Hill Manse ... Epilogue

Epilogue

December 1957

The final private adoption papers for Portia (Poppy) Margaret Gregor were signed, sealed and delivered to Duff and Cara last summer. The Gregor’s were thrilled beyond description with their dark haired, dark eyed daughter, as was her brother, Donal, and her grandparents and “Aunt” Margaret.

Elspeth was currently in the midst of her A-levels and planned to eventually attend college. She’d half-heartedly entered into the private adoption process with the Gregor’s, having been convinced by all and sundry that it was the very best solution for her baby and herself. She’d gone back home to her mother and stepfather in Inverness after her babe was born, but was invited to spend her summer and Christmas holidays at Hill Manse. Elspeth was truly grateful for the chance to be a part of Poppy’s life.

After attaching her design studio to Hunter’s office as an extension of his construction company, Judith began creating cube-like spaces similar to those in the Humphrey Show Room. The individually decorated rooms were a big hit with the womenfolk in Sto’ven and the surrounding towns. But a good percentage of the husbands held fast to a different opinion. All they saw was a whole lot of their hard-earned money was going to be spent dolling-up rooms they seldom saw when fully awake. Their time was better spent putting in a full days work. Although, playing a bit of football with their mates, lining up for nine or maybe eighteen holes if the day was fine, and knocking back a few in the pub before heading home held a high priority, as well.

Judith knew that Scottish women, being the clever creatures they were, would have their way.

Back in London business wasn’t exactly booming, but Margaret was as busy as she really wanted to be. Having a bit of freedom allowed her a good deal of playtime with Poppy and to accept lunch and dinner invitations from Charles Humphrey.

Margaret had made plans to join a tour group heading to Rome in late spring and Charlie had surprised her one moonlit night by saying that, coincidently, he was also going to Rome in late spring. Upon hearing that his plans paralleled her own, a very flustered and self-conscious Margaret prudently held her tongue and embraced the five-word motto used throughout the war... “Be calm and carry on”.

Charlotte sold Hamblin House. Jordy struck the deal as a surprise for his wife on their first wedding anniversary. Fi and Jordy had been renting the house since their wedding a year ago Christmas day. In April, Fi would give birth to their first child ... Jordy was thrilled.

Jordy’s mother, Mildred Travis, had liked Fi the first moment she’d laid eyes on her in the summer of ’56. Her eyes gleamed when she told Fiona that she was delighted that the Lord God had gifted her with a chest of the same magnitude as the one that had been gifted to her. “My dear late hoosban considered himself the most blessed of men.”

Hamilton had completely recovered. His wife, Sinnie, was making sure he stayed that way so only allowed him to work four hours a day. Mr. Dexter was in charge of the mill after one in the afternoon.

Charlotte assembled all her girls, which included Elspeth when she was in town, and Jordy’s sister, Joyce, for a fancy luncheon at the Manse once a month. Rosemary came very seldom, as the monthly gathering somehow would conflict with her bridge club meetings. Margaret set up the luncheon dates and Charlotte suspected some mischief afoot, but hadn’t called her on it. Those afternoons were such a joy, why spoil the fun.

The last letter she and Alistair had received from Richard detailed his activities career wise as well as socially. The magazine was slowly but surely gaining readership from a wider, more diverse fan base. That was due to the editors’ willingness to put aside snob appeal for general sports stories and analysis.

As for his personal life, it seemed that the young lady he was so fond of in September, a runway model at Saks Fifth Avenue named Merrily, decided that the tall, tanned ski instructor she’d met in Vermont last month was her “soul mate”. The couple planned to “shack-up” together throughout the heavy snow season and emerge, much as hibernating bears do, in the spring ... hopefully sans cubs. Fortunately, Richard was able to turn to his “second string” backup for comfort and pleasure during the holiday season. Her name was Vanessa. She modeled swimwear for the Montgomery and Ward catalog.

As regarded Fi’s marriage to Jordy last Christmas, Richard was quite put out at first. Even though he’d been in New York nearly a year, he still thought of Fi as his London girl. Now, however, he said he was pleased that she had married a good man and was “in the family way”. He didn’t mind at all that his mother had sold the house to Jordy and Fi. After all, it was “just a house”.

A newsy letter and recipe was tucked into Charlotte’s Christmas card from Daisy. They were having a ‘white Christmas’ in Fort Collins. “Just like a painting by Currier and Ives”, wrote Daisy. “Jackson, Jr., also known as J.J. or the ‘little cowboy’, is eighteen months old and into everything. I hope to have him on the way to being potty trained by June because, guess what? Ah ha, I knew you’d get it right off the bat ... a stork sighting is expected on June 10^th or there abouts. Jackson is tickled to death. He’d love a half dozen of the little critters. I told him I’d give birth to them if he’d stay home and tend to their every need. I haven’t done any teaching since three months before J.J. was born. I really miss it, but I’d miss not being with my baby a whole lot more.

We received a holiday greeting from Pat Chaynes. Remember Pat, the fiancé that disappeared in 1945? He is doing very well and is still living on his boat near Pearl Harbor taking tourists deep sea fishing. He has a girlfriend (her name is Hokulani) and they plan to be married next summer. First he has to find them an apartment they can afford. Apparently, living in Hawaii is pretty expensive.

Hope you like the recipe I enclosed. It’s a Christmas toddy from my grandmother’s cookbook called ... Tom and Jerry Toddy.

Merry, Merry Christmas

All our love,

Jackson, Daisy, J.J. and (?)

Tom and Jerry Toddy

Serves 6

3 eggs

1/4 cup and 1 tablespoon powdered sugar

1/2 cup and 2 tablespoons brandy or rum or whiskey

6 cups milk

1/4 pinch ground nutmeg

Separate the eggs. In a large bowl beat the egg whites until frothy. Whisk in 3/4 cup of the powdered sugar and beat until stiff peaks are formed.

Beat the egg yolks with the remaining 1/2 cup of powdered sugar and about 4 to 5 tablespoons of the alcoholic beverage of choice until light and lemon colored. Fold the egg whites into the egg yolks and refrigerate.

In a large pot heat the milk until hot, do not boil. Reduce heat and keep milk hot.

To each mug add two tablespoons of the alcoholic beverage of choice and one large heaping tablespoon of egg mixture. Stir and fill mug with hot milk. Place another tablespoon of egg mixture on top and sprinkle with nutmeg.

Hill Manse ... Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Dear Fiona,

Instead of telephoning you, I thought I’d write a letter in order to give you time to think about what I’m going to suggest.

First things first, though, Hamilton is going to be all right. He’ll have to take it easy for a few months and Sinnie will make sure that he does. Sinnie is Ham’s wife and will not stand for any jabber from him. In the meantime, Mr. Dexter, Ham’s second in command, will be in charge of the Mill.

I don’t think I’d mentioned to you yet, that the position I hold as managing director of the Veterans Hospice is as a volunteer. That means that I don’t receive a salary. I don’t need a salary, you see. I’m the youngest son of a family who owns two woolen mills in the Scottish Highlands near the Gihon River. I think you knew I was from Scotland. My brother, Hamilton, manages one mill and Woodrow, we call him Woody, is my other brother and he manages the second one. My father was in the Great War with his good friend, Alistair Gregor, and since that time and up to when he died six years ago, he’d helped to financially support the Gregor’s efforts regarding veteran causes. Since his death, those monies have gone into an account that has supported me as managing director of the Hospice. It’s been a long chatter, I know, just to tell you that, though I’m not rich, I have more money than I actually need to pay my bills and such.

Since my arrival here, Mother is loath to let me return to London any time soon. She wants me here through the summer. For that reason, and because I want a camping holiday with you more than anything right now, I was wondering if you would let me fly you into Glasgow airport. I’d pick you up as soon as the plane landed. From there we’d drive to my mother’s home in Lochcorriey. Not far from home are camping places that are too beautiful to describe, lass. My favorite fishing spot is not thirty kilometers from Lochcorriey.

Mother thinks it’s a grand idea and has decided that she and Gus (15) and Tom (12), Ham’s two boys, will be going along with us. It’ll be quite a party.

Please say yes, lass. Call me soon.

Love,

Jordy

PS. There will also be a return ticket to London. You can go home whenever you’d like.

Folding the letter she’d read three times in the last half hour, Fi slid it back into its envelope.

He says he’s not rich, but I think he must be. Only rich people can afford to buy other people airplane tickets to and from Scotland. I like him so much. Why can’t he just be a regular bloke? ‘Cause, regular blokes only see the boobs, dummy. Just for a little while, Richard and Jack saw more ... maybe. And I really think Jordy sees there more to me than a ‘double D’ cup. But, how long will that last?

Wandering about Charlotte’s pretty little sitting room, Fi restlessly tapped the edge of Jordy’s letter against her palm, her brow puckered in thought.

I’ve become a bloody’ coward, that’s what ... a bloody coward. If Ma looked down on me right now, she’d be laughing and saying, “what happened to my wayward girl?” Used to reach for the “brass ring”, I did, but not anymore. Gah! I think I might be lovin’ Jordy. He’s so darn sweet ... doesn’t mind what I’ve done ... doesn’t judge me. He wants me to go camping with his mother and nephews. We’d be well chaperoned, that’s for sure. I’d be an adventure and I’m up for an adventure ... aren’t I?

....

“How wonderful ... a camping holiday in Scotland with Jordy and his family. It sounds quite exciting. I’m so happy to hear that his brother is doing well.” Charlotte passed the salt and pepper to Fiona. Their cook, Mrs. McGillicuddy, was extremely light with the seasonings. The carrots and potatoes were always rather bland and chopped much too roughly ... not like Daisy had taught Charlotte how to do it.

“And, when do you leave?”

“I fly out on Saturday morning ... about 7:30.”

“Must be the same plane our Margaret took last week. Scotland’s suppose to be quite pleasant in the summer, I understand. Better than the hot bloody muck we’re getting here in London. May I have the butter, Charlotte, my dear?”

“Yes, of course. Sorry, Alistair, I wasn’t paying attention.

“Do you need a lift to the airport?”

“Good thinking, my dear.” Alistair beamed. “Victor would fancy any excuse to go a good distance in Jackson’s MG roadster. He’ll tie what suitcases don’t fit in the boot onto the back. If you turn our offer down, Fiona, it’ll break his heart.”

“I’m happy to accept.” Fi was pink with pleasure. “Thank you.”

“We appreciate your coming to dinner this evening, dear Fi. There is a proposal that Alistair and I would like to put before you. But first, there’s a bit of ... what shall I call it, Alistair, dear ... impropriety ... censure ... embarrassment?”

“All of the above, I suppose. How about we just call it an unfortunate family concern.”

“Perfect, my darling.” Charlotte smiled warmly at her husband.

“There is an unfortunate family concern we must tell you about in the strictest confidence, of course.”

Fi was at sea. What could they possibly be talking about? “Please tell me ... I’d never share a confidence.”

Between them, Alistair and Charlotte told Fiona all about Margaret’s secret ‘enfant de amour’ as well as what had recently occurred in Sto’ven Scotland. Having halted the story when Polly came to clear away the remains of the main course, they continued ‘sotto voice’ through dessert and coffee.

“Young Elspeth is apparently desperate to keep her baby and Margaret wants to help her as much as she can without telling the Munro’s her suspicions about the girl’s parentage. Duff has emphasized to Margaret that the girl must be told that she should not subject her child to being branded a bastard. There’s been quite a to-do, as you have probably guessed.

“What we propose is that Elspeth be allowed to stay in Hamblin House with you until the babe is born, which should be somewhere near the end of January. Margaret will move back into Richard’s room during those months and will take full responsibility for the girl’s care. We decided on Hamblin House as opposed to Hill Manse because Duff and Alistair use the Manse for entertaining, as you know, especially throughout the holiday season. Unfortunately, it is likely that any extra staff hired on at the Manse could stir up gossip.

“What do you think about this plan, my dear?”

Fi was momentarily stunned ... at a loss as to what she should say. At this juncture, Ma would have sagely decreed, “There but for the grace of God, go you, Fiona Mariah Dunne.”

A pregnant teenager and a hovering Margaret would surely fill up the place. The peace and serenity of Hamblin House would be no more. Well, not for a few months, anyway.

“What? Oh, yes ... What do I think? Well, I think it’s a clearly thought out plan. The girl, Elspeth, right? Hopefully, she will put thought to what is best for her child.”

...

“You want to take her to London to live with you? Why would you do such a thing? Exclaimed Judith, her heart filled with hope as she reached for her husband’s hand.

“Although it’s a more than generous offer, Miss Gregor, I am as confused as Judy. Why?”

Hunter and Judith had the day previously returned from a three-day honeymoon when Margaret approached them with ‘the plan’.

“Judith is my friend”, Margaret began, “and I’m concerned about the dilemma in which you find yourselves. I’m especially concerned about Elspeth. I knew a young girl many years ago ... she was very close to me, who experienced what your daughter is going through. She was distraught with worry and shame and was forced from her family during her pregnancy and the baby taken from her within minutes of its birth. This woman lives with the trauma of that horrible episode to this day.

If your daughter were given some time to decide for herself what was best for her child ... was able to talk to a counselor ... continue her schooling with a tutor ... she might surprise you with her decision. I certainly cannot promise you the perfect outcome, but at least we would have given it our best attempt. And, if at all possible, please don’t let Elspeth believe you are ashamed of her. Shame is a hideous feeling.”

“You are an answer to prayer, Miss Gregor, and I will not look a gift horse in the mouth ... not meaning in any way that you’re a horse, of course you’re not. Sorry, Miss, I’m mind-boggled, to be sure.”

“Margaret, thank you ... thank you. You are so wonderful to think of this.”

Hunter Munro wrapped an arm around his new bride and gave her a squeeze. Nodding his head toward Margaret he said, “You’ve a bonny friend there, Judy ... a bonny friend.” We’ll be paying for her board and the tutoring. It’s important that she finishes her schooling. I’ll talk to her mother ... we’ll each send you some money every month. Although her mother and I are terribly disappointed and hurt about what she did and how she’s been behaving toward us, we’ll write to her often, and make sure she knows we love her and are not ashamed of her”

Hill Manse ... Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Judith arrived just in time to see Margaret struggling with her suitcases through the heavy doors from the baggage pickup area. She jumped out of her car, gave her friend a quick hug, opened the boot and shoved in the luggage.

They headed for downtown Aberdeen talking nine to the dozen as they each brought the other up to date on their latest design projects. Pulling into a street that boasted several upscale dress shoppes, Judith parked the car.

“I splurged and bought a summer suit ... my wedding outfit, if you please.” She smiled and pulled Margaret into the chic shoppe. “Last fitting today ... taking it home.”

Hefting a large shopping bag on each arm, Judith unlocked the car’s boot and settled the bags between the bulky cases. “Safe enough, now.” She said, slamming the lid and turning the key. “Let’s eat.”

It was a swanky pub with a café’ attached a block further up the street and it attracted a modish clientele.

“Don’t often get to do ‘fancy’. But, Hunter said we were to treat ourselves today and he reached into his pocket and handed me a generous wad of the ‘ready’. So, we’ll do just that.”

Conversation lagged as the ladies enjoyed the cream of leek and potato soup followed by smoked haddock pate’ with salad and oatcakes, finishing up the meal with wedges of St. Andrews cheese, grapes and apple slices. Daintily wiping their lips with damask napkins, they each sighed rapturously and giggled. Leaning comfortably into their high-backed chairs, swirling the light but tangy white house wine in their goblets, the friends continued their chat.

“As I was saying, Hunter divorced Rhona in ’52. She took their three girls to Inverness to be near her family. She has since remarried, but their oldest girl, Elspeth, is terribly fond of her da and the divorce was difficult for her. The other girls adjusted but Elspeth never did. Last year, Ellie ran away. Fifteen’s a difficult age, to be sure, but predictable, and the police quickly figured out where she’d likely go ... found her on a bus to Aberdeen ... on her way to see her father. This happened twice. Her latest act of rebellion was much more serious. She’d run off with her fifteen-year-old boyfriend, Peter, and was missing for nearly a week. Hunter was out of his mind with worry. Rhona frantically sent for him and they both talked to the kid’s friends, their parents and checked out the places where they ‘spent time’. Eventually, the two runaways came back on their own ... hungry, dirty and tired. They’d been squatting in a room in the worst part of Inverness. It’s a wonder they weren’t beaten or killed.”

Judith peered over her glass at Margaret, her expression rather pensive. “I’ll get right to the knot of the story. Elspeth is pregnant ... just turned sixteen and she’s pregnant. Understandably, Rhona’s at her wits end, as I would be. Hunter doesn’t know what to do, either. He and I are to be married this weekend. How does a pregnant teen fit into that picture, I’d like to know.”

Margaret was listening, remembering how she felt being the object of similar anger, worry and shame. “Are both sets of parents objecting to Peter and Elspeth getting married?”

“They’d accept it, I suppose. But, Peter is scared silly about being forced to marry and be a father, therefore, Elspeth says, no ... he’d hate her and the baby; it wouldn’t work. She says there has to be a way for her to keep her baby. I think she’s hoping her father and I will support her and the child, she knows her mother and stepfather won’t.”

“And, this, neither of you wants to take on?”

“It’s the last thing we want to do. We are two people selfishly in love who want to start a new life together... just us. We don’t want to have to deal with a difficult teenager and a baby every day and every night. We’d have no privacy ... there would be no time for just the two of us.”

“And, Elspeth won’t consider putting her child up for adoption?”

“No, she absolutely rejects that option. Hunter and Rhona adopted her as a babe in the summer of 1940 and, though she knew her parents loved her, she’d always felt different. Her two younger sisters were fair-haired and blue eyed like their parents. Ellie had very dark hair and dark eyes. She was a sensitive, rather timid child and kids tended to be cruel. Some lads followed her home from school one day ... called her a dirty little gypsy found in a dustbin. Hunter put a stop to that ... knocked the bullies heads together. By that time, though, Ellie already felt she didn’t belong.”

“Was she adopted from the hospital in Aberdeen?” Margaret held her breath.

“A Foundling Home in Aberdeen. During the war, hospitals sent relinquished babies to Foundling Homes. Then the Homes would take care of the adoption procedures.”

“Where is Elspeth now?”

“She’s at Hunter’s house. I’ve been staying with friends.” Judith was not happy at having to stay with ‘friends’.

“When is the baby due to be born?”

“She’s not been to a doctor, yet, but a guess would be about next January.”

....

Cara couldn’t stop smiling as she made another round of the house with Margaret in tow, marveling at the transformation, the contrasting color schemes and furnishings in each room, at how all the rooms were in harmony with the whole, and how the integrity of the house was still in tact.

“I love it, darling, I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Judith deserves most of the credit. I helped choose the colors, fabrics and furnishings, but she had to put it all together.”

“Don’t be so modest.” Duff said laying his arm across her shoulders. “It may have been a long-distance decorating relationship, but we know that your finger was on the pulse of everything that went on here. The telephone charges between London and Sto’ven were staggering. I’m ready for a spot of tea ... what?”

“Sounds lovely. Judith and I had a marvelous lunch in Aberdeen and now I just want to sit and be idle.”

“Hauling you off to town as soon as you’d arrived was a bit inconsiderate, don’t you think?” Cara handed her a steaming cup. “What was so urgent it couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”

“Had to pick up the dress she’s to be married in on Saturday. Offering to pick me up was very kind of her. Saved Duff the trip.”

Stirring a spoon of sugar into her tea, she sighed. “There is something I must tell you both. It has to do with the baby I gave away sixteen years ago.” Margaret didn’t dare look up. She knew she was causing trouble ... again. “I can’t be sure she’s mine of course, but ... “ Her voice cracked and tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

“Oh, Margaret, my dear.” Cara stood and looked around her. “Surely there’s a box of tissues close by. Duff, help us out here.”

Dipping into his inside jacket pocket, Duff retrieved a large monogrammed lawn handkerchief.

“Blow your nose, baby girl ... we’re listening.”

Margaret pulled herself together and told Duff and Cara all that Judith had shared with her about Hunter’s oldest girl, declaring again that Elspeth might be the baby she gave up for adoption.

“There is a possibility that this girl could be your child, but there’s no way of proving it. Adoption records are sealed. Legally, that information is never to be disclosed to either the birth mother or the child.” Duff puffed thoughtfully on a cigarette as he paced the floor. “I doubt that revealing what you suspect to the Munro’s or their daughter would be helpful, as such a claim would be circumstantial at best as well as distressing to the parties involved.”

“I’m not thinking of doing any such thing,” exclaimed Margaret defensively. “Elspeth wants to keep her baby just as I wanted to keep mine!”

Cara wrapped her arm around Margaret’s shoulder. “She’s only sixteen, darling. She has no money, no willing parents to house her and her baby, and her decisions are based on body-changing emotions, not practicalities. One has to think objectively, Margaret.”

Duff sat next to his sister and laid his hand over hers. “Da and I know that Mother wasn’t thinking of you or your baby when she sent you off to Scotland. But, Margaret, would you really have wanted your child referred to as ... the Gregor bastard?”

Stiffening, she glared up at him, tears swimming in her eyes and gasped, “No, I couldn’t have borne that.” Wiping her eyes, she looked away.

“Even if ... and, it is a big if ... you are this girl’s birth mother”, he continued, “It would not be your fault that she is in the fix that she’s in. It’s not her parent’s fault, either. She’s a young teen with a juvenile brain. She’s made unfortunate choices and insists on inflicting the consequences of those choices on others. That’s what children do!”

“I understand, I truly do. But, I still want to help her ... them, I mean. Judith is my friend. I want to talk to Charlotte. She is really good at figuring things out.”

...

“Charlotte? Margaret here. How are you ... and Da?”

“Both of us are quite well. And, how was your flight, dear?”

“Fine, fine ... Uhh, I need to talk to you about something ... Mom.”

“Oh, dear. Mom, is it? Let me sit down. All right, darling, tell me all about it.”

The next fifteen minutes was a herky-jerky long distance narrative that included Judith’s initial bombshell about her upcoming marriage to Hunter Munro and her future stepdaughter’s pregnancy and how the Munro family was not handling it well and who Margaret thought Elspeth might be and her tearful reaction when Duff talked of her baby being called a bastard.

“My dear, dear girl. You are in a state. Come now ... catch your breath. I’m so sorry I’m not there with you. If Cara is close by, let me speak to her for just a minute while you compose yourself.”

“Yes, Charlotte, Cara here.”

“Cara, dear, tell Duff to stop trying to talk ‘commonsense’ to Margaret right now. It is not going to help her. Imagine, if you can, that you’d given up Donal at birth and believed you had just found him ... today. That’s how Margaret feels. She’s in the midst of an emotional muddle and objective reasoning is an irritating nuisance. Let her know you understand how she feels. Give her some brandy and let her talk. Just listen to her. “

“Right you are, Charlotte. Here’s Margaret.”

“Tell me what to do, please.” Margaret sniffed. “We have to think of something.”

“Yes, dear. You’re right. We have to think of something. Give me some time to mull over the state of affairs. If you worry the problem too much, darling, it could overwhelm you ... we can’t have that. Try to sleep tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow ... before teatime.”

Hill Manse ... Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Jordy called Fiona a little before ten Sunday morning, hoping it wasn’t too early ... it wasn’t. Still in her nightgown sipping a second cup of coffee in the garden off the drawing room, she’d chosen to skip church, as Charlotte wasn’t there to prod her, and make a lazy day of it. He’d asked her to go on a picnic with him that afternoon at the Regent’s Park boating lake and they could pick up the Topo on their way back. The day was fine ... expected to be a mite warmer later, but they would dress in their summer lights.

In a pale green sundress and sandals with her hair tied up in a chiffon scarf to keep the mass of curls off her neck, Fi was ready to enjoy the picnic and Jordy’s company. Jordy arrived in a white open-necked shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and white cotton trousers and a pair of leather huaraches he’d picked-up in Spain a couple years before.

“I’ve always wanted an excuse to order a champagne lunch with all the trimmings from Harrods’s.” Grinned Jordy. “You and me, a perfect cloudless day on our way to Regent’s Park ... and in the boot with the picnic basket is a proper tartan rug to sit on.” Opening the door of his four-year-old Austin for her, Fi slid in.

Smoothing her hands over the leather upholstery, she giggled. “Oh, gah, Jordy ... I’ll be feeling like the Queen.”

To stop staring at her, Jordy started the car and concentrated on the road. Her hair was gorgeous, her face had very little makeup and was more cute than beautiful, due to the small up-turned nose with freckles sprinkled over it and a full, wide mouth with a little dimple at each corner; and her figure was lush, that was the only word for it, but the strappy garment wasn’t low cut, wasn’t too tight or too short. Nevertheless, she did attract attention ... his attention, anyway.

A chap prone to jealousy would have a big problem being with Fi. The dress she wore last night was sexy as hell ... but evening dresses are supposed to be. Today, just about every bloke at the reception that went bug-eyed and gawked at her will have sore bones where the women they were with kept jabbing and kicking them. I was the envy of every man there ... except for Alistair and Duff.

“I’m surprised it isn’t crowded on the green ... and this spot under the trees is really very private. Guess most folks are boating.” Fi swirled the champagne in her flute ... her other hand lay in her lap. “Thanks for the lunch, Jordy, it was heavenly.”

They were sitting side-by-side their backs against a tree trunk carved with hearts and arrows and hundreds of lover’s initials. Jordy reached for her hand, closed his eyes and began to absently stroke her long shapely fingers.

“I want to ask you on dates, Fi, not ‘outings’ ... lots of dates. I don’t know what happened to make you shy away from going out with me, but I promise ... I’ll never hurt you.”

“It’s not only you. I haven’t gone out with anyone that has asked me lately. I’m feeling a bit ‘soft’, just now. And, no one sets out to hurt another person, Jordy, it just happens.” She gently pulled her hand from his. “Apparently, I have too many flaws. But, I promised myself I would never try to change who I am to please any man ever again.”

Neatly slipping his hand behind her neck, he pulled her toward him, tilted his head and laid his mouth over hers. She responded instantly, gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to her.

After taking his time ending the kiss, Jordy held her shoulders and touched his forehead to hers. “Tell you what, lass ... if you’ll admit all of your ‘flaws’ to me, I’ll own up to all of mine that I’m aware of. Then, if there is anything either of us can’t put up with about the other, we’ll say so. That way, we won’t waste each other’s time. Come on, now, ‘fess’ up.”

“You’re having me on ... right?” Scooting to her knees, Fi stood up and brushed off the back of her skirt. “It’s not a joke with me, you know.”

He’d stood up, too, and turned her to face him. “I’m not joking, Fi. I want to hear about those so called ‘flaws’.”

Speaking low but clearly, “Alright here goes ... I’m a sports fan. I know all the rugger and football game stats and those of all the players. I love to go to the games and second-guess the refs ... out loud. I’m not a fan of the opera although I do enjoy the theatre sometimes. I like to dance, go to the pictures and lunch in pubs. I used to smoke occasionally, but not anymore. I read the sports page, popular fiction, and mystery novels and spend too much time doing the crosswords. My boobs are too big, men stare at me a lot, women glare at me a lot, and when I’m with a fellow for awhile, he either gets jealous of other blokes and dumps me or thinks I’m too common and dumps me. I’m sure there’s more. Oh, yes, just thought of it ... I’m not a virgin ... loved a man once and thought he loved me. I was wrong.” Looking abashed, unshed tears swimming in her eyes and her arms tightly crossed over her chest, she said, “Okay ... so are you satisfied?”

“Oh, Fi!” He groaned. Her blatant honesty and obvious humiliation clutched at his chest. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but more people were moving onto the green and into the trees. Several kids scurried in and out of the shrubbery squealing at the tops of their lungs at one another. The picnic place was no longer exclusively theirs.

“We probably should go”, he said. Picking up the leftovers, empty flutes and champagne bottle, Jordy repacked the picnic basket. Fi folded the tartan rug and they silently walked to the car.

After Jordy had started the car and turned onto the roadway, he cleared his throat, “Fi” ...

But, Fi put up a hand to stop him and said in a soft pleading voice, “Jordy, please ... don’t talk to me, don’t say anything ... please. Just take me to the Manse to get the Topo.”

The next week he’d called her every night knowing she ought to have been home from work, but she didn’t pick-up the phone. The summer bouquet he’d had delivered to the house was returned to the florist because no one answered the door. He’d kicked himself over and over for what he’d done. Fi told him she was ‘soft’, but he kept on, deliberately provoking her to ‘confess’. She was hurting ... he had hurt her!

It was Sunday morning. Jordy parked the Austin in front of the Hamblin house and was about to twist the bell when he saw that the drawing room drapes were opened. Walking to the window he cupped his hands around his eyes and was able to see through to the opposite window. There was Fi wearing a brightly patterned dressing gown, sitting in the garden sipping from a beaker and reading the newspaper. Quietly stepping upon the verge of grass beside the house toward the well-oiled garden gate, he opened it, stepped through and closed it silently. Keeping to the edge of the recently mowed grass rather than crunching along the graveled path, he came up behind her. So as not to scare her witless, he lightly tossed the bouquet of white and yellow roses he’d pilfered from the Rose garden at the Manse, onto the pavers in front of her. Startled, she frowned down at the flowers then turned around.

She was not smiling when she looked up at him. “You’re trespassing, you know.”

“If I had called or rung the bell, you wouldn’t have answered. So, I’ve sunk to sneaking into your garden hoping you’d let me apologize for hurting you when I’d promised you I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was obvious that you were put off about what I’d told you, but, like you said, now we won’t waste each other’s time. There’s no need to apologize.”

“Dammit, what are you talking about?” Pulling a second chair from the table, he carried it around and slammed it down directly in front of her and sat astride it. “I was not ‘put off’ by anything you told me. I was disgusted with myself. I embarrassed you ... made you cry.”

“You and I know that there is a double standard when it comes to ‘going to bed’ with someone. Men are expected to experiment, so to speak. Sleep with lots of women and gain experience, add notches to their bedposts. A good woman is required to remain pure and innocent until she’s wed. Therefore, I would not be considered a ‘good’ woman. Like Ma told me at the time, my morals were now suspect.” Fi had leaned back in her chair, crossed her long legs at the ankles and folded her arms over her chest. “That being said, I’ll tell you this, Mr. Travis ... I do not sleep around ... I am not a slut.”

Furious, Jordy stood up, kicked the chair aside and pulled Fi out of her seat and gave her a shake. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Fi. I never thought it and you stop thinking it, too.” He wrapped his arms around her silk-clad body and said softly against her ear. “Anyone who would think or say that about you is an ass ... a stupid, contemptible ass.”

Stepping back, Fi pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Would you like some coffee? There are probably a couple more cups in the pot I could heat up.”

“Yeah, lass ... I’d like that.” Picking up the roses, he asked her, “Got a tall beaker to stick these in?”

In the kitchen, Fi handed him one of Charlotte’s cut-glass vases. “They’re beautiful, Jordy, thank you. I’m going to put on some clothes. Be back in a few minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting in the garden drinking hot coffee. Fi’s hair flowed freely down her back and over her shoulders. She’d put on a flowered sundress with zigzag stitching on the top that added a redundant roundness to what nature had already provided. When she sat down, Jordy noticed that the skirt’s hem stopped at her knees and her legs and feet were bare. He began to perspire and was having difficulty breathing. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully polished the lenses of his glasses. That’s what he usually did when he was nervous.

“Now, I’m going to list my faults”, he said, slipping his glasses back on. “I’m called Mr. Fix-it. I like to solve problems ... fix people ... make things right or what I think is right, don’t you know. And, often as not, matters don’t go as planned and I find out I’ve messed up badly and that some things or some people can’t be or don’t want to be ‘fixed’. Since you mentioned these as your flaws, I’ll list them, too. I like sports events, eating in pubs and going to the pictures. I also do the crosswords, devour the sports page, and am currently reading Graham Greene’s spy novel The Third Man. I’m far-sighted with a bad stigmatism. Consequently, I have to wear glasses and will probably progress to bifocals when I’m older. I enjoy fishing and bring my catch home to fry which stinks up the house pretty awful. I leave wet towels on the bathroom floor. I have nightmares about still being in the bloody trenches, which cause me to yell and flail about in bed, but it doesn’t happen that often anymore. I’ve been very conscientious regarding sex. For that reason, I am positive, absolutely positive that I have no plaid-prone offspring running ‘round Great Britain. I’ve dated two women semi-seriously, but have never told a woman I loved her, except my mother and sister.” Picking up his cup, he swallowed the last dregs of his coffee. “I’m sure there’s a lot more ... I can add an addendum later.”

Slipping out of her chair, Fi moved over and sat on Jordy’s lap. Blood thrummed in his ears as she carefully removed his glasses, laid them on the table and purred huskily, “You are a dear, dear man, Jordy Travis.” Winding her arms around his neck, she proceeded to kiss him senseless.

He was still reeling when she’d shooed him away and he hadn’t had a wit left to ask her out again.

----

Sunday afternoon and all day Monday, Mr. Fix-it thought hard, needing to come up with some idea of how to convince Fi to trust him. He knew she liked him, had shown him she liked him. She wasn’t a halfway kind of person and neither was he. He wanted her to accept the idea that going out with him would be a good thing. Also, the prospect of marriage, home, and children with Fi, somewhere down the line, was a real possibility.

Whoa, buddy, none of that kind of talk. You’ll scare her silly. He didn’t want her to be afraid, but opened to a future filled with promise.

Jordy’s flat was nothing special ... a place to eat, sleep, read and watch the telly. Placing the telephone on the floor beside him, he stretched himself full length on the faded blue sofa, lifted the receiver and dialed. Fi answered on the second ring and was relieved to hear from him. She’d been anxious all day about how wantonly she’d behaved and hoped he would call her tonight so she could explain.

“Gah, Jordy, I’m so embarrassed. I hope you don’t think that I kiss men for no good reason on Sunday mornings.”

“Blimey, lass, you had a perfectly good reason. You said I was a dear, dear man. Thank you, by the way. Kissing you is wonderful no matter what day it is.”

“Thanks again for the flowers. They are really beautiful.”

“You’re welcome. Fi, have you got any days off due you this summer?”

“I’ve accrued nearly a month, I think. Why?”

“I’m planning to do some fishing in rural Essex for a few days and I wanted you to come with me. We’d be roughing it ... tent camping by a spur of a spring-fed lake. It is beautiful country, lass, I think you’d like it.”

“Never been camping ... or fishing, for that matter. Never been on what you might call a holiday other than trips to out-of-town rugger and football matches. My inexperience may cause you problems, Jordy. You should ask someone who knows what they’re doing ... who won’t ‘mess up’.”

His chest felt like a brawny big wrestler was squeezing it. “So what if you ‘mess up’. I do that all the time. Camping is messy business, but it’s also fun as well as pretty basic. We’d each have our own sleeping tent, be cooking over a wee fire, hauling water in buckets to wash the dishes and cooking pots, using outside loos and we’d have to bathe in the lake at night when no one is looking. Come with me, Fi. I want to spend time with you.”

His words sent a fizzy wave tingling through her body. “When do you plan to leave?”

“Whenever you can go ... that’s when I plan to leave.”

“Oh, Jordy.” A sob caught in her throat. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. “All right ... I’ll check with my super in the morning. Call me tomorrow night?”

“I will ... as soon as I get home. ‘Night lass.”

Snatching up the telephone as soon as he entered his flat, Jordy dialed Fiona’s number.

“Fi” ... his voice broke. “Sorry ... my muther called me this afternoon from hospital in Glasgow ... my bruther, Ham ... err, Hamilton, had a heart attack last night.”

“Oh, gah, Jordy ... will he be alright?”

“They don’t know, yet. Doctor’s have to keep him there to poke and prod ‘til they have some answers. I’ve got to go home, Fi ... they need me to home”, he choked. His brogue thickened as he talked. “We canna be going on our holiday trip. So sorry, lass.”

“You can’t be worrying about that. Of course, they need you at home. Your mother must be frantic. How soon do you leave?”

“In two hours ... I fly out of Heathrow in two hours ... just have time to pack a few things.”

“Can I give you a lift to the airport?”

“Thanks, lassie, but Duff’s driving me in.”

“Call me, Jordy. As soon as you get into Glasgow, call me ... please.”

“It’ll be the wee morning. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Call me ... I’ll worry if you don’t.”

“Alright, lass. I’d better go and pack. When I talk to you later, I’ll give you me muther’s phone number. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Jordy ... take care.”

Hill Manse ... Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Charlie Humphrey telephoned Margaret as soon as the showroom spaces had been properly partitioned and ready to be decorated.

“Come before noon, Margaret, if it’s convenient, and we’ll go over what the different ‘area rooms’, for want of a better term, will portray. Afterward, I want to take you out for a quiet lunch.” He leaned back into his comfortable leather office chair and glanced out of the window. The day was bright and nearly cloudless.

“Even though the workmen have all gone, I can still hear the hammering and sawing in my head. I look forward to luncheon at the Dorchester with you.” Actually, I’m looking forward to any time I can spend with you, Margaret Gregor.

Hanging up the extension, Margaret walked to the east wing and tapped on Cara’s door.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Of course not. Come sit down.” Cara gathered up a book and some magazines from the chair she meant for Margaret to sit on. “Duff just left for a meeting of some-kind-or-other having to do with more doctor visits needed for the vets. Donal won’t be home until four o’clock and I just finished James Michener’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel, Tales of the South Pacific. Lord, it was a long book ... very good, but very long. Have you read it?”

“Yes, a couple of years ago. Right now I’m in the middle of Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. American writers are popular with the Gregor’s, apparently.”

“Right you are. Mind if I have a go at it after you’ve finished?”

“Don’t mind at all. I saw a letter addressed to us all from Da and Charlotte. Do you have it?”

“Yes, it’s right here.”

“Good! Just tell me the highlights, if you don’t mind. I don’t have my reading glasses with me.”

“Paris was soggy nearly the whole time they were there, but the food was ‘out of this world’; Rome was wet, too, but having spent most of their time in galleries and museums in both cities, they weren’t too inconvenienced. Charlotte enjoyed the Italian food but your father didn’t care so much for pasta and red sauce, pasta and white sauce or pasta with green sauce. They’re in Madrid now and it is warm and sunny.”

“Thanks ... I’ll read all the details later.” Margaret huffed a sigh and smiled at Cara. “Mind if I ‘bend your ear’ a bit?”

“Oh, I’d love it. Rosemary’s latest gaff?”

Margaret laughed. “No ... what did she do this time?”

“Nothing she hasn’t done twenty times before. Come on now ... ‘bend my ear’.”

“I’m going to Humphrey’s tomorrow to decide on the décor for each of the ‘area rooms’, as he calls them.”

“’He’ being Charles Humphrey ... right?”

“Yes, of course.” Squirming further back into the chair, she began again. “

“Mr. Humphrey ... err ... Charlie, has asked me to go to lunch with him. We’ve eaten lunch together before, but this feels different ... more like a lunch date than a lunch meeting.”

“It’s not an illicit tryst, Margaret. Why are you so worried?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It probably has to do with me not having a date since Robert Findley. Not that I hadn’t been asked out since then. But, Mother and Rosemary were so adamant against my going out with anyone that I always said ‘no’. Eventually, chaps stopped inviting me. I don’t know how to act or what to expect. I feel like a sixteen year old in a middle-aged woman’s body. I feel ridiculous!”

Cara groaned. “Those two women have a lot to answer for!” Then she leaned toward her sister-in-law. “I wish Charlotte were here, but barring the best, we’ll have to make do with second-best ... me.”

She stood up, walked to the window overlooking the rose garden, paced over to the bedroom door then turned around and went back to stand next to Margaret, a crease of concentration pinched between her eyes.

“First, you have to appreciate what Charles Humphrey sees when he looks at you.” Cara pulled her out of the chair and pushed her in front of the gilt mirror hanging on the sitting room wall. “He sees a very attractive woman; an intelligent woman who has talent, a career and a partnership in her own business. Second, what he doesn’t see is a clinging, fortune-hunting female out to snag a husband.”

The women walked back to their chairs.

Cara continued. “Third, the man asked you to lunch because he obviously enjoys your company. Forth, you are only required to be pleasant, a trifle hungry and to be open to the charming ways of an unattached nice-looking man who will probably go to great lengths to impress you.”

“I know it’s not going to be that easy, Cara. He’s a sophisticated, confident and prosperous man used to being with sophisticated and confident women.

“It may surprise you to learn that I have had some experience dating a sophisticated, confident and prosperous man. All I did to interest him in me was to ask him about himself and then I listened. It was easy to do because I truly wanted to know all about your brother. Pay attention, Margaret, dear ... listen while Charles Humphrey talks. The time will fly, you’ll see.”

“What if he should, by any leap of chance, ask me out again?”

“Say, yes, Margaret ... just say, yes!”

----

“I feel I’ve completely abandoned you, Judith. How are you doing?” Margaret sat down at the little antique secretary that Daisy had used the summer before.

“I’m terrific ... so glad to hear from you. Guess what, my friend? The estate house is completely done ... and on time. Can you believe it? The Gregor’s may come view it anytime. I expect their son is out of school and they’re moving up here for the summer as planned?”

“As a matter of fact they are leaving in three days and I fly in Wednesday next. A short stay for me ... two weeks, I expect.” She picked up a pencil and began doodling on a notepad. “I’ve missed your good eye and expert advice. Do you have plans that hopefully include coming back to London?”

“Are you sitting down, Margaret?” Judith moved over to stand in front of the large window that faced the sea. The sky was bright with roiling white clouds and the sun glare on the rough water cascading against the rock wall caused her to squint ... she turned back into the room.

“Oh dear. Yes, I’m sitting down. What is it?”

“Nothing dire, to be sure. It’s just that I have a proposition to put to you ... a business proposition.” Noticing that she was nibbling at her thumbnail, she tucked the offending digit into the pocket of her cardigan. “I’d like to sell my half of the studio, Margaret ... to you, if you could swing it. Hunter wants us to be married right away, you see. I’m going to be a June bride ... isn’t that wild?”

“Well ... that’s wonderful news, Judith ... just wonderful. And, hardly an unexpected announcement as you two seemed to hit it off immediately. When in June ... the wedding, I mean?”

“The second Saturday. It’s not going to be a formal affair ... just the two of us taking our vows in the tiny chapel at Sto’ven with a few friends looking on. I’d like you to stay for the ceremony, Margaret. In fact, I was hoping you’d stand up with me.”

“I’d be happy to so long as you don’t insist I be swathed in lime colored netting.” After a confused silence she resumed. “Twenty years ago, my sister dressed all her attendants like circus clowns. Of course, she didn’t see it that way. To her we were symbolizing the ‘fruits of the season’ ... apple, orange, lemon, lime and blueberry. Nevertheless, my brother, who had at the time a rather childish sense of humor, rented a brightly painted and dreadfully noisy calliope and hired a vendor to serve cotton candy and caramel corn to all the wedding guests at the reception. Mother was extremely annoyed and Rosemary had a cow.”

Laughing, Judith promised her she could wear whatever she liked.

“Will the sum of the buy-out be the same as what I paid you when I bought into the studio?” Asked Margaret.

“Yes. Does that sound fair to you?”

“It does ... but I’ll have to think about how I’m going to manage the financing before I give you an answer. Can you wait until I arrive in Scotland? I should know one way or the other by then. Our flight leaves Heathrow on June second.”

Judith agreed and after a few pleasantries the call was disconnected.

----

“Da, Duff ... I have all the figures totted here showing what it would cost to reconfigure, decorate and equip the attics to create a one bedroom apartment with an office, sitting room, fully functioning kitchen, laundry and bathroom.”

“A pretty hefty sum, daughter. And, this would be without the fancy furniture, I presume?”

“It’s all listed here, Da. Everything that would be considered part of the Manse ... construction, labor, paint, paper, rugs, drapes, bath and kitchen fixtures and appliances.”

Duff looked it over and nodded. “So when do you want to get started on it?”

“Well ... I’ve had to give up the idea of having this lovely apartment because I need the cash, instead. Judith wants to sell her half of the business. She’s going to marry a building contractor she met in Sto’ven and set up a design studio there. This money will cover three-quarters of the amount she wants. Hopefully, she’ll be willing to wait for the rest. My rooms in the west wing suit me fine.”

“I’d like to see your books, Margaret ... profit and losses ... income and outlay. See if what Judith is asking for is warranted.” Duff laid his hand on his sister’s arm. “We are happy to invest whatever you need to buy Judith’s half of the studio. It’s just good business to see that you are being treated fairly, my girl. Your talent is interior design ... mine is monetary acumen.”

Hill Manse ... Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sweat beaded Margaret’s forehead and her heart pounded crazily as she steadied herself against a load-bearing beam a few yards from a slight, scruffy man pounding nails, measuring and sawing boards. Forcing dusty air in and out of her lungs, she coughed into her handkerchief and slowly moved ... made herself walk up the stairs to Charles Humphrey’s closed office door and knocked.

“Yes ... come in. Ahhh, I expected you earlier, Miss Gregor. Did you get caught in a snarl of early morning traffic?” Mr. Humphrey smiled pleasantly and held the chair for her in front of his desk.

She sat down smoothing her skirt modestly over her knees, giving herself a moment before she spoke. “Only partly ... had to wait in a petrol queue for ages. I should not have ignored the need for fuel for so long. Served me proper, having to wait with all the other commuters and procrastinators while inhaling nocuous fumes from the exhaust tubes lined up ahead of me.” Could it be that the petrol fumes have fuddled my brain?

“Sounds as if a cup of tea is in order. The pot is fresh and hot.” He poured and served the tea and then sat down facing her. What has she done to herself ... looks a bit younger than she did a couple of weeks ago. Dammed attractive woman ... too pale from those fumes she inhaled, but dammed attractive. “Thank you, by the way, for steering me to Jordy Travis. His men are building the major partitions in the space as we speak ... filthy, noisy business, that.”

Raising her voice over the clamor downstairs she said, “Yes, it is, I’m afraid. Do you have the measurements handy for the individual spaces?”

“I believe that everything you’ll need is in this folder.” He slid a buff colored file across the desk toward her. “Miss Gregor, please, let us step across the road to a quiet restaurant and discuss matters. My head is already thrumming and I don’t wish to yell in order to be heard.”

“But, of course ... that is a sensible suggestion.” This time she noticed that he did not wear a wedding band. Cara will be so proud of me.

He stepped quickly around his desk to stand behind her chair as she stood up. “Thank you, Mr. Humphrey.” Margaret took the arm he offered as he escorted her through the door. He is a gentleman of the ‘old school’ ... much like Da, but a couple of decades younger. Is it really him ... dear Lord, am I crazy?

Charles Humphrey insisted that a light luncheon be served them. He was headachy and hungry and wanted to spend some time in Margaret Gregor’s company. They discussed the designer spaces, her fee per hour, and the price limit on the paint, paper, and fabric that she would choose to use in the spaces. The conversation gradually moved on to a more personal level.

“Miss Gregor, as we will be working closely together in the next few weeks, may I ask that we confer on a less formal basis? My friends call me Charlie.”

“Certainly, Charlie. I’m Margaret.” She was relaxed in his company. She liked him very much and wished she could tell him about what she was thinking, imagining ... suspecting. But, she knew she couldn’t ... wouldn’t ... couldn’t say anything ... not to him.

----

“Margaret, you look quite ill”, fussed Cara. “What is the matter?”

“I saw someone today. It may have been a hallucination caused by the petrol fumes, but I don’t think so. I’m not crazy, Cara. I don’t know what to think!” A huge lump closed her throat and tears sprung to her eyes ... rolled down her cheeks.

Cara opened a dresser drawer and removed a couple of handkerchiefs, handing them to her sister-in-law. “You are the least crazy person I know ... obsessively neat, and stubborn as hell, but not crazy. Charlotte is in the garden with Alistair. I’ll ask her to join us so you can tell us both who you saw.” Cara gently maneuvered Margaret onto her bed and pressed her back against the bed pillows. “Stay right here ... I’ll be back in a few minutes with Charlotte.”

“My dear girl you’re trembling.” Lifting a snifter of brandy to her lips, Charlotte murmured, “Take a sip, Margaret. That’s a girl. Cara, plump up those pillows so she can sit up ... that’s it ... another swallow should do it.”

“I’m being terribly silly ... so sorry.” Margaret sniffed and looked at the two women. “I was obliged to enjoy luncheon with Charles Humphrey this afternoon. We talked of business mostly and he asked me to call him Charlie and, Cara, he does not wear a wedding ring.” A weak smile curled her lips. “What I’m trying to say is ... I behaved perfectly well until I got home. When I came into Cara’s room, I fell apart ... so silly.”

Having pushed two overstuffed armchairs from the sitting area to face the bed, Cara puffed, “You are not ‘silly’. You are upset but are now safe with Charlotte and me. We have our sherry to hand and are ready to listen. Please, Margaret, tell us who you saw today.”

“Robbie ... my fiancé, Robert Findley ... an older, tired, sad and shabby, but not dead, Robert Findley.” Her voice rose then fell when the tears began to roll again. She wiped her face. “You remember, Cara. I told you about Robbie. Maybe you should tell Charlotte.”

Turning to Charlotte, Cara told her about Robert Findley, Margaret’s exile in Scotland and the baby she’d named in her heart, June Elizabeth.

“You were a brave young woman, Margaret. I am so proud of you.” Charlotte leaned forward and tenderly stroked her hand and arm.

“How can it be that he is alive? The Home Office telegraphed me. They said he was killed in Italy along with several hundred other British soldiers. His older half brother, Eddie something-or-other who survived the bombing, identified Robbie. But I saw him today. I’d swear it was Robbie.”

“If it was Robert Findley you saw, he was with the Vets so we can check on him ... that is, if you are sure you really want to know.” Cara had scooted closer to Margaret. “You see, dear, now only you, Charlotte and I know who you think you saw. If we go any further ... Alistair, Duff and Jordy will have to be told.”

Charlotte sat back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “Let us make sure before we let it go that far.” Getting up from the chair, she settled herself on the bed beside Margaret. “Let us say that this sad and shabby veteran is Robert Findley. Number one ... he is not likely to be using that name. Number two ... he may lie or not want to talk to you at all. Number three ... he may have a perfectly reasonable explanation. Let me tell you what happened to my dear friend Daisy when her first fiancé disappeared right after the war ended in ’45 and, when her second fiancé disappeared after the Korean Conflict in ’53.” Charlotte proceeded to tell them Daisy’s story.

“So you see, my dears, it would behoove us to give the man the benefit of the doubt. If he were a mentally ill case like Pat ... you would probably forgive him. But, if he were caught in a moral dilemma like David, you could probably count yourself lucky that he kept his distance. I imagine there are as many reasons for a man to disappear, as there are men who manage to do so.” She squeezed Margaret’s hand. “You’ll need a day or two to calm yourself and then the three of us will go to the hospice where he lives. Cara and I will be right beside you when you see him again ... maybe talk to him.”

Margaret sat forward her eyes wide with misgiving. “What on earth would I say to him?”

“We’ll make a list. You’re very good with lists, Margaret”, said Cara.

“Cara’s right. We’ll write everything down so you’ll feel comfortable. Well, hardly comfortable, but at least confident that you know who he really is.”

“Let me think about it.” Moving off the bed, Margaret and Charlotte began to straighten the coverlet. “I don’t want to hurt the man. I just want some answers.”

....

“He’s nice, very nice, in fact. I haven’t said no ... but I probably will. I just don’t want to date right now ... maybe next year.”

Fi was laying the table for supper while Charlotte pulled the fragrant casserole from the oven.

“Next year! My dear Fiona, next year is almost eight months from now. It’s just the pictures he’s invited you to. I’ve seen a preview of Giant ... it looks like a marvelous film. How can you possibly pass up seeing Rock Hudson and James Dean make love to Elizabeth Taylor in ‘fabulous Technicolor’?”

Sighing, Fi reached for the napkins. “There is that, I suppose, and I would like to see it. Maybe Margaret, you and I could go to a matinee sometime next week.”

“Too busy ... the wedding and ... uh ... you know how last minute things seem to mount up.”

“I’m more than happy to help with last minute things”, said Fiona.

“I know, dear, thank you. Why does ‘dating’ someone you consider ‘very nice’ bother you?”

“Well ... one date leads to another date which leads to expectations and then to disappointments. I’m not ready to make the effort, I expect.”

“That’s quite understandable. What if you thought of going to the pictures with Jordy as just an ‘outing’ with a new friend rather than a ‘date’; would that make you feel less pressured?”

“How can changing the word ‘date’ to ‘outing’ make a difference?”

“ An ‘outing’ can be reciprocated and kept on a ‘friends only’ basis, if that is what you wish. You should make your feelings clear to Jordy at the outset. I am quite certain he is no more interested in jumping into a romantic relationship than you are. Merely be opened to getting better acquainted with the man. As you have season tickets for the Lion’s, you could invite Jordy and two of the Vets to a game, occasionally. I’ve talked about you so often I think he just wants to see why you’re so special to me.”

“You’re playing Cupid, Mom and we both know it.”

Charlotte giggled. “I have the plump figure for it, but not the sang-froid, as the French would say, to carry-off the costume.”

----

“She’s gun shy.” Charlotte stood beside Jordy in the recently rain-soaked garden at Hill Manse, snipping flowers, shaking sparkly droplets from each blossom and arranging them in her basket. “Let’s just say that 1955 was not a particularly good year for Fi. Jordy, I asked you out here ... not to speak about Fiona ... but another matter entirely.”

“Say away, Mrs. Hamblin. I’m all-ears.”

Stowing her garden gloves and sequiters in the basket with the flowers, she slipped her arm through his as they walked along the squishy garden path in their warm jackets and rubber boots.

Editing the story to just ‘Robert Findley, Margaret’s thought-to-be-dead fiancé who may be alive and living at the Veteran’s Hospice’, Charlotte asked Jordy if he would be willing to help identify the man.

Jordy had stopped walking halfway through her narrative but did not interrupt. When she finished, he frowned and asked thoughtfully, “Her fiancés name was Robert Findley? You’re sure it was Robert Findley?

“Yes, of course. She called him Robbie back then, I believe.”

Mulling over her story, he said, “I know the names of the men ... those living at the hospice and those vets that live round about and work with us, if we have a job big enough. Don’t know of anyone called Findley.”

“We think it is likely he is using another name, since Robert Findley is supposed to be dead. Do you, by chance, know a veteran called Edward or Eddie? Margaret recalled that Findley had a half-brother by that name who saw him die ... identified him.”

“Let’s see, we’ve an Edward Pembroke ... mates call him Ted; Eddie Bascomb and Eddie Collisforth. Sound familiar?”

“Not to me ... I’ll ask Margaret. She described the man as just over medium height, quite thin, in his late thirties, sad and shabby. His sparse gray-brown hair straggled over his shirt collar and his nose was long and narrow with a noticeable bump in it, as it was broken in a fall when he was a youngster. He also had a habit of hitching his shoulders up when he was concentrating on something, a mannerism she remembered.”

“Sounds like Bascomb, Eddie Bascomb.” Jordy turned them around toward the house. “I think Miss Gregor should take another look at him, just to be sure. If she is sure, then we’ll talk about what to do next. Is she in the house?”

“Yes ... she’s waiting for us in the small drawing room.”

----

“Lord, I’m so nervous I’m likely to wet myself. What if he recognizes me?”

“Shush, dear. Stop talking about soiling your drawers. Jordy might hear you.” Charlotte held Margaret’s elbow and whispered, “He will only see three affluent matrons, supporters of the Veteran’s Hospice. You’re hairstyle and tinted glasses veil your features. Don’t worry.”

Cara and Charlotte positioned themselves on either side of Margaret as they followed Jordy into the Hospice dining hall.

He spoke in a lecturing tone. “This is the dining area. All the men living at the Veteran’s Hospice are assigned to crews that are responsible for keeping the facilities clean and well maintained. They also prepare, cook, serve and clear up three meals a day. These five gentlemen, here, will be serving the mid-day meal in about a quarter of an hour.”

Leading the ladies to the service counter, Jordy took his time introducing them, without revealing their names, to Mr. Gus Netherford, Mr. Eddie Bascomb, Mr. Ted Pembroke, Mr. Albert Mayberry, and Mr. Edward Collisforth, asking each man to tell the women from what part of the Isle he was from originally. Then he thanked the men.

“If you will follow me, please, through these doors, I’ll show you the lounge where we have a well-used telly, books and magazines of varying subjects stacked on the shelves, and then there’s the billiard room just beyond.”

Margaret was very pale. The food smells from the kitchen were making her already roiling stomach more nauseous. Cara and Charlotte held her firmly between them as they exited the dining hall. Jordy closed the doors firmly behind them.

“I know it’s still drizzling, but I need to step outside for a minute or so ... need a bit of air.” Margaret moved toward the French windows in the billiard room and pushed through them holding her handkerchief against her mouth. Charlotte stayed beside her beneath the roofs wide overhang.

Standing in the opened window next to Jordy, Cara observed, “I think it’s safe to say that she is sure. That second man, Eddie Bascomb, is Robert Findley.”

“Seems to be the case”, Jordy nodded.

“Before we make further inquiry ... which is to say ... have a ‘conversation’ with Mr. Bascomb, there is another party I must speak to about this.” Jordy was facing the three women seated in his office. “I would appreciate a day or two. It will give you time, Miss Gregor, to discuss the matter with your father and Duff. It is imperative that I be present during this ‘conversation’.”

“Yes, of course.” Margaret was twisting her handkerchief around in her lap. “I don’t want Robert to be hurt. As I said before, I just want to know what happened.”

Victor was patiently waiting for the women to egress the hospice building. Climbing out of the driver’s seat, he unfurled a huge black umbrella and went to meet them at the building entrance and escorted them back to the Bentley.

“Has my husband hidden brandy or scotch or anything strong and warming in the drinks compartment back here? How do you get the damn thing to open?” Cara was pulling at the burled doors that fronted the rear seat.

“Let me help you with that, Madam. It is this spring-catch, here. Ahhh, there we are, Madam ... brandy and some malt whiskey ... four small snifters behind the slide on this side.”

“Thank you, Victor. We’re quite frazzled and can do with a bit of a knock-back. First one’s for you, Margaret, and no argument.” She handed one to Charlotte, poured one for herself, put the bottle back in its proper place, slid the door closed and snuggled into the soft leather upholstery. “When do you suppose would be the best time to tell Alistair and Duff ... before or after the evening meal ... today or tomorrow ... when?”

Margaret moaned. “Oh, lord, I don’t know. Whatever happens, I’ve created a fuss involving my family and likely it will all come to nothing.”

Charlotte wasn’t paying attention to the remarks made by the two younger women, as she’d been chewing over the “Robbie” problem since leaving Jordy’s office. “The wedding is next Saturday, so it must be settled this week”, she began. “Jordy wants a day or two and if we say something to Duff and Alistair too soon, they will stew. This is what I think might be the best thing to do ... if you both agree. We’ll call Jordy tomorrow morning and ask how soon he will be ready for the meeting. Then, we’ll have a timeframe and be able to tell our men folk all about the matter just before we have the so-called ‘conversation’ with Mr. Bascomb.”

“Smart thinking ... Mom. What do you say, Margaret?”

“Yes ... I think it’s a good plan ... Mom.”

....

Tuesday afternoon after tea, Margaret, feeling stronger and convinced that what she intended to do was warranted, sat between Charlotte and Cara and told her father and brother about Robert Findley. Jordy was also present. At first, all either man could say was ... “Are you certain? “Are you positively certain?”

Having established that she was indeed positively certain, Alistair paced the drawing room floor angrily chewing on his unlit cigar. Duff swore and whipped the air in front of his feet with his cane. Jordy kept his head bowed and said nothing.

“Alive ... the damn scoundrel has been alive all this time, was alive when he read Margaret’s letter telling him she was carrying his child. The sniveling coward never wrote her, never called her, and never bloody married her. I’m sorry”, Duff growled. “I can’t fathom a man that could behave so gutlessly.”

“I wanted to keep that child of yours, Daughter ... but your mother wouldn’t have it. In her mind, adoption was the only possible option ... to save the family from ruin and disgrace. Poppycock!!” Alistair slammed his cigar into the nearest waste bin. “I should have stood up to Louisa ... stood up for you, my girl. It was always that way. Your mother had a way of getting what she wanted most of the time ... made life easier for me when she did. How old would she be now, that girl of yours?”

“Sixteen ... Sixteen in June, Da, a young lady.”

Having earlier steeled her resolve, Margaret told them that she had decided to talk to the man who called himself, Eddie Bascomb ... alone. It was, after all, a personal concern between the two of them, not the whole family.

“Don’t argue with me, please. This is my affair and, even though I weakened and brought all of you into it, it is ultimately my responsibility to handle it alone. Da and Duff can come along and wait in another room. I know Cara and Charlotte have to pick-up their dresses tomorrow morning after a final fitting. We can meet somewhere for luncheon and I’ll tell you all what happened.”

It was the Wednesday morning before the Gregor wedding on Saturday that the ‘encounter’ with Mr. Bascomb was to be held in Jordy’s office.

The Gregor’s sat in the waiting room outside Jordy’s door. “We’ll stay right here in the waiting room, Margaret”, Duff assured her, “unless we feel it is absolutely necessary to interfere.”

Jordy escorted a short, plump, pretty woman in her late thirties into the room. “Hello all. Joyce ... I’d like you to meet the best people I know.” He then proceeded to introduce the Gregor’s to Joyce Travis Frye, his sister.

“Sit down, Sis. Let me tell the Gregor’s your story.” Jordy led his sister to the shabby sofa and sat down beside her.

“Joyce met a good-looking fellow by the name of Robert (Robbie) Findley, an up-and-coming young barrister, in the spring of 1938. They dated for several months and became engaged that Christmas. In the summer of ’39 he joined the infantry division of His Majesty’s army. A few weeks before his battalion shipped out, he and Joyce spent a romantic weekend together. They weren’t able to spend much time with each other before he shipped out, but she did have an address so she could write to him. And, she did write to him ... telling him she was carrying his child, but he never wrote back.”

Jordy hesitated and looked over at Margaret whose mouth was set in a stiff line, as was her body.

He continued. “She received the telegram in January 1940 that Robert Findley was killed in a battle against the Italians south of Barran, Italy. Daniel Robert Travis was born in April 1940. He is sixteen years old. In 1946, Joyce married Gunther Frye, a fine man, a good husband and wonderful father. Immediately after the wedding he adopted Danny and to date, the Frye’s have five children”, he said, pressing his lips to the back of his sister’s hand.

Cheeks flushed, Joyce looked at Margaret. “I understand you were also engaged to Mr. Findley, Miss Gregor, and I would like to join you in your ‘conversation’ with Mr. Bascomb. I know he treated you the same way he treated me. Which is to say ... he abandoned us to our ‘fate’.”

Margaret’s body ached to be able to stand in front of Robert Findley and wallop the be-Jesus out of him. She was livid ... that cowardly, two-timing bastard had dishonored two women, possibly more, who loved him and trusted him with their bodies. He had also ignored the existence of his children.

“Do you mind, Miss Gregor? I’d rather like to see the expression on his face when he sees the two of us sitting opposite him. I don’t think either of us has changed so dramatically that he couldn’t recognize us.” Joyce grinned shyly.

“I don’t mind at all ... and please call me Margaret.” She walked over to Joyce, reached for her hands and pressed them sympathetically.

With unwavering determination, the women walked toward Jordy’s office. Turning to the men who were looking doubtful and squirming in their seats, Margaret quipped, “Don’t worry, we’re not armed.”

A scruffy Mr. Bascomb came into the office through a second door that opened from a dimly lit hallway. He scrunched a battered hat in his hands and, not seeing Jordy, looked puzzled, as there were two well-dressed, nice-looking, middle-aged women sitting behind the desk instead of the hospice director. “Jordy asked me to come up here at eleven o’clock. Are you ladies needing some work done?”

“Please sit down, Robbie.” Margaret pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.” She said firmly when he staggered a bit and backed up.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the chair. “Name’s Eddie Bascomb, Maam, not Robbie. I don’t know a Robbie. Well, I did know a Robbie ... my half brother, but he died in the war ... uh ... ‘bout 1940. There was a strong family resemblance ... reasonable mistake.”

“We are not mistaken. You, Robert Findley, did not die in Italy in 1940, you are sitting right here in front of us. Surely we haven’t changed that much in seventeen years. Since we recognized you, you certainly ought to be able to recognize us”, replied Margaret coolly.

He took his time and looked at them, gazing first at Margaret because she seemed to be in charge. Then he looked over at Joyce. Shee-it! They know me for sure.

“I see”, he said, slowly shaking his head. “Never thought this day would come. But here it is. Both of you looking at me like I was a dung beetle.”

“Perfect description ... a scabby bug that eats faeces”, commented Joyce. “I’m a former teacher and know about such things.”

He was thinking fast. He used to be good at thinking on his feet. He couldn’t let two silly women from his past cause him grief now for what had been done seventeen years ago. Best to jolly them along ... tell ‘em just enough to placate their wounded prides. Then maybe they’ll sod off and let me be. A thin smile spread across Robert Findley’s stubbly face as he leaned back in the spindly chair, crossed his ankles and folded his hands in his lap.

He tilted his head and said nonchalantly. “Well, you ladies look prosperous and well tended. Tell me all about yourselves. Are you married ... have any children?”

Margaret rose and calmly walked around the desk to stand beside him, drew back her arm and smacked him across the face, satisfyingly stinging the palm of her hand.

The shock of the blow knocked him over causing him to hit his head on the hardwood floor. Rolling onto his side he grabbed the edge of the desk, levered himself to his feet, rubbed the back of his head while he held up his other hand to fend off any further assault, and yelled, “For God sake, Margaret, you’re acting crazy!”

“Stop whining!” Joyce snapped. “She was just wiping that stupid smirk off your face.“

“You were not asked up here to ask questions, but to answer them.” Margaret said over her shoulder as she rounded the desk and sat down again. “Pick up the chair and sit in it.” At this point, the ladies noticed that door to the waiting room was slightly ajar.

“Listen to me”. He growled. “I don’t have to stay here and tell you anything. No matter what you say ... my name is Eddie Bascomb and I, sure as hell, don’t know who you two balmy women are.”

He whipped around to leave the room and recoiled as Jordy and the two men who financially supported the Hospice walked through the doorway.

“They’ve made a mistake, Jordy. They’re thinking I’m Robert Findley. It’s an understandable mistake. Like I tried to explain to the ladies, Robbie was my half-brother and we looked a lot alike. But, he died in the war. I was there ... I watched him get killed.” He stood with his feet apart and his arms stubbornly crossed over his chest. “The war office will tell you that I am Eddie Bascomb.”

“You can stop your blithering ... we overheard everything, Findley.”

After putting three chairs that were stacked in the corner nearer his desk, Jordy laid his hand on Robbie’s shoulder and pressed him back into his appointed chair. Margaret moved from behind the desk and sat next to her father and Jordy took the chair next to his sister.

“We haven’t made plans, as yet, to report you to the authorities. That will depend on how cooperative you are. Having just met one another this morning, the ladies think they’ve figured out why you played dead, but these gentlemen and I know that Miss Gregor and Mrs. Frye had no way of proving their allegations against you those many years ago ... if either had tried to force you into marrying them, and, as a barrister, you knew it, too.” Jordy leaned toward the man he’d known as Bascomb and continued in a low menacing tone. “Why did you switch dog tags with your half-brother, Findley; the man who looked so much like you?”

“I know my rights and you can’t prove any of this jabber is true.”

“Nonsense, Findley”, retorted Duff, “The Royal Infantry has your fingerprints on file just as Jordy does. Remember? All Vets that are in residence at this hospice had to voluntarily submit to fingerprinting ... identity precaution should any of you go missing or have an accident.”

Robert Findley did remember and visibly shrunk in his seat. “It makes no difference why I did it ... it all came to naught anyway. I’m on the dole ... live in a hospice ... got nothin’. Just leave me be.”

“Tell us why you did it, Findley”, coaxed Jordy.

“Alright ... I’ll be cooperating.” He said snidely. Ignoring the women, he glared at the men and began: “The Wops were beating the hell out of us ... should have bloody been told to retreat days before, but we weren’t ... so kept our positions and battled it out. Hundreds of maggot covered dead Brits were piled around us and still we had to stay and fight.” He shuddered remembering. “The third day Eddie caught a blast in the face. Right beside me he was. Some shrapnel hit my face and chest so I went down next to him. I thought, ‘Gawd, Eddie’s dead. My soon-to-be-bloody-rich half-brother is dead. The heir to the Bascomb Estate is dead.’ It was like a flick in slow motion. Even as the hazy thought was forming, I’d slipped off my tags, then reached over and carefully removed Eddie’s tags so I wouldn’t touch the mass of squashy flesh oozing blood where his face had been ... put mine over his head and scooted as far from him as I could ... crawled behind a bunker and waited to be taken to an ambulance.”

“So why aren’t you living in a fancy house enjoying your brother’s inheritance?” asked Alistair.

Findley ignored him. “In the hospital I couldn’t think straight ... kept getting my name wrong. The doctors told me I was Eddie Bascomb, not Robbie Findley. I got better ... made plans as Eddie. By the time I demobbed, my mother and stepfather in London thought I was dead and Eddie’s estate was in Manchester hundreds of miles away. As Eddie, I made excuses every time Mother, who was Eddie’s stepmother, wanted me to come to London or suggested she should come to Manchester ... travel was difficult, German air attacks were always a problem, unsuitable weather, whatever.”

Robert Findley rubbed the back of his neck, sighed and continued. “Had a ‘breakdown’ in the summer of ‘42 ... was sent back to hospital and released in the spring of ’43. While I was in the wards, His bloody Majesty’s Royal Army took over Bascomb Manor. Made it into their area headquarters. I had to stay in a room over a pub feeling hopeless and miserable most of the time, unable to sleep ... spent the days wandering about the countryside and the nights drinking and gambling with the local toffs too old for military duty. At first, I’d win a lot of the time. But, that streak didn’t last long ... due to the drinking, I suppose. To make a long story short, by the time the war ended I no longer owned Bascomb Manor ... lost all the money. I spent 1946 in a military hospital outside of Manchester and have been in and out of mental wards and nursing homes ever since. When I came here a year or so ago, I didn’t connect you Gregor’s with Margaret Gregor, because I hadn’t thought of her in years ... same with Joyce, there. My mind isn’t usually as clear as it is today.”

He looked at Joyce and then over at Margaret. “I’m surprised I was able to recognize the two of you this morning or remember your names. The medication I’ve been taking has helped me to hold a job, live in the hospice instead of a nursing home, and to think quick like I used to ... was a pretty smart lad, once upon a time.”

Looking up at Jordy he asked, “Well, what happens next?”

Jordy turned to the Gregor’s and Joyce. “May I make the determination concerning the immediate future of this man?” They nodded ... agreed that he could.

“Nothing, actually. Stay on your medications, continue working at Humphrey’s, and do the chores you’ve been assigned here at the hospice. As far as I’m concerned, you may continue to pass yourself off as Eddie Bascomb. But, understand this, you may never speak to or try to get in touch with either of these ladies. Agreed?”

“Fine with me”, he said. “This inquisition sure as hell wasn’t my idea. Can I go now?”

Jordy nodded and Eddie Bascomb strode quickly through the door.

....

Spontaneous applause and joyous shouts of congratulations filled the ballroom as gold and silver confetti flakes floated and settled on the high styled hairdos and formally dressed shoulders of the bride and groom and all who attended the Gregor wedding as the Most Reverend Alexander McNamara pronounced the elder pair ... husband and wife.

Alistair held tightly to Charlotte’s arm as each guest approached them and passed on their good wishes with a vigorous handshake or an affectionate hug, depending on whether the well-wisher was male or female. He had his precious bride and all he wanted now was to spirit her away to their honeymoon suite at the London Hilton on Park Lane. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. There were the many toasts, speeches and the cutting of the cake that had yet to take place. We should have eloped ... flown to Paris ... maybe not Paris, too wet, too busy, but somewhere warm ... Madrid ... should have flown to Madrid ...

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear, my mind took flight ... but I had you with me all the same.” He smiled at Charlotte and whispered. “I want to be off ... just you and me.”

She gazed up at him nodding. “As soon as we slice the cake, let’s dash to our rooms and call Victor to meet us near the Conservatory. Due to your brilliant foresight, our luggage is already in the boot.”

----

“They’re off, are they?” Jordy met Fiona as she re-entered the ballroom. He’d been watching for her return and was getting anxious. She’d been gone nearly a half an hour. But, here she was ... a beautiful, brightly polished vision in a soft shiny tangerine-colored strapless dress.

“Yes, they’ve gone. They are so happy, Jordy. Can you believe such happiness can happen to people ... and at their age, too?”

“Makes a bloke feel that it could happen to him... hope so, anyway.” He reached for Fi’s hand. “Dance with me?”

“I’d like that.”

He led her onto the floor and then let himself do what he’d wanted to do since he’d met her. Tightening his arm around her waist, he pressed her right hand against his chest, burrowed his nose into the mass of pale copper hair just behind her right ear, kissed it and murmured, “Would you call our dancing together like this an ‘outing’, Fi? Huh uh ... please ... don’t pull away from me, lass.”

Fi hesitated then allowed her body to soften against his, buried her face into the curve of his neck and moved as one with him across the floor, out through the double doors and onto the gallery.

They continued to dance toward the far end of the terrace until the music could no longer be heard. By that time he was kissing her. To be truthful, after the first few seconds, they were kissing each other.

“We’re supposed to be getting to know one another.” Fi mumbled before he covered her mouth with his again. Pulling back she looked up at him and said, “Behaving this way only complicates matters.” Then sighed and drew his lips to hers and held on.

Slowly breaking apart, Jordy cupped her face. “Have I told you that you look fantastic ... that I can hardly breathe when I’m so close to you?”

Face flushed with pleasure, Fi smiled up at him. “Thank you, Jordy. You look fantastic, too.” He took her hand and they strolled back to the ballroom.

“I’d like us to get to know each other better, too.” He said. “But, I want to take you on ‘dates’ not ‘outings’ ... kiss you hello and goodbye ... there’s lots more, but you’ve got the idea, I think”

Chuckling, she said, “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the idea.”

“Dance the rest of the night with me and let me take you home.” He said and wrapped her in his arms once more and began swaying to the slow strains of Unforgettable.

“I came in Richard’s Topo”, she murmured. “Maybe Duff won’t mind if I leave it here and pick it up tomorrow.”

----

Fiona snuggled into the soft fresh smelling bed that had been Charlotte Hamblin’s, but was now hers ... for a while, anyway. She was tired and happy, but not sleepy. Too many things were whirling in her head. Of course, those ‘things’ happened to be only one ‘thing’... Jordy Travis. It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before. Many chaps had fallen for her pretty face, mass of auburn hair and large boobs, not in that particular order, she knew. Later, when her exuberance about sports, lively independent nature, average interest in cultural pursuits and the desire for hearth and home became clear, all bets were off. It was jealousy and the ‘hearth and home’ that bothered Richard. The rest of the list was a real problem for Jack.

What am I, or, what am I not that might be a problem for Jordy? I’m twenty-five and haven’t had much experience with men ... been seriously interested in only two and slept with only one. I loved him, back then, and he said he loved me. He didn’t, not really. Live and learn, Fi. Live and learn and, for heaven sake ... it’s two o’clock in the morning ... go to sleep!

----

His flat was all right, but what he really wanted was a home. Jordy was ready ... more than ready to settle down, get married and start a family. After all, he would be thirty-two this year. He had a job he liked, even though it was a volunteer position. He enjoyed working with the veterans and with the Gregor’s. The Travis Woolen Mills were family owned and operated. His older brothers, Hamilton and Woodrow, ran the two Mills in Scotland, which financially afforded Jordy the freedom to take on the Veteran’s Hospice. He had had the full support of his deceased father and his brothers backed him to the hilt, as well. Now it was time to find his ‘ideal’ woman and she just might be Fiona Dunne.

She was pretty and warm, smart, funny and high-spirited, he thought. She was also Richard Hamblin’s girlfriend for over a year. He worried about that. How did she feel about him now that he’d gone to New York? She’d been practically adopted by his mother, had moved into his mother’s house, and drove his car.

There’s no hurry ... just ask her out and get to know her.

I want to hold her and kiss her and too soon, I know that won’t be enough. I fancy her more than any girl I’ve met yet. She holds me like I want to be held and kisses me back. She blushes when I compliment her. How many girls blush anymore? She’s generous, too ... offered to take some vets to the Lion’s matches with the season tickets she got for Christmas. Figure Richard was probably the one that gave them to her.

Forget the famous Richard Hamblin. Call her in the morning and offer to take her to Hill Manse to pick-up the damn Topo.