At the precise moment that he placed his booted foot on the flat stone slab that formed the stair’s top riser his wayward attention was further captured by the muffled thumping sound of feet running on the frozen grass, approaching rapidly but still obscured from view by more tall yew hedges on his left. Hamish felt a wave of disappointment instantly wash over him. He’d been enjoying this solitary adventure, and really didn’t want to find himself apologising to some, undoubtedly irate, landowner about his presence in their garden. He turned his head towards the direction that the sound was coming from the just as the battle for balance was lost before it began. There was no purchase to be had on the slick surface and first one boot then the other went out from under him. He fell, - loud cursing filling the cold morning air as, arms flailing, he unceremoniously bumped, bounced, jounced and slid the entire distance from top to bottom on his backside, until finally coming to rest at the base of the flight. He lay there for a moment, confused and winded by his rapid flight, as a petite but well-rugged figure came to a stop, mittened hands on hips as she remained jogging on the spot a short distance away from his supine form.
“Spectacular. I’d give that a 9 point 5 out of 10.” The voice belonged to a woman but the body looked more like that of a child. As Hamish’s vision cleared from the shimmering stars that indicated a near-miss with concussion he saw feet encased in running shoes, legs tightly clad in warm black leggings, a light parka over a long-sleeved runner’s vest and a close-fitting hat pulled so low on her brow that, with the collar turned up high on the jacket, it was difficult to see much of her face. She was now holding up both hands, warmly encased in bright red fuzzy mittens, in a mime of a judge holding up a score card.
“I’d be more sympathetic,” the runner pronounced “but you shouldn’t be here,” she paused for a moment, catching her breath before continuing, “then again, I probably shouldn’t be here either, so what the hell, I may as well help you up.” Walking to his still prone form, she held out a hand. Hamish had by now rolled over onto hands and knees while his head cleared and turned his face to stare up at her.
“I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,” …he groaned, “although, I think, under the circumstances, I might accept a hand.” He held out his right hand to grasp her proffered mitten. Grasping it, still feeling a bit woozy, he let her take some of his weight as she tugged hard in the opposite direction to pull him to his feet, but the disparity in their sizes and the fact by moving closer she also was now standing on the ice resulted in a comic moment in which she seemed to go into slow motion as her running shoes slid on the slick surface and with her arms frantically wind-milling she was dumped on her rear end on the icy ground next to Hamish, who had collapsed back on his stomach.
He rolled over so that he could look into surprised blue eyes in a pixie face and raised his eyebrows in an I-told-you-so sort of gesture. “I’d be more sympathetic, but maybe you shouldn’t be here either.” He grinned in sardonic mirth. “And you only get an eight for that. I think you could have done better on the dismount ...although I do think the arm action was pretty good.”
Fortunately, she seemed to have a sense of humour, and reciprocated his droll grin before moving away. “Ouch, this stuff is lethal,” she said, before shimmying on her bottom to the edge of the ice, away from Hamish and the steps. “And you’re all on your own for that last remark. Too bad if you’ve broken anything important …you’ll just have to drag yourself to the closest hospital.” She gingerly made it to her feet as Hamish regained his own. While her back was turned, Hamish kneaded a particularly tender spot on his backside were he imagined he’d have a spectacular bruise developing in a few hours. His head was still spinning and he reached up to rub at the beginnings of a lump under his hair where the back of his head had banged into the last step.
She turned towards him, dragging off her knitted cap with one hand while surreptitiously massaging her own rear-end with the other, in way that him smiling in sympathy, though he wasn’t about to mention it. Her hair was cut raggedly short in a shade of blond that Hamish doubted was natural, especially given the bright lavender-blue tips. Oddly enough, it suited her …putting him in mind of a contemporary version of Tinkerbell. She opened her mouth to say something …at, he could instantly tell, from the wary look that flashed over her gamine features, the same moment it dawned on her that she was in isolated place with a total stranger. Like dancers choreographed in some uncanny performance, they both took three steps backwards away from one another, he in an effort not to intimidate and she to put some space between herself and a potential threat to her safety. Unfortunately, Hamish’s third precipitous step returned him to the ice and he was once again flailing desperately for balance …in a purely reflexive action, she rushed forward to grab him vice-like around the waist before he toppled backwards again.
“Whoa there,” she breathlessly cautioned. “Haven’t you had enough of that for one day?” she looked up with concern at him towering above her. “Are you OK –you look a bit pale? You’re not going to faint on me are you?”
“Sorry, you looked a little scared so I was backing off not to frighten you,” he carefully replied.
“How’s that working out for you?” she now grinned up at him impishly.
“Well, considering that you’re the one holding me …perhaps I should be screaming and running.” He replied, holding both hands out in a sort of nonthreatening, ‘I give up’ gesture. He looked down at her. “You’re strong for your size.”
She promptly let go and stepped away from him. “Thank you …I think. Was that a compliment about my strength or a slur on my size?” Scowling theatrically, she stood with feet planted wide and both hands on her hips in what seemed like a practiced gesture of annoyance as she stared up at him. “…’Cos, I could take you down if I wanted to –you know.”
Hamish kept his hands in the ‘truce’ position, thinking that her resemblance to an irritated Tinkerbelle was even more pronounced with this gesture while responding, “Yes. No. Please don’t. I hurt more than enough in places I can’t tell you about already.” His response took a more placatory tone. ”Can I put my hands down now?” He slowly lowered his arms to his sides before continuing, “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves before we battle it out for your injured pride.” Holding his right hand out in the time-honoured fashion of benevolent greeting, he smiling winningly, completely unaware how it transformed his features from merely good-looking to drop-dead gorgeous. “Uh, hi, my name’s Hamish and I know I shouldn’t be trespassing but I’m hunting for a place to live and this garden is just so damn fascinating that I couldn’t help myself.” He paused, “So, what’s your excuse?”
“I’m Sara,” she replied, extending a small brightly mittened hand to briefly touch his larger gloved fingers. “I live nearby and I happen to know that there’s hardly ever anyone in this garden …apart from right now that is …so I use it as part of my running circuit. Which you’ve interrupted ...so I guess that I should thank you since I really really hate running? I just do it to stay fit and keep the weight off.” She grimaced as she spoke.
“Well it seems to be working out for you,” said Hamish, in a parody of her earlier statement.
“Gee-wiz and wow, two compliments in a row…you’re really on a roll.” She paused. “Yeah, well, I do what I can …its touch and go when you’re my height and food is so damn delicious.” Eyes narrowed, she unabashedly looked him over. “How tall are you anyway? It’s giving me a pain in my neck just talking to you.”
“Is that an admission that you are kind of short? …’Cos, to be perfectly honest, you are you know?” Hamish was smiling broadly by now, his eyes alight with roguish humour. “If you must know, I’m just over six-two. It would hardly qualify me to play major league basketball. I’d be a shrimp compared to those guys.”
“Yeah, right…speak for yourself…If you’re too short I’d be a damned dwarf.” She said wryly in a tone that indicated she was less than pleased with her
stature.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you …you look perfect to me.” He spoke without thinking. As soon as the words had left his mouth he realised he may have said something that could be misconstrued, and instantly tried to retract. “Sorry I really wasn’t trying to feed you a line … I just meant you are in perfect proportions for your height. I’m an artist …I notice stuff like that.” He tugged off a glove to run fingers through his fine shoulder-length hair in a self-conscious gesture of embarrassment. With his rising embarrassment his soft Scot’s accent became more pronounced –sounding less influenced by his years in London and more as if he’d just wandered down off the Highlands “…Bugger, I’m making a complete mess of this, aren’t I? I didn’t mean to get too familiar when I don’t even know you.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and stepped away to put more distance between them, careful this time to not tread on the icy patch. “I should just shut up before I do any more harm.” …the truth was, he thought, he felt so out of practice when it came to conversing with a member of the opposite sex, given that these days he hardly spoke to anyone, let alone a complete stranger who as luck would have it, happened to be a woman.
“Look at you, all six foot two and apologetic as hell.” Sara noted the wide gold wedding band with its Celtic knot patterning glinting in the sun on his gloveless hand, and pointed to it … “Makes me wonder …How you ever got the girl with lines like that?”
Hamish instantly recoiled with an expression that reminded Sara of a wounded animal. His facial expressions shut down with the speed of a bank security barrier and his complexion, which had only started to recover its normal colouring faded to an even paler shade of white. He swayed slightly and it really did appear as if he was about faint this time.
She wondered what on earth she had said to cause such a dramatic reaction ... He looked as if she’d struck him. Now it was her turn to apologise … “What did I say? Obviously, she decided, something bad …Hey, don’t you take any notice of me,”… she rambled on as she tried to make light of the moment. “What would I know about anything? …, I have height issues.” She looked behind him, pointing urgently this time to an old garden bench which was basking in the spotlight of the sun’s morning rays. “Why don’t you sit down there before you fall over again?”
Hamish stumbled to the bench and slumped against the slats of the seat back. On closer inspection of the ancient woodwork that made up the seat and backrest, Sara fervently hoped the lichen-encrusted timbers wouldn’t choose this moment to snap. She walked over to gingerly perch at the opposite end, one hand balanced on the decorative metal scroll that formed the bench end, trusting that her light weight wouldn’t be the straw that broke this camel’s back. Hamish had replaced the glove on his left hand, but she could see him twisting the wedding band with his other thumb and forefinger beneath the leather. She chose not to comment.
He averted dark pain-filled eyes, studying the ground as he spoke quietly. “Don’t blame yourself for what just happened. It’s not your fault – I have one or two ‘issues’ of my own.”
“Anything you want to share?” she asked softly. “Sometimes I find it’s better to talk to complete strangers …puts a whole new perspective on things.” She looked at him quizzically but not unkindly.
He shook his head. “Not right now, but thanks for offering.” A hint of a smile touched his full lips, “Though I might take you up on it some other time.”
She was left with the impression ‘some other time’ could have been replaced with ‘when hell froze over.’ Why were men so pathetic when it came to talking about…, she mused…well, generally, about pretty much anything that mattered. Oh well, it wasn’t like she didn’t have enough problems of her own without taking on those of a stranger who didn’t want to share.
“Yeah, well, just try not to fall over again, and you’ll save me a lot of effort …and bruises,” she quipped, patting his shoulder playfully and rising from the bench. “I’d better keep on. I left my son asleep in bed, and he might be wondering where I’ve got to.” Yeah, she thought dryly … if the house tumbled down around him and all the food in the pantry disappeared. She turned her body towards him as she jogged on the spot for a second or two to get her circulation going again. “I might see you around…”
Hamish didn’t answer and appeared to be preoccupied, with his attention caught by something behind her in the garden. Sara turned to look in the direction of his scowling gaze, but only saw the familiar double-straight lines of topiary yews that she ran past most mornings during the week.
“Damn it.” He said, with some force. “I was hoping this place was unoccupied. Now it looks like someone does live here.”
“What do you mean?” Sara asked with a quizzical look.
“There,” Hamish gestured towards the topiary, frowning as he contemplated the rows of closely-clipped yews that marched away from them up the garden. The huge trees were all trimmed into fantastically surreal curved and voluptuous shapes that reminded him of something straight out of Alice in Wonderland and with a razor-sharp precision that suggested someone had only recently completed the work.
“Oh, you mean the yews… I wouldn’t worry too much about those,”…Sara replied, a twinkle in her blue eyes that were a precise match to the dyed tips of her hair. “You were right the first time. No one lives here.” She glanced down at the face of a digital runner’s watch she sported on her left wrist and made a small moue with her lips when she saw the time. “Now I’d really better get going…” she moved off and started to jog at a steadily increasing pace away from him along a roughly mown path that showed signs of regular trampling from foot traffic passing centrally between the tall rows of yew.
“Wait a minute…” Hamish stood and raised his voice a notch to get her attention. Sara, already near the far end of the row, halted her progress and turned around towards him, still running on the spot to keep warm.
“What?” she called back, impatient to be off.
“Do you know who has been doing the gardening then? If it isn’t the owner, I’d like to get in touch and ask them a few things,” he questioned, walking swiftly towards her along the grassy path that bisected the soldier-straight lines of yew.
“Sorry, can’t tell you that…I was sworn to secrecy” She gave a knowing smile as she mimed zipping her lips. “But if you are really interested, have a look at the house before you leave.” Saying this, she gesticulated with a hand loosely in the direction over her right shoulder before running out of sight around the end of the topiary. In the few seconds it took Hamish to travel the distance to the spot where she had been standing she had disappeared completed.
“House? What house?” he muttered in frustration. He moved a few more steps, but listening intently, could not hear so much as a footfall that might suggest which direction she had taken. He turned back, grumpily. “So where’s the house?” He looked around at the precision-clipped yews in their wide rectangular patch of grass that was, apart from the rough mown path and some trampled areas where the gardener must have been working, as wild and unkempt as the any of the garden he’d seen thus far. Still, he reasoned, ire rising at feeling that he had just encountered another dead-end in the labyrinth that was his current life, surely those clipped trees were an irrefutable sign that someone must live close-by. But where? There was no house here…Sara must have been joking at his expense. If so, he didn’t find it amusing at all.
He stood rooted in indecision near the spot where Sara had been a moment ago, staring towards the far end of the yew forms, allowing his thoughts to spiral dismally downwards for several moments, before realisation eventually pierced the grey cloud that enveloped him, ...that amorphous vine-covered outline, silhouetted up there on the distant terrace at the top of a double flight of stone stairs, and almost surrounded by tall trees, ... was that a house?!
Promptly forgetting his angst and any concerns about incumbent owners, Hamish was drawn towards the shape. The mown path petered out at the base of
the steep stone steps…which, thankfully, weren’t coated in icy booby traps. He climbed quickly, ran up first one flight, across a small flat paved terrace and then bounded up the next…excited anticipation rising with each stride…at the top there was more tall grass, so he was obliged to cut an icy swathe through more of the wretched stuff. But he was beyond caring ...so entranced was he by the sight before him. Well, as much of it as he could see that was...which he established, even as he arrived at the far side of the grass beyond the steps, was not very much at all.
Upon inspection it appeared that the entire house, walls, roof and several chimneys included, was effectively camouflaged under a heavy blanket of burgundy-red and yellow-orange Virginia creeper leaves, grown so rampantly that all of the downstairs windows were completely obscured, and with only an occasional glint of grubby glass to give any clues that there might even be windows higher up. As Hamish watched, the morning sun finally rose above the surrounding trees, setting the house aflame, figuratively, if not literally. With the rising sun Hamish felt a small kernel of hope stir within him again. At last, it seemed he may have found the house he’d been searching for all these months ... and almost certainly, there was little need for concern that he might intrude upon any inhabitants ... this house looked as if it hadn’t been disturbed by human occupation for many years. Overgrown, leggy shrubs nestled up to either end of the building, towering trees crowded too close to the walls, and that all-encompassing vine made the house look like the architectural interpretation of a lady who had once seen better days, now living rough and desolate.
Flowers in the Morning Page 4