Unforgettable (Gloria Cook) - By Gloria Cook Page 0,60
off to as if there’s a fire raging?’
‘Oh, just popping along to The Orchards. I left my sketchbook there. Are you off to write some more poetry? Thank you for the lovely rabbit poem you copied out for Eloise. I’ve illustrated it – I didn’t think you’d mind. I got a frame from the Thrift Niche, and I’ve hung it in her room. She’s now sleeping very well in there by herself,’ he ended, like a proud father. ‘You must take a look at the framed poem.’
‘I will, and of course I don’t mind. I’ve seen for myself that you’re a very accomplished artist. Everyone is impressed by your depictions of the village to put up in the new hall.’
‘Everyone except for the vicar,’ Finn said, then he put on the Reverend Lytton’s breathy voice, apt to be interspersed with watery coughs. ‘He approached me while I was set up with my easel across from the church and said, “Is that the best you can do, boy? Hope you’re not going to portray the tower like that. It isn’t bent, you know.” Miserable old so-and-so, I had the tower as straight as a die.’ It wasn’t what Finn had uttered under his breath at the time. ‘I’ve never seen such an ugly man as him before. He looks like something crossed between a bullfrog and a bulldog. I’m not happy that he’s going to christen Eloise. He might scare her badly.’
‘Don’t worry. He won’t really look at her and he certainly won’t be holding her. He says he has very bad rheumatism in his shoulders; they do creak a lot. I think he’s rather terrified of babies. It’s not surprising, I suppose, as he’s an old bachelor. Well, we’d better get on our way. Corky is getting restless. Now, Finn, more haste, less speed. I don’t want to see you ending up flying over those handlebars and getting a cracked head, or putting some unfortunate in a ditch.’
Dorrie walked off, thinking Finn a most handsome young man and how nice it was to see him smiling so much nowadays.
Finn shot off on his bike wishing he had a grandmother just like Mrs R. Well, he more or less did; he and Eloise had her as a worthy substitute. Dear ladies like her made the world a much better place.
Making short work of the last mile to his quarry, Finn veered off for a roadside thatched-roof, chocolate-box, rustic dwelling, its gleaming white front perfectly graced by criss-cross log fencing covered with rambling roses. This was a wholly enchanting place to Finn, for a queen among women lived here. If Mrs R saw Belle the way Finn did she would dash off a poem that would set the world alight with awe and wonder on love, the romantic and the intimate.
Ringing his tinny sounding bell to announce his arrival, and to bring Belle out from the hot houses if she was in one of them, he walked his bike round to the back and leaned it carefully against the wall. It would be a crime to make a scratch or leave a dirty mark on this paradisiacal home. His heart did joyful somersaults when Belle popped her gorgeous dark head through one of the open windows.
‘Finn! Good morning. You’re a surprise this time of the day. Come along in. Is everything all right?’
Each of her words reached his ears as if drifting on golden threads of welcome and care, and her surprise at seeing him was obviously a welcome one. ‘Everything is fine. I’ve just slipped over because I think I left my sketchbook here and I’ll need it later.’
‘Oh, of course, it’s in a safe place in the sitting room.’
He joined her inside. The room smelled deliciously of hot toast, waiting to be eaten at the end of the table nearest to the range, which was laid with breakfast things for one. ‘I like to get on first thing then take a late breakfast alone when I’ve got time to get my thoughts together. Sit down, Finn.’ Belle took a brightly painted mug off a hook under a shelf and put it on the table. ‘I’ll freshen up the pot and get you a plate and knife. Help yourself to toast and marmalade. I’ve made more than enough for myself.’
‘Wow, thanks a lot, Mrs Belle, it’s very kind of you.’ He always looked for a way to compliment her, then hoping to impress her, said, ‘I rode here on the bike