Chapter 2

The week began well enough. Charles spent most of the day sorting out his admin — preparing and sending invoices, updating his accounts and so on. He spent some time cleaning the old Norton and polishing chrome on that and Laura's old Matchless. Somehow, his time with Natalie had freed his emotions. As he worked, he thought about his wife; remembered the way she rode the Matchless — and, for that matter, the Norton — and shed a few tears. He was no longer paralysed emotionally. There is a process in grieving, which varies enormously in length and which some people never complete, but unless the process is completed, a person is never really whole again. He'd lived for over a year with the grief locked away, now he was able to experience it and let become a part of his history.

At the same time, he thought about Natalie — Browneyes as he increasingly thought of her. The memory of her eyes and the compassion and understanding in them, and the memory of kissing her, the feel of her breast in his hand ... all were sharp and clear in his mind. He wanted, desperately, to spend time with her, talk to her, listen to music, share books... live with her.

Natalie was also thinking of 'Chas', the feel of his arms, his kiss, and his hand on her breast. The first person, male or female, to see her romantically, to tell her she was attractive ... her, Natalie, attractive! She went about her housework in a sort of half dream, partly exhilarated, partly terrified, though why she was frightened she didn't know. She spent an unconscionable amount of time looking at herself in the mirror, trying to see the person he seemed to see when he looked at her. She got "Hello Summer, Goodbye" down from the shelf and re-read it, trying to see the resemblance between herself and 'Pallahaxi Browneyes', and failing.

The working week was messy for Charles. He started the week spending nearly three days trying to find out why an office-worker's work-station kept crashing. Every time he sorted it and left, he'd get a call saying it'd happened again; eventually he tracked down a virus that some hacker — presumably someone in the same office — had introduced which caused the machine to crash every time the user accessed a porn site; of course the user wasn't going to say that's what he'd been doing when the machine crashed, or he'd have found it a lot quicker. He rather regretted he couldn't identify the hacker, who was obviously very talented and wasted in an office job. Then there was an office where most of the network froze regularly as a result of having several incompatible applications installed, and one where the management refused to upgrade the system despite it being nearly four years old and not very good when new; and so on. It was all money, of course, but it meant a lot of paper-work for him when he got home at the end of the day.

Friday, both Natalie and Charles were looking forward to the weekend. Charles with unalloyed, positive anticipation, Natalie with a mixture of hope and dread; she went to bed early and slept very badly. He can't possibly be really interested in me ... can he? Why would any man take an interest in me? He's just kind and doesn't want to say how he really feels to my face. It was great spending time with him, I really like him, but what if he just decides I'm not worth the trouble? I'm scared!

The fear won and she rose early, dressed, ate toast washed down with coffee and left the house by seven am heading for the stables near Edale where she was greeted by her friend Sarah.

"Lord, girl, you look terrible! What's the matter?"

"Didn't sleep well last night. Need a hand in the stables?"

"Always! Then, when you're ready, you can tell me what's really the matter."

Charles was also up and about quite early, but in a much happier mood. He thought he wouldn't go round to Natalie's house until nine o'clock, which meant, basically, that he had to fiddle around; he checked his email inbox, ran scans on the computer and left it defragmenting, made and drank a second cup of coffee, picked up a book and tried to read, even ran a vac over the front room carpet. He allowed five minutes for the walk, and set off, only to discover that Natalie's car was not outside her house and there was no answer at the door. Of course, there were all sorts of reasons why she might have had to take off in a hurry and not tell him; she said she liked him, didn't she, and enjoyed their outings? He returned home, made another cup of coffee and picked up the 'phone. He didn't often call his sister, Stephanie (Armstrong, nee Newton). In fact, considering that she lived only a few miles away he didn't see much of her, but both of them would call if something had happened that was worth talking about, or if they'd had a particularly bad day. She'd been enormously supportive and worried during Laura's illness and death; she'd fretted continuously about him when he'd appeared unable to grieve for his wife.

"Hi, Steph, busy?"

"Never too busy for you, little bro'." (he was always her little brother, being two years younger, even though he was now about ten inches taller) "What's up doc?"

"Nothing really, except I met someone rather nice a couple of weeks ago. I may need some advice..." He then proceeded to give a detailed account of his fascination with Natalie, how they came to meet and so on, how comfortable he felt with her and how he'd wept for Laura.

"And you say she had you on a horse all day last Saturday? I'd say you'd got it bad, lad. I must say, though, I approve. You haven't said what she looks like..."

"No, I didn't, did I? It doesn't seem important, somehow. She's tall, and slim, with long, dark hair and the most incredible eyes I've ever encountered, and her smile would melt an iceberg. I snapped a picture with the phone in the millstone quarry..."

"You took her to the quarry? How did she take that?"

"She said she could sense the presence of the old workmen. She liked the place."

"I think I ought to come and see you, but I can't before Wednesday. Shall I come over Wednesday night?"

"Should be ok. Sometime after 8?"

"Good ... see you then."

Sarah was glad of Natalie's help. Her usual assistants were otherwise occupied and, while she could have managed she made things a lot easier. A little before mid-day the last riders had departed and the last chores completed, they sat in the kitchen and built sandwiches and drank tea.

"Now, girl," Sarah instructed firmly, "give!"

Natalie swallowed hard and began to relate her history with Charles, right up to the previous Saturday night.

"You say he started calling you Browneyes?"

"Yes, after a character..."

"Michael Coney's book, yes, and you had him on a horse all day last Saturday, when he hadn't been on one for thirty years? And he said you were attractive? And he liked you? And then, today, you ran away before you saw him"

She nodded miserably.

"My God, girl, you are an idiot! Someone like that comes along maybe once in a lifetime! Look, maybe the two of you have a future, maybe not, but you won't have if you let him go! I'd be after him like a shot!"

"You have him then."
"Don't be daft, it's not me he's interested in!"

"But I'm scared!"

"I can tell! I don't know what it is about you; I know some really ugly women who are happily married; you aren't that bad looking and people like you, and yet you've never had a date until two weeks ago! Natalie, love, you need help."

"That's why I came here..."

"Not the sort of help I can give! I mean someone professional."

Natalie stayed for the rest of the day; took one of the remaining mounts out for a one-hour hack, had some supper, and returned home.

Charles decided he was moping and took himself into town; meandered round the Graves art gallery, failed to find a book he was interested in, in the library, bought a bottle of Glenmorangie and went home. He had a quick look at Edgehill Road — Natalie's car still absent — and cooked himself a meal. Afterwards, he settled down to listen to a CD of Catrin Finch and made inroads into the bottle of whisky.