true but felt it could do no harm. Floriana didn’t appear to have a surfeit of ready help available and Miss Silcox seemed genuinely keen to help, so why not encourage her?
Meeting the old lady again, and in less dramatic circumstances, Adam was fast reviewing his opinion of her. She was not, as he’d thought previously, a do-gooding sticky-beak, she was an intelligent woman who, along with her house, intrigued him. With the weak afternoon sun pouring an aqueous light across the charmingly serene room, he felt oddly at ease chatting with her and he rather hoped there would be other moments such as this in the course of doing up his house next door.
‘Really?’ Miss Silcox asked. ‘You don’t think Miss Day might see it as interference?’
He was about to answer when a small and pretty ginger cat peered out cautiously from behind Miss Silcox’s chair. It looked steadfastly at Adam then slowly, with dainty little steps, padded across the rug towards him. After pausing by his foot, it sprang gracefully up onto his knee and stared unblinkingly at him. Keeping perfectly still, he stared back, and as if happy with the arrangement, the cat made itself at home on his lap and began to purr.
‘Gracious,’ Miss Silcox said, ‘I’ve never seen her do that with anyone else before. You’re greatly honoured. Generally she’s as timid as they come.’
Adam relaxed further into the squashy softness of the chair and stroked the cat. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Euridice.’
‘And is there an Orfeo?’
He saw a flicker of surprise pass across the old lady’s face, followed by an imperceptible nod of satisfaction, as though he’d passed a test. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s just the two of us. How about you, Mr Strong, do you have a significant other?’
He decided to be honest. ‘I did until last Saturday.’
‘Oh, dear. May I ask what happened last Saturday?’
‘My girlfriend reached the decision I was too much like a brother to her.’
‘Ah, I see,’ she said after a meaningful pause. ‘The spark had gone out for her; it happens. You probably won’t think so right now, but I’d advise you to take heart, for there are worst ways for a relationship to come adrift. Had you been together for long?’
‘Long enough for me to think we might end up making a life together.’ The words out, he thought of Orfeo’s love for Euridice and the famous aria – ‘What is Life?’ – from Gluck’s opera, which his mother, a keen singer and opera buff who died twelve years ago, had often claimed was quite possibly one of the most hauntingly beautiful arias ever written. It wasn’t often he heard the piece of music, but when he did he was always reminded of her.
Whether it was the unexpected reminder of his mother, or talking about Jesse leaving him, or maybe the combination of the two, a great sadness came over him. Fighting it, he concentrated on stroking the purring cat.
‘I’m sorry,’ Miss Silcox said quietly. ‘You must be devastated. But is it really hopeless? Is there no way you can win her back?’
He swallowed and looked at his watch. ‘She’s at the house now, clearing it’ – his voice cracked – ‘clearing it of her things. And I have absolutely no idea why I’m telling you this.’
‘Well, I’m glad you did,’ Miss Silcox said briskly. ‘Bottling things up serves no purpose at all. Better to get them out.’
She rose slowly from her chair and, standing before him, put her hands together. ‘Would you care to join me for some lunch, Mr Strong, and when duly fortified you can go next door and get on with whatever it is you came to do?’
Carefully removing Euridice from his lap, he placed her on the floor and stood up as well. ‘I will if you’ll call me Adam,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘And you must call me Esme.’
Chapter Eight
Sunday dawned grey-skied and frosty.
From her bedroom window Esme looked out at the whitened garden. Perched on a bare tree branch, the bossy blackbird
Meeting the old lady again, and in less dramatic circumstances, Adam was fast reviewing his opinion of her. She was not, as he’d thought previously, a do-gooding sticky-beak, she was an intelligent woman who, along with her house, intrigued him. With the weak afternoon sun pouring an aqueous light across the charmingly serene room, he felt oddly at ease chatting with her and he rather hoped there would be other moments such as this in the course of doing up his house next door.
‘Really?’ Miss Silcox asked. ‘You don’t think Miss Day might see it as interference?’
He was about to answer when a small and pretty ginger cat peered out cautiously from behind Miss Silcox’s chair. It looked steadfastly at Adam then slowly, with dainty little steps, padded across the rug towards him. After pausing by his foot, it sprang gracefully up onto his knee and stared unblinkingly at him. Keeping perfectly still, he stared back, and as if happy with the arrangement, the cat made itself at home on his lap and began to purr.
‘Gracious,’ Miss Silcox said, ‘I’ve never seen her do that with anyone else before. You’re greatly honoured. Generally she’s as timid as they come.’
Adam relaxed further into the squashy softness of the chair and stroked the cat. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Euridice.’
‘And is there an Orfeo?’
He saw a flicker of surprise pass across the old lady’s face, followed by an imperceptible nod of satisfaction, as though he’d passed a test. ‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s just the two of us. How about you, Mr Strong, do you have a significant other?’
He decided to be honest. ‘I did until last Saturday.’
‘Oh, dear. May I ask what happened last Saturday?’
‘My girlfriend reached the decision I was too much like a brother to her.’
‘Ah, I see,’ she said after a meaningful pause. ‘The spark had gone out for her; it happens. You probably won’t think so right now, but I’d advise you to take heart, for there are worst ways for a relationship to come adrift. Had you been together for long?’
‘Long enough for me to think we might end up making a life together.’ The words out, he thought of Orfeo’s love for Euridice and the famous aria – ‘What is Life?’ – from Gluck’s opera, which his mother, a keen singer and opera buff who died twelve years ago, had often claimed was quite possibly one of the most hauntingly beautiful arias ever written. It wasn’t often he heard the piece of music, but when he did he was always reminded of her.
Whether it was the unexpected reminder of his mother, or talking about Jesse leaving him, or maybe the combination of the two, a great sadness came over him. Fighting it, he concentrated on stroking the purring cat.
‘I’m sorry,’ Miss Silcox said quietly. ‘You must be devastated. But is it really hopeless? Is there no way you can win her back?’
He swallowed and looked at his watch. ‘She’s at the house now, clearing it’ – his voice cracked – ‘clearing it of her things. And I have absolutely no idea why I’m telling you this.’
‘Well, I’m glad you did,’ Miss Silcox said briskly. ‘Bottling things up serves no purpose at all. Better to get them out.’
She rose slowly from her chair and, standing before him, put her hands together. ‘Would you care to join me for some lunch, Mr Strong, and when duly fortified you can go next door and get on with whatever it is you came to do?’
Carefully removing Euridice from his lap, he placed her on the floor and stood up as well. ‘I will if you’ll call me Adam,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘And you must call me Esme.’
Chapter Eight
Sunday dawned grey-skied and frosty.
From her bedroom window Esme looked out at the whitened garden. Perched on a bare tree branch, the bossy blackbird
Similar Books
