HOW DREAMS ARE ENDED
Emilia needed no reminders that only the two of them were left of the Ferreira family who had been the founding members of the business, Ferreira Ceramica. It had become a niche business making, decorating, and selling the output of a small Galician pottery company that catered to the many tourists who flocked to see the rugged coastline that looked out onto the Atlantic Ocean, or wandered through the lush woodlands; or admired the architecture of ancient buildings. Some even mastered the Galician dialect.
She had joined the company soon after her marriage to Julio, the true founding owner whose idea it had been to use the redundant buildings, on part of the family's farm, to create a place where he could devote all of his time and skills to a craft that he had learned, and perfected, in La Coruña before moving on. He had always been an independent and creative spirit and she had been captivated by his enthusiasm and seemingly inexhaustible energy.
She had loved and been loved for the five years of her marriage, a love match that had ended tragically when the van, that the business used for delivering stock to outlets along the coast, had been struck by a truck, the driver dead at the wheel from a heart attack and Julio unable to avoid a collision.
It had happened two empty years ago, now, but Pablo, Julio's nephew, had helped her through the worst of times. Just by his presence, he'd let her know that he would stay loyal to what his uncle had built up from nothing and that she had been such a part of. Pablo was an inventive and gifted painter, the deft application of swirls of colour, or geometric patterns, on plates, jugs, cups, and serving dishes such a feature of Ferreira's output. For the tourists, the riot of colours applied to plant pots was the icing on what had become an ever-larger cake that was the company's annual turnover.
When she wasn't dealing with sales and deliveries by trusted haulage companies for customers outside their immediate sphere of influence, both she and Pablo would drive the company's replacement van; who undertook that task depended on where the pressure points lay but, young as he was, Pablo had always been a stickler for quality and would not be rushed in his decoration of the fired items, applying the glazes and swirls of colour to the designs that she had pencilled onto the items that would be in the next, and final, firing run.
Circumstances had made them fall into a closer collaborative effort and she had drawn comfort from that. In what they each did it was clear that an artist lived in each of them. What was also happening, and that neither of them would put a voice to, was that they were becoming involved with each other; they were drawing closer.
Restraint, brought on by a continuing sense of family ties, heightened the sense of frustration and that only a kind word or snatched glance might ease away. She was a widow in her early forties; he was a young and single man, unattached to anyone as far as she knew, and twenty-five. Longing and frustration must have been seen in each other's eyes and yet neither dared to cross the line.
What would people say of them if they discovered that they had tumbled into an affair? Had it begun even before Julio's untimely death they would ask? How could she do that with a much younger man?
Respect, for how it had once been, was taking its toll on each of them.
♥
As he worked, Pablo knew that she was around, dealing with orders and packing them in readiness for collection by a courier company that sent a vehicle to the pottery once a week. Others were being packaged for them to deliver to local tourist hotspots.
"Do you need some help?" he called out, unable to keep his eyes off her.
It often felt that he had a permanent hard-on when Emilia was around. What she was seen to be wearing today was only making that sense of arousal worse. She was no beauty queen, but her voluptuous body was clothed in a V-neck blouse, a swirly skirt with a chequered pattern, and a cardigan that hung loose and open. The blouse shaped her and revealed her smooth-skinned cleavage. Her face was bereft of all makeup. Why bother with that when it was flawless and her luscious lips full and their natural colour unspoiled? Captivated by the sight of her, Emilia's discreet application of a favoured scent made his involvement with her complete.
"No, it's okay," she answered, "you helped me earlier in loading the van."
Emilia smiled as she met his look upon her. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to do that, just as it was not to feel as besotted with him as he was with her. They seemed to be drawing closer with each passing day, and the sharp ache of loss was relieved by his attentive company. They took the simple pleasure of being able to continue working together.
Pablo put the remaining pieces that he had been working on into the kiln, making sure that what they had both put into it earlier had not been disturbed. He then closed the doors and secured them, turned the timer to the setting required, and stepped away.
"Aiee, sorry!" he exclaimed as he bumped into her, not realising that she had moved to stand close by him, at his shoulder.
She gave him a soft smile before brushing past him, Pablo breathing in Emilia's unmistakable scent.
"I'm just checking what you have done. We agreed on that, we each do that for the other," she told him. "I want to come with you and deliver what is in the van. I need to do some customer relations, see them face to face in their shops, and not just rely on our phone calls. Do you mind?"
Pablo laughed. "Of course, I don't mind!"
"Then I'll gather my things and I'll meet you at the van. I'll tell Carmiña and Virxinia not to worry about the kiln. It will turn itself off after all, won't it?"
"Sure," he answered, distracted by seeing how Emilia brushed back her hair and fastened it in a grip at the back of her head. He catalogued every curve and movement of the woman before him.
They would be together for a while and could talk. He might even persuade her to stop for a drink and a snack somewhere on the way back. There were plenty of places to choose from in the small towns and villages they would pass through and he would be alone with a woman whose physical appearance got to him, even in the confines of the factory and showroom.
♥
The van moved soundlessly over the road and they had the chance to talk.
"There are days I get pretty low, but I guess you know that?" she said, not looking at him but gazing out of the window instead. "I'm always glad that I have you with me to run the business."
