A Winter Story

The fuel merchant delivered the firewood and I nearly impoverished myself paying him.

I made the trellis that would eventually carry the climbing roses. It was not a time for planting but I prepared some crocus, jonquil, daffodil and tulip beds, and made everything as ready as possible for spring planting. In short, I was determined to make a strong impression on Nicola through deeds rather than words; words could come later.

I was there still working in the garden when Nicola returned to the cottage. She got out of the car and looked around; she gasped and said, "Edward, you've worked wonders, I'd never have believed it could look as good as this. You are clever."

I shrugged and said casually, "It's just a matter of knowing what your doing and putting a bit of effort in." A little modesty can pay big dividends at times.

"Well, you've certainly put a lot of effort into this," she said, "and as soon as I've unloaded you must take me round and explain what you've done."

She opened the boot of the car and it was filled with cardboard cartons. She went to pick one up and I said, "You leave that to me, they look heavy."

"Would you, Edward. It's mainly books and they are very heavy."

And so I started to carry the cartons in, and she was right, they were heavy.

It was a cold day and the cottage, having been unoccupied for a couple of weeks, again had that damp, dank feel that empty places have, especially old places like this one.

"As soon as I've brought your things in," I said, "I'll get that fire started for you."

"Oh would you; you really are helpful Edward."

"My pleasure," I told her. "Oh, by the way, the fuel has been delivered."

"Wonderful, I must settle up with you before you go."

"No hurry; when you're ready."

I got the rest of the stuff from the car and lit the fire and then got invited to have a drink.

In the study Nicola announced that she intended to spend quite a bit of time at the cottage since she could do her work just well here as in town. That gave me my cue.

"I've realised who you are Nicola. You're the author, Nicola Copper, aren't you?"

She looked at me in surprise. "You've heard of me?"

"Of course I've heard of you and read some of your books, and if you don't mind my saying so, I found them to be both profound and stimulating. You have the most powerful insights into people, their motives and their actions."

That was a bit of exaggerated flattery.

A slight flush spread over her pale face and it was clear she was both pleased and surprised that I, a gardener, had read her works.

"You...you like my books? Some people say they're difficult to read."

"Not at all; I put you alongside some of great female authors, Jane Austen, the Brontes, George Eliot."

"Agatha Christie?"

I could see I needed to play that one carefully.

"Well of course, I've read some her books but they're bit too light weight for my taste."

"You really like reading?"

"Yes, although I don't always stick to novels. I like biographies and autobiographies and I take a bit of an interest in philosophy."

That was something of an exaggeration since my sole interest in the subject had been via a small book bought at a church bazaar that summarised the ideas of philosophers from Plato to Bertrand Russell. I was quite capable for talking on many of these philosophers for at least thirty seconds. I hoped I wasn't gilding the lily too much.

She looked at me appraisingly for a few seconds and then said, "You're an unusual young man, Edward."

"Oh, why?"

"Perhaps unexpected is a better word; you're obviously a good gardener, you're kind and considerate, well read and...and..."

I could see she'd talked herself into a corner and didn't know how to get out of it without sounding snobbish so I thought I'd better rescue her.

"I suppose I am a bit different from most gardeners, but ever since I was a kid I've been interested in things academic, but I've never really wanted to go down that track. My father was a gardener and I suppose it's in my blood, you know, the beauty of nature, the open air."

"Yes...yes, I can understand that. I once met an eminent historian who really wanted to be farmer."

I wondered why, if he wanted to be a farmer he wasn't a farmer instead of an historian, but I let that one go.

I had the feeling I was heading into deep waters, intellectually speaking, and was wondering how I might, as it were, change channels. Fortunately it was Nicola who did the changing.

"I think I should settle up with you, would a cheque be all right?"

"Fine, I've made out the bill."

She paid me for my work so far plus the fuel bill and I asked, "Would you like to take a closer look at the garden now."

"Love to," she replied eagerly.

As we went around with me showing what I'd done and how things would look when spring arrived she demonstrated more eager animation than I'd seen since first meeting her. I thought the moment might have arrived to take another step.

By the way," I began, "I am able to do odd jobs around the place. "You know, clear blocked waste pipes, change tap washers, that sort of thing, so any time..."

"You're a young man of many parts, Edward; I'll bear that in mind."

I was on the verge of making another move in the game, but thought I'd work on getting her trust for a bit longer.

"I'd better leave you now, Nicola," I said, hoping I'd put the right note of regret into the words. "I've got another job to go to."

As I said that, it occurred to me there would be no harm in laying the ground for my next move, so I went on, "There's a couple arriving from town this afternoon to stay for a few days, and I've got a key to their place. They let me know when they're arriving and I light the fire for them in winter so the place is warmed up when they arrive."

It wasn't true since what I really had to do was go and clear up some autumn leaves from one of the newcomers places, but I thought it might make the right impression.

As I left Nicola thanked me again for my work and helpfulness and I got the feeling she would have liked me to stay longer.

As I raked away at the dead leaves that afternoon I thought about Nicola. I knew virtually nothing about her except that she was a relatively well-known author and the few little things she'd let drop.

She had been unwell, although in what way I didn't know. There was a husband who would soon cease to be her husband; that of course implied divorce. Since she'd bought the cottage, and unlike some of my other clients had made no difficulty about paying me, I decided she was not without some reasonable financial resources.

Above all, and without quite knowing why, I got the feeling she was lonely. I'd always pictured authors as having lots of friends and acquaintances, and going to book launching parties and book signings. Loneliness was not something I associated with book writers. But the feeling was there, this was a lonely woman.

The main thing as far as I was concerned at that time, was the business that might come my way from her presence in the cottage.

Having cleared up her garden and since winter was almost upon us, gardening work was a bit slow. There was some pruning and the odd jobs that I was asked to do, and I got a small retainer from a couple of my clients for keeping an eye on their places, but until nature went mad in the spring I was on a fairly tight budget.

It was a hard winter but I spent a couple of hours a week at Nicola's cottage pottering around and making suggestions like establishing a vegetable garden out the back. Nicola came and went, usually saying she was going to see her literary agent. I gathered she had a flat in town, but her stays at Green Lane Cottage became more extended.

Our relationship developed into something like a friendship. Whenever I was at her cottage I was always offered a drink before I left and a couple of times I stayed for lunch.

I noticed that Nicola's pallor had diminished and some colour appeared in her cheeks, and her stance had become more upright and her walk more purposeful. The dark smudges under her eyes disappeared, and I came to see that she really was an attractive woman. My earlier guess at her age settled down to mid thirties or early forties.

Our conversations had generally avoided the personal; being focused mainly on literature, village comings and goings and the latest national news, and of course the garden. Then one day an event occurred that moved our relationship one step further.

It was a freezing cold day and I was trying to get warm in my caravan having no particular job to get on with. My mobile buzzed and it was Nicola in something of a panic. Her water pipes had frozen, could I come and unfreeze them.

I made my way to her cottage and pointing out that unfreezing pipes was a touchy job, since in the process a pipe might burst, I took a look at them. Some of them had been lagged, obviously by the previous owner, but he had left the job half done. I offered to unfreeze the pipes and then complete the lagging.

I took the opportunity to point out that had she been in town when the freeze took place, and then if the weather warmed up, she might have had burst pipes and arrived back to a flooded cottage. It was then she asked, "Do you think I should give you a key to the place, Edward, so you can keep an eye on things for me?"

As if I had never mention the matter of a key before I said, "That's a good idea Nicola, and if you always let me know when you're coming back I can have the fire lit and the place warm and tidy."

I got the key and thereafter I paid regular visits to the cottage when Nicola was away.

Chapter 5. Research Pays

Generally I took little interest in my clients' private lives, but Nicola intrigued me. When I went to the cottage I started to take a good look around, trying to find out more about her. I suppose I was being horribly sneaky but I really did want to try and find out what sort of a woman she was.

I was entranced by the delicate underwear I found in a couple of drawers in her bedroom and for the first time I started to get a sexy image of Nicola.

The book shelves were now full, and when I hadn't much in the way of work to do I'd have browse through her library, trying to memorise a few passages from different books to throw into any conversation I had with her.

More interesting was what I found in the bottom draw of her desk. This seemed to be reserved for matters dealing with her upcoming divorce and letters from her husband.

From these letters I gathered that one afternoon Nicola had returned home unexpectedly to find her husband, Jeremy, in bed with a girl. In the letters it was clear that Jeremy wanted to be forgiven - wanted her to take him back.

Looking at the dates on the letters I could see that as the time for their divorce drew nearer his pleading grew more abject. He constantly declared his undying love for her, and referred to something mysterious that he called, "Your condition," that had led him to be unfaithful, and he was desperately sorry for what had happened as a result of his behaviour.

I could almost feel sorry for the poor sod, but I would have loved to know what Nicola replied, if she did. Clearly my early conjecture that she had been badly hurt was proving to be accurate.

In another draw were letters from her literary agent. It seemed that the agent, Janet, was as much a friend as an agent. She obviously knew about Nicola's marital problems and counselled her to be strong and not give in to Jeremy's pleadings, adding that Nicola should not in future get herself tangled up with men younger than her self who only wanted to exploit her. Janet added that Nicola might consider not getting tangled up with men at all, and I wondered if Janet was a hopeful lesbian.

In a couple of Janet's letters I found myself being briefly referred to. Clearly Nicola had mentioned me to Janet, and much to my chagrin Janet counselled Nicola to be "careful my dear. He may be kind and helpful and he may be as good looking as you say, but surely by now you must have learned that men are not to be trusted."

There were other comments in a similar vein about me, and since I was sneakily prying into Nicola's private affairs some of them were probably true. I suppose one might add to the old saying, "Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves," so I suppose prying into peoples private correspondence means you don't read any good about your self.

Nevertheless, Nicola obviously hadn't taken any notice of Janet's advice, and had trusted me with a key to her house, untrustworthy though I was proving to be.

One thing Janet's letters indicated to me was that Nicola was more interested in me than I had suspected. Friendly and hospitable yes, but I had not thought beyond that; was there something more to it? That question made me start thinking about how I felt about Nicola.

I had no problems when it came to sex with my fifty year old comfort lady and the other women, so why would I have any problems with Nicola who was a quite a few years younger? But then, I thought Nicola might be a different type of woman. She might be the sort who wanted more depth in a sexual relationship and would I be able to or want to give that depth?

Chapter 6. The Accident

My thoughts about Nicola were to some extent tested when after a brief period of slightly warmer weather another cold snap came in accompanied by snow. Nicola was at home in the cottage at the time and there was a partial thaw and then another freeze, turning paths and roads into glassy hazards.

There were two steps up to the front door of the cottage and as far as I could gather Nicola had driven into the village to do some shopping. Returning she had slipped on the icy steps, fallen, and hurt her self rather badly. By pure chance I dropped by to ask if there was anything she wanted me to do, and found her lying half conscious on the path.

I opened the front door with my key, picked her up and carried her into the cottage and lay her on the divan. She was freezing cold so I hurried up to her bedroom and taking a couple of blankets from her bed I raced downstairs and covered her with them.

Looking at her injuries I could see that she had a nasty bruise and cut on her face, and as I was to learn later more bruises down one side of he body and a badly sprained ankle that even as I watched was swelling visibly.

"I'm going to phone for an ambulance," I said.

"No...no...no...I won't go to hospital again...get Doctor Holmes."

Holmes was the local GP so I rang him and he said he would come. He took about an hour to arrive, and not knowing what else to do I tried cold compresses on the ankle that continued to swell and turn a nasty blue and yellow colour.

Holmes tutted, hummed and hawed over Nicola, and tried to persuade her to go to hospital. She was adamant that she would not go and in desperation Holmes said, "My dear girl, you need care. You're not going to be able to walk on that ankle for a week, perhaps even two weeks. If you're going to stay here who's going to help you?"

Without really thinking about it I said, "I'll look after her. I can drop in several times during the day and see if there's anything she wants."

"And are you going to cook for her," Holmes said rather cynically, "and she'll need help to get to the toilet the bathroom and the bedroom. Are you going to do that?

"I can cook and do the shopping," I said.

And can you do the rest of it? No, if Mrs. Copper is staying here she'll need a woman with her, I'll make arrangements."

To my surprise Nicola said, "No," with unexpected energy given her injuries, "Edward can look after me."

There was a bit more argument with Holmes, but in the end he shrugged, and after giving me some instructions on how to deal with the sprain, he left, still annoyed.

When he had gone Nicola said, "I'll pay you of course, Edward."

I seemed to have got myself into a bit of a fix. I don't know whether it was because I had a bad conscience about prying into Nicola's correspondence, or whether I sincerely wanted to be of help to her, but I said, "You certainly won't pay me. What are friends for if they can't help out in a time of trouble?"

"Oh Edward," she whispered, "You really are a darling."

That made me feel even worse about my prying, and I must admit that I did wonder what I'd got myself into. Could I really cope?

Having volunteered myself however, I wasn't going to pull back, so I asked, "Do you want to stay here or shall I carry you up to your bedroom?"

"The divan is perfectly comfortable, I think I'll stay here if you'll get some sheets and make it up as a bed."

That's where it began. I got the sheets and some pillows and after seating Nicola in an armchair I made up her bed on the divan and then put her into it.

It was close to lunchtime so I asked, "Could you manage a boiled egg?"

"I'll try," she whispered. "Make something for yourself as well."

"Oh, I didn't mean to impose," I protested slyly, hoping she'd insist I stayed; "I can get your egg and go back to the caravan for..."

"You will not, Edward," she mumbled because her facial bruises were starting to impair her speech. If you're going to look after me you eat here and not in that terrible caravan. It must be bitterly cold in that thing."

"It's not so bad," I said, trying to sound stoical. In fact it was freezing bloody cold in the caravan even with the oil heater going full blast - its full blast not being very enthusiastic.

"You eat here," she said again, "and you mustn't argue with me because I'm an invalid and mustn't be upset." She tried a smile and winced with pain.

Chapter 7. Getting on the Inside

That's how it went. In between the few jobs I had during the winter I cooked, shopped and cleaned for Nicola, but it came with a bonus.

It was her going to the toilet that actually provided the bonus. The first evening I helped her upstairs to the toilet, and followed that with a visit to the bathroom. Rather than a bath we found that Nicola sitting on a stool under the shower was more comfortable.

Modesty had to be preserved so I had to leave Nicola to hop around on one foot as best she could, while I, after hunting them out in her bedroom, stood by with her nightdress and dressing gown, to hand them round the door when she called for them.

It was all rather difficult and we said that next day we would get ourselves organised a bit better, but on that first night we made a very stupid mistake. Nicola had made up her mind that she would sleep downstairs on the divan. I had my doubts about that, but she insisted, and that was where I left her when I went to my caravan.

It was next morning when I went to get Nicola's breakfast that the foolishness of sleeping on the divan was revealed. Nicola had slept badly, and during the night she wanted to go to the toilet. It seemed that by hopping and crawling she had managed to get there, but on the way back she had slipped on the bottom stairs, and we were almost back to where she had been with the first accident.

By the time I got to the cottage she had managed to crawl onto the divan and she had got another couple of bruises, one on her hip and the other on her right shoulder.

I wanted to call Holmes in the hope he would now be able to persuade her to go to hospital, but still she wouldn't agree and would not even let me call Holmes. What might be called a fateful decision was made at that point.

"Look," I said, "if you won't go to hospital and I've got to look after you, we've got to make some better arrangements. What if I sleep in one of your spare bedrooms? You can have a little bell by your bed and if you need any help you can ring it and I can come to you. And you'd better sleep in your bedroom because it easier to get to the toilet."