Читать книгу Helping Hands - S. C. Loader - Страница 9

Chapter 3

On Saturday night a thunderstorm announced a weather change and it chose to announce that change in its loudest voice right above Paul’s head. Unable to sleep he lay in his bed staring at the picture on the wall illuminated softly by the bedside lamp. This picture had captured his attention immediately in the art gallery, not because it was particularly unique in style or content, there were many portrait paintings to choose from and some were even in the same medium, pen and ink. This one captured his attention because of the subject’s eyes. The artist who drew this picture was a master of the craft, drawn in three-quarters profile from her left-hand side she looked up from a very slightly bowed head. The eyes had been centrally located within the whole picture and drawn in great detail. By using lesser detail for the other features of the face and omitting a background, drew the viewer’s eyes to the natural focal point of the picture, the subject’s eyes. These were eyes that followed one around the room and regardless of the angle they always looked back at the viewer. To his mind, this was a masterpiece, drawn by an artist of exceptional talent.

As he lay staring into those wonderful enchanting eyes, they no longer vaguely reminded him of someone who had passed out of his life, but far more of someone who had just entered it. Not only were these her eyes, but also her frequently adopted pose and her long, loosely curled hair. Even the subject’s coy smile was hers and although he knew this was not a picture of Karen that was who he saw looking back at him. When sleep finally overcame him, it was to thoughts of his own growing feelings towards a young woman whose marital status made them potentially dangerous.

The view from the bedroom window that morning was depressing, not only had a fine wind-driven drizzle soaked everything in sight, but it also dampened his hopes of seeing Karen that morning. Nevertheless, by eight o’clock he had made himself look presentable, by nine o’clock the flat also looked presentable and by ten o’clock the Sunday newspaper had been read from cover to cover twice over. By eleven o’clock he had drunk two more cups of coffee, completed the newspaper crossword and done everything else he could think of to fill his time, including polishing his shoes. At eleven-thirty his nervous anticipation of an unexpected and highly unlikely ring of the doorbell finally gave way to reason and despondency. Over the last quarter of an hour, the fine drizzle had turned into heavy rain and carried on a wind that had doubled in strength that rain now lashed viciously at everything in its path.

In the small box room that was soon to become his office, Paul tried to bury his disappointment by reading through an unintelligible set of instructions for a build-it-yourself bookshelf. A task made more difficult by the loud hammering on the roof above his head, the frequent wish filled looks out of the window and constant glances at his watch.

At eleven forty the doorbell rang, it was answered in record and very nearly leg-breaking time. Karen stood before the open door soaked from head to toe, bearing a warm smile and the remaining parts of a storm-ravaged umbrella.

Even if he were capable, Paul made no attempt to disguise his delight at seeing her and within moments Karen stood inside the confined space of his entrance hall. Her coat, dripping and wet right through, was given pride of place above the tiny radiator and the forlorn remnants of her umbrella found a place to rest in a corner.

‘Please go on up!’ he beckoned.

As Karen remained motionless, he squeezed past her and took her hand, ‘If a warm cosy flat doesn’t interest you, we could always go back outside.’

That was enough of an incentive for Karen to overcome her wariness.

At the top of the stairs she took her shoes off and some water poured out of one, ‘I’m sorry,’ came her needless apology.

The wetness of her clothing, as well as her hair, prompted Paul to lead her towards the bathroom, ‘Come on! Let’s get you dried off before you catch pneumonia.’

With her hair towel-dried, she was led to the bedroom where she stood nervously looking around while Paul rummaged through the wardrobe. It surrendered a pair of thick white sports socks, a large white t-shirt, a thick brown shirt and a pair of old jeans which were too small for him, but which he hoped would be more her size.

‘Here, change into these while I make something to warm you up inside, would you prefer a tea, coffee or a soup perhaps?’

‘Thank you, may I have tea please?’

His broad smile hid the fact that at that moment in time she could have asked for anything and he would have got it for her, ‘Of course you can, I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.’

Closing the bedroom door behind himself, an enormous grin crossed his face, not only had she turned up despite the atrocious weather, but that weather also meant he had her all to himself for as long as it took for her clothes to dry out, which he hoped would not be too quick.

Catching sight of her shoes he thought he had better take them to the kitchen and empty out the remaining water or they would never dry. The softness of the leather surprised him, but once he saw the manufacturer's name printed inside he understood why. These were good quality Italian shoes, turning them upside down over the sink revealed they were also relatively new. As he placed them on the windowsill to catch the gentle heat from a radiator underneath, they begged a question. Why would someone who wore such uncomplimentary clothing, buy shoes of this quality?

A few minutes of thought on the subject ended with the realisation that he had forgotten to make the tea.

Karen had still not returned from the bedroom before his tea had been drunk and knocking lightly on the bedroom door he asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

A second enquiry met with the same silence as the first, tentatively opening the door he soon found the reason why Karen lay fast asleep on his bed. Although she had taken off her wet clothes, she had only put on his t-shirt, the socks and a single leg of the jeans before sleep had overcome her. He slid the jeans back off, covered her with the quilt from the second half of the bed, picked up her wet clothing and silently closed the bedroom door. Leaving a pretty princess to dream those dreams pretty princesses dreamt.

Her wet clothes were full of revelations. Her bra, a ‘36c’ according to the label, explained why her stretch jeans were a loose fit. An ex-girlfriend had the exact same bra size and she had, as Tom would endearingly say, “some meat on her.”

Karen did not, at least not from what he had seen of her arms and legs, so presumably given the clothing sizes she had lost a lot of weight.

The shirt and jumper were the same as she had worn Friday, again these begged a question as to why she changed clothing so infrequently. This was a habit normally associated with lazy students and only then very rarely to the female variety. The shirt was a half collar size bigger than his own and like the jumper of good quality.

‘Why would she buy men’s clothing and such ill-fitting ones?’ he asked himself.

The last revelation was a disappointing one, neither her jeans nor her coat contained anything to reveal more about her identity.

Paul drank Karen’s tea and another freshly brewed one as well. After an hour of fiddling around aimlessly he checked on the clothes decorating his radiators, they were slowly starting to dry. Curiosity drew him back to the bedroom to see if Karen was awake, she was still sound asleep. Daring to lay down beside her and with the melodic music of the rain on the roof, he felt content to stay there and watch this pretty princess sleep.

*

Paul awoke to a room softly lit by the bedside lamp, to the warmth of a quilt laid over him and to the captivating sight of Karen’s eyes just a few centimetres away from his own. Somewhere between lying down and waking up, he had not only turned towards her, but she had also shared her quilt with him and had greatly reduced the gap that separated them.

As they lay there silently gazing at one another Paul's thoughts centred on his rapidly escalating feelings towards this beautiful young woman and on whether they should be allowed a voice. Caution warned against it, reminding him that despite some wishful thinking the ring she wore was not his and therefore his feelings had no right to be heard. Hope countered by suggesting that silence would forfeit forever the opportunity of something more than just a close friendship. And while caution and hope argued and counter-argued Cupid slowly drove his arrow even deeper.

'Are you always this quiet when you first wake up?' asked Karen

'Sorry, my thoughts held my tongue captive. How long have you been awake?’

‘A while.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’

A coy smile acknowledged the question, but she did not answer it.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Thank you I did and thank you for letting me sleep in your bed.’

‘You’re welcome to do so anytime.’

‘I’m sure you don’t mean that, but thank you for the lovely gesture.’

‘It wasn’t a gesture Karen, my bed is yours whenever you want it, day or night and unconditionally.’

‘Why would you allow me such a privilege?’

‘It’s not a privilege for you to lay in this bed Karen, it’s a privilege for me to have you here.’

‘I think you’re just trying to allay my bad conscience over ruining your afternoon.’

‘I’m not and if the truth be told it’s probably been the best afternoon of my life.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve never woken up to the sight of such beautiful eyes before.’

‘Gallant, but untrue!’

‘It’s the truth.’

Dipping her head she hid her eyes from view, ‘Then it’s not mine you see, there’s no beauty in mine,’ and after a thoughtful pause added, ‘nor in me.’

‘They are your eyes and there's real beauty in them and in yourself.’

‘No there isn’t!’

‘Yes there is Karen and there’s only one thing holding me back from allowing a desperate desire to kiss you its freedom, thus proving the strength of my belief.’

‘Which is?’

‘Your wedding ring.’

She fell silent for a few moments, ‘Then your belief has no strength and no truth.’

‘Why not?’

‘A ring wouldn’t stop you if you really believed in what you just said.’

‘Karen, I can’t kiss you! I dare not!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m on the edge of falling in love with you and if I kissed you I would fall so helplessly in love with you I wouldn’t be able to turn back. And I don’t want to be responsible for starting a relationship that may end up tearing your life apart.’

Karen lifted her ring into sight and stared at it for a while, ‘This is all that’s stopping you?’

‘That… and the man who put it there.’

‘Would you kiss me if I asked you to?’

‘I can’t, Karen! I don’t want to share you, I want you all to myself. Every single tiny little bit of you!’

‘But you don’t know anything about me?’

‘What’s important to me Karen is written in the warmth of your eyes and it’s so appealing I know that if I kissed you, I would want you far more than I already do!’

‘Paul, look at me! No one would want me!’

‘I do! I want you in my life. I want to love you and make love to you. I want to wrap you up in my arms and protect you from the horrors of the night, the monsters under the bed and the terrors out in the street. And every time I kiss you I would want to do so with a passion that will leave you breathless. I want to touch you, feel you, taste you, smell you and devour you! I want to worship every single tiny little bit of you from your toenails to the last hair on your head. I want to be with you, care for you and grow old with you and only you. And if I had put that ring on your finger, then I would joyfully spend the entire night proving how deep that desire is.’

Karen’s gaze fell back to her ring, ‘But…’

‘Karen, I am telling you the truth! Despite your own opinion of yourself, I want you so badly it hurts, but I haven’t told you how I feel to put pressure on you. I’ve told you because I want you to know there will always be somewhere you can come to where you will always be welcome, wanted, cared for, comforted and supported.’

Her eyes returned to his some moments later laden with moisture and despite the danger, it presented to his self-control she was immediately gathered up in a tight comforting embrace.

A very long silence ensued, broken only by the continuing melodic rainfall on the roof and the occasional discreet sniff of a young woman in tears.

At length, Karen broke his embrace and announced, ‘I have to go now.’

‘Please, can’t you stay awhile longer?’

‘Sorry, no; I can’t.’

Her refusal, although apologetically toned, held a curtness that told Paul his admission had been badly received, or worse, misunderstood. Either way, the damage had been done and there was nothing he felt he could do to correct his mistake.

‘Where are my clothes?’

Paul returned from an unenthusiastic trip around the radiators, ‘I’m sorry, but apart from your bra everything else is still damp.’

Joining her on the edge of the bed he handed over the bra, ‘You’ll have to wear my clothes home.’ Adding the despondent afterthought, ‘I’m sure you’ll find an excuse for them by the time you reach there.’

Passing a hand through her soft, unkempt curly hair he let a deep hesitant sigh escape, ‘If I had three wishes, you would be all three of them!’

Karen emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later fully dressed.

‘Your shoes and your coat are still soaking wet, do you want to take one of my coats?’

Karen nodded and he sought out the warmest coat he had.

‘I’m sorry; I don’t have anything for your feet.’

‘That’s okay, I’ve not far to go.’

‘But it’s still raining, can I give you a lift home?’

She shook her head.

‘Or part of the way?’

Again she shook her head.

‘Then can I walk you home… or part of the way at least?’

‘No, but thank you for asking.’

‘Then you had better take my umbrella, yours will be of little use anymore.’

Paul led the way down the stairs and dejectedly opened the front door, but before Karen had the chance to leave he barred the way with his arm.

‘Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier…’

A finger across his lips curtailed an apology and the beginnings of an explanation.

‘Those things you said earlier, did you mean them?’

‘That depends.’

‘Depends on what?’

‘On whether the truth will cause more damage than has already been done.’

‘It won’t, I promise.’

‘Then… yes, I meant every word.’

Karen smiled, kissed his cheek and stepped out into the rain-soaked darkness.

**

Despite copious amounts of reasoning both for and against opening the door to his feelings, Paul finally came to the conclusion that he should have kept it firmly closed. Karen was a married woman and it was unfair of him to offload a burden on her that this marital status prohibited her from returning and instead of providing her with an environment where she could escape her troubles, all he had done was to provide her with one containing a different set. An unsettled conscience found no respite in what little sleep he had that night and nor did it find solace in Karen’s company the next morning.

He had gone to the church especially early so that he would have a chance to talk to her while the others were still working. His intention was to beg, plead or whatever it took to gain her forgiveness and understanding, perhaps his last chance to put matters right before his thoughtlessness drove a wedge between them that could never be removed.

Of the five faces in the church that morning only four were smiling and without exception those four greeted him with a bright cheery ‘Good morning!’ A greeting he returned, although despite his best effort to the contrary, with little of the joyous spirit in which they had been given. The fifth face bore an expression of pain and although this face belonged to the figure nailed to a crucifix, it was probably identical to the one held on the face of an absent Karen.

A quick excursion outside also revealed she was not about to join them, Paul returned worried and heavily disappointed.

‘Put a smile on your face lad! She’ll be ’ere shortly!’

‘I’m not so sure Tom.’

‘She’ll be here young man,’ called Elsie from the altar. ‘We’ve been here two months now and she’s never missed a morning yet!’

‘That’s right Paul, not one!’ confirmed Liz cheerily.

Elsie and Liz were arranging the flowers around the altar as Paul walked down the centre aisle towards the crouched figures of Tom and Eddy. They were fiddling around with something in a small plastic pot beside one of the pews.

‘This’ll do Tom! Not much else of use in here!’

‘Got anything bigger, Ed?’

‘What about this then?’

‘That’s perfect! Where’s me ’ammer gone?’

‘Here!’ said Eddy handing over the ancient wooden-handled tool.

Tom lined up the hammer to the huge nail he was about to hit, as he swung his arm Paul suddenly realised what he was about to do, ‘NO TOM! STOP!’

‘What’s wrong lad? Lost the ’ead of me ’ammer ’ave I?’

Eddy stood, ‘More like he’s lost his head over our pretty little princess Tom.’

Tom joined him, ‘Can’t blame him for that, now can we Ed?’

‘True enough! So lad, what’s the problem here? Old Tom’s only doing a bit of repair work.’

Elsie and Liz appeared, ‘What’s wrong?’ asked a concerned Elsie and with an equal note of concern in her voice Liz enquired, ‘I hope he hasn’t hurt himself!’

‘Aint done nothing, girls!’ stated Tom trying to withdraw from their anxious clutches. ‘Aint ad chance!’

Paul stepped in, ‘Tom hasn’t hurt himself. I stopped him because he was just about to do some irreparable damage, although not to himself, but to the pew.’

‘Why lad?’

‘Because you were just about to slam a fifteen-centimetre nail into it!’

‘Need to stop it squeaking somehow, son, and a nice thick piece of oak like that could take some nailing.’

‘Eddy, this is beech, not oak! And you were about to drive a nail through a pinned mortise and tenon joint! The tenons are not big enough to pass a nail of this size through, all you would have done is split the seating board. And if you had managed to nail through the mortise not only would you have split the seating board, but also this end panel as well.’

‘Aint no joints ere lad!’

‘Yes there are Tom, but there are so many layers of this awful lacquer covering them they’re no longer visible.’

‘Then how do you know they’re there, son if they can’t be seen?’

‘Because these pews were made by craftsmen and the only use they had for a nail was to hang their coats on.’

‘Then we’ll use something smaller lad!’ said Tom picking up the plastic pot.

‘No Tom! You don’t need to use anything!’

‘But it’s squeaking son! It will only get worse if we don’t do something about it now!’

‘If you want to stop it squeaking then prop open the doors for a couple of days.’

Tom looked at Eddy quizzically, ‘I blame the girl, gone to is ’ead ain’t she?’

Eddy nodded compassionately.

‘Tom, the end grain and the cross grains of wood dry at different rates, they also reabsorb moisture at different rates, that’s why it’s squeaking. Leave it a couple of days and I promise it won’t squeak anymore.’

‘I say we leave it for now Tom and wait and see if he’s right, but I still say this is oak.’

‘Course it is Ed!’ confirmed Tom confidently. ‘Anyone can see that!’

Paul grinned, ‘Gentlemen, this is not oak, European or any other! This is common European beech and you can see that where the lacquer has been worn away from the edges of the seats and on the footrests. The streaks in beech are darker, shorter and straighter than in oak.’

‘But the wood’s dark son, beech is much lighter!’

‘Beech will darken if it’s steamed.’

‘You seem to know a bit about wood son.’

‘Eddy, wood is the most beautiful material known to man and it is my trade, my skill, my life and my love!’

‘Sounds like he does some carpentry doesn’t it Tom?’

‘It does! Put a bit together in your spare time ’ave you then lad?’

‘Gentlemen, I’m a cabinetmaker! So was my father and his father before him. And until a couple of months ago I owned a company which made bespoke, replica furniture using the very same materials, tools and craftsmanship our forefathers used.’

‘Money in that is there lad?’

‘More than you could imagine Tom! There are a lot of very rich people in the city and more prestigious company headquarters and top-class hotels than you could count.’

‘So what happened to it?’ asked Elsie.

‘In a word… redeveloped!’

‘Sorry?’

‘The company I owned I had inherited from my father, unfortunately, it was located in a part of the city the planners wanted to redevelop. I resisted their initial attempts to buy the property simply because I couldn’t find anywhere to relocate the company to that was affordable. Eventually, the developers dug deep into their pockets and made me an offer that would have been stupid to refuse, so I gave in and took the money.’

‘What about your employees?’ asked Liz.

‘I only had three full time and one part-time employees, of the three one, was close to retirement, so I helped make sure that he wasn’t left financially in need and a competitor graciously offered the other two employment, although he did have his reasons for doing so.’

‘What reasons?’

‘Both belonged to a very rare breed of master craftsmen Liz, they were both fully skilled cabinetmakers and my competitor knew their worth.’

‘And the part-timer?’ enquired Elsie.

‘He was already in retirement and he wasn’t so much of an employee to me, but more of a teacher and a friend. He had a skill that can only be learnt through a lifetime of experience, French polishing and he taught me everything he knew about this art.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He lives not too far away and he’s happy that he has more time for his garden. Although I know he would be happier to see me put those skills he taught me to good use. Which is what I intend to do once I’ve found somewhere to set myself up in business again.’

‘Costs money does that lad!’ advised Tom. ‘Lots of it!’

Paul smiled, ‘I know Tom, but I have more than enough thanks to the eagerness of the developers.’

The next question was one Paul had not anticipated, ‘So… who’s for a cuppa then?’ asked Liz.

Four arms shot up into the air.

Tom half-heartedly argued the point, but Elsie was far more astute.

‘Tom!’ she demanded in her reprimand voice. ‘You come and sit next to me and let the young man have the chair!’

He resisted.

Liz helped out, ‘Tom, Paul wants to watch the door.’

‘What for? Ain't going no place, is it? Fixed good and proper that is!’

‘For Karen Tom!’

‘Oh! Sorry lad, ain't got me thinking ‘ead on today!’

‘You haven’t got one!’ countered Elsie.

Liz passed out the teas, Karen’s although made, remained on the tray.

‘So what you two been up to?’ Tom asked Paul.

Liz duplicated Elsie’s disapproving look; Tom ignored both.

‘We haven’t been up to anything Tom!’

Tom grinned and nudged Eddy, ‘did you hear that Ed!’

‘I did Tom, see that look in his eyes? Leaves me full of suspicion that does!’

‘Me too! They’ve been up to something!’

‘Leave the young man alone!’

‘Paul, there’s no need to look so worried, she’ll turn up,’ advised Liz. ‘She’s just overslept or something, you’ll see.’

‘I don’t think she will.’

‘No need for such gloominess son, our pretty little princess will be drinking that tea soon enough.’

Paul looked at the four faces of those who were there and imagined the face of the one who was not, ‘I think I owe you all an apology, I may have done something to have driven your… our… pretty little princess away.’

Over the duration it took for their teas to cool and to be drunk, Paul related the events of the previous afternoon in as much detail as he could remember. He concluded his shame felt recital with a personal apology to Elsie.

‘I’m sorry, I was so intent on letting Karen know what was in my heart, I forgot to heed the warning you gave me, about the pain in hers.’

For a few long tormenting moments no one moved or said anything, Paul looked around the faces staring back at him, Tom and Eddy sat with surprised, open-mouthed expressions and both Liz and Elsie had tears rolling down their cheeks.

‘And to make matters worse, I think I lied to her as well.’

‘How that son?’

‘I’m not on the edge of falling in love with her… I am in love with her.’

Paul placed his mug next to Karen’s cup on the tray, a symbol of what he had wanted for them both, togetherness. Sadly what he wanted for them both was not going to be and his feelings over that regret began to pool in his eyes.

Suddenly both Liz and Elsie’s arms wrapped around him simultaneously and his hands were each taken and shaken with animated excitement by Tom and Eddy.

‘Our pretty little princess is so lucky to have you,’ cried Elsie kissing his cheek.

‘Isn’t she just!’ added Liz kissing the other. ‘So unbelievably lucky!’

‘Straight out of the old romance novels son! What do you say Tom?’

‘Damn good show, that’s what I say!’ he replied. ‘Got charm like me 'as this lad!’

‘You don’t know the meaning of the word Tom!’ stated Elsie.

‘You didn’t say that…’

Elsie threateningly wagged a raised finger to silence him.

Paul struggled to free himself, unfortunately turning his back to Tom in the process. A target upon which Tom laid his usual congratulatory slap hurling Paul straight back into another of Elsie’s bone-crushing bear hugs. Eddy proved strong enough to wrench him from Elsie’s grip by the shoulders and with another spine snapping slap across the back added, ‘We’re proud of you son! Proud!’ Liz gathered him up and left lipstick kisses all over his cheeks, ‘Lucky girl! So unbelievably lucky!’

Paul slunk back into the chair and watched dazed and confused as the four continued to congratulate one another with hugs, kisses, handshakes and backslaps. Amidst the euphoria, Paul did note Tom had reserved the greater majority of his hugs and kisses for Elsie, who did not seem to mind in the least. Eddy saved his for Liz, who blushed profusely after he had whispered something endearing in her ear, although what that was remained her secret despite Tom and Elsie’s avid interrogation.