Mornington-By-Mere – (96) Christmas at Briarbank

 

Thirty Five year old Ross Clarke lives in the village of Mornington-By-Mere, which is a small country village lying in the Finchbottom Vale nestled between the Ancient Dancingdean Forest and the rolling Pepperstock Hills.

It is a quaint picturesque village, a proper chocolate box picturesque idyll, with a Manor House, 12th Century Church, a Coaching Inn, Windmills, an Old Forge, a Schoolhouse, a River and a Mere.

But Mornington-By-Mere is not just a quaint chocolate box English Village it is the beating heart of the Finchbottom Vale and there were a number of cottages and small houses on the Purplemere road and Dulcets Lane which form the part of Mornington Village known as Manorside where Ross lived in a small two bedroom cottage in the row of West Gate Cottages on the banks of the River Brooke and he lived there with his grandfather.

 

Ross Clarke loved Christmas and it really irritated him when he heard people whining about what a crap Christmas they had because their mother in law over did it on the sherry and told everyone what she really thought about them or when their wife's uncle Stan spent Christmas afternoon asleep on the sofa breaking wind with monotonous regularity.

Or their brothers new girlfriend who kept hitting on her sister in law or the Gran who said

“Just a small dinner for me, I don't have much of an appetite” then spent the afternoon eating all the chocolate Brazils.

It really made him angry because their bitching and moaning always brought him down at his favourite time of year.

It also wound him up when he thought about those who through no fault of their own had truly awful Christmas’s, like his Grandfather who was one of the half a million or so men of the allied forces, who along with six hundred thousand Germans who spent Christmas 1944 outside in the snow of the Ardennes forest during the battle of the bulge.

Men who sheltered in foxholes, scratched out of the frozen earth with no hot food or drink.

Unable to light fires for fear of giving their position away to the enemy and regularly coming under enemy fire or being shelled.

And sometimes once they had hewn out a decent sized foxhole and settled down into it out of the icy wind, an order would come down the line to move out and they would move a hundred yards or sometimes less and dig another hole.

He wanted to tell all the whiners to go and bitch and moan to one of those old soldiers and see how they would laugh at their petty gripes, they certainly wouldn’t get any sympathy.

He had spent a of time with his grandfather since his teens but for the last three years that time was spent at the Briarbank Hospice and they spent that time talking at length.

But for the last three months the conversations had been very one sided.

But there had been another reason for his visits other than seeing his grandfather, and that reason was Linda Perch, a thirty four year old palliative care nurse.

 

It was 9 o’clock on Christmas Eve when he arrived at the hospice and his spirits lifted when he saw Linda was on duty and when she saw him she smiled.

“Did you draw the short straw?” he asked

“Worse than that I volunteered” she retorted

Because she had no family she was working all over Christmas to allow the nurses who did have families to spend it at home with them she was doing the same thing over New Years as well.

“So are you on tomorrow as well?” he asked

“Yes I’m on until Boxing Day”

“That’s tough” he said and she told him that she would survive and then they parted company with a smile.
They knew they would have plenty of opportunities to talk during the night and he wished her happy Christmas at 1.45am.

 

He managed to see quite a lot of Linda during Christmas Day as he had decided not to go home at all and managed to catch a few zzzz’s in the arm chair beside his grandads bed, but he managed to be awake and alert when she was around and he found that his feeling for her were deepening and he hoped that when she smiled at him it wasn’t just her professional demeanour.

But she went off duty at two am on Boxing Day which was when he decided it was time to go home to his bed.

 

He returned to the hospice on Boxing Day evening and was pleased to see Linda’s car was in the carpark, he didn’t think she would be back in until the next day, but when he went inside instead of being greeted by her normal friendly smile, he found her wearing a grave expression.   

“Hello Ross I was just about to call you” she said

“I’m a bit concerned about Harry, his breathing is very laboured”

“Damn I shouldn’t have gone home” he said

“Nonsense” she chastised “it would have made no difference”

Then she gave him a warm smile and added

“I’ve phoned Dr Lutchford, so go and sit with him and I’ll be in shortly”

“Ok” he complied but what she hadn’t confided was that she thought the end was close.

 

The Doctor arrived about half an hour later and Linda accompanied Ross to the relative’s room and squeezed his hand before she joined the doctor.

Fifteen minutes later she and the Doctor joined him and Claire Lutchford sympathetically said

“I’m afraid he has pneumonia”

“Does that signal the end” he asked knowing that it did but wanted confirmation,

“I’m afraid so” Dr Lutchford confirmed

“How long?” he asked flatly

“Not long” she replied

“Don’t worry” Linda said putting her hand on his “I will stay with him till the end”

Although she wasn’t officially on duty that night she stayed with Harry and Ross.

 

The following day Linda split her time between attending to Harry and keeping Ross company and they spent a weary night and Harry Clarke died just after seven o’clock the next morning with the winter sun invading the room and bathing his deathbed in sunlight.

Linda was patient and considerate and waited with Ross, who was quiet and showed no emotion as they finally left the room 

 

Ross spent the morning in the relative’s room while Linda made all the necessary phone calls.

Sgt Pierce, the village policeman paid a visit to rule out foul play and stayed until Dr Lutchford arrived to sign the death certificate.  

And an hour later William Hemmings and Sons arrived to collect the deceased, although it was Melanie Hemmings who offered their condolences.

 

Ross was looking out of the window as the Hemmings vehicle drove away and Linda walked up behind him and lightly stroked the back of his arm.

“Are you ok?” she asked

“Not really” he replied and the tears he had been holding back immediately welled up in his eyes as he turned towards her, so she took him in her arms and he dissolved completely into tears.

“Its ok honey” she whispered, “let it all go”

And as he sobbed uncontrollably onto her shoulder, Linda kissed his cheek.

She held him close and stroked his back as he sobbed until he lifted his head and said

“I’m getting you uniform wet” 

“I don’t care” she replied and he broke down again.

It dawned on her at that moment as he sobbed his heart out that now his grandfather was gone he would have no reason to go to the hospice and so she wouldn’t see him again, and that was what she was thinking as she consoled him with her empty words.

Shameful selfish thoughts of her never seeing him again as she held him in her arms instead of thinking of him and his loss. 

 

They were both excruciatingly tired because it had been a very long night sitting up with Harry, however she had had a lot of time to think as his life ebbed away.

And almost all of those thoughts had been about Ross and the reason, they got on really well and whenever he was there the two of them flirted, but at first she never thought it was anything other than flirting, but she would always look forward to seeing him and hoped that it might be.

But everything came into sharp focus now that she was faced with the prospect of never seeing him again.

And now she had him in her arms she was not of a mind to let him go.

But let him go she must, because now was not the time for her to claim him, but it wasn’t going to be for long she hoped.

 

Had Ross known the disposition of her heart when she comforted him in the relatives room he would not have carried an emptiness inside him when he left the hospice.

 

In the days that followed his grandfather’s death he had to contend with the double loss of his grandfather’s death and his heart’s desire.

But then on New Year’s Eve he received a fillip when he took a phone call from Briarbank Hospice.

 

It was a gloriously sunny day in Mornington as he stared out of the window of his cottage, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Linda approaching with Harry’s personal possessions, as the winter sun set her red mane ablaze.

And he pledged to himself that once she crossed his threshold he wouldn’t let her leave again until he had told her of his feelings.

The promise would have given him less anxiety had he known that she had made a similar pledge and after she crossed the threshold pledges were kept and declarations were made and so Linda didn’t re-cross it again until New Year’s Day.

THEY SEEK IT HERE

You will find it here you will find it there

Some people like it but others don't care

Some will yearn for it in deep despair

But to find a true love is especially rare

Mornington-By-Mere – (95) The Unexpected Gift

 

When the Mornington Estate exercised its option to purchase Mornington Field from the MOD it also acquired all the buildings and infrastructure on the airfield itself as well as 29 houses in the village formally used as quarters for military personnel.

The buildings on the airfield itself were converted into commercial premise while the former married quarters were made available to rent and the Vineyard family moved into number 17 Military Row on the 18th of December 2014 but Donna Vineyard was the only one still there five Christmas’ later but she shared the house with her boyfriend David Smith.

They were both hard working 30 years old’s, Donna at the Digitize Image Lab up at Mornington Field and David farmed up at Smithfield’s Farm with his family.

That year it was Donna and David’s turn to play hosts to the parents for Christmas dinner, which Donna achieved with great aplomb.

But after dinner, when the table was cleared away and the dishwasher was loaded, it was time for present giving, and this Donna didn’t take in her stride, and that was because she didn’t really like receiving unknown Christmas Presents.

Donna preferred to either get money or have already selected the gift and instructed the giver, or preferably she would actually buy it herself and then give it to the presenter for them to wrap.

That way she avoided having to employ one of the stock phrases for responding to the Christmas present she would rather not have received.

Her comment’s included,

“Thanks a lot”,

“My word! What a gift”,

“You shouldn't have”

And “Wow”

Or “Well, well, well”

She would have liked to have been facetious but she loved Christmas too much to say something like

“If I had put on 4 stones it would have fitted me perfectly”,

“It's lovely, but I'm worried about the jealousy it may create”,

“Just my luck to get this, on the Christmas I promised to give all my gifts to charity”

Or “Unfortunately, I am about to enter MI5's Witness Protection programme”

So imagine her dismay when her boyfriend of five years presented her with an unexpected gift in front of all the assembled family.

“Oh I’ll open that later” she said “let someone else go next “

But they all insisted she open it and inside she was seething, but externally she had to adopt a calmer stance and David knew precisely what was going on behind the façade and smiled at her discomfiture as he put the gift box in her hand as she sat down on the chair.

It was a box about the size of a bag of sugar and painfully aware that all eyes were on her she pulled the ribbon which undid the bow, then she removed the lid to reveal a smaller similarly wrapped package which she removed and smiled with gritted teeth.

David knew that parcels within parcels were another one of Donna’s pet hates, which is why he did it.

So she again pulled the ribbon which undid the bow, then she removed the lid to reveal another smaller similarly wrapped package.

This was repeated twice more before she held a small bundle wrapped in tissue which, urged on by the spectators, she began to unwrap, and the only audible sound was that of Donnas teeth grinding.

But finally the last layer had been conquered and everyone expected one of her stock response’s but instead there was just silence, even the grinding of teeth had desisted because her mouth was open as she stared at the item at the centre of the unfolded tissue paper, which was a platinum set solitaire diamond engagement ring.

No one else in the room could see it so they weren’t entirely sure what was going on until David asked

“So Donna Vineyard, will you marry me?”

IN THE GAME OF LOVE

 

In the game of love, you know all the right moves

With Terpsichorean precision, purposeful and bold

You are mistress of passion, keeper of my heart

If they awarded medals for love you’d get the gold

Mornington-By-Mere – (94) The Old Flame

 

Pilot Officer Ronald Carrington and Land Army girl Fiona Blake met twice on the journey from their home towns when they were traveling to Mornington, once on the train between Nettlefield and Purplemere and again on the bus as they crossed the Finchbottom Vale.

And by the time they reached the quaint picturesque chocolate box  idyll, with its Manor House, 12th Century Church, Coaching Inn, Windmills, an Old Forge, Schoolhouse, a River and a Mere, they had fallen in love.

As a result they made a date for the following Saturday which culminated with a good night kiss by the gate of Manor Farm.

 

After that first date at the Old Mill Inn they saw each other as often as her work on the farm and his sorties with the RAF permitted but at the end of April his squadron were notified that they were on the move to an undisclosed destination.

When he met Fiona that evening he was wearing a grave expression

“What’s wrong?” she asked with concern

“I have just received some bad news” he informed her

“Why what’s happened?” she asked even more concerned

“The squadron has been posted” he said

“Where to?”

“We don’t know” he replied “We won’t know until the day we leave”

“When is that?” she asked flatly

“In two days” Ronald replied

“Oh God so soon” she exclaimed

“But no one is allowed off base after ten o’clock tonight” he said

“So tonight is your last night” Fiona said sadly

“I’m afraid so, but I will come back to you” he assured her and she threw herself into his arms

“I love you so much” he said

“I love you too” 

“I will write to you every day” he promised “but you might not get them as often, and they might be out of sequence when you receive them depending on where they’re posted from”

“I’ll write everyday too” she said and then she began to cry

And he suspect there would be more tears, after all they wouldn’t be seeing each other again for goodness knew how long.

 

When she had dried her eyes she said

“Let’s not go to the pub, I don’t want to share you with anyone else on our last night together”

So they walked slowly around the village just like they did on their first date.

 

And afterwards they walked back to the farm hand in hand and as he expected there were more tears by the gate and when she was composed enough to say a proper goodbye they kissed and she walked straight into the farmhouse without looking back.  

 

He kept his word and wrote to her everyday even though it was difficult with the amount of training missions they were flying in what was the preparation for D-Day, but he promised her he would so he did and posted them whenever he could.

It became more difficult once they crossed the channel and her letters to him, which arrived as regular as clockwork, became more sporadic once he reached France and by October they had stopped altogether.

Despite her letters drying up he continued to write but only once a week, then one a month and by February of 45 he stopped. 

 

He returned to Mornington in August of 1945 as a Squadron Leader and his first port of call was to Manor Farm to see Fiona but Mrs. Hargrave told him that she had left the farm and the Land Army twelve months earlier after her father was killed in an air raid and she went home to look after her mother.

He asked if she had left a forwarding address, but she hadn’t, and the lady of the house said she had a box full of unread letters and he recognized them as his.    

 

He had spent the three weeks since he learned of his posting, hoping he could reconnect with Fiona and get to the bottom of why she stopped writing.

But after going to the farm he was faced with the fact that he would never see her again.

 

After 3 months in Mornington he was sent on temporary secondment to RAF Millmoor which was a promotion of sorts because at Millmoor he would be flying jets.   

After a month at Millmoor he got a call from one of his old Squadron who was going to be in Nettlefield a few days before Christmas. 

“We get in on Saturday morning” William said “so we could have lunch maybe, you me and Crispin”

“Ok great” Ronald replied

So on Saturday morning, a week later, he caught the train at Millmoor station.

 

He had planned to meet up with William and Crispin in Nettlefield at a restaurant called “The Boars Head” at half past twelve on Saturday, and he had left the base five minutes later than he intended and thought he was going to miss his train but for some unknown reason he not only caught the train, but he arrived in Nettlefield half an hour early.

So he stood outside the station staring at his watch and scratching his head trying to figure out where he had gone wrong with his calculations.

But it was snowing hard and he was feeling the cold so he decided to have a beer at the nearest watering hole, which happened to be “The Grey Friar Inn”.

 

As it was almost Christmas the pub was bedecked with the best that post war Downshire could conjure up, namely paper chains, holly and balloons.

It was a very welcoming pub despite the understated festive décor, there was a roaring fire in the grate, and a middle aged man was playing Christmas songs on the piano and there was Mornington ale on tap.

He ordered a pint and sat at the nearest table to the fire and smiled at the tableaux before him of the mixed clientele of Christmas shoppers and workers at lunch.

The music was good, but then he thought you couldn’t go wrong with Christmas music, and the pianist was good.

 

It was when he was halfway down his pint that he spotted a familiar face and he had to do a double take.

The girl was short with a nice little figure, and long straight brown hair and a rather attractive, if heavily freckled face, lovely hazel eyes, a cute nose and a thin-lipped smile.

 

Ronald was halfway down his pint that he spotted a familiar face and he had to do a double take.

The girl was short with a nice little figure, and long straight brown hair and a rather attractive, if heavily freckled face, lovely hazel eyes, a cute nose and a thin-lipped smile.

 

She was dressed differently from the last time they met, her summer dress had been replaced by a dark green tweed skirt and a brown cable knit sweater, tan coloured stockings encasing her shapely legs and she had brown brogues on her tiny feet.

He watched her move from table to table collecting empties and putting them on the bar.

She was an altogether more confident girl than the shy little mouse he first met on the train to Purplemere,

 

But although he had fallen in love with her, a love that was clearly still alive, judging by the effect that seeing her had had on him, there was still the question as to why she had stopped writing to him.    

He was desperate to get up and walk to the bar and speak to her but he feared his legs might not carry him so instead he called out.

“Fiona? Fiona Blake?”

“Yes” she answered and as she turned towards him recognition dawned on her face and she smiled

“Ronald” she said and walked over towards him.

“Hello” he said

“Ronald” she responded

 

Fiona had mixed feelings when she saw him, because she still loved him but she was also still hurt that he hadn’t written back to her after  she left Mornington even though she wrote to him half a dozen times explaining why she left and where she had gone.

Of course what she didn’t know was that after D-Day there was a back log in the mail supply to frontline units and it was several weeks before it got on its way, unfortunately one of the Dakota’s ferrying the sacks across the channel was shot down and crashed into the sea, and Fiona’s letters along with it.

 

Wearing half a smile she walked towards him and asked

“Why didn’t you write?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you answer my letters?”

“I did” he said “I wrote everyday as I promised, until it became clear that you had stopped”

“I didn’t get them all if you did” she pointed out

“Well when I went to Manor Farm Mrs. Hargrave showed me a box full of my letters, which were delivered after you left” he explained

“But why?” she asked “Why didn’t you send it to Heathervale?”

“What’s Heathervale?”

“That’s where I live” she snapped “I wrote and told you that”

“I never got that letter” he said and she went pale and sat down heavily on a chair

“I don’t know what to say, I thought you had just lost interest in me”

“Never” he said “Not for an instant”

“I’m sorry” she said in her soft mousy voice.

“FIONA! Customers!” the landlord barked

“OK!” she snapped “I have to get back to work”

 

“So it would seem” he said and then looked at his watch “oh God! I have to go”

“What? No, don’t go” she implored “We need to talk”

“I have to, I’m meeting William and Crispin, they’re only in Nettlefield for a few hours” he said drained his glass and stood up

“I’ll come back later”

“I finish at seven” Fiona said

“Great I’ll see you then” He said, smiled and left and Fiona watch him leave with tears welling in her eyes.

 

Ronald reached “The Boars Head” at half past one on the dot only to find the other two were late, which left him time to dwell on the meeting with Fiona, until the other two sauntered in fifteen minutes later.

“Sorry we’re late” Crispin said, “my fault I’m afraid, my train was delayed”

 

It was a wonderful reunion and an exceptionally nice meal considering the post war shortages but it was the company that made it so enjoyable.

Ronald enjoyed it so much that he didn’t have time to think about Fiona and before he knew it the afternoon had gone.

When they left the restaurant it was almost five o’clock as they headed to the station.

It was snowing heavily and when they got there they found that no trains were running south, but William and Crispin, who were heading north, managed to get on the last train running.

After they said their goodbyes he tried the taxi rank but there were no cabs to be found so after he had met Fiona again he would be stranded in Nettlefield.

 

He walked to the “Grey Friar Inn” and went to the reception and managed to secure their last vacant room.

It was a few minutes after five when he was handed the key for room six and as the rather gruff receptionist returned to the bar a small figure wrapped up against the cold, came through the door from the noisy lounge bar and stopped dead when they caught sight of him.

“Ronald” she said, her voice muffled by her scarf.

“Is that Fiona under all that?” he asked

She didn’t speak but nodded.

“Where are you off to?” he queried

“I’ve got to get home,” she said

“I thought we needed to talk” he pointed out

“We do and I want to but I need to get home” Fiona assisted 

“There aren’t any trains,” he told her

“What? To Heathervale?” she asked urgently

“To anywhere” he replied

“And there are no taxis either”

 “Oh damn,” Fiona exclaimed

“I have to try” she said, “I’d like to stay, but I have to try”

“Ok” he said “I’ll walk with you”

She nodded and then they walked out into the snowy night,

 

They passed the empty taxi rank on the way and when they reached the station they found it was closed and Fiona turned towards him and put her face against his chest and began to cry.

“I”

“Cant”

“Get”

“Home” she said between sobs

Inside his head he said

“Well I did tell you that”

But saying it out loud would not have helped the situation so he just thought it and made sympathetic noises instead.

“All the trains are cancelled,” she said

“I know,” he thought

“And there are no taxis”

“I told you that as well,” he thought

After a few moments he asked

“What’s at home that you are so desperate to get home for?”

He was certain it wasn’t a sweetheart and he was right.

“My mum” she answered

“For God’s sake” he thought “you’re in your twenties, you’re a big girl now”

Out loud he just said

“Oh?”

And she explained that the air raid that killed her father also paralyzed her mother and Fiona looked after her.

She worked all day in at the pub in Nettlefield but she was at home mornings and evenings to tend to her mum.

Ronald felt bad when he heard her explanation.

“I have to try and get home” Fiona said

“But it’s just not possible” he said “is there anyone in the village who could check on her”

“Yes, Mrs. Rooney” she replied “But I can’t ask her because she doesn’t have a phone”

“No, but Warrant Officer Coleman does” Ronald said

“Who?”

“Former WO Coleman at Mornington Field is now Police Sgt Coleman in the village of Heathervale” he said “come on let’s find a phone box”

 

The nearest phone box was just across the street so they ran hand in hand across the road and squeezed into it, and Ronald phoned Sgt Coleman and after a minute or two of reminiscence he explained the reason for the call and the nature of the emergency and the Sgt promised he would dispatch his PC out into the snow to Mrs. Rooney’s.

 

“Thanks George” he said and hung up the phone

“Thank you” she said and hugged him

“That’s ok”

“What now?” she asked expectantly

“He’s going to ring the “Grey Friar” when he has news” he replied

“Why there?” she asked

“I have a room” he replied “we can stay there tonight, and we can set off early tomorrow morning”

“I can’t spend the night with you” she said with horror

“It’s ok, you can have the bed” Ronald assured her “There won’t be any impropriety, I promise”

“Ok” she said meekly as she gazed up at him and he kissed her.

 

They got back to the “Grey Friar” and weren’t able to go straight to the room as the rather gruff receptionist he’d seen earlier, who was Mrs. Cleary, the Landlords wife, was behind the counter so they went into the bar and ordered drinks, but they didn’t stay long as it was very loud and raucous, so they quickly drank up and as soon as she saw Mrs. Cleary walk into the bar Fiona knew that reception would be unattended so she discreetly took the key for room six from Ronald, slipped out of the bar and sneaked up to the room and he followed five minutes later, but was stopped in his tracks by grumpy Mrs. Cleary.

“Squadron leader!”

“Yes Mrs. Cleary” he said 

“Telephone” she snapped

 

When he got to room six he found Fiona sitting on the end of the bed still wearing her outdoor clothes

At first glance the room was a bit small and dingy but on reflection he thought it was better than some of the billets in France and Belgium he’d stayed in after D-Day.

Fiona was looking rather glum but he had some news that would cheer her up, because it was Sgt Rooney on the phone to say that Mrs. Rooney had been contacted and she was only too happy to oblige, and to tell Fiona not to worry.

 

As promised he let Fiona have the bed and he spent the night in an armchair but neither of them slept as they talked the night away.

Saying all the things they had said before in letters that had gone unread.

 

The next morning, although physically and mentally they were collectively, a spent force, they had never felt more alive as they had found each other again, and the happiness that went along with that reunion.

But as happy as she was that the man she loved was back in her life she was eager to get back to Heathervale to see her mum.

The heavy snow of the day before had given way to rain during the night so they thought the trains would be running some kind of service, the only problem was getting her out of his room unseen. 

So Ronald went down the stairs first and distracted Mrs. Cleary while Fiona slipped out unseen into the street then they walked to the station together.

 

Although the station was open and trains were running there was a greatly reduced service due to the previous day’s cancellations, which was going to result in a rather lengthy wait on the platform.

He left her looking at the revised timetable while he went and got the tickets, and when he returned she said

“There’s a train going south in ten minutes, but I’ve got a longer wait for a train to Heathervale”

“That’s ok because I’m coming with you” Ronald said

“You don’t have to do that” she said

“I know, but I’m not letting you get away from me again without knowing where to find you” he said

“Don’t worry you’re mine now, forever” Fiona said and they kissed

THEN AND ONLY THEN

 

I will drop a grain of sand into the desert

I will cry a teardrop into the ocean blue

I will blow a kiss into a hurricane

To prove my love, this is what I do

If you find that grain of sand, that teardrop

Or that kiss then that is when I’ll stop loving you

Mornington-By-Mere - (93) Alma’s Eyes

When the Mornington Estate exercised its option to purchase Mornington Field from the MOD it also acquired all the buildings and infrastructure on the airfield itself as well as 29 houses in the village formally used as quarters for military personnel.

Plans were immediately drawn up to optimize the newly acquired assets the moment the property was formally handed over on the 1st of June.

The guardians of the estate were the St George family the head of which is Baron Gabriel St George.

His architect Scott Collier was tasked with designing appropriate conversions to maximize the potential returns, and Ray Walker

Who dealt with all thing estate maintenance wise was responsible for getting the old Air force housing stock occupied ASAP,

Ray worked tirelessly to that end to have not just the first six houses ready within the month as originally promised, but eight, which were handed over on the 6th of July, two days earlier than forecast. .

Gabriel was then able to instruct Lyndon-Sanders Properties of Shallowfield to find tenants.

Priority was to be given to local people or people with ties to the area or those who worked in some capacity for the estate such as agriculture and the brewery. 

Other than that they were to be rented with the only condition being that it had to be the tenant’s primary residence.

Gabriel was always conscious of creating a ghost town of professionals who live and work in Town all week and only return to the village on the weekend.

 One such person was Alma Fuentes who was a physiotherapist at the Dancingdean Health Centre in Shallowfield who worked out of the Mornington Surgery one day a week.

Alma lived at number 8 The Close and she was the only single occupancy, everyone else had a family or a partner and children and she wanted that, she had always wanted that but now she lived among so many children she wanted it even more.

She was a tiny Spanish woman who looked like a breath of wind would blow her away but looks could be very deceptive as she was as strong as an ox.

 

When she worked in Shallowfield she would go across the road to the café for her lunch.

Paul Larkin sat drinking black coffee alone in Addison’s café just killing some time and he noticed her instantly as she entered, and he was powerless to resist the movement of his eyes, as like magnets they were drawn towards the striking young woman's and her stunning beauty, her hair appeared black as a raven's wing as it caressed the dark caramel skin of her shoulders, but with the sun shining through the fine strands they betrayed its true brunette nature.

But out of the sun her hairs dark lustre framed the simple beauty of her face, which he studied as he took another sip.
Firstly her full lips quivered and then broadened into a smile, as he admired the delicate curve of her small nose and the hypnotic depth of her dark brown eyes, which looked back at him and held his gaze, and as if reading his thoughts they burned through him and touched his soul.
Alma was distracted momentarily so his eyes wandered the soft brown nakedness of her neck and shoulders and then he met her eyes again and her smile broadened and her cheeks flushed.

As she sat down at an adjacent table his gaze once more returned to her face and Alma smiled.

That was the last time they sat on separate tables because the next day he joined her and bought her coffee and they talked and laughed, then drank more coffee and talked and laughed some more.

His eyes still took every opportunity to peruse her sweet face when he wasn’t held captive by her Spanish eyes.  

 

Six months passed and love blossomed and grew between them and then came the day when her dark eyes, sultry and steamy flashed him a side ward’s glance from beneath the white lace of her veil and in return he gave her a more appraising look altogether, focusing on the curvaceous figure beneath her conservative wedding dress.

Her eyes flashed up again, a lingering languid glance which spoke volumes of her being very much a woman and not the putative girl her parents would have her be still.
She was the centre of his admiration, and he was hers as they saw recognition in each other’s eyes, no words were spoken, everything was intuit and with amative study and libidinous perusal, the girl was his object of pulchritude and he was her beloved swain.

All at once they had to come back to the moment and the spell was broken momentarily and they had to turn their attention to the Vicar until the moment when after their union, he would look into the eyes of the young woman behind the white lace veil as they stood on the steps of St Winifred’s church.