget.” 

“This limited budget,” James enquired, “Does this mean you want to tart
up some of the existing lean-to?” 

He realized even as the words were leaving his mouth that his choice of
expression had not created a favorable impression upon his new client. 

“Tart up, Tart up,” she spat out, “I do not indeed want anything in my
house tarted up.” She looked at him as wickedly as a cross-eyed weasel 
and then pointed her finger accusingly over the coffee table in his 
direction. “I'm told you're company built that lean to and it is a real 
monstrosity. I sincerely hope you are going to make a better job of 
anything else you may build here.” 

James noticed the word ‘may' had been introduced into the conversation. 

“Before my time,” he muttered defensively and decided to maneuver away 
from the subject by suggesting a visit to the garden in order to view 
the possibilities. 

They stood together a few yards from the house. 

“Just go over what you had in mind again, if you don't mind please, then
I'll tell you what my first impressions are,” he said. 

Lavinia began again to tell him what she wanted, waving her arms about
with gusto. She pointed up to the roof and then to the lean to 
building. Her arms stretched up to the sky before they were finally 
directed downwards to the ground. All he could see before him were 
flailing arms. James closed his eyes and out of the arms came images of 
windmills. But they represented a much calmer exposition of her frantic 
activity. They stood as statues attended by movement, perched in 
prominent places, silhouetted on a near horizon against a clear azure 
sky and providing the solid fulcrum for large white sails slowly 
rotating to the rhythm of warm summer breezes. And then he saw himself 
pictured mounted unsteadily on an old flea ridden horse with his 
gigantic dog eared pencil held horizontally, supplanting the jousting 
lance. He became for one moment a sad old Spanish nobleman and almost 
four hundred years had suddenly flown past the hot dusty plains on 
which he rode. James awoke from his fleeting hallucination and looked 
again at her flailing arms and wondered if he too was setting out on 
the errand of a fool. 

She was not making any sense at all to James and he was becoming more
exasperated by the minute as she could not grasp the problems involved 
in resolving the design to fulfil her requirements. 

“Yes I know you want the kitchen to flow into the conservatory, you've
told me that ten times already,” he said. “But without changing the 
roof, which apparently you are dead set against, the only place the 
kitchen will flow into will be the river. And then you will be able to 
have fresh fish when you make yourself a pan of chips.” 

But then she didn't look the type who would make a pan of chips. A
little tossed salad would be more her style. If that were the case she 
would have plenty of free watercress. 

He could tell by the dark scowl on her face she was not best pleased at
his remarks. 

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that”, he told her.  “Look, I'll do a
bit of measuring up now and go back to the office and draw something up 
for you. Then I'll get back to you when I've got something sorted out. 
It'll take me a day or two.” 

She mumbled an agreement and he walked past her. He took photographs and
then took out his tape measure and recorded the measurements. She stood 
silently as he worked. He could see her out of the corner of his eye 
watching his every move. He thought better of saying anything more. 
He'd put his foot in it already and she was not impressed. After half 
an hour he announced  he was finished. 

“When will you get back to me?” asked Lavinia. 

“Give me a few days.” 

“Maybe you can give me an indication of how much it will cost when you
come back.” She remained stony faced and he did not recall any occasion 
when she had raised the faintest of smiles during the whole duration of 
his visit. 

He said his farewell, and drove off. 

The next day was spent working on the design. The eraser worked overtime
and the bin was filled with discarded sketches. It was mid afternoon 
before he came up with a solution. As with many problems he wondered 
why he hadn't thought of it earlier. With the benefit of hindsight it 
hadn't been that complicated and he had to get down now to working in 
more detail. He was drawing away when he became aware of a face leaning 
down next to him and he looked up to see Frank peering over his 
shoulder. 

“Looks alright, James,” said Frank, “How are you getting on with
Lavinia?” 

“Sort of okay” was James qualified reply. “She's hard work and not the
happiest woman I've ever come across. I think she doesn't want to smile 
in case it cracks her bloody face. To tell you the truth, she seemed to 
be a bit of a toffee nosed bitch.” He looked up to Frank, “I think she 
was a bit disappointed you didn't turn up.  She didn't seem too happy 
when she got me.” 

“Perfectly understandable dear boy, a woman of impeccable taste. She's a
bit of all right is our Lavinia.” 

“And you know all this from personal knowledge, do you Frank?” 

“Well no, not really. Whenever I was summoned round to do the odd
repair, her boyfriend was always on the scene. He struck me as being a 
bit of an odd ball. Mad about horses and a bloody maniac by all 
accounts, galloping flat out all over the place and always bumping into 
things and falling off.  Master of the local hunt and all that stuff. 
Whenever he saw me coming up the driveway, he would ride into the 
stables like a bat out of hell and leap off his horse. She did all the 
talking, all he did was lurk.” 

“Maybe the guy wasn't so daft after all,” said James. “ Maybe he was
lurking because he knew a bit about you and your antics. 

“You could be right dear boy. Yes, her boyfriend, Edward Bridgwater can
be a nasty little bit of work. Wouldn't like to get on the wrong side 
of him.” 

“You say, her boy friend?” 

“Well.”, replied Frank, “looks like the former boyfriend if she's bought
this cottage. Heard a rumour that he had kicked her out, but there are 
always rumours about something or other.” 

Then he looked closely at the work on the drawing board and gave his
considered  professional opinion. 

“ I have to say that looks the dogs bollocks dear boy. That conservatory
is a most splendid piece of work. Absolutely the dogs bollocks.” 

James had now received from his colleague the very highest accolade.
Frank then told him that such a splendid piece of design should 
certainly impress the good lady. Recalling his first meeting, James 
remained unsure. 

“I don't know about that. But if we can put a man on the moon, we can
build a conservatory for Lady bloody Lavinia Lavender. Now if you'll 
kindly remove your head from my line of vision, I will proceed with the 
moonshot.” 

“Proceed dear boy, proceed. Don't let me interfere with divine
inspiration. Give her the works. 

James shook his head and smiled. 

He rang Lavinia to see if she could see him the following day. In the
afternoon would be just fine. Anytime after three. He would tidy 
himself up a bit. Wash his hair, put on a clean shirt, make sure his 
shoes were clean and wear a tie. Casual but smart would be the order of 
the day. He would seek to make a better impression than on their first 
meeting. 

She greeted him at the door with an air of indifference and there was
still no sign of a smile. He wondered if she was a naturally sullen 
person. Maybe she had nothing to smile about. If Frank had been correct 
about the rumours he had heard, it was no laughing matter to suddenly 
get kicked out of your house when you were in your fifties. 

They sat in the living room again and by way of polite conversation
James enquired about the dog. 

“He's in the back of the car,” she explained curtly. “He's in disgrace.
Ran off this morning and I had to spend two hours looking for the 
blighter.” 

James rolled out a drawing and ran his finger over the paper in order to
show her what he had in mind. She nodded as he continued and then she 
moved around next to him at the side of the low table so that they 
could view from the same perspective. When he had finished he asked her 
what she thought. 

“I can't understand how you are going to make that roof stand up and
still give me a chimney for the wood-burning stove. And the kitchen is 
too small. I've always been used to big kitchens. I also think I need 
more space for the utility room. The conservatory is also a bit on the 
small size. Can you not make it all a bit bigger?” 

“That is all the space that we have. If you want the kitchen bigger, the
utility will have to be smaller. If you want the conservatory bigger, 
you will have to buy some more land. You cannot have every thing 
bigger, there is simply no room.” 

This explanation seemed to be straight forward enough but it did not
satisfy Lavinia. 

“Well, can't you make more room?” 

“How can I make more room, there is nothing more to make. It's just not
possible,” answered James as he became more frustrated. 

“I don't know how you make more room,” she persisted, “you're supposed
to be the expert.” 

James paused for a moment and pondered how he could he get this simple
idea into her head. 

“I may be the expert, but I am not a bloody magician. There is simply
no... more... room.” He spoke slowly and deliberately. 

Lavinia ignored him and continued with her queries. “And how are you
going to make the roof stand up.” 

James was becoming exasperated at her lack of understanding. 

“How can I explain it to you in simple language?” said James. “Well let
me put it another way. The nasty rough Mr Builder will come with his 
big hammer and knock down the nasty little wall that the wonderful 
company F.U. Ltd built a long, long, long time ago. And then the nice 
Mr Joiner will come along and put up a nice super duper white glass 
conservatory. And Mr Plumber will put in a nice warm boiler and the 
nice Mr Electric will put in lots and lots and lots of little bulbs and 
the lights will twinkle all night long. And Mrs Lavender will sit in 
her nice chair and say what a nice house this is and say to all her 
friends how lucky she was to have that nice Mr Clever come and build 
her a super duper conservatory.” 

He waited for her reaction with apprehension and she gave him a long
hard look before speaking. 

“And would the nice Mr Clever Builder like the nice Mrs Lavender to make
him a really nice cup of tea?” 

Then a wide smile appeared and he studied her closely. She was slightly
taller than average. A high and slim waistline served to emphasise the 
length of her slender legs. She could well have been a ballet dancer 
and the lightness of her step and the slightly outward disposition of 
her feet as she walked reinforced this opinion. Her skin was clear and 
he could detect only the most discreet application of any make up apart 
from a trace of darkness around her full lips. The outline of her face 
was framed as a classically oval silhouette, with the slightest of 
elongations towards the rounded point of her jaw and a general fineness 
in her features combined with this to bring elegance. Her eyes were 
dark and deep set above high cheekbones. He recalled his first 
impression of her had been as he would have viewed a life sized 
porcelain doll. An object of beauty to the eye, but cold to the touch. 
It was only when she had smiled that he became aware of the 
transformation into a desirable, warm woman. And boy could she smile. 
It was a wide smile that must have sent shivers of delight through her 
dentist every time he laid eyes on her. 

She went to the kitchen and he looked around the room. It was cluttered
with too much furniture but she had told him she had moved from a 
bigger house. The pieces were of good quality, some antiques, and there 
was fussy bric-a-brac pots and ornaments. Old pictures in heavy gilt 
frames hung on the walls, but he could see no photographs and this 
surprised him. Photographs are links with family and friends. James 
puzzled at their absence. 

She disturbed his train of thought by putting a tray down on the low
table. Matching patterned bone china cups and saucers, milk and sugar 
bowls and silver spoons. No teabags but proper tea made in a real 
silver teapot. There were freshly cut slices of lemon and James was 
impressed by the style and elegance. 

“Excuse the clutter,” said Lavinia as she poured the tea. “I've only
moved in and haven't had any time to make the place nice. The sofa had 
to stay in the other house. It was too big for this place. As you can 
see this room is quite small. I'm having a smaller sofa made. It should 
be ready in a couple of weeks.” 

“I'm just about to go through the same thing myself” said James. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I need to get a smaller house. Mine is far too big and I don't have the
time to look after the garden. I'm just rattling around the place on my 
own. I need something more easily manageable.” 

“Where do you live?” 

“Oh.... About ten miles up the valley. Outside of the village in a small
hamlet.” 

She nodded understandingly. “It sounds really lovely. Why do you want to
leave it?” 

“Well, my wife died quite recently and......” 

She interrupted. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know.” 

“You weren't to know. Look... I must be going now.” He thanked her for
the tea. “I think I know what you want, I'll work a bit more on this 
and get you a budget price sorted out and we can meet again.” 

“Before you go, James, there is something else you might be kind enough
to look at for me. That is if you can spare the time.” 

“No problem?” he said. 

She led him up the stairs and into what he assumed was her bedroom. He
looked around to see the furnishings were soft, fussy, and pink. A 
large mahogany dressing table lay along one side of the room and three 
long rails of clothes stood between the door and the bed. 

“This is the problem, as you can see,” she ran her hands over the
garments. “I desperately need somewhere to hang these. Could you design 
me a built in wardrobe to go along that wall?” She pointed to the wall 
opposite the four poster bed. 

As he looked where she was indicating, James ran his fingers over some
of the clothes on the rail and he recognised them to be of the highest 
quality. She noticed his interest. 

“Yes, I have a lot of clothes. I've bought them over the years and I
always chose the best I could afford. Classical styles. They never 
date. But I do need somewhere to hang them. As you can see. What do you 
think?” 

“I'll do you a sketch and bring it along with the other stuff. It's
pretty straightforward.” 

“Unlike the other work,” she joked. “No challenge at all for Mr Clever.”
“No challenge at all,” James agreed. “No, Mr Clever will soon sort this 
lot out.” 

As they came downstairs he noticed a set of golf clubs. 

“Do you play golf, Lavinia?” 

“Yes, a little” she replied. “Not as much as I would like to. I'm a
member of the local golf club, have been for a few years but never get 
down very often. Do you play?” 

“I'm on the club committee. I've never seen you around. I didn't know
you were a member.” 

“Well, I don't have a proper handicap and I only play the odd weekend.
Usually nine holes and I just go out on my own. I don't know any lady 
members.” 

“Maybe we can get together sometime and play a few holes,” said James.
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” she said after only a moments 
consideration. “I look forward to that.” 

She explained she was going away for the weekend. Would he give her a
call the following week to go through the drawings and costings. They 
could arrange a game of golf at that time. 

She stood on the doorstep and he could see through the rear view mirror
as he drove away. Frank had been right. She was a bit of all right and 
she had a nice smile once the ice was broken. He had misjudged her She 
wasn't as toffee nosed as he had thought. His first impression had been 
wrong, and did she have to sit so close to him to look at the drawing 
after they had drank their tea? Catch yourself on James, he censored 
himself. You've only just met the woman. You're behaving like an 
adolescent schoolboy. Christ James, you're over fifty years of age. 

But as he drove towards home up the valley, he couldn't get her out of
his mind. 


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