On entering the cottage door, he immediately heard the sound of the vacuum cleaner coming from upstairs.
He stopped and tried to collect his thoughts, the car, he remembered, and I have to charge the battery.
He always disconnected the battery and put it on the workbench of the garage, when he knew he would be on overseas duty. Passing through the side door into the garage, he located the battery charger, on the shelf and the bottle of distilled water. Two of the cells required a drop. With the charger connected, Robert knew that the battery should be fully charged by the following morning.
By the time, Mrs Mac left at six, warning him that she would be back early in the morning. Robert was feeling quite exhausted; she'd had him polishing brass and washing china, and vases, whilst she galloped up and down stairs, carrying towels, curtains and duvet covers, where she got her energy from, baffled him.
Terry had phoned earlier to say she would arrive at Christchurch at three thirty. Robert knew she could have got a link through to Salisbury, which was only fifteen miles from the village, but he preferred the longer journey from Christchurch particularly the stretch of the A338 from Ringwood to the village, which followed the course of the Avon.
He was woken, by the noise coming from downstairs; Mrs Mac had started early he realised; it was a little after seven thirty.
After he had showered and shaved, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
He knew he favoured his father in looks and height, although he had his mother's eyes, but where his father's hair was always tidy Robert's refused to be tamed, invariably falling down near his fore head necessitating him to push it back with his fingers. He'd noticed the few strands of grey hair, either side of his ears at the Grange, that hadn't been there prior to the wadi incident.
He dressed quickly putting on fawn cargo slacks and a maroon long sleeved polo shirt, slipping his feet into a pair of tan slip-on's he went down stairs.
"Don't walk on the floor, go round," commanded Mrs Mac "I'll make your breakfast later when I've finished the floor."
She was washing the ancient stone slabs, which made up the floor of the cottage; the throw rugs piled up by the fireplace.
"Ok I have to go into the garage and get the car ready," he said edging round to the garage side door.
In the garage, he pressed the button that opened the double door, and then began to remove the dustsheets, that hid the car, revealing Buttercup.
That was the name his mother had given it.
A bright yellow Toyota Celica, she had loved this car. She claimed it reminded her of her miss spent youth that she had never had the opportunity to miss spend.
Although Robert had given Archie his father's old Land Rover after their deaths, he couldn't bear to part with the Celica.
Popping the bonnet, he quickly connected the battery and at the first go it burst into life. He drove it forward stopping it on the flat area of the drive, before the drive rose slightly to the double gates, which fronted the main road.
After changing into the Wellington boots that had been his fathers, he began to clean the vehicle.
After nearly three hours, he stood back to admire his handy work, the car gleamed inside and out, although there was still a slight musty smell, a legacy from being closed up for over eight months. He opened the sunroof and dropped the side windows to let the air circulate.
He was putting the hosepipe and bucket away, when Jack pulled up in his Range Rover, and started to unload boxes, he went to give him a hand.
As he opened the door, a voice rang out "wipe your feet."
In the kitchen, Jack took over storing the bottles placing the white wine and Champaign in the large chest fridge and the red in the empty wine rack by the fridge.
They loaded all the spirits and mixes into the drink cabinet, indicating the last box, Jack said, "nibbles," in it were crisps, olives, dips peanuts and cashew's.
"Thanks Jack I hadn't thought of those."
"No problem Bob, it must be a new experience entertaining a lady, for you."
Robert flushed, has Jack carried on, 'I've put the bill in the bottom, I'm only charging you at cost, and by the way what time do you want to eat tonight?"
"Oh, eight thirty or nine."
"Fine so I'll see you tonight," with that Jack left.
**************
Mrs Mac left at two promising to be back by the time Robert returned with Terry.
He intended to call in at Ringwood and draw out some cash from the ATM, before going on to the station. He had showered and changed again into cavalry twill slacks, and a blue polo shirt under his old black leather bomber jacket.
Although he had driven slowly, he was still at the train station fifteen minutes be for the train was due to arrive. He'd bought some cigarettes and mouth spray in Ringwood, now he was on his third, its ridicules he thought; I don't smoke. Well only when I'm stressed out, but what have I to be stressed out about, he admonished himself.
The distorted tinny voice announced the imminent arrival of the London train. He snubbed out the cigarette then sprayed his mouth.
He waited by the gate, as the Guard began checking the tickets of the alighting passengers, and then she appeared, carrying a suitcase and small vanity case.
She was wearing jeans again, tucked into long black boots with red leather bomber jacket, her hair in a ponytail.
She was looking around, trying to find him; he stepped out from the alcove.
"Hi" he said, "can I help a lady in distress?"
"Hi" she replied her face breaking out into a wide smile.
His heart skipped a beat, at the warmth of her smile.
He led the way out to the car, carrying her case.
She laughed "So, this is Buttercup, I thought you were going to turn up with a pony and trap."
He laughed, "It's my mother's old car, that's what she called her, and it's kind of stuck."
Robert drove through Christchurch, slipping on to the duel carriageway of the Bournemouth by Pass. At the end, he negotiated the roundabout, before joining the A31 for half a mile, before taking the A338 to Salisbury.
He glanced at her has he drove god but she is so beautiful he thought.
They had been chatting away about the train journey, and Robert had been pointing out places of interest, as they crossed the flyover bridge at Fordingbridge that bypassed the town.
Robert said, "I'd better pre warn you, but it seems everyone in the village is an ardent fan of yours, Mrs Mac almost wet herself when I told her you were coming."
"Oh, dear," Terry replied, "I think I've only got half a dozen publicity photographs in my case, do you think that will be enough?"
"Doubt it," replied Robert.
He turned off the A338 onto a country lane passing over an old hump backed bridge the River Avon flowing below it.
"Nearly there now," Robert announced.
The car climbed up the slight incline of the hill, Oak and Maple trees, forming a canopy over the road, as they cleared the top, and the village lay below them.
He stopped the car so she could look.
The village green with The Archers behind it, and behind that, the square Norman tower of the church, with yew trees growing by the wall. A dozen or so cottages lined the road, some with thatched roofs, at the end, the village store and Post office.
"Oh, Robert it's lovely," her face aglow with pleasure.
He climbed the hill from which the cottage took its name, at the top he swung the car round to pass through the drive gates, pulling up in front of the garage.
As he opened the boot to retrieve her cases, he could see her staring at the cottage.
"The garage, is the only new thing that's been added, to the outside, but Dad insisted that it should be built in the same granite, as the main building. He also insisted that the UPVC of the door, be the same colouring as the oak door and windows," he explained.