Chapter 1: Rambling

Although it’s not quite a hobby, I enjoy rambling, that is the walking variety rather than the incessant talking one, although many would level that at me too, and I suppose with some justification.

My name is David Powell, I’m forty-six years old and, sadly, look every day of it. My hair, or what is left, is grey, going on silver, though fortunately, because I’m 6’ 6” tall, few notice the bald patch on top. My regular walks keep my weight down, but I enjoy my food too much ever to be classed as slim, or even average for that matter. My best features are my eyes and voice, or at least that’s what I’m told. The former are blue, almost on par with Paul Newman’s, though we have nothing else in common.

I own a mobile (cell) phone business, with the majority of the work being done by phone, so having a nice voice can come in useful. I was lucky to get involved in the industry during the early 90’s, and as such managed to build up quite a successful little firm. My day-to-day involvement varies according to my mood, but Pete Taylor, my manager can, and often does, handle everything.

In fact, we often joke that the only things he doesn’t handle are the staff, though most would be well worth the effort. I employ twenty-two people, eighteen of them young women. Apart from a couple, all could be considered desirable to one extent or another and even the other two would have their admirers, I’m sure. Early on, when I first started to employ people, I had a brief, and almost disastrous, affair with one of my staff. When I became bored, which sadly I tend to do quite quickly, and broke up with her, she didn’t take it too well. What she did take was my customer database, which she sold to a competitor. The business managed to survive that, but I implemented a strict no fraternisation policy. This didn’t stop me and Pete discussing possible prospects, just ensured we didn’t act. Like almost any two people, our views differed slightly. Pete preferred big breasted blondes, whilst my taste ran to smaller, firmer breasts and hair colour didn’t matter at all, although I will admit to a slight preference to redheads. I was in the ‘more than a handful is wasted’ camp. The other thing we differed on was smokers. My manager didn’t care, whereas to me, one of those little white coffin nails was an instant put off, regardless of the rest of the package. Jumping the gun by a few years, I also enforced a no smoking ban in the office.

I have never married, though I came close in my early twenties. Susan Fitzherbert was a couple of years my junior. Ours was a slow romance, starting at a dance and due to end at the church. Six weeks before that special date, a fourteen-year-old delinquent stole a car and crashed it into a queue at a local bus stop. Susan was one of four to die. In some ways, only visible with hindsight, she was one of the lucky ones. She was killed instantly along with her cousin. Her friend and an unconnected man took three days to die. One young girl that survived, did so with so much brain trauma that she now requires twenty-four hour nursing. As the car was stolen and the victims were pedestrians there was no insurance for any. How the young girl’s family coped I have no idea.

There was some justice done though, as two weeks before the trial, the same teenager stole and crashed another car, only this time into an ancient and unforgiving oak tree; it was he and a couple of friends that were the ones to perish. I’m sure that I wasn’t the only one to smile at that bit of news, although some religious nut, I knew, became self-righteous when he heard me rejoice. I had no intention of forgiving the sinner. To me it was the justice that the court would have undoubtedly failed to prescribe.

Anyway, enough rambling of one kind, and on to the other.

Rambling, hiking or just walking, whatever you wish to call it, has been a large part of my life since my late teens. I loved team sports but any attempts to play were ruined by my inability to take orders. Like many a teenager, I always knew best and had no problem telling anyone who would listen. Add that to my inability to take criticism, constructive, or otherwise. To my great surprise, though no-one else’s, I wasn’t welcomed in teams for very long. I still wanted to exercise so decided on cross country running. After doing this for some time, I found myself noticing the beauty around me. This led to first, revisiting places I’d run, only this time to walk, followed by walks just for the natural beauty. As I got older the running fell by the wayside, but the walking increased so that I was out most weekends.

It was a Saturday afternoon in early April that found me walking along Stanage Edge (Stanage Edge 2), in Derbyshire’s Peak District, admiring the vista, as well as looking at the half finished Millstones that litter the area. I have often wondered just what, if anything, was wrong with the almost completed ones. Are there faults that my unskilled eye can’t see, or did it just suddenly become infeasible to produce them.

I loved this time of year, especially on the type of crisp morning that made your breath steam. As usual, I’d set out early, whilst there was still a touch of frost on the ground, and was now heading back after covering around twelve miles. I planned on a late pub lunch in, and a walk around, the delightful town of Bakewell, the home of that famous and delicious tart.

There is one other thing that are abundant up here, and that’s Sheep, each one currently accompanied by one or more bleating lambs. It was one of these woolly creatures that I startled, which made it jump up right in front of me, thus startling me. Sadly, I don’t have the sure-footedness of hooves and twisted my left ankle. I was pretty certain that that was all that was wrong, but it did hurt. I was only a mile or so from the car, so I’d be able to get back but it would be a pain, in more ways than the obvious. Fortunately, I had my camera and tripod with me, so I was able to use the latter as kind of walking stick.

Half an hour later, I’d only managed a couple of hundred yards along the rough stony path.

“Having trouble, mate?” I heard a deep male voice ask from behind me.

“Yeah! Twisted my ankle when me and one of those white woolly things startled each other.” I said, trying to make light of it.

“Well we saw you from half a mile back, and it seems you’ve hardly moved.” The man said.

I managed to sit on a rock and face my fellow walkers.

The man, apparently in his mid twenties, was well dressed for walking in the peaks. In fact, too well dressed, as if he’d started rambling today and had just been into one of the specialist outfitters and made the salesman’s day. He had every piece of clothing imaginable and it all looked brand new. What is that saying? Oh yes, ‘All the gear and no idea’.

His partner, a slightly older, dark haired woman, seemed dressed equally well for the occasion, only her attire looked like that of a regular and frequent walker. All she wore, looked well bedded in, and unlike her friend, she didn’t seem to be wearing or carrying any extraneous items.

“I do seem to be making rather slow progress,” I said, agreeing with his observation.

“Can we help?” The woman asked.

Now that she’d spoken, I looked at her closer, as I tended to do with most women I meet. Even though she was wearing bulky walking gear, I could see that she didn’t carry much, if any, excess weight. Her hair wasn’t black, but it was close, and was cut short and simple. Her face was pretty and it was clear that she wore no make-up, something common to many female hikers.

“I’m not sure...” I started, when I noticed the man’s frown. Helping was not on his agenda, that much was clear. Rather than start an argument, I finished, “I can probably manage by just being slow and steady.”

“Nonsense,” she said firmly, “we’ll walk with you. You parked on the main car-park?”

“You heard him Nadine, he doesn’t need any help.” The man said, dismissively.

“William, you don’t leave fellow walkers when you can help. It just isn’t done.” The woman said looking at her partner in a manner that baulked no argument.

With that decided, we set off towards the car-park. Progress was slow, but not as slow as I’d been making solo. Nadine, although just over a foot shorter than me, proved stronger than she looked and insisted that I leaned against her for support. William, clearly unhappy about helping me, just walked alongside, or more often just ahead, of us.

Given our speed, we had plenty of time to talk. I told Nadine about me, and listened as she told me about her and William, though when she mentioned some things, she did so quietly as not to alert her companion.

They worked at the same architect’s office, both as fully qualified, but junior, Chartered Architects. William had been pestering her for months for a date, something she’d always declined. When he heard her mention to another colleague that she was in the Rambler’s Association, he’d piped up that he was too. With just a little reluctance, she’d agreed to this day out with him. It had quickly become apparent that he was just like his attire, new and untested. She was just glad that she’d decided on a short five miler, rather than a full day out on the moors.

“I don’t know whether he’s have survived that.” She told me with a grimace.

“Or if you’d have survived him that long.” I joked, beginning to understand their relationship.

Nadine burst out laughing, a really pleasant sound, though it did cause William to turn around and glare at the two of us.

Eventually we got back to my car, a Toyota Verso.

“Not what I expected to see.” She told me.

William was close by and added, “no! You should get a BMW instead.”

“I drive it because it’s one of the few cars that I can get in and out of easily. As for a beemer, no thanks, I can’t think of many worse insults than being called a BMW driver.”

“I drive a BMW!” William said indignantly and predictably.

I declined to comment, but noticed Nadine’s smirk.

“Where do you live David?” Nadine asked me as I sat down in my car, glad to be off my feet.

“Stoke!”

She grinned. “Thought so, the accent gives it away. Now do you think you can drive?”

“No!” She answered her own question, when she saw the look of pain that shot across my face as I tried to depress the clutch. “Look, I live in Leek, which is not a million miles from Stoke. How about I drive you back, then catch a taxi home?”

I knew I’d struggle to drive back, especially along the country roads and all the necessary gear changes. It was probably the only time I’d ever wished I had an automatic. “Are you sure?”

She looked across at William, who was sitting on the bonnet of a gleaming BMW 3 series. “I came with William there, mistake! To be honest, it’s a great excuse not to go back with him. He’s been hinting all day that he expects sex today, and telling me just how good it’s going to be for me. As I said, today was a great big mistake, so you are a handy get-out.”

“Okay then, if you’re sure, but I pay for the taxi.”

“I’m sure. Anyway it’s not that you’re going to be chasing after me with that foot, even if you were so inclined, which somehow I doubt.”

“Oh I don’t know about that. A decade or so younger and I could easily see myself pursuing you.”

“Hmmph!” was her response. “Now let me go and give William the good news.”

It soon became very clear that William did not appreciate the change in plans. Although I couldn’t quite hear everything that was said, I could tell that most of what he said was in anger.

Nadine returned, grinning like the cat from our neighbouring county (Derbyshire adjoins Cheshire for those of you non-geographical people).

As she drove my car back, I took the opportunity to take a closer look at my rescuer. Nadine had removed most of her outer clothing, revealing a very attractive figure. As I suspected, her figure was trim and her breasts smallish, my ideal body shape.