Page 16 of It's Now or Never

Feeling guilty about the way I’d behaved towards Gramps earlier in the week, I decided the best approach was to pretend we’d never even had the conversation about Marcia. Least said, soonest mended. I secretly hoped Gramps might tire of Marcia’s busybody ways and their budding romance would fizzle out over a Bavarian beer and a bratwurst. After all, there’d be no greater test of their relationship than ten days spent in a small ship’s cabin.

I dropped in on Gramps one day after work later that week and was just flicking through the pages of the local newspaper when I spotted the obituary.

‘Oh, have you seen, Gramps? Mr Cavendish has died. My old headmaster.’ I sighed, overwhelmed with sadness as I looked atthe picture of Arthur Cavendish, standing tall and proud, a wide beaming smile on his face, just as I remembered him.

‘What a shame. He was definitely one of the old school.’ Gramps laughed at his own joke. ‘A true gentleman, if I remember correctly.’

‘He was lovely. Used to half scare the life out of me when he waltzed into the hall for assembly and his deep booming voice would ring around the room. Or he’d call me from along the corridor, “Jenn-i-fer Fara-day! Just. One. Moment. Please.” Honestly, my heart would stop in my chest, wondering what I’d done, but most of the time he just wanted to chat. Think he must have kept an eye out for me because he knew Mum so well. She was forever on the phone to him.’

Gramps laughed at the memory.

‘Well, your mum was always fighting your corner, Jen.’

‘Yeah,’ I sighed, suddenly transported back to my teenage years. My mum had been my best friend and staunchest ally back then. We’d had a really close bond, probably because it had only ever been the two of us since my dad left home when I was about five. At first he came to visit regularly but soon his visits dwindled away to nothing and Mum did everything she could to ensure she filled the gap created by his absence. It couldn’t have been easy for her and I knew she worried when I went through the usual teenage traumas. I don’t know how much she’d told Mr Cavendish, but he knew exactly who I was and always took a close interest in my progress in and out of school.

My gaze scanned the picture of that bygone time.

If Mum was still here, she would want to pay her respects to Mr Cavendish. More and more these days, ever since I’d re-read her letter, I felt her presence around me, giving me a gentle prod in the side, telling me what to do. And this was one of those occasions. I would take the day off work and attend on her behalf.

The sun shone high in the sky that Monday morning over the grounds of the priory as people filed in to celebrate the memory of a man who had dedicated his life to serving others. Not only was he a well-respected and much-admired headmaster, he was also a member of many local groups including the choir, the bowls club and many voluntary organisations too. I knew there would be a big turnout, but I hadn’t realised just how many would be there until I found a seat and my gaze swept around the room and took in all the people, young and old, who filled the rows of the chapel. There were literally hundreds of them. Emotion caught at the back of my throat as a shiver travelled along my limbs.

‘How did you know Arthur?’ asked a lady in a purple hat who’d sat down beside me. I turned to her, smiling, grateful for the distraction.

‘I was a pupil at Hayward School. I have very fond memories of Mr Cavendish. He was an inspirational man.’

‘Oh yes, and a very kind and caring man too. I live in the same road as him and after my husband died, Arthur took on the job of mowing my lawns, front and back. I couldn’t do it myself so I was always grateful to him for helping me out. I was just one of many people he helped. You can tell that by all these people here. He’ll be sorely missed.’

The service was a joyous celebration of his life. Both his son and daughter stood up to read heartfelt eulogies to their father and his twelve-year-old grandson, who had a shock of blond hair, played a sonata on his flute which brought tears to my eyes and sent goosebumps down my arms.

When we stood up to sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ which seemed particularly apt with the sun’s rays filteringthrough the stained glass windows of the chapel, I felt comforted and energised by the love and affection in the room for Mr Cavendish. I was reminded of my mum and nan too when a swell of emotion threatened to overcome me and I had to bite back the tears on more than one occasion. It was a warm and life-affirming service and I was so pleased that I’d been able to play a small part in it.

Outside, I was just saying goodbye to the lady in the purple hat when I heard my name called, a sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down the length of my body. Even before I had the chance to turn round I knew exactly who it was. Even after all that time. I’d recognise that warm, deep, seductive voice anywhere.

‘Alex!’ I said, turning to greet him with what I hoped was a confident smile. Inside, my heart was beating nineteen to the dozen.

‘Jen, how lovely to see you.’ He leant in and kissed me on the cheek and I caught a whiff of his scent, the same gorgeous smell that had so intoxicated me on the day of the wedding. Oranges, sun, sex. ‘You look terrific. Did you go to Hayward school then? I didn’t realise.’

‘Yes. You too?’

‘No, but my father was a good friend of his. They shared a passion for cricket and beer, and spent many a long lazy Sunday afternoon together putting the world to rights. My parents are abroad at the moment so I wanted to come along and pay my respects on Dad’s behalf.’

He paused, with a smile, and I noticed the almost imperceptible sweep of his gaze along the length of my body. I swallowed, feeling myself respond in a way that was totally inappropriate for what was supposed to be a sombre occasion, although I gave a silent prayer of thanks that I was wearing my black shift dress,heels and a coating of lipstick, and not my regulation Browns green sweatshirt.

‘It was a lovely service,’ I said, looking away, unsettled by his presence.

‘It really was. Very moving.’

His gaze settled on my face and with it I was given a sharp reminder of the intensity of his eyes that were rocking a very definite green hue this morning. Whatever their colour, they were endlessly fascinating in their expression and warmth. I thought back to the night I’d spent in his bed and could hardly believe that I’d been so close and intimate with the man now standing in front of me. I knew him intimately and yet I didn’t know him at all. If anything, he was much better looking than I’d remembered him to be when I conjured up his image in my head, which I’d done far more often than was healthy. Seeing him again made me realise just how much I’d missed him, if it were possible to miss someone you didn’t actually know very well.

‘How have you been?’

‘Good.’ I nodded. ‘You?’

‘Great.’ There was a momentary pause. ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ he asked, casually.

He was a man who looked good in a suit, the grey fabric – possibly silk, most definitely expensive – was perfectly tailored to show off his broad shoulders and trim waist. I glanced at my watch as though I might have an altogether more pressing engagement somewhere else.

‘Yes, I’ve time for a quick one,’ I said before I’d even considered whether it was a good idea or not. The only thing I knew was that I didn’t want him to go, not just yet; anything that prolonged our time together had to be a good thing.

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