She wondered why I was home earlier than usual.
I stumbled over my apology.
Sorry dear... just passing...saw the broken window... work ......nothing... I felt stupid,Idiotic even. All I wanted was to escape back to the security of the road outside.
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
A calm question? More a command. It stopped my explanations dead.
She didn't wait for a reply but passed close by me, pushed open the front door and disappeared inside leaving her delicate scent of lavender in.
I hesitated,unsure of myself. But what was there to lose? ,i mean i had alredy lost my job,but how could i tell her. Dropping my bag with a thud by the front door, I followed her down the long passageway to the back of the house. The dark corridor opened up into a bright sunlit kitchen.
The kettle was already on the old blackened coal burning hob and two cups were side by side on their saucers. A teapot stood close by on the bare wooden table. Her lavender scent was stronger now and mingled with the smell of old polished pot.
She seemed completely at ease, in charge, unconcerned by the stranger in her kitchen.
"Why don't you sit down".
It was the first time I had seen her smile in a while .It lit up her face and made her look very young indeed. It was a youthfulness that somehow seemed out of place in that old kitchen.I had’nt been able to provide for a long time and now again i had no job,no money.
The chair she offered was of worn wood with a soft green patterned cushion to make it more comfortable. I did as I was told.
"Lovely view of the garden from here". I needed to make conversation.
The area I referred to was a hidden garden within a garden. It had a small lawn at its centre, bounded by a profusion of pink rambling roses and yellow honeysuckle that scrambled over trellis work all around. Very feminine, very pretty.
It seemed a place to escape to and perhaps to dream in.
Her back was turned to me as she too gazed out of the kitchen window and waited for the kettle to boil.
I found myself secretly admiring her figure. It made me feel guilty.
She turned and looked at me intently.
"Do you believe places have a life of their own. Their own history and memories?"
I was surprised at such a direct and philosophical question - unusual between people who allmost never spoke. To give me time to think, I reached out and played with one of the cups. It was dainty - a lady's cup. Then, like a stream that once released cannot be stopped, long hidden memories flooded back.
"When I was a boy," I said, "I used to live beside Dartmoor.Nearby, at the foot of the moors there was an old railway bridge with huge arches that took the railway line across a ravine where the local river had cut between two hills.
"The trees were tall but even they seemed tiny besides the vast arches. I used to sit in their shade on the bank and watch the fish. Water dribbled down the concrete sides and moss had grown all over it so that the bridge blended into the landscape.
"But it was the old rusty metal and smell of creosote that made the place really special. Gates, posts, metal ties, old hinges of a broken down door in a small block house. Those bits of manmade things gave the feeling of past activities; intangible but still very much there.“
I paused and looked up, afraid this was not what she had meant, but she was listening attentively, so I continued:
"The block house had probably been a tool store for the men working on the bridge. Strangely, those people's lives and hopes were in that tool store, their frustrations and successes. You could almost sense their feelings of exhaustion during their hours of work as the bridge was built. Their feelings of achievement as it was put into use; something modern, needed."
I looked up defensively. I had never told a her about these memories.
Her arms were lightly stretched along the work surface to the side. Sunlight streamed through wisps of her hair. Her eyes said continue.
"I used to wonder whether they had stopped their work for a moment on a sunny day to gaze down at the fish just as I was doing and watch the green oak leaves patterning in the breeze.
"But more than anything else, I wanted to know if I looked long and hard enough, I could really see. If I could make a connection, enter their lives, experience their feelings.
"Not to intrude you understand", I said, slightly embarrassed.
"Just to be there. To sort of show they haven't been forgotten - silly really". I finished lamely.
Her voice came back sadly, reflectively:
"No, of course it's not silly.
She looked away across the garden. It was not the garden she saw but some inner memory from which I was for the moment excluded as if she remembered the old days when all was well.
"The tea", I said hurriedly. "The tea will be brewed now."
"Of course".
She glanced back at the roses and the lawn.
"It's such a lovely morning, lets take our tea in the garden. You bring that blanket and I will take the tray. It was a quiet command not a suggestion. Picking up the blanket, I followed her.
As I stepped outside, the garden seemed to envelope me and draw in around us.
She put the tray down on the grass to one side of the blanket and sat down, legs primly to the side. I squatted down cross legged.
The smell of cut grass mingled with the scent of the flowers and created an intoxicating onslaught on my senses. But, strangely, nature was quieter here. Just the distant sound of the wind in the leaves and water flowing somewhere nearby.
We drank our tea. For the moment there was no need for talk.
"Remember when we used to climb?", she asked, at last breaking the silence.
“Hmm.“I answered whilst also trying to sip the hot tea.
"We would be away for weeks climbing mountains all over the world. You were really good - expeditions to the Alps and the Himalayas.Remember how you acted as a guide to less experienced climbers.
She said it with a sort of indifference, as if it was just a fact of life something that had to be faced, something that couldn't be avoided
I giggled and continued sipping my tea.
You really loved the mountains.i find it hard to believe all that he's gone." Her light blue eyes, moist with the memory, sparkled in the sunlight.
Then came a sudden burn of anger in her voice.
"I went out there alone once ,you know. The mountains were just so cold and unfriendly."
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself almost as if she could feel the cold.
"You see, I knew that I didn't want to stay there,i don’t know why i went really. The mountains were just a challenge. He loved their challenge but it was this garden that I wanted to come home to - even if it was just to say goodbye again before we left. But I never got the chance."
I felt strangely uncomfortable. Although we had known one another for a long time and were hapilly married, it was as if another person had suddenly come between us. I had a sudden feeling of loss. For a moment, she was no longer with me. Soon my kids came into my thoughts, the ones i had left with there dirty mother after our first divorce and I began to feel things i had never felt before but her crystal clear eyes and low musical voice compelled me back into her memories. I could hear her calling out to me on that far off mountain side. I could see the cold peaks pushing towards the snow laden sky and feel the bite of the wind on her warm body. Then suddenly as the years rolled back in my minds eye I felt the love that we once shared so strong ,beyond any other love.
Violently I shuddered and forced myself to drag my eyes away from hers to break the spell. But the cold and sadness was still with me. Hoping to lift my spirits again, I lay back to take one last look up at the clear sky above that garden before I left.
Soft clouds twisted and shifted in layers against the deep blue. Joining and then separating, they curled around each other and then parted like huge white creatures trapped in an endless dance.
I sighed and closed my eyes with relief. Clouds had now replaced mountains in my mind's eye, a big improvement.
"It's lovely here", I said, "but I really must go".“Wor...“ Dimly, and then with some slight apprehension, I felt her move closer.
My face was now shaded from the warm sun, her body was next to mine and her lavender scent was everywhere. I could hardly breathe.
Soft cool lips caressed, slowly rubbed teasingly too and fro, then descended with mounting pressure onto mine. Delicate and delicious, it was a long kiss of welcome to her garden and her memories.
After some moments, she drew away slightly and I was able to look up at her. Small laughter lines crowded the corners of her eyes but the wistful look on her face couldn't hide the hunger,.
"Don't go yet", she said. It was a command
All my failures, ignored job applications, unspoken reproaches from my ex wife and children suddenly seemed far away.
I hesitated,but the inhibitions from so many years of marriage were strong. But the link that had grown so quickly between this lady, her mountains and myself was much stronger and ultimately irresistible.
I reached up and enclosing her face between my two hands, drew her down to return her kiss. In a small part of my consciousness, I felt the coldness of the mountains begin to return. Her breathing was shallow and slowly, with gentle tenderness, our bodies moulded together.
But still how was i to tell her about the job,or rather no job.
Whilst wrapped in her warm hand with her lavender sent creeping up her body into my nostrils i recalled the wrathe of the words said by the man at the unemploymet office,as they seemed to run circles in my head.
"I'm afraid you may never have a desk job again. Employers prefer younger people! They shouldn't - but they do. You must be more flexible".