Just as she was about to go out, Marina remembered the postcard from Katherine Bridges and pulled it out of her pocket. She read it again, smiling fondly to herself as she remembered her old friend, now in her late sixties and living on the edge of Lake Windermere in British Columbia. Love had taken her to the other side of the world, and she couldn’t blame her for that, but she missed the only woman she had ever truly depended on. She pulled a floral box file down from the shelf and opened it. Inside were dozens of items of correspondence from Katherine, which she had kept over the years. She placed the postcard inside and put the box back. Then she went out into the garden to find Mr. Potter.
“Well, she’s found her artist,” said Bertha, sitting at the kitchen table with Heather. Lunch was over; the few guests had left; the three chefs had taken off their aprons and retired for the afternoon.
“He’s lovely,” sighed Heather, her broad Devon accent curling around the words like the steam swirling up from her hot chocolate.
“Do you think it’s true what they say about foreigners?”
“What do they say, then?”
“That they make good lovers.”
Heather giggled. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Why would they be better? What do they do that Englishmen don’t do?”
“Last longer?”
Bertha grunted. “Nothing good about that.”
Heather hugged her mug of hot chocolate. “Do you think she’ll calm down now she’s found her artist?”
“Hope so. She’s very tense. I think she’s having a midlife crisis.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. She’s over fifty, and she’s got no kids. I bet that hurts.”
“Poor love. Every woman deserves to have kids.”
“It can drive you mad, you know, not having kids. Something to do with the womb drying up.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. It dries up, and that drying-up does something to the brain.”
“So, what will happen?”
“Don’t know.” Bertha shook her head, her face full of doom. “Perhaps her artist will cheer her up.” Her bosoms jiggled with laughter. “Sure as hell will cheer me up!”
Clementine insisted on paying half the lunch bill. It wasn’t very much and Joe was determined to treat her, but she placed twelve quid on the plate and refused to take it back. “You’ve bought me a bunch of roses. I can’t allow you to pay for lunch as well.”
“I’m glad you liked them.”
“I do. They brighten up the office.”
“You’ve brightened up my day.”
“Good.” She felt the tightness in her voice and smiled stiffly.
“Last night was fantastic.”
“Great. Good.” She frantically searched for the waiter.
“You don’t sound very convinced. Wasn’t it good for you?”
She tossed her gaze at the little fishing boats that bobbed about on the sea and wished she could just sail away in one. “I don’t remember much,” she mumbled. “I drank too much vodka. Felt terrible this morning. So, no, it wasn’t so great for me.”
Joe shrank in disappointment. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“I shouldn’t have let you drink so much.”
“I’m not used to it,” she lied.
“You were fun, though.”
“I’m sure I was.” She glared at him. “I don’t usually sleep with someone on the first date.”
Joe looked astonished. “You think you slept with me?”
“Didn’t I?” It was her turn to shrink.
“What sort of man do you take me for? You think I’d ply you with drink and take advantage of you?”
“You didn’t?”
“Of course not.”
“So, we just fooled around?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. You didn’t mind at the time. In fact, you mewed with enjoyment.”
“Steady with the details.”
He grinned. “Feel better now?”
“Yes, much. I awoke feeling ashamed. I’m not that sort of girl.”
“I know that. That’s why I like you.”
It wasn’t going to be so easy to extricate herself while she felt this grateful. “Thank you.”
“You’re quirky. I like that.”
“Am I?”
“I like your overbite; it’s sexy.”
“My overbite?”
“Yes, the way your top teeth—”
“You make me sound like Goofy.”
“When can I see you again? Tonight?”
“Not tonight, Joe.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Maybe.”
He grinned at her. “I like a woman who’s hard to get.”