It was a casual conversation with Sophie, a few words about Mr Crowfoot and his house; nothing out of the ordinary. Jim, though, was more than a little interested when she remarked, "I wonder what it's like to sleep in the old house, perhaps on a stormy night with the roof creaking and groaning. Do you think there's a ghost?"
"I'm sure you'd be very welcome to stay. Mr Crowfoot has certainly not mentioned any hauntings. Nothing like that, nothing supernatural... in that way..." Jim found himself being hesitant. There was definitely something unexplained, something supernatural about the study. Jim did not understand it at all and neither did Mr Crowfoot - or so he said. It was certainly very peculiar the effect that particular room had upon women. Sophie was looking at him expecting him to say more. "No, no ghosts, no things that go bump in the night."
He did not forget the conversation and, as it transpired, it seemed she did not either.
Following the burglary, and notwithstanding the pleasant visit of WPC Cartwright, Jim could tell Mr Crowfoot was nervous and upset. He was worried about another visit from the burglar he had disturbed, a revisit with felonious intent to collect what he had been unable to do the first time. Jim suggested Mr Crowfoot should go away for a holiday to take his mind off such things, have a rest and return more settled.
"But that would leave the house wide open."
Jim said he would be happy to sleep there and protect it and organise better security arrangements - bars to windows and the like, perhaps a burglar alarm. And so Jim was left in charge not just of the house but the special room, the study.
"Don't do anything in the study I wouldn't," said Mr Crowfoot as Jim saw him off at Paddington railway station bound for Penzance.
The girls at the office were saddened to hear of Mr Crowfoot's intruder but were so sure Jim had made the right suggestion. They even offered to help Jim with his guardianship of the house and so Sophie and her husband come to stay. Jim had rather been hoping for just Sophie and Jenny. Not that Sophie's husband was bad company, only the study would have no influence over him. None at all. That rather spoilt things - spoilt what Jim had in mind. Sophie's ready suggestion to come and help was, no doubt, more than influenced by her earlier expressing a desire to sleep in the old house.
They came over at about seven o'clock and it proved a great evening. Jim as a bachelor was not a great cook and it was more Sophie than Charlie or he doing the cooking. A good dinner and plentiful conversation; the subject of ghosts was perhaps unwisely revisited, and Sophie certainly held tight to Charlie when they left Jim and went up to bed. Perhaps she was frightened or perhaps Sophie was feeling amorous. Jim sat in the kitchen a little longer wondering if upstairs the two of them were making love. Had Sophie been there alone or with Jenny for the evening then there would have been no question coffee would have been taken in the study and there would have been quite a bit of 'making love.' Jim shrugged his shoulders. Another time.
In the middle of the night, Jim awoke feeling the need to relieve himself. Outside the wind had got up a bit rather as Sophie had hoped. There was a hint of creaking about the house. As Jim walked back from the bathroom, he noticed Sophie and Charlie's door was ajar and he could discern a light down below the bannister rail. He went to investigate and found Sophie sitting in the kitchen. A mug of cocoa in hand. She has had trouble sleeping. They talked for a bit and then Sophie said what she really needed was a book to read. All at once Jim's thoughts returned to sex, there was a stirring in his pyjamas, he barely could contain his excitement as he, as casually as could be, suggested there were plenty - in the study.
He had not expected that when he came down to the kitchen. All the frustration of Sophie's husband turning up vanishing in the thought of what he might now do with Sophie in the study. Would it work for him without Mr Crowfoot? They got up from the table and Jim followed the young woman out into the hall and stood at the doorway of the study watching her looking at the books. How was he to find out if the study 'worked' for him? Slowly he closed the door behind him. The study looked just the same, the same comfortable feeling. Across the room, Sophie was standing with dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. Jim wondered what lay beneath - perhaps nothing. He stepped forward and behind the Chesterfield partly hiding himself. The penis in his pyjama bottoms was beginning to act as a tent poll. If the room did not work, he would not want Sophie to see that.
"Anything interesting. Anything that might help you sleep?"
Sophie turned and shrugged her shoulders.
"Do you often have difficulty sleeping?"
"No. Not usually"
"Is it the house, a strange bedroom?" Jim winced at his ineptitude, he was meant to be trying to find whether the study was having its usual effect, not make pleasant and concerned talk.
"I think it's because I'm pregnant."
"You are?" How stupid to say that. Of course, she was: she had just told him so.
"Don't tell anyone. It's early days. Don't know why I told you. Too soon."
"No, no, I'll keep it to myself. Any cravings already?" Perhaps a crass thing to ask; perhaps a rather male thing to ask; a male fascination with the strangeness of pregnancy, something men don't do. But it proved just the right question.
"No, not finding lettuce or carrots irresistible, but certainly sex."
"Oh, sex... err sex, really."
