The Buttercup Field

by D J O'Leary

  It was dark by the time Tolstoy began the walk back up to the village from the station. His rucksack bulged with brochures and price lists. The Paddock Wood place dealt only with new plant and machinery. He had collected the available literature, but felt sure there was nothing there that really suited his needs. The local place, in contrast, had a large second-hand stock, but what made it even better was that it was part of a nationwide network of similar dealers with an extensive holding of used plant and machinery. It also had brand new stock. Again Tolstoy left there with a sizeable collection of brochures, but with an added incentive for sticking to the local engineering firm, because once they learned it was for Stottenden cricket club, they said that they would do a discount on the purchase of new or second-hand stock; further, they said servicing could be carried out on-site, rather than Tolstoy having to arrange transport for the mowers or rollers. This appealed greatly to the thrifty side of his nature, although he was mindful of Bert’s expertise in this area, but still, it would do no harm to let them do the odd bit of servicing, provided it didn’t cost the earth. Anyway, there might be jobs that Bert could not undertake. Tolstoy was buoyed up, and all in all he felt rather pleased with himself at having made the decision to do some window shopping for the equipment, because he had been able to come up with informed ideas, now that he had seen the machinery in the flesh, so to speak. As he toiled back up the hill towards Stottenden on this dark, damp, late afternoon in November, he was looking forward to having a long leisurely shower and getting ready to go out. To go out, he repeated to himself, with Kate Harborne. He was very nervous, but now also excited at the prospect. It was after five o’clock when he finally arrived at the front door of the Manor – his manor, his home, he reminded himself. He let himself in, moved into the cloakroom annexe, shrugged off his rucksack, hung his overcoat on a peg, then lugged the brochure-laden bag into the warmth of the living room, where he hoped to find Elspeth.She was nowhere to be seen, much to his disappointment, but nevertheless, he felt sure he wouldn’t have to wait long before she appeared. Meanwhile, he thought, I shall read these brochures more closely. He had waded through about half of them before Elspeth entered the large room. ‘Oh. Tolstoy, you’re back,’ she exclaimed. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh yes, please,’ he said. ‘That would be wonderful. It’s grown really quite chilly out.’

  ‘Yes, it has. That’s why I have closed all the ground floor shutters. They may be good for security, but they are also very effective forms of insulation. Right, I’ll just go and put the kettle on.’

  As she left the room she called back over her shoulder, ‘Would you like a crumpet as well?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  Ten minutes later the pair of them were sitting sipping tea and nibbling crumpets that oozed with butter and homemade bramble jelly.

  Tolstoy explained what he had been doing that afternoon. Elspeth listened intently and when he had finished she said, ‘I think Hubert would have approved of your decisions over the club and ground. There is certainly a need for some new machinery and equipment. Hubert was feeling a bit guilty a couple of years ago, because he had meant to have a chat with Bert, but never got round to it. It certainly wasn’t a matter of money, there was more than enough, but last winter, of course, he had the distraction of his diagnosis, so I doubt it would have crossed his mind. Anyway, in my opinion you’ve done really well, especially getting an offer of a discount from the locals. They have a fabulous reputation in the area, and they service the Manor’s mowers and the chain saw, which Tommy the gardener organises for me. Anyway, it would seem that you have had a worthwhile day altogether.

  ‘Now, what time have you ordered the taxi for?’

  Tolstoy frowned, trying to remember. ‘Um, seven. Then we drive round to Kate’s to collect her.’

  ‘Are you planning on having a shower beforehand?’

  ‘Yes. Well as long as there’s enough hot water.’

  ‘Plenty.

  ‘And what are you planning on wearing?’

  ‘Well I’m not much of a tie person, so, open-necked shirt and my decent cords.’

  ‘Good enough. But just to make sure I shall inspect you when you come downstairs, before you leave.’ Tolstoy grinned at her. Elspeth was as good as her word when the spruced-up Tolstoy bounced down the main staircase an hour later, suited and booted, as it were. He ventured into the living room where Elspeth had been watching the television. She was absorbed in whatever the item was on the small screen and clearly had not heard Tolstoy come through the door. He cleared his throat politely and took a pace forward. Elspeth turned and, smiling, got to her feet. She had him blushing with her opening remark.

  ‘Tolstoy, darling, you look delicious. Divine. Smart, but not too formal. Casual, yet not too relaxed. Now.’ She approached him to inspect him more closely, then getting up on her toes and giving him the lightest of kisses on his right cheek, before brushing at the left shoulder of his jacket with the back of her right hand to get rid of a couple of hairs. ‘A few words of advice, from a woman, me, which you can act on, or not, as you see fit. Remember to compliment her on how she looks within seconds of seeing her. Then, when you are chatting, let her do a lot of the talking and listen to what she says. Everything. And show an interest in it all. Ask her questions about her background – this is not just for you, but for me and the rest of the village gossips, since there is still much that we don’t yet know about Kate. I want to know where she was brought up, what school she attended, and did she go to university? And if so, what did she read? In truth, these are all things that you need to know as well. Right, enough from me. I shall wait up for you, and please have a lovely evening.’

  As he moved into the hall to collect his coat he heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel of the drive. The taxi had arrived, a couple of minutes early. Tolstoy was impressed. ‘Taxi’s here, Elspeth,’ he called out. ‘See you later.’ With that he opened the door and stepped out into the chill evening, aware of butterflies in his stomach and his sweaty palms. Unthinking he got into the front passenger seat of the taxi and gave Kate’s address then settled back for the short drive to his date’s cottage.

  He practically leaped out of the car when it stopped at her gate and bustled up the path to her front door. There was an outside light under the roof of the minuscule porch, which made his search for a bell easier. He found no bell, so he lifted the old-fashioned knocker and let it drop heavily, making enough noise to rouse the whole village. Tolstoy had to wait for perhaps fifteen seconds, although, in his impatience to see Kate again, it seemed like an eternity to him before the door was opened. Kate stood there, backlit by the hall light and looking beautiful, he thought. ‘Hi Tolstoy, I’ll just get my coat,’ and she turned and lifted a dark, woollen garment from behind the front door. Tolstoy remembered Elspeth’s advice, and as they walked down the path together, he said, ‘You look fantastic.’

  She halted and turned to smile at him. ‘Thank you, Tolstoy. You don’t look too bad yourself.’ He managed to reach ahead of her to flick up the gate latch and ushered her out to the waiting taxi. He opened the rear nearside passenger door for her, then closed it. He started to reach for the front door on the same side, when, in a moment of inspiration, he changed his mind and moved around the rear of the vehicle and got into the back seat on the other side. He felt rather pleased with himself at this manoeuvre, which found him sitting side by side with Kate.

  ‘All set?’ asked the taxi driver.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate and Tolstoy in unison, and their first date had begun.

  Elspeth was all agog when Tolstoy finally reappeared shortly after eleven. He hung up his coat and went into the living room.

  ‘So?’ Elspeth raised an eyebrow. ‘How did it go? No, wait. Tell me over a nightcap. What would you like? Wine? Whisky? Gin? A beer? Or even a cup of tea or a coffee?’

  ‘I should like a glass of wine,’
said Tolstoy. ‘I think there’s an unopened bottle in the fridge, isn’t there?’

  ‘That might now be an opened bottle, but there is certainly enough for a glass each,’ said Elspeth, ‘I opened it a little earlier.’

  ‘OK, I’ll be back in a mo,’ said Tolstoy, heading for the kitchen.

  On his return he poured out two generous glasses of white wine then settled on the sofa opposite Elspeth, who was in her favourite armchair.

  It took some coaxing by Elspeth to find out how things had gone on the date, and when he was only halfway through his tale of the date they needed a refill, so Tolstoy headed down to the cellar for a couple more bottles.

  The debriefing resumed. From what Elspeth could make out it had been an evening of ups and downs. Tolstoy explained that when they were shown to their table he somehow collided with the corner of a neighbouring table, hard enough to send a bottle of wine and one wine glass crashing to the floor, where wine was spilled amid shards of broken glass. Tolstoy naturally offered to pay for any cleaning, bought a replacement bottle for the couple, all the while apologising profusely. Kate was mute. Even frowning, he thought. Either embarrassed by him, or annoyed with him, he concluded. During the narration of this episode, Elspeth, for her part, had kept her face diplomatically expressionless, and made not a sound as he related the gory details of the start of his first date.

  ‘Everything was eventually sorted out,’ said Tolstoy, ‘and we sat down opposite each other. But we hardly had any time to start chatting before the waiter came over with the menus and the wine list.’ They studied the choices of food and drink, and having made their selections for each course, Tolstoy invited Kate to have a say in what wine they should drink, but she said that she was happy to drink whatever he ordered, informing him that she enjoyed both white and red, as well as rosé.

  They placed their orders and Tolstoy apologised to Kate for the shambolic entrance, saying he was sure he had embarrassed and annoyed her.

  ‘Oh Tolstoy, stop worrying about it,’ she said. ‘There’s no point crying over spilt wine.’ She paused and he suddenly grinned at her humour. ‘To be honest I was just trying to keep a straight face. That’s why I was frowning a little. And even you must admit it really was quite amusing. You had moved so carefully, and yet you still managed to catch that table.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said an embarrassed Tolstoy, ‘I get these moments, when I seem to be so clumsy. I hadn’t had an episode for a few months and I thought maybe I was over them, but this has just reminded me what an idiot I can make myself look.’

  ‘You’re not an idiot. Now put it to the back of your mind and let’s enjoy the rest of the evening.’

  Tolstoy assured Elspeth that he had followed her advice about listening to everything Kate said and asking her relevant questions. She had, for example, studied history of art at Leeds University after attending a comprehensive school in the Midlands. Her father had died when she was at university, and her mother now lived in her native Scotland, in Fort William. She had one brother and one sister, both younger. She played the cello, or at least she used to. She enjoyed all music, but especially classical, and, unsurprisingly, loved art. She was a half-decent cook, and thought their meal that evening had been exemplary. ‘And did she ask you about your background?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Tolstoy. ‘I gave her the short version. The long one is utterly boring.’

  ‘Did you tell her you enjoyed music?’

  ‘Yes, although a light sort of went out in her eyes when I mentioned jazz. But she did nod at me when I said I too like classical. I think though she prefers more modern classical. I told her Haydn was probably my all-time favourite composer and that I also liked music from the Baroque period. She didn’t really react to that.’

  ‘Were you still talking by the end of the meal?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But just inconsequential things really. A bit of village chat. Thoughts on various locals. How well I’ve settled in here at the Manor. And, of course, the letter giving the Buttercup Field to the village. She said that when Wayne saw the documents he started nodding his head straightaway. She took that as a positive sign.’

  ‘And when the taxi took you back to Kate’s did you get out of the car and walk her to her front door?’

  ‘Er… no. She had the door open far more quickly than I had anticipated. Said it had been a great evening and that she might see me in the pub tomorrow lunchtime. And thanks for taking her somewhere that produced such fabulous food. Then she shut the door and was gone.’

  ‘Well, at least she was still talking to you at the end of the evening,’ came Elspeth’s response to counter Tolstoy’s obvious disappointment. ‘And it seems she wants to see you again, even if it is only at the old Snitcher’s Head tomorrow. Perhaps, if you do bump into her in the pub, you could invite her around here for tea tomorrow afternoon. How does that sound?’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea. Maybe I will.’

  Shortly after that he and Elspeth called it a day and headed off to bed, Tolstoy utterly drained by his busy day and his emotional evening. At least tomorrow, he thought, after switching off his bedside lamp, there was a chance of seeing Kate again.

  Eleven

  As things turned out, Tolstoy did not see Kate the following day. She made no appearance at the pub, much to his disappointment. He had even popped around to her cottage, but when he had knocked there was no one in to answer. The rest of the following week had him heading in multiple directions, not least because the driving school had mistakenly booked him in for a lesson every morning instead of arranging them for a fortnight hence. On the Monday he had been halfway through his boiled egg when the instructor knocked at the Manor door. So, having foregone the rest of his toasty soldiers, Tolstoy had sat behind the wheel of a car for the first time in his life. On hearing that he was such a neophyte, the instructor insisted that the first fifteen minutes or so be spent driving up and down the Manor driveway. Thankfully the car was an automatic. ‘There is talk of a new model coming out that will have a self-drive mode,’ the instructor announced to his pupil. ‘Maybe I should wait until then,’ said Tolstoy with a wry smile. Nevertheless, he gradually learned how to brake without sending his passenger flying into the windscreen. He also mastered throttle control, although at his first attempt he watched his foot on the throttle and forgot all about steering, until an alarmed cry from the instructor, followed by him stamping on the dual control brake, made Tolstoy look up. To his horror and embarrassment, had it not been for the instructor’s quick thinking, Tolstoy realised the car would have slid into a shallow ditch that ran alongside the drive.

  Despite the fact that it was not a public road, Tolstoy still had to deal with other vehicles. The first was Elspeth, returning from an early appointment with her hairdresser in Goudhurst. Tolstoy learned very quickly about getting into reverse, then swivelling to look over his left shoulder while still steering the car. ‘Too many things to think about,’ he thought to himself, as the car swerved this way and that along the drive until it reached the circular part where Elspeth could sweep around to her left and leave him a clear run up the drive again. He managed the manoeuvre a lot better a few minutes later, just after the instructor felt confident enough to entrust his vehicle and his life to his very inexperienced pupil. The car was just fifteen yards from the gateway when the postman’s van swung in quite sharply. That required an emergency stop for Tolstoy, which he pulled off admirably, before demonstrating that his previous experience with Elspeth had taught him how to multi-task when reversing, although he still found the manoeuvre gave him a crick in the neck.

  The rest of the lesson went far more smoothly, and the instructor recalculated how many lessons Tolstoy would require and concluded that he would be ready to sit his two-part driving test in the middle of January, provided he got in some extra practice between lessons. Elspeth later volunteered for this duty.

  Thereafter it wa
s a matter of squeezing in everything for the rest of the week. There was a fair amount of administrative and financial work to deal with, Tolstoy’s income tax for starters, a review of what was being paid for heating oil, organising a surveyor to take a look at the cellarage, because Tolstoy felt it was damper than it should have been, the same expert to examine the roof, a job which Hubert had made sure was carried out every four or five years and Elspeth had told him it was now about time. There was also the painter and decorator to book, a chimney sweep, and around the grounds there was a definite need for some tree work. At some point Tolstoy wanted to firm up with Jack Bentley about permission to attend and, more importantly, to contribute to the plenary parish council meeting the following week. To that end he thought he might be advised to get in touch with Angela Smeaton; she would make a far more telling and convincing case when addressing the parish council than an amateur such as Tolstoy. So he then had to get contact details from the colonel for the two. He berated himself for failing to get the Stottenden Manor documents photocopied so that the colonel and Angela could have a chance to study them.

  He was also still browsing equipment suppliers and sewage specialists on behalf of the cricket club. And he reminded himself to ask Bert for the name of a carpenter to build the sight screens and a professional to paint them. He was also trying to fit in the odd hour of extra driving with Elspeth, which meant he was taking her to the shops and back. All good experience, but time-consuming as well. By the end of the week he was feeling quite frazzled. At some point during the week he had had a brief phone call from Kate, firstly to apologise for not seeing him on the Sunday, the day after their first date, but she had had to visit a friend in London, who had a personal crisis, and two, that she was spending this weekend away at another friend’s hen party, so Tolstoy’s plans for Date Number Two went out of the window.