by K. J. Rabane
“Good friends,” we echoed his toast.
“I have a strong feeling the coming year is going to be a good one; a time to put the past behind us,” Henry continued and I noticed a slight slurring of his words, the pre-lunch champagne and wine drunk, during the meal, having taking their toll. I smiled fondly at him.
“I do hope so, Henry. The last two years are ones I’d prefer to forget.”
He reached over and patted my arm, “Quite so old fellow, quite so,” he said.
I noticed the sky outside the window darken as the showers increased. Henry’s eyelids closed and before long he drifted into sleep. Josie moved her chair closer to mine. “How are you, really?” she asked, concern in her dark eyes.
“Better. I’m learning to live with it. You know I’ll never forget her.”
Josie sighed. “Me too,” she said. “We used to be such good friends when we were young. I miss that. We were so close. She was such a live wire, always leading me into trouble of some kind or another. We even shared a boyfriend or two if I recall. I was so pleased to meet up with her again and couldn’t wait to tell Henry how thrilled I was she’d moved into River House.”
She stood up and walked over to the window peering out into the swirling drifts then sat down once more at my side and I saw her cheeks were damp. “At first, I thought she seemed like the same old Evelyn, but I was mistaken and as the weeks passed I found little that reminded me of my old friend.”
“In what way had she changed?” I asked.
“She was much more highly strung than I remembered. You see I’d always envied her calm unruffled manner. She used to be so easy going.”
I nodded in agreement, Josie’s thoughts echoing my own.
“I began to look for reasons for the change in her and I’m afraid I put most of it down to Leonora’s influence. Perhaps wrongly, who can say? Maybe I let my own prejudices colour my judgement. We will never know now.”
“You don’t think much of Leonora, do you?” I commented raising my glass to my lips.
“Let’s just say we don’t see eye to eye and leave it at that. It would be wrong of me to influence your opinion of her. All I would say is I felt as though I’d lost my friend many months before she died and it was something I found difficult to accept.”
We were silent, each with our own memories. Henry grunted in his sleep and awoke with a start.
“Good Lord you two, cheer up. It’s Christmas day. I suggest we plug in the old TV. and pit our wits against that new computerised quiz our guest gave us for Christmas.”
Henry’s good humour lightened the mood and before long, we were laughing companionably as Christmas night fell. Outside, the snow had stopped, the sky was clear and stars twinkled in the frosty air. Silence lay around the house and its grounds, cushioned by the snowfall cradling us in an atmosphere of isolated contentment.
It was to be the first and last Christmas I spent with them both. Henry’s optimistic toast for the coming year was fulfilled but not in quite the way he’d intended, when he’d raised his brandy glass aloft on that snowy Christmas afternoon.
Chapter 18
At the end of January, the editor of HI LIFE magazine contacted me. It seemed they were interested in doing a lifestyle spread for the magazine, complete with glossy photographs showing me at work and at home. At first I was surprised at the suggestion, contemplated giving an outright no as an answer then, after brief consideration, changed my mind and accepted. The publicity would be good for Softcell, the money was a bonus and I could see no reason to refuse.
The photographer and reporter from the magazine met me in my office on a wet Thursday afternoon in the middle of February. The reporter was a lively young woman with a Knightsbridge accent who insisted on slanting the questions towards my love life and how I was managing being single. She was careful to avoid mentioning Evelyn but I sensed the topic remained hovering in the background.
I answered her questions, as truthfully as I could, whilst stressing there was no one special in my life and nothing of a romantic nature that could possible interest her readers.
When the interview ended, the photographer took photographs of me working at my computer, giving dictation to Alice Baines, and in conversation with my I.T. department. Before leaving, they arranged for us to meet again the following day at River House. The interviewer, whose name was Kate, explained she wanted to continue with photographs of my home and an in-depth conversation with me in that environment. Apparently each ‘Lifestyle’ piece was conducted in a similar manner. I accepted her explanation, having never to my knowledge delved into the pages of the magazine, although I had seen copies of it lying around when Evelyn was alive.
As I showered and dressed the following morning, I heard the sound of the vacuum cleaner drifting up from the floor below. Mrs Bates was cleaning the house from top to bottom in preparation for the visit. Fresh cut flowers adorned the hallway, sitting room and kitchen. There was even a small vase of snowdrops on my study windowsill.
The day dawned with no trace of the previous day’s rain clouds remaining in a clear blue sky. The photographer suggested I sit in the conservatory with my back to the garden. Then he decided to take a few shots of me seated at my desk in the study before moving into the garden to photograph views of the house and the river.
Kate’s questions were of a more personal nature this time. She wanted to know who had been responsible for the floral theme in the conservatory and the minimalist design of the kitchen and dining room. I gave perfunctory replies but I sensed her need to delve further into the life I’d shared with Evelyn. When she could see I wasn’t going to satisfy the prurient nature of her readers, she switched off her tape machine and thanked me for the interview.
After they both left, I breathed a sigh of relief, my jaw aching from trying to smile without looking like a complete idiot and my muscles cramped from having to sit still for so long. I was beginning to realise the whole process had required more of me than I was prepared to give and had in fact earned the large sum of money the magazine was offering. Trying to look relaxed and casual had been more difficult than I’d anticipated.
During the first week of March I stood watching the daffodils bending back and forth in the strong wind blowing up the garden from the river, when Mrs Bates called to me from the kitchen. “Oh my word just look at this, sir.” she exclaimed holding up the spring edition of HI LIFE magazine, complete with a glamorous picture of a well-known starlet on the cover. In one corner was a passport-sized photograph of myself above the words Tycoon’s riverside retreat. Full report - see page 5. I opened the magazine with trepidation, to find the house looked very good indeed and, as far as my photograph was concerned, they had done the best of a bad job. But to my surprise Kate had made me sound like some sort of eligible prospect on the marriage market;-
The widower sits alone surrounded by peace and tranquillity with no one to share the fruits of his successs, except his faithful companion, a dog called Tinker.
The report of the interview sat under a photograph of me looking out at the garden with Tinker’s head resting on my knee, a sorrowful expression in his dark brown eyes. I laughed out loud and to Mrs Bates’s annoyance, tossed the magazine into the wastepaper basket. I later heard her remove it as I left the room to answer the telephone.
It was Josie. “Have you seen HI LIFE magazine?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.
I’d not mentioned my photo shoot to either of them, partly from a sense of embarrassment and partly because I thought it unlikely they would see the article anyway.
“I have indeed,” I replied.
“I must say you look extremely handsome.”
For the second time, I laughed at the prospect. “It’s miraculous what an airbrush and good lighting will do,” I said.
“Nonsense, I think you’d better be prepared to receive a post-box full of letters from gold-digging females only too eager to share the ‘fruits of your success’.
”
“God forbid,” I replied
“Oh, I almost forgot; Henry wants to know if you’d like to go to Twickenham with him this weekend for the rugby international. He has acquired a spare ticket.”
“Tell Henry, thanks. I’ll pick him up at eleven on Saturday.”
I doubted very much that Henry just happened to have a spare ticket. They were like gold to come by but my dear friend was still looking after my welfare and refusing to allow me to wallow in my hermitage. Although, after seeing the photographs of River House in the magazine, hermitage was perhaps the wrong word.
Josie’s prediction turned out to be nearer the mark than I’m sure either of us had anticipated. Because, the week following the publication of the article, the first letters began to arrive and by the end of the week, I had a substantial pile waiting for my attention. Some contained photographs of women, in what I supposed were flattering poses, with accompanying letters, which if nothing else, did wonders for my ego. Others were typewritten sheets of descriptive prose designed to whet my appetite for the undoubted pleasures that awaited me by arranging a meeting with their authors. At first I was vaguely amused but the larger the pile grew, the more I began to regret my willingness to put my life on display in what I now realised was an extremely popular magazine. The first letter I received from Switzerland made me also realise that the publication had a European network distribution, which fuelled my regret still further.
One sunny day in April, when I was sitting in the conservatory opening yet another pile of letters, Leonora returned. The letters were arriving by the sack load now and I was getting to the stage where I thought it might be expedient to place them in the bin unopened but my curiosity got the better of me and I began systematically slitting the envelopes one by one. I was alone in the house except for Tinker, as Mrs Bates’s sister was having one of her ‘turns’. The faint aroma of recent baking wafted through the house from the direction of the kitchen, which was usually the case when Mrs Bates was preparing for her departure. She’d spent the morning baking and continued to assure me that the freezer was fully stocked, as I’d opened the taxi door and Morton Phillips had carried her away on a cloud of instructions, drifting like confetti in her wake.
I’d been reading the letters for some time before I was aware I was being watched. I looked up and there she was, standing outside the door to the conservatory, her pale blonde hair resting on the shoulders of her short beige fur jacket. She had been gently tapping the glass with her fingertips but I’d not heard her as I had turned up the volume on my sound system.
I opened the door. She raised her head, stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek.
“Hullo,” she said, as she slipped past me into the room. For a moment, I was speechless. “You don’t seem very pleased to see me.”
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “It was just such a surprise seeing you standing there.”
“I should have rung.”
“No, no, not at all. When did you arrive?”
“Late last night.” She removed her jacket and placed it over a chair.
“Is this a short visit? Or are you home for good?” I asked.
She looked at the pile of letters on the table and left my question unanswered.
“I see you seem to be extraordinarily popular, judging by your mail.”
“Oh that,” I laughed and went on to explain about the magazine article.
“I know,” she said, as she sat opposite me. “I saw it. In fact, in a way, it’s responsible for my being here.”
“It is?” I queried, unable to think why that should be the case.
She picked up one of the opened letters attached to which was a photograph of a redhead in a bikini.
“And it looks as though I was just in time to save you from a fate worse than death!” she exclaimed and I heard again the tinkling laughter floating around her like a gossamer cloud.
It occurred to me then that Leonora often left a question unanswered, preferring to steer the conversation in a direction of her own making. So, I persevered with my former question. “Why should reading the magazine article precipitate your arrival?”
She hesitated, glanced at me briefly and said enigmatically, “I think the answer will become clearer in time.”
I shrugged. I could see I was getting nowhere. “Anyway, whatever the reason, it is good to see you. You will stay and help me eat the mound of steak and kidney pie Mrs Bates has left for me, won’t you?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she replied standing up and holding her hand out towards me. “Point me in the direction of the pie and I’ll make sure it’s warmed up to perfection.”
I laid the table in the dining room, whilst Leonora was busy in the kitchen and for some reason used the cutlery Evelyn and I kept for entertaining; it gleamed like gold in the light from the overhead chandelier. Then I went down to the basement and searched the wine store for my finest bottle. I felt in the mood to celebrate and realised that my spirits had lifted from the moment I’d looked up and seen Leonora standing outside.
We ate the meal in companionable silence, after which we drank coffee in the sitting room and watched the moonlight turning the river to a thread of silver, slowly winding its way along the riverbank. Leonora stood up and walked across to the bar in the corner of the room. Evelyn and I had created a small games area alongside the bar, consisting of a roulette wheel, she’d bought for me after a holiday in Las Vegas, a card table and a carved chess set, I’d inherited from my parents. Leonora reappeared holding up an unopened pack of cards. “Do you play poker?” she asked.
I frowned. “I haven’t played for years but I don’t think I‘ve forgotten the basics. I may be a bit rusty though.”
“Excellent, so much the better.” She smiled, tossing her hair over one shoulder.
I placed a small card table between us and held out my hand for the deck but she ignored me and after slowly removing the cellophane wrapper, kept her eyes glued to mine in a most disconcerting way. Then she took the pack in her right hand, tapped them on the surface of the table once, held the top of the pack with her thumbs and, with her fingertips lightly resting at each side, shuffled the cards as neatly as any croupier I’d seen during my stay in the gaming capital of the world.
I whistled softly, “Very impressive!”
Her eyes still holding mine, she said softly, “Merely a trick I was taught many years ago.”
I was to discover later that her expertise, in handling the cards, was not her only attribute. If we had been playing for money, instead of matchsticks, she would have made a killing.
“As you can see I was being honest, I’m a bit rusty, I’m afraid,” I explained lamely, as I scooped up the cards and laid them on the table between us. She made no comment, as the clock above the fireplace struck midnight. I looked up shocked at how quickly the time had passed.
“I must go,” she said, rushing away from me like Cinderella at the last stroke.
“I’ll drive you home.” I offered
“No, you’ve had too much to drink. It’s no problem I’ll walk back the way I came. Perhaps I could borrow a torch?”
“Nonsense, at least let me walk you back.”
She nodded and as we walked into the kitchen, Tinker sauntered out of the utility room, sensing a walk might be ion the horizon. Leonora patted his head and he nuzzled up against her leg.
“Tinker, here boy, leave Leonora alone,” I commanded.
“It’s all right, really,” she said, patting her side as Tinker resumed his formed position.
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had an allergy to dogs?”
“Me? No, whatever made you think that?” she asked.
“Something I heard once. Maybe I was wrong.” I frowned at the memory.
We didn’t need the torch. The moon shone out of a star-studded sky bathing the ground in a silver light. It was a crisp April night and not a breath of wind stirred the surface of the river as we walked along the path.
When we reached the bottom of her garden, the security lights came on, bathing the lawn in bright light. Leonora turned to face me.
“Thanks for tonight. I really enjoyed myself.”
“Me too,” I said, mesmerised by her face shining ghostly white surrounded by a curtain of silver hair.
She turned away and before I knew it, she was standing at her back door, leaving me with a sinking feeling of loss. I think it had been in my mind that she might do as she had done previously and brushed her lips against mine, in a gesture of thanks. When it turned out not to be the case, I felt cheated and strangely disappointed. I waited until she disappeared through the doorway and turned on the kitchen light then retraced my steps but the beauty of the moonlit night failed to penetrate my thoughts as I made my solitary way home.
That night I tossed and turned in the large double bed, unable to remove the picture of Leonora from my mind. At six o’clock I decided enough was enough, I would get up and work in my study. Assembling protocols, analysing data and structuring new software would focus my mind on something other than Leonora Bennett. For the first time in my life, I found work did not produce the necessary anaesthesia to numb my senses. I stared into my computer screen seeing nothing but her face, her moonlit hair and those eyes, which I knew had fascinated me ever since I first saw them in Venice, a lifetime ago.
I closed down my computer and called to Tinker with the intention of walking through the woods to clear my head. It was early and as soon as we reached the river path at the point where it meandered into the trees, Tinker saw a rabbit and raced off after it, like one of the hounds of hell. I sauntered behind knowing that before long I would meet up with him, probably having lost the trail, with his nose stuck in a burrow.
I’d walked further than usual and the woods opened out into fields bordered by trees covered in the green shoots of spring. A footpath led over the fields to the village of Kings Datchet and I saw a tall figure, two dogs at her heels, striding towards me from the direction of the village. I would have recognised Josie anywhere but as if in confirmation, I heard Tinker barking behind me as he recognised the dogs. He raced past me through the fence and along the path until he reached Josie, who looked up, saw me and increased her pace.