Chapter Twenty-Five
Kate felt exhausted but she couldn’t explain why.
She sat in the writing class and stared out of the window where Alf was tidying the herb garden that bordered the courtyard.
She could almost smell the aromatic leaves as she watched him trim and stake wayward fronds of rosemary and thyme and sprawling oregano with its sweet pungent smell.
Kate thought of her own garden at the schoolhouse and hoped that it wasn’t too overgrown.
She never left it for so long, but a neighbour had reassured her that he’d keep an eye on things.
A clock chimed and she turned to see that Bob had closed his notebook and was placing his pen in its case before putting both in his document bag, which he zipped tightly. Stretching his arms out he looked around and saw Kate. He gave her a wave.
Kate waved back then closed her laptop and stored it in her tote bag and, as she fastened it securely, she yawned.
‘You look all done in, darling, like me,’ Bob said. ‘Do you fancy a quick drink?’
‘Why not? Where would you like to go?’
‘The pub over the road’s open. We could head there for a change.’
‘That sounds lovely. Let me get my coat.’
Bob buttoned his jacket and wrapped a scarf around his neck and was waiting by the door for Kate when James wandered over.
‘Did you enjoy the class?’ James asked.
‘I thought it was very instructive, especially the bit about staying focused,’ Bob said. ‘You made some very good points, which I’ll put into practice when I get back to work.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘We’re going to the pub,’ Bob said. ‘Will you join us?’ He nodded over to Kate who was chatting to another student as she slipped her arms into her jacket.
‘Er, no, thanks. I’d better be getting off, got a lot to do at home.’
‘Just as you like.’
Bob watched James. The man seemed troubled and Bob thought that a drink would have done him good. ‘Ready when you are, darling,’ he said to Kate and, taking her elbow, led her out of the studio.
They walked over the cobbles arm in arm and, when they reached the road, stopped to wait for the traffic to clear. The King’s Arms was quiet but welcoming and Bob soon located a cosy corner of the snug, next to a coal fire.
‘This is nice,’ Kate said as she watched Bob carry their drinks to the table.
‘Have you enjoyed the class today?’
‘Yes, but I found it hard to concentrate, I don’t think I contributed.’
‘I thought that James seemed a bit distracted. It’s not like him; he’s usually on the ball.’
‘He has a lot on his mind.’ Kate took a sip of her drink.
‘Yes, of course, it was quite a family upset at the weekend.’
‘It must be a worry.’
‘Andy was on good form.’ Bob smiled and waited for Kate to respond. She looked puzzled.
‘When he leapt in with Pete to harness Helen,’ Bob explained. ‘They had her out of the restaurant before anyone realised what was happening.’
‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.’
Kate wrapped her hands around her glass and smiled at Bob.
How she wished that she could confide in someone.
Her emotions were all over the place and she couldn’t work out why she felt so tired.
It had been such an effort to get through these last two days.
She looked at Bob’s kind face as he observed the early evening drinkers and wondered if she had the courage to talk to him.
One moment everything seemed so perfect and the next she didn’t know which way to turn.
‘How’s the book progressing?’ Bob asked. ‘I love the name of your manuscript. The Deadly Dating Game will be a cracker.’
‘I seem to be making some progress, despite feeling so tired,’ Kate replied.
In truth, she was making great progress and the words were writing themselves.
It seemed that she had only to turn up at the page and another few pages rolled off her keyboard.
Her fingers were like pistons as she tapped out the story and at the end of the day her hands were mobile and pain free.
Despite all the typing, her arthritis had magically disappeared.
Bob finished his drink. ‘Fancy another before we go back?’ he asked.
‘Why not?’ Kate handed her glass to Bob. ‘Let me get this one.’
‘Not at all, my treat. You keep comfy and warm by the fire.’
As Bob headed to the bar, Kate wished again that she could confide in him.
But what would she say? That she had grave misgivings about a man she’d only just met but behaved as though she had known forever?
Sleeping together, dining, eating, working, walking, socialising and being with him as if he was a long-term lover.
Kate felt sure that many boomers were placing bets on when the happy couple would name the day.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something had changed.
It was only subtle, but Andy’s demeanour had cracks and she wondered if they’d soon open and become a crater.
Perhaps she was being foolish? After all, it was his reaction to James that had thrown a spotlight on her doubts.
Men couldn’t hide jealousy and Andy clearly thought that she had romantic feelings for James.
She was just being stupid to worry. But James had declared how he felt and Kate’s heart had missed a beat when he’d tried to kiss her.
She should never have put the poor man in that position; he was upset over his wife, worried about his son and vulnerable, to say the least. Comfort from any woman would have caused that behaviour and she felt guilty that she’d led him on.
James was a decent man with so many good qualities and if Andy wasn’t on the scene, Kate felt sure that she would have responded.
She sighed. She really must pull herself together and stop imagining things. She was tired and blowing things out of proportion. A good night’s sleep, in her own bed, and she would be as right as rain in the morning.
‘Here we are.’ Bob put their drinks down. ‘I felt naughty and got us a bag of crisps too.’ He held the bag out.
‘Just what I needed.’ Kate reached to dig in. ‘Thanks so much. You’re an absolute star.’
* * *
Bob lay in his bath and wriggled his toe under the running faucet. The water was warm and comforting, easing the aches in Bob’s middle-aged limbs. He splashed a handful of bubbles over his body and thought about the day’s events.
He’d been late for Heaven-Sent Bread, the morning session in the cookery school where Sandra, formidable in a starched white jacket, had stood ramrod straight, behind a long pine table with a razor-sharp knife in her hand.
‘This is Bob Puddicombe,’ she’d announced as Bob tumbled through the door.
‘He’s going to join us today.’ A group of expectant faces had turned from the demonstration to stare at Bob.
‘There’s room for one more over here, old boy.’ Sir Henry waved his cane to indicate that Bob pull up a chair.
‘Get yourself an apron and scrub up.’ Sandra motioned with the knife towards a row of hooks and a sink.
Bob did as he was told and in moments, encased in cotton, was sitting with a pencil in his hand and a work folder resting on his knee as a delicious aroma of freshly baked bread drifted across the room.
‘Has anyone made bread before?’
Several hands shot up.
‘Cook has one of those electric things,’ Hugo said.
‘If you mean a bread-maker, you can leave the class now.’ Sandra glowered.
‘All our bread is made by hand, there are no machines, additives or chemicals in this kitchen.’ She waited for Hugo’s response and when there was none, placed her hands on her hips and looked around.
‘Now, who knows what to do with fresh yeast?’
Bob hadn’t the foggiest but as the tutorial began Sandra showed the eager cooks how to make a variety of breads using her well-practised recipes and Bob was engrossed.
Flour and water were transformed with a few basic ingredients and the kitchen table began to fill with dough of every description from simple Irish soda bread and English muffins to focaccia sprinkled with sea salt and topped with olives.
Sandra mixed, pounded and baked and instructed the students to join in.
Sir Henry and Hugo worked on naan and as one shaped, the other sprinkled poppy seeds before carefully placing their dough on baking trays, ready for the oven.
‘Nothing to it,’ Sir Henry said to Bob. His face was puce and his moustache drooped. He began to spin a naan on the end of his cane. ‘I hope Hattie has set a date for our Balti night.’ The naan spun off and Bob saw it hurtle towards Sandra.
Sandra caught the twirling object and threw it in a bin. ‘Not until your naan is perfect. That was like a lump of lead.’
As dough rose in the ovens and turned caramel brown, Sandra piled the bakes into baskets and placed them on the table.
The class tucked in and Bob joined with the bakers as they sampled each other’s recipes and made notes.
He reached out and tore a handful of warm focaccia and as he took a bite, the delicate flavour of rosemary melted on his tongue.
Bob sighed with pleasure as he nibbled the soft dough.
It was heaven-sent bread indeed! Bob thought, as he remembered the class while steam rose from his bath and he felt his body relax as water continued to trickle from the tap and bubbles rose around his shoulders.
The afternoon session in the writing class had been most enjoyable too and Bob found that lessons he was learning in the tutorials could easily be applied to his every day working practice.
James’ session on staying focused was a lesson well learnt.
At work, Bob often sat in his Captain’s chair in the office, swinging from side to side as he watched the world go by on the street below.
His clients kept him busy but London could be distracting and there was never a dull moment when he gazed down the length of Wardour Street to the hustle and bustle of city life, where magnets of temptation by way of wine bars, pubs and coffee shops stood alongside designer shops and boutiques.
But there was never a dull moment at Boomerville.
Bob thought about Andy and sighed. He’d endured him for the best part of the afternoon, followed by drinks with a very subdued Kate and Bob had an inkling that trouble was brewing.
He’d sensed tension in the studio and James seemed distracted, glancing at Kate as she worked on her novel, while Andy charmed the ladies and raised points that irritated and frustrated James.
Bob reached for the soap and began to create a lather.
His hands tingled as he wriggled his fingers, like a second sense sending out an alert.
Perhaps he was a little bit mystic? He was sure that the Shaman had said there was a power amongst them that threatened, and Bob should act on his instincts, but he couldn’t remember if he’d dreamed these words.
His memory was dim when he tried to recollect.
Perhaps he should book another session in the tepee and tune into his guardian spirit and, with the Shaman’s help, see what the governor up above had to say.
The soap slid into the water and Bob yawned. He reached for his necklace of prayer beads and stroked the smooth stones. The tingling eased and his eyes felt weary and, as water continued to drizzle into his bath, Bob drifted off into a peaceful, happy sleep.