by Martha Long
‘Come on, don’t be shy,’ he said, grinning at me and pulling me down to sit next to him while he sat at the top of the table. It was a very long, old wooden table, with scars deeply etched into the thick heavy wood that came from years of wear and tear and standing up to a lot of hard knocks. This table would easily seat about ten people, I thought. The chairs were high-backed with old calf-leather backrests.
I sat down next to him, watching as he picked up the ladle then handed it to me, saying, ‘Do help yourself, it’s chicken and vegetables in a cream sauce. You do like chicken?’ he said, grinning at me.
‘Yes,’ I nodded, giving a little smile. ‘Thank you, Ralph, I love chicken.’
‘Good, give me your plate, and I will serve you,’ he said, seeing me get distracted.
‘What?’ I said, whipping me head to him as I stared around at the lovely, warm old kitchen.
‘Shall I serve?’ he said, pointing at the steaming casserole.
‘Yes, of course, thank you,’ I said, handing him back the ladle.
‘Would you like some wine?’ he said, getting up and walking over to a big old cupboard and taking out a bottle of red wine.
I hesitated, saying, ‘Eh, sorry?’
He saw that and said, ‘Red or white?’ then leaned in again to bring out another bottle.
‘White, please,’ I grinned, delighted he had some. I don’t like red, it gives me a headache, I thought. Then I picked up the ladle and decided to do the serving. ‘Is this enough, Ralph?’ I said, putting down his plate, letting him see the one piece of chicken with a few vegetables and some sauce. I didn’t want to make a show of myself by overfilling the plate. I know it’s considered bad manners in his world.
‘Yes, thank you,’ he said, concentrating on pouring the wine.
I helped myself, taking the same amount of chicken, then reached over and passed the bread basket to him, taking out one piece for myself. ‘Thank you,’ he said, indicating with his head I should leave it in front of him. ‘Yours,’ he said, landing down a huge glass filled with wine.
I took a sip, feeling the heat and strength of it go right through my veins, warming me. Then I took in a quiet sigh, hoping we could both thaw out. The strain was difficult, with the pair of us not knowing what to make of the other.
‘Eat,’ he said, picking up his knife and fork, and pointing at my plate. ‘Go on, before it gets cold,’ he said, breaking a piece of bread and starting on his chicken. ‘So, when did you arrive?’ he said, lifting his head and looking straight at me. I could see his eyes were guarded; he was being almost formal, like he was entertaining a guest, but one who was not particularly close.
‘Early today,’ I said, lying through me teeth. I didn’t want him to know I arrived and high tailed it up here in my haste to see him, thinking, I only stopped to get a bit of Dutch courage in the local inn.
‘Oh,’ he said, figuring out I was in no hurry to see him. ‘So, is your living accommodation comfortable?’
‘Yes, it suits the purpose,’ I said, feeling my heart sink even lower. No such luck is he going to invite me to stay here with him.
‘How long do you intend staying?’ he said, looking like it really was no concern of his.
I could feel myself beginning to get annoyed. Fuck him, I thought, lifting the glass and taking a big mouthful. I need it, it’s the only bit of comfort I’m going to get here, I thought, hating this pussyfooting around but knowing he is himself and I am me. We both take a different approach to life.
He is governed by his sense of duty, of what is acceptable behaviour and belief in doing the right thing. Whereas I am liable to take a gamble. I like to face things head on. But not in this instance am I going to be able to act as I usually would. No, he’s too shut down. This is not going to work out. If anything, he has become even more deeply entrenched in his ways. He doesn’t act on his own wishes, feelings or what he wants. Even now, I could tell by his reaction that he still has feelings for me. I could see that by how nervous he was, just like myself. But I know he won’t act on it, because it is not the right thing to do. Fuck this! In other words, I would be an indulgence. Not a real necessity for him. So, let’s just wait and see. But my gut feeling tells me I am right.
‘Would you like some more?’ he said, seeing me leave my knife and fork down after watching me mop up the sauce with bits of bread and nibble away with sips of wine, leaving a very shiny, nice white plate. That’s not the bleedin done thing either! You’re supposed to leave something sitting on the plate. Show you’re not a glutton! Well, they can keep that rule! But I do have my boundaries. I shook my head, saying, ‘No, thanks, Ralph, that meal was delicious. I think I’ve eaten enough, thank you.’
‘Hmm! Good to see you have a healthy appetite,’ he said, grinning at me as he stretched across the table. ‘Cheese?’ he asked, holding up the cheeseboard and landing it down in front of himself.
I shook me head, then thought, Why not? ‘Yes, please, seeing as I seem to be making good inroads into the wine. I need something to soak it up,’ I said, feeling myself getting very sleepy.
4
‘I think we ought to be getting you into a bed soon,’ he said, watching me give a big yawn under my hand.
‘No, if it’s OK with you, I don’t mind staying on a bit longer. Is that OK?’ I said, looking straight into his face, seeing his eyes light up.
‘I have no problem, Martha. I would quite enjoy that,’ he said, giving me a huge grin, then letting his eyes soften, showing me he meant it.
I felt myself melting inside, thinking, I still can’t believe I am sitting here with Ralph, the man I have never stopped loving. God knows it wasn’t for the want of trying. I have gone through hating him, aching for him, crying at the loss of him, then burying him. Banishing him to the deep, dark recesses of my mind. But he has never gone away. Now here I am, sitting right next to him, sharing a meal. No, it doesn’t feel real. I am all wound up and shut down, locked tight inside myself, just like him. Maybe he will open up yet, then we could talk, I felt myself hoping. Dear God, I do indeed have a lot to lose, it was slowly dawning on me. If I walk away without getting through to him, there will be no turning back.
‘Have you had enough to eat?’ he said, looking at me like he wanted to move.
‘Oh, yes, thank you, Ralph, that was delicious. Did you enjoy it?’ I said.
‘Yes, it was quite good. Madame Bouclé is a very competent cook,’ he said, standing up and throwing down his napkin.
I stood up and started to gather up all the plates. ‘No, you sit. I shall attend to these. No need to wash up. Madame would not take kindly. We can leave them sitting in the sink. I tend to just leave them steeping. Why don’t you sit by the fire and I will join you shortly,’ he said, jamming all the plates into the sink, then clearing away the rest of the stuff.
‘OK, if you are sure,’ I said, looking at him, seeing him occupied, then headed myself out the door, making back for the sitting room.
I sat down on the sofa feeling a little bit more at ease in myself but not much. Then I lifted my bag off the floor and opened it, pulling out my tobacco. It’s just as well I have the key, I thought. Now I can go back when it suits me and let myself in quietly. But it’s a pity, though, I wasn’t able to come here first. I would love nothing better than to be able to stay here with Ralph. Still, it’s just as well I got that place. It’s very handy, as now I’m under no compliment to him. I have somewhere to go, and it’s showing him I’m independent and not completely throwing myself at his mercy.
Right, I sighed, thinking Ralph is more formidable now than I ever thought possible. He’s keeping himself very much to himself. We don’t have that easy way with each other like we did when we were both young. Jaysus! Middle age is a bitch! I thought, thinking we get more cautious and take fewer risks. It takes the fun out of life. Well, I still haven’t lost too much of it. Otherwise I would not be bloody here!
‘Ah, here you are,’ he said, swinging open the door and
walking slowly in, taking in the sight of me sitting back comfortably, then he drew his head to the fire, thinking. ‘Hmm, perhaps more logs,’ he said, making for the basket next to the fire and pulling out a big log. He humped it on the fire and it immediately started spitting and blowing out smoke, sending a lovely smell of pine wafting around the room.
‘That takes care of that,’ he said, rubbing his hands and looking at me, giving me a big grin. ‘Have you not given up that dreadful weed?’ he roared, pointing at my roll-up cigarette.
‘No, have you?’
‘Yes!’ he said, bowing his head at me, then lifting it before making out of the room again. I watched him go, wondering when he was going to sit down and relax. I wanted to be at ease with him. I wonder if he’s going to offer any more wine? Jaysus, it must be me fourth glass today. I still don’t really feel the effects of it. Normally I would have enough after even only half a glass. Wonder where I’m putting it? Anyway, I want another bloody drink. It’s my nerves, they’re getting the better of me!
‘Wine?’ he asked, flying in the door carrying two glasses and a new full bottle.
I felt myself lifting straight away. Oh, happy days! I could hear meself humming suddenly, listening to it inside me head, as I grinned up at him. ‘Ta, you always were a gentleman,’ I laughed, taking the glass before he even offered it.
‘My, we are enjoying the vino!’ he said, showing me his still very white teeth, with the dimples in his lovely creamy skin.
He hasn’t changed a bit, I thought. Just got even better looking, I sighed, feeling the longing in me as I held out the glass, looking up at him while he filled it. I looked at the size of it, then heard myself saying, ‘Right, you better be prepared to carry me back to that guesthouse! Because it looks like I am going on a binge. Believe it or not, I would not normally dream of wanting this much wine. But you foreigners, French frogs,’ I said, grinning at him, ‘you drink it like water.’
‘Tut, tut, don’t let the locals hear you call them that,’ he laughed. Then he clinked my glass, saying, ‘Cheers, Martha, to your good health! Though I still say it is almost impossibly difficult for me to believe you are here,’ he said, shaking his head and looking into my face as he let himself drop into the sofa opposite me.
‘Yeah,’ I muttered. ‘I must have slept-walked here, because if I really thought about it, quite frankly, Ralph, I would not have done it,’ I said, only half-lying through me teeth this time. Because a part of me told me I was bleedin nuts!
‘What would you not have done?’ he asked, staring into my eyes with a knowing look. He knows me well, and I just stared back, studying him, seeing what I could read. A smile played around his lips, knowing what I was thinking. If I give him a direct answer, he will give me an even quicker one. It will not be to my liking.
‘Do you mind if I take off these boots?’ I said, stretching my legs and letting the long, woollen, oatmeal-coloured frock cling to my legs. It showed off what was left of my chest and the rest of my still-skinny body. It was lovely and warm, with a big roll-top neck. I wore it with a wide black-leather belt fastened around my waist, showing my figure off to its best advantage.
I saw him following the length of me, with his lovely green eyes taking me in, then letting a smile play on his lips. Then he looked at me, murmuring with his eyes flashing, ‘You have become a very attractive woman, Martha. Then, you always were,’ he said quietly, taking a sip of his wine then standing up and reaching into a box sitting on a big press behind him.
‘I have a confession to make,’ he said, taking out a cigar. ‘I smoke these occasionally,’ he continued, opening a drawer and picking up something to cut the end off. Then he dropped it back in the drawer and reached over to pick up a box of matches sitting on the mantelpiece.
He said nothing as he leaned himself against the mantelpiece and sucked on the cigar, taking a huge drag into his lungs, then watching as he blew the puff of smoke into the air, sending out a delicious scent.
I stared at him, with his ankles crossed, admiring his long legs with the lovely dark-brown, soft wool trousers and the turned-up end that looked tailored. He was wearing a dark-wine cashmere sweater with a crisp white-linen shirt underneath, open at the neck. I looked down at his shoes. They were black Italian leather, slip-on. He looked casual yet very elegant. I knew those clothes were expensive. No, Ralph never wanted for much. He always had good taste, even if it was only a priest’s black suit. It was always quality.
I looked down at my own boots. They were wine-coloured, with kid-glove leather. They went great with the wool frock. But they were bloody expensive, too. Not the sort of money I could afford. No, they were a Christmas present from my friend Blondie, who I’d met in the mad house, to go with the fur coat she gave me. Jaysus! She spends money too, like it’s going out of fashion. Oh, well, she’s keeping me well dressed. I must say I’m a credit to her.
‘So, what about the boots, Ralph? Can I take them off?’ I said, crossing my legs and grabbing hold of one to pull it off.
‘Would you like me to help you?’ he said, lifting his chin then dropping his eyes, taking in the bit of leg I was showing.
‘Well, if you insist,’ I said. ‘I am pretty ragged at the minute. I have been travelling for what feels like years now,’ I laughed, then gave a big sigh, holding out my leg for him.
He looked around, searching for the ashtray, then spotted it sitting on a table behind my sofa and leaned across, leaving the cigar smouldering in it. Then he dropped on his knees and lifted my foot, pulling off the boot. Then he held his hand under my foot and lowered it to the floor. ‘Give me your leg,’ he said, lifting the other boot.
‘Certainly, sir!’ I said, lifting my leg and landing it on his thigh. ‘Oh, I do like a knight in shining armour,’ I sighed, feeling his hand on my thigh as he pulled off the boot. Then he flung it behind the sofa, sending the other one flying after it, and stood up. I laughed, thinking, he always did that. Sent things flying to land on chairs whenever he took something off. Then it hit me! ‘Mind my boots!’ I warned, looking from them to glare up at him, saying, ‘They were bloody expensive, you know!’
‘Hmm! I can see that,’ he said, then muttered, ‘So is the fur. Did you come into an inheritance?’
‘No, Ralph. I enjoy collecting friends’ cast-offs! They don’t call me “Second-hand Rose” for nothing,’ I laughed, seeing his face break into a big smile as he shook his head, saying, ‘You are funny.’
‘Yes, well, needs must and all that,’ I sighed, looking around me. ‘Now, where is my bag, Ralph? I need a cigarette.’
‘Beside you,’ he grinned, throwing his head at the bag sitting right beside me on the floor.
‘Oh, right!’ I sighed, leaning down and pulling it up.
‘So,’ he said, sipping his wine. ‘How are you feeling now? Is your health recovered?’
‘Yes, I am very much on the mend,’ I said slowly.
‘What happened to you, Martha?’ he said quietly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I believe you married, you have a child. I know only what you read in the letter I sent you. Tell me, how have you been?’
‘Yes, well, I married the bold Ulick in a shotgun wedding. The child was a shotgun birth. She arrived two months later. Then we had a shotgun divorce! Or at least separation. He divorced me a few years later. Happy days! It was a match made in hell. As you predicted, we were totally unsuited. I reared her alone, educated her, provided her with a good home, bought with my own sweat. She left home. I had lost my health. Recovered it somewhat, after months in hospital. Then undid all the good surgeon’s hard work. I plunged to the ground, hitting it hard. Tried to top myself, recovered again, now I am on the loose. Over twenty-one, fancy-free, and I have turned up here to visit my old friend Ralph. Your good self! My first excursion into the brave new world I intend making for myself, thank you. So, that is it! My life since I last saw you, fitted into a matchbox!
‘Now, what about yoursel
f? What have you been up to?’ I said, seeing him smile at me, shaking his head, saying quietly, ‘I always said you would become a wonderful woman, and you have.’
I stared at him, seeing him looking at me with the most gentle look in his eyes, looking like he wanted to cry. I felt myself suddenly filling up inside. Like I wanted to burst into tears. My heart was breaking for the want of him. Yet he still keeps his distance. I recognise the signs of him holding himself back. He won’t let go.
‘Tell me,’ I said, half-croaking then clearing my voice and taking a big sip of the wine. I looked, seeing I had drank half of it. Jaysus! And I am still not drunk! Happy! Oh, very happy days. I would hate to get drunk! Can’t bear all that spinning around in me head.
Then I looked up at him, seeing him staring at me. ‘What are you doing here, Ralph? Are you still a priest?’ I said, shocking myself with that question, then holding my breath, waiting for his answer. He nodded slowly, looking at me, watching my reaction. My heart sank. Ah, fuck!
‘So, what are you doing? I mean, why are you here? Is this a presbytery?’
‘No,’ he said quietly, shaking his head. ‘I have been abroad for many years, working as a missionary doctor for my order. I did tell you that in my letter. This house was left to me by a relative. I decided to come back and spend time here. So, it is as you see me now,’ he said, waving his arm around the room, then taking a sip of his drink.
‘But are you working as a priest here, Ralph?’ I said, feeling confused, wondering what was going on.
‘No,’ he said, slowly shaking his head.
‘So, does the order own this house now? Because you have a vow of poverty. Anything you own, they get.’