by Michael Ross
Her eyes drop to the tablecloth. “Yes, when I was younger.”
I refrain from making a joke about her wording. “What happened?”
“He died in a motorbike accident.”
“Oh God, I am so sorry. That is awful.”
“It was eight years ago, I’ve moved on.”
“Even if it was eighty years ago, it is still a terrible thing to happen. Honestly, I am truly sorry.”
“Thank you, but in the end it was not the best marriage in the world; not in the last year or so, anyway.”
I feel bad, but internally I am delighted with that piece of information. However, I get the feeling it is for the best if I change the direction of our conversation.
“How long have you worked at Avionix?”
“Seven years or so.”
“Not long after your husband…”
“Yes, not long afterwards.” I’m not sure if that is the end of that part of the conversation, but then she elaborates. “I had lost contact with my father, but after Thomas died I went back to stay with him and we coped with each other’s company.” She drifts off for a while. “Then an opportunity became available in one of his companies, which he believed I could fill. I surprised myself at how good I was at it. I like to feel I got where I am today on my own merits.”
“But you still work for your father?”
“No, he sold out his business interests to an international corporation based in France.”
“So he’s retired. Do you still see him?”
She chuckles at my question. “Every day. I live with him, although strangely, we see very little of each other.”
“That sounds good—all the home comforts, but no rent to pay.” Her visual response is quite alarming. “I’m sorry—don’t take that the wrong way. In no way was it a criticism.”
“No problem. I didn’t take it as a criticism.”
“Jess, your eyes can say a hundred words in a split second. You did take exception, and I do apologise.”
I think that was the point when Jess might have fallen a tiny little bit in love with me.
By the time we finish dessert, I’m feeling pretty good. I have had the best meal in my life with the most beautiful woman I have ever spent time with. The night is young, and the bill is paid. Could life get any better?
The head waiter wanders over to our table and leans in to speak to Jess.
“Your taxi is here, Miss Roberts.”
What…! I cannot find a suitably descriptive word that describes the situation. I am gob-smacked, and Jess can see it.
“I’m sorry, Danny, but I booked the taxi yesterday and forgot all about it.”
“Well, that’s okay. I can still take you home.”
“No, there’s no need.”
Is she kidding me? I’ve been thinking about that goodnight kiss for the last five days. I’m desperate.
“So when shall I see you again?” Never. She is going to say never, and my life is over. I have never felt so bad in my entire life. Wait, did she say something?
“Pardon?”
“I said I’m free all day tomorrow. I have a report to finish in the evening, but I’ve got the whole day free.”
“Brilliant. Fantastic. Oh damn, I’ve just remembered. Would you mind coming along to look at a property I’m thinking of renting first? I would have to pick you up before eleven if I’m going to make the appointment in time.”
“Sounds perfect.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her purse and writes down her address. As she goes to put her pen away, she adds, “Oh, and the postcode for Stan.”
I think she might just get me. Very early days, but I’m sure Stan will be pleased to have been of some help in my love life.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Leigh House, South Road. It does not sound much, does it? Maybe one of those mid-terrace Victorian properties you see in the city suburbs.
Leigh House is nothing like that. South Road itself is about half a mile long with the poshest and most expensive-looking properties I have seen in my life, and Leigh House is smack bang in the middle. It has not got the largest frontage, and because of all the bushes and shrubbery, there is only enough parking for three or four cars. But the house itself is magnificent, Edwardian red brick and upon counting the windows, contains at least seven bedrooms. Even though it is a Sunday, there is a gardener trimming the bushes and a woman walking around the side of the house carrying a laundry basket. Daniel Pearson, you are so out of your depth. Whatever was I thinking of? I am about to drive off, seriously, I am about to drive off when Jess comes out of the front door…and she looks stunning. I have only ever seen in her in smart formal clothes; today she is wearing denim-coloured leggings and a custard-yellow top. She looks like the sexiest woman on the planet. She cannot seriously be considering going out for the day with a warehouse manager.
“Morning, Danny.”
“Morning, Jess. You look beautiful. I can hardly breathe looking at you.”
“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“No, seriously. I might not be able to look at you for a few minutes while I catch my breath.” She laughs, but I absolutely mean it. She gets into the car and says,
“So tell me about this house we are going to see, and why you fancy it.”
“I’ve been thinking about that and I’ve decided to say nothing. I would rather not describe it; I want your opinion to be honest without any prompting from me one way or the other.”
“Are you used to house-hunting?”
“Not really. When I was young, we used to move around all the time, but we were never involved in any of the decision-making. We would leave at the end of a school day and be taken to a new flat or whatever, and that was it. No discussion—no reasons.”
“‘We’—that’s Chantelle and you?”
“Yes, but get used to calling her Chan—there is no way in the world the name Chantelle suits her.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.” Slow down, dear heart, slow down or I’m going to crash the car. I’m looking forward to meeting her. OH, MY GOD!
“You will—but don’t expect too much.”
“Don’t be silly. And what about after you were married? You must have looked at houses together.”
“We looked at dozens. In the end, I just lost interest in taking an interest. She was far more concerned with her mother’s opinion than mine. In the end, we bought a soulless box. The only clue I will give you about today is that I want to find something with character.”
“Fair enough. Does Stan know where’s he’s going?”
Ha, ha, very funny.
***
I am actually quite nervous about Jess’s reaction. In my mind, if she does not feel something for Cotswold Lodge, we might well be very different people in our make-up. I do not need her to fall in love with the place, just to understand why it should appeal to me.
“So you’ve only seen the outside. Interesting. What are you hoping to find on an internal inspection?”
“Not that much. Two bedrooms, a decent shower and a modern central heating system.”
“Sounds straightforward enough.”
“Maybe not, maybe not.”
“What about the landlords? Are they respectable?”
“You’re digging too deep. We are only ten minutes away. I am through with being cross-examined.” She squeezes my knee. She should not do that!
As we get closer to Cotswold Lodge, I start to question my judgement. Maybe on second inspection, the house might not be anywhere as near special as I first thought. I pull the car up outside the house, anxious for Jess’s opinion.
“Oh, my God! This is it? It’s wonderful. I love it. I love it.”
I think I have now firmly established beyond any doubt that Jess and I have similar tastes.
When I stopped outside the lodge yesterday, dusk was beginning to settle; today it is one of those wonderful early autumn days when everything still carries a
summer freshness about it. The little house looks terrific. I am almost scared to go inside and break the spell.
“Shall we?” I ask.
She is out of the car before me and waits until I join her. “After you, Mr. Pearson.”
There is a bell on a chain instead of a door knocker. We smile at each other as I yank on the chain. There is quite a long delay before this hundred-year-old hobbit answers the door. I apologise—that is terribly ageist of me. An old man answers the door. He is wizened and cannot stand erect.
“Hello, my name is Mr. Pearson. I have an appointment to look at Cotswold Lodge.”
“Just a second.” He picks up a piece of paper, which he brings up close to his face. “Mr. Pearson, yes, that is right. Eleven-thirty on the dot. Well done, young man. Come on in and bring your wife with you.”
I turn to Jess and she makes a frowny face but then smiles. I’m happy.
Upon entering the house, it is smaller than I expected. A tiny hallway leads straight into the square lounge, big enough for a small three-piece suite, a dining table, and a television. On the other side of the hallway is a small room that I could use as office space, and around the corner is a compact kitchen that seems to be almost brand new, with every appliance I should ever need. Beyond that is a utility room, which at present is full of flower pots.
“Do you mind if I ask you to go upstairs on your own?” The old man asks apologetically. “I don’t find it that easy nowadays.”
Jess and I proceed up the narrow stairs to find a small bathroom at the top with a bedroom either side. It looks like the bathroom has been refitted quite recently. There’s no proper shower, but a glass screen over the bath. I’m only slightly disappointed, but that feeling disappears as we walk into the larger bedroom.
“Wow, what a view.” Jess squeezes my arm. This is getting ridiculous; I need to tell her she should not do that sort of thing to a man in a bedroom, especially not one who has spent the last six months sleeping on his own. But she is right; the views are spectacular from both bedrooms.
“How much is the rent?”
I tell her.
She shakes her head. “You have to move heaven and earth to get this place. Even if you have to move on again in six months. What a great place to recharge your batteries.”
If she touches me once again, I reckon that my batteries are going to explode.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” comes a voice from downstairs.
I make a questioning face at Jess. Is she getting bored? Does she want to leave? However she nods her head quite violently.
“Yes please. We’re coming down now.”
He is bustling about in the kitchen when we get down.
“Mr…” Ugh. I do not know his name.
“Call me Bill.”
“Bill, this is such a lovely home. Have you lived here long?”
“Oh, Mary and I have been here for, let me see…forty-three years and two months.”
Behind me I hear Jess audibly gasp.
“Is Mary, is she…”
“Still alive? Yes. But she cannot make the stairs any more. Lord Brabham is moving us to a flat on the ground floor of the big house, so we can stay together.”
Forty-three years! I am struggling to grasp the magnitude of the mixed feelings there must be for Bill and Mary. I find myself being rather overcome with emotion, and I turn my back because I can feel a tear welling up inside me.
Jess looks pale and mumbles, “I have left something in the car,” and disappears.
To try and make small talk seems abusive. I feel terrible, like a trespasser trampling all over a special place.
Bill, seemingly unaware of the impact his words have had on us, points me back along the corridor.
“Go on through to the lounge. Mary baked some biscuits last week; I will bring some through with me.” I am sure he will find it a struggle carrying the tray, but it would be insulting to take that duty away from him.
“Can I sit here?”
“Anywhere you want, young man. I spend most of my life sat at the dining table.”
I notice a nearly completed jigsaw takes up most of the table’s space.
“It must be a wrench to leave this place, this home after all this time.”
“It is that, but we have a treasury of memories of living here.”
“A treasury of memories, what a lovely expression.” Jess has come back in. She has been crying and her make-up is rather smeared.
“Come in, my dear. Oh dearie me, have I upset you?”
“Not at all. It just seems so sad that you and your wife have to leave this house after all this time. It made me feel incredibly sad.”
“Not at all, my dear. They have been wonderful years, and we are not finished yet. We still get around.”
That did not help Jess whatsoever and she is working hard to keep a sob away, so she tries to explain why she feels so emotional.
“It’s just that my parents’ marriage was a sham, and my first marriage ended up as a disaster. You make me want to believe in happy ever after again.”
“There’s a lot of luck involved as well, my dear, and patience, plenty of patience.”
I feel I need to change the direction of the conversation. It is not because I am unsympathetic; I just do not want to intrude on Bill’s positivity.
“Well, all I can say, Bill, is that I hope Lord Brabham decides to rent the property to someone who appreciates that your home is something special—something more than just bricks and mortar.”
Bill returns me a gentle smile.
“That will not be a problem. Lord Brabham has left it with me to decide on the new tenant. He knows that I will be the best judge of who will continue to look after the lodge.”
“I think that is a wonderful gesture. He must be a good man.”
“Yes, he is that. Hard but fair, that is how I would describe him. Would you like another cup of tea or a biscuit?”
I look over at Jess, who nods enthusiastically.
“That would be good, Bill, as long as we are not taking up too much of your time.”
He rises slowly and starts to carry the laden tray back to the kitchen. I try to catch his ear as he walks out of the door.
“How long before your next appointment?” I cannot catch what he says as he carries on into the kitchen. I follow him. “I’m sorry, Bill, I didn’t catch what you said.”
“Oh, I said no worries. The lodge is yours and your wife’s if you want it.”
I am staggered. Not sure of the correct response, I walk over to Jess, who frowns deeply at me. She is right; I have some hard thinking and soul-searching to do before Bill returns.
“Here we are, a nice fresh pot.”
“Bill, I need to make something clear.” I hesitate. “I love this house, this home, but I do not want it through deception.” I look over to Jess. “Jessica and I are not married. In fact, this is only our second date—that is, if you can call house-hunting a date. I am head over heels in love with her, but I would not want to deceive you into thinking we are married or even a couple.”
He looks at me very seriously, from head to toe, before he responds,
“So do you think I should wait until you get married?”
What!
“Only joking, young man.” Then it was his turn to speak to Jess. “Jessica, do you think this young man deserves this house?”
“Do you know what, Bill? I think he does; I genuinely think he does.”
“Fair enough. I will let Lord Brabham know tomorrow. Oh, and if there is a wedding, make sure Mary and I are invited. My wife loves a wedding.” There still lurked a little twinkle in the old man’s eyes. I could understand why Mary had stayed with him all this time.
We get back into the car, wave our goodbyes to Bill, and I manage to last half a mile before I find a lay-by and pull over.
“YES! YESSS!” I punch my fist in the air, and without thinking, lean over and give Jess a big hug. The vaguest musk of her perfume
brings me to my senses. “I’m sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to be so…so…”
“Forward?”
Yes, that was the word I was looking for. I had just hoped she would not have found it quite so easily. With that, Jess leans over and kisses me softly, on my lips, and lingers there for a while.
“Congratulations, Danny. That is going to make a lovely home. I am sure you will be very happy there.”
I struggle for the right words; “thank you” seems inappropriate. Maybe a change of direction whilst I get my thoughts together?
“And what a nice guy that Bill is, as well.”
“A lovely man. Don’t you dare let him down.” Her voice sounds rather raspy.
“He got to you, didn’t he?”
She turns away from me and I reach over and hold her hand. I can tell she is crying, but I allow her the space to work things out in her head. I have never carried a box of tissues with me in anything I have ever driven, but this is a brand new car and it is mine, so last night I bought a smelly to dangle on the heater control, and a small box of tissues. I feel rather suave as I ease open the glove box and pass Jess the tissues.
I know that feeling of wanting some time to shut the world out, and so for the best part of an hour, I drive the car aimlessly until Jess spots a sign.
“Bradford on Avon. Do you know it?”
“Not really. I was only doing my best to avoid Bath.”
“You don’t like Bath?”
“Yes, I know. I must be some kind of heathen. The place seems kind of soulless to me. Take away the American and Japanese tourists, and an acre or two around the Abbey, and…I don’t know. I just find the place depressing. Sorry.”
“Danny,” she says with a giggle, “that is so funny because I can’t stand the place either. On reflection, I think there is every chance you might enjoy Bradford on Avon, and I am dying for a cup of coffee. Are you a cake fancier?”
“Not really. Don’t bother much. Six or seven a day maximum, unless it’s a special occasion, of course.” This time it is my hand that gets squeezed.
Jess is right. The country town suits me and upon checking in with Stan, I discover it is only fifteen miles from Cotswold Lodge.
