Little Fingers! by Tim Roux Read Free Book Online

courage. Now I would like to revenge
myself on you.”
     
    * *
*
     
     

Chapter
5
     
    The first
person I meet in Hanburgh is Tom Willows. He is walking along the
beck with a spade in his hand.
    I am watching
the ducks and swans diving and scratching in the mill
pond.
    He walks
slowly, as if surveying his estate, and as if anyone discovered
there should be noted and accounted for.
    “ Good
morning,” he calls. “Prospecting for lunch?”
    I smile.
“After London, this is a peaceful change.”
    “ Ah, you are
from London are you? The Big City. The smoke.”
    “ I am not
sure that we ever call it that.”
    “ Probably
not. Probably not. So what brings you here? I am Tom Willows, by
the way.” He moves forward and offers his hand. He scrutinises me
intently. He gets right inside my guard, as if he wants to climb
into me to rummage around and understand what I am about. It is not
overtly threatening, but I feel uncomfortable nonetheless. I
recognise it as a technique.
    “ I am taking
some time out. I am thinking of living here.”
    “ Do you have
any connection with the area? Any relations?”
    “ Not that I
know of.”
    “ So why
Hanburgh?”
    “ It is in a
part of England that is rather off the map. Different. I fancy
living off the map for a while.”
    “ Off the map,
eh?” He laughs. “And there are some people who think that Hanburgh
is the centre of the world.” He laughs again.
    “ And you?
Have you always lived here?”
    “ Always,
always. My father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, many
generations. We have always lived off the land around here, with
greater or lesser success. It is very fertile farming land,
……..and, “ he looks me directly in the eyes in an almost
challenging way, “I had better get back to it. Good luck with your
house-hunting, ……….”
    “ Julia. Julia
Blackburn.”
    “ Good luck
with your house-hunting, Julia, and we will no doubt bump into each
other again if you decide to live here.” He walks on several yards,
and waves his spade over his shoulder cheerfully but dismissively
in a salute, without looking around. A minute later, he waves it
again to someone he has spotted across the village, and he wanders
over to talk to them.
     
    * *
*
     
    Mary is very
relaxed after a day lounging on the beaches of Cap D'Agde, forty
minutes from here. We have bought a Smart Roadster to get us
around, or mostly to get Mary around - I spend most of my time
typing this. We love the Smart car and, with the rainy season
arriving anytime now, we may have to buy a covered Smart Car to
keep us dry. A couple of Smart cars, that describes us well -
deceptively sophisticated, chic, no room for past baggage, Mary
laying herself wide-open, me more enclosed and egg-like.
    Mary has heard
of Cap d'Agde's reputation for sexual promiscuity, and has been
indulging in a bit of voyeuristic tourism. She did not come across
anything noteworthy, but the thrill added energy to the
day.
    So, in this
late September sun, she lay out on the beach, watched and waited.
The light breeze ruffled her skin. The sunlight was intense. The
sea was still warm enough to swim in, while becoming increasingly
restless. She read, she slept, she sipped her water. She awaited a
proposition from a beautiful young man or woman. I have broadened
her tastes. Would she accept it? I don't know. Maybe. After twenty
years of playing it straight, the spell broken, Cinders might like
a ball.
    She slipped
back into the house fifteen minutes ago. She is nervous about
interrupting me. I am the one still at work, and paying for this
adventure. I wish she were more at ease with me, that she viewed us
as one, not as two parties to a contract which has to be balanced
and equal. She starts to prepare dinner, pouring herself a glass of
rosé. I stop my writing. She smiles at me, and brings me a glass of
wine.
    “ Was it all
you were hoping for?”
    “ No, there
was nothing,” she smiles innocently, “but it was wonderful,
peaceful.