He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and let the warm sun caress his face. For a few fleeting moments he was eight years old again, crouching on the edge of rock pool with a shrimping net, gazing down in wonder at all the starfish and anemones.
He stood up and inspected his handiwork. Not bad. Not bad at all. The garden was neat and tidy and awash with lovely, salmon pink geraniums. Even though it was quite late in the season, they still looked strong, healthy and full of life. And he was sure they'd remain that way for a good few weeks yet. He never really understood why they were so often maligned by short-sighted experts who thought them staid and unexciting. How could they be? Surely, only the narrow minded would overlook such obviously attractive plants?
Still, wasn't everyone guilty of missing the blindingly obvious sometimes? Of sleepwalking through large swathes of life and failing to appreciate the simple, everyday beauty? Couldn't we all do with gazing into the rock pools again from time to time?
The glass door of the summer room slid open behind him. He turned round to see Mrs. Hooper standing in the doorway smiling. She was tightly wrapped in a full length dressing gown and wore a brightly coloured scarf on her head. They had certainly become this summer's item of choice for her. He couldn't remember ever having seen her in a dressing gown though. Perhaps she'd only just got up. And yet it didn't look as though she had. Her face looked clean, fresh and youthful and her eyes were clear and bright. She might even have been wearing some lipstick, it was hard to tell.
"Isn't it a wonderful day?"
He smiled back at her. "Yep. Certainly is."
"How much longer do you think you'll be here?" She asked, needlessly adjusting her headscarf.
"About another hour or so, I reckon."
She slowly nodded her head. "Good. That's good. Would you like a coffee?"
"Yes please. That'd be nice."
She seemed a little distracted, as if there was something else on her mind. "I wonder, would you mind having a look at these before you go?" She said, pointing down to a large terracotta pot close to her feet that was crammed full of the pink geraniums.
He glanced at the pot and recognized it as the one that normally sat beneath the kitchen window. She must have moved it. "Of course. No problem."
"Thank you Duncan." She hesitated and smiled again. "Well, I'd better get on. The housework isn't going to do itself."
"No, I don't suppose it will." He said, smiling as much to himself as to her. He watched her slide the door shut again and disappear into the house.
He'd been Mrs. Hooper's gardener for the best part of eighteen months now, ever since her husband of thirty-six years had up and left her. That was all he knew about their separation - she never spoke about it and he never enquired. But he did know that she had lived alone ever since. As for his relationship with her? Well, they got on just fine. They discussed the weather, the black spot on the roses and the price of petrol. She made him coffee in the same old Union Jack mug and occasionally helped him tidy up the greenhouse. She'd once asked if he would change a light bulb in the hallway and had laid a trail of newspapers throughout the house for him to stand on. Mostly, however, she just left him alone to get on with his work.
"Better take a look at these then." He said to himself, as he knelt beside the pot of geraniums.
From his position he could see the interior of both the summer room and the adjoining living room beyond. Both rooms were absolutely immaculate. Spotless. Not a single thing seemed out of place. He wondered what on earth there was for Mrs. Hooper to do. And then, as if on cue, the door from the hallway to the living room opened and in she came pushing an upright vacuum cleaner, wearing nothing but her headscarf.
For a few moments he was absolutely transfixed. He simply could not believe his eyes. In a single instant, the old Mrs. Hooper had vanished and been replaced by an entirely different Mrs. Hooper - a daring, sexy, completely naked Mrs. Hooper. A woman who's every move now set his pulse racing.
He watched her breasts sway and her buttocks flex as she moved the vacuum back and forth in long, deliberate sweeps. And he watched her turn and push it towards him, giving him an unfettered view between her legs. It was inconceivable that she hadn't noticed him - she must have known he was watching her - yet, she didn't look at him or acknowledge his presence once. Not even when, to his utter amazement and delight, she continued her housework in the summer room.
He watched her reach up on tip-toes to clean the tops of shelves. He watched her push her bottom out and bend over in front of him and straighten already neat seat covers and cushions. And he watched her get down on her hands and knees and wipe the gleaming skirting boards. He saw every one of her wrinkles, creases and folds. He saw every goose bump, every freckle and every mole. He marveled at every single inch of her smooth, pale, wonderful body.
