She smiled and patted my hand. “What you’re trying to say is there’s no passion. He doesn’t knock your socks off, blow your mind or rock you in your shoes.”
I laughed. “Where did you get those sayings from? I’m not sure you haven’t mixed a few up…never mind. Yes, you’re right. Michael doesn’t do it for me. I’m only sorry it’s taken two years to work it out.”
Mum raised her eyebrows. “This hasn’t got anything to do with a certain man along the corridor, has it?”
Stunned, I stared at her for a second and then shook my head. “No. At least I don’t think so. I mean Tim’s nice enough, but I hardly know him, and besides, he’s older than me.”
It was her turn to laugh. “He’s also good-looking and obviously has some money to pay for his apartment upfront. He’s nice and, as for age, I don’t suppose he’s that much older than you. There’s eight years between me and your father, and I’ve always thought it good that the man in a relationship is older. Gives him a chance to grow up and be a bit wiser.”
I smiled faintly at her thinking. “Hmm. Maybe I’m not in the mood for another man in my life right now. Anyhow, I haven’t told Michael yet. We had a row last night, and I want things to blow over before I say anything. I don’t want him thinking it all stemmed from that.”
“A lover’s tiff? I thought I heard raised voices.”
I paused. I didn’t want to elaborate on our quarrel. The least Mum and Dad knew, the better, but I knew she would try and wheedle more out of me. “More than a tiff, actually. Michael blew his top and got rather aggressive.”
Her eyes widened and she sat up straight. “He didn’t hit you, did he?”
I shook my head. “No.” I bit my lip. He had been so close to it. What if he hadn’t stopped?
“No, he didn’t hit me, but I didn’t like what he said or his reaction.”
“You spent yesterday afternoon with Tim. Did Michael know?”
“Yeah. He tried ringing me but stupidly, I left my phone at home. Michael came round last night just as I was saying goodnight to Tim. He put two and two together and came up with five hundred. Funny, I’ve never seen him like that before. He went on about being alone with strangers, but there was something more. It was as if he was jealous.”
Mum sat back in her chair, her fingertips playing with her empty cup. I noticed she had recently had a manicure. Mum was always nicely ‘turned out’, as Granny would have said. “Maybe he was. He’s only a man after all.”
“Maybe.” Did I believe that? It wasn’t usual for Michael to show his feelings. I always considered him far too self-contained. He kept his innermost thoughts to himself. But she might have had a point. “More coffee?”
“No thanks, dear. I must get on. I only popped up to ask Tim something, but he’s out, so I called on you to say hello.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later then. What did you want Tim for?”
“I wanted the titles of his books. You know my friend, Debbie? Debbie Bennett? She’s off on holiday in a couple of months and wanted to know if he had covered Australia. When I told her earlier we had a travel writer staying here, she was very impressed but didn’t recall seeing his name anywhere in the bookshops. And I was sure he said he wrote under his own name.”
“I can’t help you, I’m afraid. He didn’t mention any titles he’s had published, yesterday, which was funny now I think about it. I’m sure I asked.”
As I closed the door behind her. I thought back to Michael’s parting words the night before. He hadn’t found anything about a writer named Tim Coleman, either. My heart thudded in my chest, and I felt dizzy and slightly sick. Was this stranger all he appeared to be, and why did I have these edgy feelings where he was concerned?
Chapter Fifteen - Ella
I glanced at my watch; time was moving on, and I needed to think about leaving home if I wanted to get to the auction rooms in good time. After chatting to Mum, I felt good about the day. I had a feeling I would return home with exactly what I wanted.
I wondered briefly if I ought to call Michael and say goodbye but then decided to let things cool a bit longer. Why risk his wrath on such a glorious day?
I put the dirty crockery away in the dishwasher, pulled on my knee-high, tan, leather boots, and slipped my black-and-tan jacket around my shoulders. Making sure my phone was fully charged and in my handbag this time, I made to leave the apartment.
Although only residents had access to the house, I always double-locked my door. Michael had instilled good practices. Swinging round and heading towards the stairs, I heard a door open behind me and turning, found Tim on his way out.
“Good morning,” he called. “It looks like a fine day. Going somewhere nice?” He looked me up and down, and I felt my cheeks colouring under his gaze. For some peculiar reason, I felt glad I was wearing my favourite jacket.
Tim was dressed much the same as the day before: casual jeans, sweater and his own jacket slung over his shoulder. He seemed taller than I remembered, loose-limbed, relaxed and smiling.
“I’m off to Godalming. There’s an auction there every month, and I have my eye on a few items for my place.”
“Godalming!” He pronounced it God-alming and grinned to show he knew about his extended mispronunciation. “I’ve always wanted to go there ever since I first heard it in a television drama.”
Our eyes met and for a second I felt breathless. Lost in that deep blueness, I floundered as I wondered…dare I say it? “If you’re at a loose end, you’re welcome to come along. If you find the auction boring you can always check out the town. And the river—the river Wey—flows through. Godalming’s a market town and once upon a time used to have a larger population than Guildford.” I stopped, embarrassed to the hilt. “Goodness, I sound like a travelogue!”
He laughed. “I’d love to. Just a minute, let me get my car keys. Mind if I drive?”
I hesitated for a second, remembering Michael’s words of caution, and then relaxed. Nothing was going to happen to me in broad daylight. I would let Mum know I was with Tim.
“No, that’s fine by me.” I blushed again and wondered about myself in this man’s presence. I was in danger of looking a fool.
Fifteen to twenty minutes later we were parking Tim’s Mercedes in the Waitrose car park. I explained we could stay there for a time as long as we bought some groceries from the supermarket.
“I need some more provisions, anyway,” Tim said. “I haven’t had time to get much in.”
The auction room was a short walk across the main road, and I led the way. “So what are you after?” he asked once we were inside a large room filled with antique and old furniture.
I opened my catalogue and showed him the three items I fancied. “Plus anything else that takes my eye. I do have a budget, though. Nurses’ pay is still pretty crap.”
“Have you previewed them or left a bid with the auction company?”
“No, I didn’t have time. The truth is, I forgot. Besides, I always enjoy the excitement of coming here and bidding in person.”
“Me too. Ah, this looks like your bookcase. Handsome wood…notice that patina. Someone’s cared for this piece—there’s barely a mark on it.”
***
We spent the next couple of hours strolling around the rooms, opening cupboards, checking for woodworm, extolling the merits of one piece of furniture against another. I bid for the bookcase and ended up paying eighty pounds above my original limit, but I fell in love with its graceful lines and had to have it. The table I originally thought would suit was actually rather ugly, and I didn’t find another I liked enough to share my home.
“What’s left?” Tim asked, standing close behind me and gazing at the catalogue in my hands. I could smell his cologne and shaving soap over the dust and mildew. A nice manly scent.
“Just this. It’s in the smaller room next door to this.” I indicated the lot number, and we went in search of the desk I fancied
“Hmm, good, solid, oak, pedesta
l desk. Brass cup handles, wax finish. The oak has aged to a warm shade with a striking grain…it’s beautifully finished.” Tim bent over and opened the drawers one by one. “I’d say it’s Edwardian rather than Victorian. Or there’s this walnut-and-birch Victorian desk. I reckon this second one will be cheaper by as much as two hundred pounds. It depends what you want to spend and which wood and style you prefer.”
During the morning, I learnt Tim understood quite a bit about antiques. I just knew what I liked when something caught my eye. Both desks were very attractive. I mulled it over, borrowed a chair and sat at each. I couldn’t make up my mind. Both were eye-catching and useful. It would have been nice sitting at either desk, working on my laptop.
I turned my gaze to Tim. “You’re the writer. Which one would you prefer?”
Tim looked away and was silent for a moment. “The oak is slightly larger so more practical for papers and things, and see here.” He pushed a tiny button almost hidden on the underneath of the middle drawer, and I was delighted to find a hidden partition.
“Oh, what fun. Then it has to be this one. Clever you. How did you know it was there?”
He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair, grinning at me. “I’m not going to tell lies. I have one very similar. The hidden compartment is handy.”
“Then this is definitely the one.” I peeked at my watch. “Bidding’s pretty much on time and due in ten minutes. Shall we grab another coffee and take it into the hall?”
Once we were settled, we found a couple of empty chairs and made ourselves comfortable. I sipped my hot drink. Tim never failed to surprise me. He had shown an astonishing knowledge of antiques, and I realised there was a lot more to this man than he gave away.
My phone buzzed, and glancing at the screen, I saw a text from Michael. He remembered the auction and apologised for not being there. Work got in the way, apparently. I distinctly recalled him saying he would ensure he would make the time to accompany me, as he was off that day, so I knew he was lying. I sent a short note back, saying it was okay and left it at that. I didn’t need him.
“Here it is,” Tim said in a low voice in my ear. “Lot 366.”
I waited as the early bids came in, my heart thumping in anticipation. The bids rose until they reached six hundred pounds. How much could I really afford? I did a rapid calculation in my head. I had already overspent on the bookcase, and I had added a couple of other smaller items to my bought list. I could afford to go just a bit higher. The Victorian walnut had already been sold, and Tim raised his eyebrows at the price. There were some keen buyers there.
The auctioneer raised the bids, and one by one I noticed a couple of people drop out. I was left vying with one other bidder—a dealer in a grubby sheepskin—ear glued to his mobile and muttering into it. When the price went over my limit, I had to shake my head. I felt disappointed and sick. If a dealer was prepared to go that high, it had to have been worth it, but unfortunately my salary didn’t run to high-end antiques.
I turned away, dropping my bidder’s card onto the chair beside me and gathered up my handbag and jacket ready to leave. So much for that.
There was a shuffle from the small crowd of people and a few turned to peer my way.
The gavel crashed down. “Sold!” And the auctioneer pointed the stick end at Tim.
I turned in astonishment and gaped at him. “What? What happened?”
Tim smiled. “You just bought a fine antique desk.”
“But…but I stopped bidding.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t. I went sixty quid higher than matey over there. It’s okay, it’s only a small sum. Think of it as payment for services rendered in lieu. You can show me round Godalming now and tell me something about the history.”
His action astonished me and left me speechless. Naturally, I was delighted to have the desk, but I did wonder if he had overstepped the mark. I enjoyed his company to a degree—no more than that, to be honest. He came across as charming, generous and affable but, on the other hand, oddly evasive when I touched on personal subjects. It seemed like he could ask me anything he wanted, but he clammed up if I was the one asking questions. Maybe I was too attracted by his charm and good looks and was letting my normally conservative actions lapse…maybe I should have stepped back a little. I remembered Michael’s words again and vowed not to let my guard down too much.
Chapter Sixteen - Ella
The next week passed in a blur. I finished all the painting jobs I had planned. My purchases from the auctions rooms were delivered and installed in my flat. Tim arrived home at the same time as the delivery van and offered to help me choose the best places to display them. Despite my earlier intentions to be a bit more reserved with him, I enjoyed showing off my new things, and it was even nicer knowing he had helped me choose the best pieces. Understandably, because we lived next door to one another, we had seen each other nearly every day since the auction. Sometimes it was just to say hello or for a quick chat over a cup of coffee, but occasionally, we spent a longer time during the day together. I discovered two things about Tim. One, he turned out to be an enthusiastic walker and, consequently, because he was very persuasive (the second thing), made sure I introduced him to some of the best beauty spots in the county. On those occasions, we took a light picnic and walked for miles, using his ordnance survey map. We followed the River Wey as far as we could between Guildford and Godalming, explored much of the gorgeous Surrey Hills and trekked along the disused railway between Cranleigh and Rudgwick, just for starters. I made sure to make an excuse before we left the house each time and let either Mum or Dad know where we were going. Tim didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he took it all in his stride.
Apart from the hiking, we both enjoyed good food and wine and ended up sampling some of the nicest restaurants and pubs in the area. Each one was different, and we were pleasantly surprised to learn price didn’t always reflect quality. I always tried to pay my way, but Tim wouldn’t hear of it.
“No way, Ella. Call me old-fashioned if you like, but I consider you’ve more than earned the odd lunch by putting up with me and walking miles across country. Treat it as a thank you, and besides, it’s nice having your company.”
Funnily enough we never had dinner together. I knew Tim worked on his book early in the morning, and he would go out most evenings, as I heard him leave his apartment. I didn’t think it appropriate to ask him where he went and presumed he was researching Surrey pubs for his new book, but I did wonder why he never invited me along.
Despite not learning a lot more about him, I knew I liked him a lot. Once or twice, I felt a real spark between us, and by then, I would have been happy to take it further, but each time it happened, I sensed a withdrawal on Tim’s part. It was maddening and intriguing. I was pretty sure he felt it, too, but why so reticent? It wasn’t another woman because I know my mother asked him if he was married. I imagined Mum grilling him on the subject; she could be pushy at times. “Is there anyone in your life, a wife or girlfriend perhaps?” According to her, he said no to both. I was quick to play down our friendship, as I knew she would soon read more into it.
Regrettably, there was still the problem of Michael, and as soon as I could, I worked up the courage to tell him I didn’t think our relationship was going anywhere. I went over what I planned to say in my head. I wanted to make it clear I didn’t blame him in any way, including the last evening we were together; it wasn’t as if I didn’t want anything more to do with him, but more that I felt it was time we were free to see other people. We met in a pub in the top of the town early evening, and without much preamble I explained everything.
He took a long pull on his pint and swallowed his mouthful. His face was unreadable and expressionless. His hand was steady as he replaced the empty glass on the table.
“I see.” He stood up, pushed his chair back and grabbed his jacket from the nearby hook on the wall. “Then there’s nothing else to say is there, Ella? I suppose there’s someone else? The
re usually is.”
I felt my face go taut and I forced myself to smile and relax. “No, there isn’t. That’s not the problem. Michael…do you understand what I’ve just said? I’d like us to remain friends, maybe even see each other once in a while but not have total monopoly on one another because…” I began, but he stopped me with a shake of his head.
“Fine, we’ll do that. No sweat, babe, you’re right. Look, it wouldn’t have worked, anyway. We’re just not on the same page, and quite honestly, you’ve always known I’ve never wanted any extra baggage on a permanent basis. I enjoy being single too much. See you around.” With that he walked out of the pub.
Extra baggage? Charming. As I finished my orange juice and stood up to go, I realised he had left without bothering to pay. Ruefully, I pulled a tenner from my purse, thinking he just had to have the last word, but at least he hadn’t got angry and made a scene. Best of all, if we ran into each other in the future, neither of us would feel awkward.
I walked home in a bit of a dream. It had actually all gone so easily: no arguments apart from one tense moment when he asked if I had found someone else. As if! No, I was a free woman again and feeling as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
Chapter Seventeen - Ella
Later that evening, as I was clearing away the remains of my dinner, I caught the strains of music coming from Tim’s apartment. As he invariably went out in the evenings, I was surprised to learn he was at home. I don’t know a lot about musical instruments, but it sounded to me like something stringed. I wandered over to my front door and opened it. To my untrained ear it didn’t sound like a violin and didn’t have the deep tones of a double bass. For the life of me I couldn’t remember which instruments came in between. Was the viola one of them?
The Green Room Page 7
