Chapter 5: Dating

ABI CAME TO visit with him in the workshop early on the Wednesday, her first day back in work. Walker had only been in for half an hour or so and was working on inlays for the big dining table while the Studio was still quiet, before the expected bustle once the director and actors turned up with the rest of the support staff.

“Hi Walker,” she said cheerily, “How’re you doing?”

“Oh, hi Abi, I’m fine, wha’bout you?” he replied, “What was your trip like?”

“I’m fine, and the trip was OK I suppose, but I’m so glad to be home again, really. Is it all right if I sit here and watch you work for a while?” indicating one of the Sheraton dining room chairs by the wall, now finished and upholstered. “I used to watch Bill all the time.”

“Yes, of course. Feel free.”

She picked it up. “Wow, this is so light and delicate, you sure it’s ok to sit on?”

“Sure, those chairs were designed to give perfect service for several hundred years seating well-fed and wealthy diners indulging in dinners with multiple courses, so it’ll have no problem with your neat frame.”

She settled herself, her light print frock exposing her lovely knees, drawing Walker’s eyes to them before he hastily looked elsewhere, anywhere but her knees.

“I thought it might be a prop one, like you see in fights in old westerns, where they smash a chair across some cowboy’s shoulders and it smashes to smithereens.” Oh dear, she thought to herself, I am so nervous I am talking way too fast!

“No, there are some others back in the store, ones that Bill made, probably spare ones that were not used in a shoot. They are clearly marked up as dummy chairs not for sitting in, though,” he said, looking up at her lovely face, a little guiltily that his eyes may have overstayed a tad too long at her knees again. “It seems the workshop is being more and more incorporated into the show as contrast to a new mega furniture store just opening on the outside of town. The director wants to show how some of the pressure of unequal commercial competition was getting to one of the main characters, who is in the midst of taking over the traditional furniture makers from his father and has this big order for bespoke furniture for the Mayor of the town.”

“That’s interesting,” she said.

“I suppose ... I er wondered when you’d be back from your trip.”

“I got back yesterday afternoon,” she smiled sweetly, those dimples almost knocking him out again. Perhaps staring at her knees was actually the safer option after all, he thought. “Why, Walker, did you miss me?” she added coyly.

“Er ... yeah, sure I did,” he replied, surprising himself at how easily he could answer any question of him she asked, “With Bill off, you’re the only friend I’ve got down here at the Studios.”

“That’s nice, that we’re friends already. Bill and Doreen told me you were a friendly guy.”

Walker shifted his attention back on the job in hand and focused hard, seeing every grain in the piece he was working on, every ring a whole year in the life of the living wood, now being given a chance to live on as a thing of beauty for many more years to come. He shook his head and continued his work gluing in the inlays.

She watched him quietly, trying not to distract him as he worked on the table. To Abi, it seemed like the alternate black and white inlays were too tiny for a full grown man’s hand to even hold, let alone manipulate so steadily and smoothly into position. She thought it was mesmerising watching the smooth unhurried method of his work. The table was beautiful, yes, but what he was doing to create that lovely object was a thing of beauty in itself. He seemed totally at one with the delicate materials.

She couldn’t help wondering how those hands would feel on her body, unhurried, steady, sure and confident, determined, strong but gently, oh so gently, turning and manipulating, stroking each piece lovingly and with utter reverence for the material under his fingertips and the final result, a thing of beauty, which would be pleasing to the eye and smooth as glass to a fingertip touch for centuries to come. Walker’s movements became an act of worship on what he was touching, that was as deep and erotic as anything she could possibly imagine.

Walker was using a small brush to apply the minimum layer of hot smelly glue to each tiny piece, dwarfed in his capable hands, then he pressed the pieces into the small rebates in the table and immediately wiped off any residue which oozed out with a clean rag. He worked steadily and quickly, moving with grace, completely at ease with his sure-fingered motions, the resulting joins appearing flush and seamless.

“Walker, wow, that is so beautiful,” she said almost breathlessly when he had finished the section he was on and straightened up his back with a stretch that was also poetry in motion to Abi’s admiring eye.

Walker looked at her as she sat there leaning forward on that beautiful elegant chair. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, he thought, and she was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. She returned his look, equally enthralled, neither of them had anything to say for a moment. Walker broke his gaze first.

“I, er, must get on with the next section,” Walker said, as he started setting out the inlays ready for gluing and insetting.

“And, er, I better get back to work,” Abi said.

“I don’t know, er, I wonder, would you er...” Walker started nervously.

She smiled sweetly at his hesitation, “I should be finished about six-ish, Walker, if you’d like to go for a drink, say tea or coffee or something stronger?” she finished, assuming, hoping, that was what he was going to ask, “Just to wind down, of course, er ... this is my first day back, so a chance to relax in pleasant company would be nice.”

He smiled back at her in relief. “Yes, of course, it would be good to relax and have a chat. I can finish whatever I am doing, and be ready whenever you are ready, shall I come along to Make-up?”

“No ... No need for that. Why don’t I meet you here?” Abi suggested with her dimpled smile. “I’m not sure exactly when I can get away. And I could always sit and watch you while you finish whatever you’re doing. I find it...” she wanted to say ‘erotic’, but safely added, “ ... restful.”

“Perfect, see you then.”

He couldn’t help himself. He followed her with his eyes all the way to the door, and returned her gesture as she turned and waved before disappearing.

‘Bugger!’ he thought, ‘I’ve really got this so bad. I’m definitely headin’ for a world of hurt just around the corner.’

Abi only seemed able to breath out once she had turned the corner, completely out of Walker’s eye-line. She wobbled, even though she was wearing flat shoes, putting out an arm on the wall to steady herself.

‘Bugger, he’s really a dish made in heaven,’ she thought, ‘Being away from him for just a few days has made me desire him even more than before. I really will have to be careful not to frighten him off before he gets used to having me integrated into his life.’

Walker cleaned up his work and tools early, around twenty past five, and had a quick shower in the Studio’s excellent facilities. He tended to work in coveralls over his underwear, with several clothing changes stored in a spare locker in the workshop. So he was reduced to finding himself idly wiping surfaces down that he had already wiped down at least twice, simply to fill in the time while he waited for Abi to show up. It seemed like hours had elapsed when Abi softly called that she was ready from the doorway, but a glance at his watch showed she was actually ten minutes early.

Abi knew a nice tea shop in a nearby village that would be open until seven. Walker followed just behind her little roadster sports car. Walker favoured an old Land-Rover, it was about thirty years old and extremely utilitarian. He parked next to her shiny car. She jumped out of her smartly gleaming machine, washed and polished during the day by someone the Studios provided, and looked his vehicle over. It was clean, she noticed, but a dull green colour and looked like it could easily blend into the hedgerows on a country track.

“It’s a Land-Rover series 3, 1983,” he explained proudly, holding a door open so she could see inside, “just the front hubs are new, the rest is completely original. Beautiful, ain’t she?”

She smiled, deploying those irresistibly lovely dimples again, “Even the ugliest baby looks like an angel in a mother’s eyes, Walker. I prefer the comfortable upholstery and timeless elegance of that Sheraton chair, but I do concede that this Jeep looks ruggedly good for its age.”