This is my first story, and I'm quite nervous about it. It is based on what happened a few years ago, though I have changed a few details to protect anonymity. It's quite graphic with some descriptions of bodily functions, which do not offend me but if they do you, you might want to look at something else
The characters are over 18. Comments are welcome.
*****
I moved into "The Firs" in the April. It was a fresh start. New job in the town, which was only ten minutes away, and a 100 miles from my ex. I needed to put some distance between us. Why that relationship fell apart I will describe later.
The flat was on a short term lease. I'd signed for 6 months. The rent appeared almost too good to be true. I wasn't used to so much space. The only downside seemed to be that it was upstairs, and the gardens had to be shared with the owner of the main building across the courtyard.
That was a stone built villa with additions that reeked of Victorian gentility. Big bay windows, arched porch and semi circular gravel drive surrounded by rhododendrons.
I didn't actually meet the owner of the property before I moved in, all the negotiations were handled by the estate agent.
In the late spring I got home one Friday evening to find a hand written letter lying on the door mat. The writing, in black ink, was in bold italics. It was addressed to Ms J Birch, but without an address.
Puzzled I opened it before I'd even closed the door. The thick traditional cartridge paper had the address of "The Firs," printed in the top right hand corner. Further down in the middle of the page there was one sentence in the same bold handwriting. It simply said.
"I would be delighted if you could come to tea with me on Sunday 22nd May at 4pm. Please let me know if you cannot attend, otherwise I look forward to meeting you."
It was signed Marion Palmer.
My landlord had invited me to tea. Clearly she was the sort of woman who enjoyed formality and did not trifle herself with coming round and introducing herself on the doorstep.
As it happened, whilst I'd a number of tasks to complete on the Saturday of that weekend, Sunday was completely free. I decided there and then that my curiosity had been roused, so I would go and meet this Marion Palmer. It seemed wise to be courteous to my new landlord, the rent for the flat was some 20 percent below its true value.
~
That Sunday, after an hour at the Gym and a late breakfast perusing the papers, I duly got ready for my appointment. I spent a little time deliberating whether I could get away with jeans but decided the rather starchy nature of the invitation suggested slightly more formal attire. I settled on wearing one of my better blouses and a knee length denim skirt. It struck the right note of casual but not too casual.
I finished the outfit off with dark grey pantyhose and black ballet pumps.
In the bathroom I put on a little eye make up and lip gloss, again trying to strike the right balance between putting all of my face on and doing nothing.
All in all I felt pleased with my appearance. Just the wrong side of thirty as I was, I had no grey hair yet, so my long straight hair, once brushed and straightened a little, shone as it was in really good condition.
At just after 4pm I made my way round to the drive, up to the large black front door and rang the bell.
My first impressions of Marion were of the firmness of her handshake, the blackness of her precision cut chin length bob and the fullness of her lips.
"Ms Birch I presume?" she said in a rather deep voice.
"Yes, but please call me Jane," I wanted to be as relaxed as I could...
"You can call me Marion," came a rather icy reply, "though many just call me Matron."
"Oh I see. I take it you are still in the profession then."
"In private practice these days," but she stopped there and did not elucidate further. "Come through won't you, I've set things up for tea in my Study. It's cosy and we can talk properly there."
She led me through a rather dark hall with an oak floor and moulded ceiling. We then passed down a dark corridor and through into a small light study with a large wooden desk in the middle, and two small armchairs facing a stone fireplace with a brass fender in front.
"Sit there please," she said pointing to the furthest chair. It was an instruction rather than an invitation. I settled myself down rather gingerly, feeling as though this was going to be more like an interview than an easy going tea party. "I'll just go and fetch the tea."
Marion swept from the room, her 3/4 skirt billowing as she did.
I sat there and took stock. It was a pretty room, nicely sized for a study, with a bay window looking over the lawn and down to the conifers at the end of the garden. The furnishings and style felt old fashioned. Whilst the quality was clearly good, things seemed to belong to an era my grand parents would be more familiar with than me.
Over the fireplace was a portrait of a grey haired man with a formal bearing and dressed in a frock coat. He looked Victorian from the style of his clothes. There were few other pictures of note. Tall bookshelves lined each side of the chimney breast and they were full of hardbacks, mostly with red or black leather cloth covers and gold embossed titles on the spines. I perused some of the titles. They were mainly medical textbooks or Military biographies. I felt like I was in a medical man's inner sanctum, the only things missing were his white coat and stethoscope.
Soon enough Marion returned carrying a large tray laden with a china teapot, crockery, plates and sandwiches. She busied herself distributing the tea and offering the delicately cut cucumber sandwiches before settling herself down beside me.
"So Jane, what brings you to this rather quiet backwater of ours."
My earlier sense that I was going to be interviewed rather than having a womanly chat felt like it was about to be borne out.
"Well it was the job really Marion. Atlas Global made me an offer I just couldn't refuse."
"And what do you actually do?"
"Well I'm a specialist financial analyst and researcher."
"I see. And is that office based?"
"Some of the time. I spend about three days a week in the office, but we have very flexible work patterns these days. Most of my work is on-line. Tell me what do you do? "
"I suppose you could say that I help people realise their potential."
It was an obscure reply. I tried again.
"You mean something like a physical fitness trainer?"
"Well not exactly. There is some work I do that concentrates on the physical, but there is also some work on the mental side too?"
"I see," I said, not really any clearer.
"My work may take me in any one of a number of directions, i really depends on the nature of the client and what difficulties they present. No two clients have the same needs. Often, someone consults me who does not really understand what their difficulties are, and we have to spend time looking at their life and situation to devise the right course of treatment."
My interest was stimulated by Marion's vague revelations, but she then steered the conversation in another direction.
"So tell me, why is a pretty young woman like you apparently single?"
I felt immediately under pressure to talk about Hugh, and why our relationship had foundered. I fidgeted and picked up my teacup to give myself a moment by drinking before answering.
"Well I was in a relationship until a few months ago, but we found out that we had some incompatibilities so we parted company."
"I'm sorry to hear about that," Marion replied matter of factly. "I've some experience in helping people come to terms with relationship breakdown, but I will not pry, I barely know you and it is none of my business."
An idea came to me that I thought might change the subject.
"Marion who is that rather imposing gentleman in the portrait?"
She looked up at the portrait and smiled before looking back at me and answering.
"That is my great grandfather. Bertram Palmer. He built this house. He was a doctor. This was his study, and his surgery is down the corridor. I inherited this place when my mother died. He was I understand something of a medical pioneer in treating women's problems in his day."
She seemed to swell with pride as she spoke. I hadn't really noticed before, but her prominent breasts seemed to be straining the small delicate buttons of her striped blouse.
"You must be very proud of him."
"Yes indeed. In fact I've spent some time reading about his work. Many of his research papers are housed in the bookcases you can see beside you."
"Fascinating," I replied, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Anyway enough of that, tell me about your family."
"Well there isn't much to tell really. I have no siblings and my father is dead. My mother remarried and now lives in Germany."
"Oh reallly. I have always loved Germany. I think the Germans have very good attitudes and habits."
It seemed an odd thing to say. I helped myself to another sandwich.
The conversation moved on to a discussion about the town and its good points and bad points. Marion was firm in her opinions about the state of the high street and the number of Charity shops that were taking over. I chipped in with a few comments here and there, but there was no doubt she was talking about what she wanted to talk about and I Felt a little uncomfortable.
