Water, Stone, Heart - By Will North Page 0,69

in a very long time.”

“It isn't a compliment, you bloody numbskull; it's the offer of a lifetime!”

Andrew turned to his mentor. “Jamie, look. I've got a house in Philadelphia and a mortgage and a new semester of classes to teach in less than a month. I'm sorry. I can't.”

“Can't or won't?” It could have been a taunt, but Andrew could see the affection in the older man's eyes. “You know what they say, don't you?”

“No, what's that?”

“No one ever said on his deathbed he wished he'd spent more time at his job.”

“Very pithy, I'll admit,” Andrew said. “But aren't you just offering me a different job?”

“Nay, lad, that's where you have it wrong. I'm not offering you a job; I'm offering you a life. The only question is whether you have the courage to live it.”

Andrew stared at him for a moment, finally saying, “It's not that simple.”

“Isn't it? Remember what you were telling me at the Welly last Wednesday? About honest, vernacular architecture, and livable communities, and local materials? That's not a scholarly pursuit, lad, that's your passion, even if you're too blind to see it. And while I'm at it—and I promise this'll be the last of it—let me tell you something else: You were born to work with stone. Never seen anyone take to it so naturally. You and the stone understand each other, is how I see it. And I think you know that.”

Andrew didn't know whether this was salesmanship or just more of Jamie's Zen, but he felt honored nonetheless. “Look, I hear you, Jamie; I just think it's … I don't know… crazy. Not to mention that if I didn't show up at school next month, that would probably be the end of my career.”

Jamie nodded. He'd said more already than he was used to saying to anybody. But something about the American got to him, as if perhaps he were the son Jamie'd never had.

“Right then,” he said, “here's my fallback position …”

Andrew lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

“What're you doing Monday?”

Andrew laughed hard. He'd planned on seeing a bit of the county before he left, but the truth was, he really would prefer to work some more on the hedge. He hated unfinished business. And he could hardly turn Jamie down now.

“See you in the car park at eight,” Andrew said.

“Good lad,” Jamie said.

Andrew clapped an arm around his friend, gave him an awkward, sideways guy hug, thanked him for the lessons and the drinks, and took his leave.

Flora had been watching this exchange while serving customers at the two bars, and now she sidled over to Jamie.

“What are you up to, you old rascal?” she asked.

Jamie smiled, but it was a tired smile. “Looking for a successor, Flora; looking for a successor.”

“You retirin'?”

“No, luv, just thinking ahead. Plus, I like that chap. Good man, that one.”

Jamie paid the bar bill and turned to leave.

“See you again Monday, Jamie?”

Jamie looked at her for several moments, as if something was dawning on him, then grinned. “If not sooner,” he said.

Flora knew there was something going on between Nicola and Andrew, and it puzzled her that the girl would stay holed up where she was, knowing the man was at the adjacent bar. When all the crew had left, she mixed an unrequested gin and tonic and slapped it down in front of her younger friend.

“My shout,” she said about the drink, “but only if you tell me what the hell's going on between you and the American.”

Nicola slumped. “Is my private life such public knowledge?”

“No, just to me and those who care about you, which includes … oh, I don't know … maybe half the village?”

“Bloody hell.”

“Hang on; gotta pull some bloke a pint.”

Nicola stared at her drink, watching the condensation bead on the outside of the glass and slide down to the bar. She knew Wednesday night had gone all pear-shaped. She woke up in bed the next morning, fully dressed and alone. Andrew had asked her about Johnny. What did he know? What had she said?

Flora was back. She said nothing, but her look was a question. Nicola sighed.

“I'm just wrestling with some old ghosts, is all,” she said.

“Meanwhile, I'd like to wrestle with that old goat, Jamie,” Flora quipped. It was meant to be funny, to lighten the mood, but it failed. She tried again.

“Nicki, let me tell you something from my long years of romantic experience.”

This, at last, made Nicola smile.

“The calendar is a bum way to measure the passage of