Page 7 of A Not So Quiet Christmas
At last his face broke into a smile. “You almost had me there,” he said, looking at me direct. “I like a woman with a sense of humour.” He drew my attention to Aunt Lillian’s cottage. “As you can see, the house needs a bit of work.”
“And I like a man with optimism,” I said. We were obviously seeing two different things.
Oliver let out a laugh. “Honestly. It’s not as bad as it seems. To be fair to Lillian, she took great care of the place.”
“You knew her?”
“Everyone knew Lillian. She was quite a lady. The stories that woman could tell. The village isn’t the same without her.”
I recalled Jules telling me what a character her aunt could be. Unusual for a woman of her generation, Lillian never married. She had no desire to have children so didn’t see the point and, despite several proposals over the years, she much preferred the freedom that came with her single status. Apparently, she caught the travelling bug at a young age and according to my friend there wasn’t a continent that Lillian hadn’t visited. “Jules was saddened when she couldn’t make the funeral,” I said. “They might not have seen each other for some time, but she remembers her aunt fondly.”
“Knowing Lillian, she wouldn’t have minded,” Oliver said. “She wasn’t one for ceremonial duties.”
The more I heard about Jules’s Aunt Lillian, the more I liked her.
Oliver got back to business, once again focusing on Number 3, Bluebell Row. “You might not think so to look at them, but the windows are actually quite solid, and the garden just needs a tidy up.”
“And inside?” I said, tentative.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Oliver said. “If we stand here much longer, I’ll freeze.” He grinned as he gestured to the front door. “After you.”
