Lizzie

She noticed that the face was quite like Dan, too. She shook her head. Apparently her subconscious had made her put the two of them in a picture. Hmm, now what about that? She would have to give it some thought. But not now.

"Let's get ourselves something to drink. What would you like?"

Armed with a glass of cider and a gin and tonic they went up the flight of stairs to the living room.

Jane looked at the place with interest. There was a framed photograph of a youngish man on one wall, and there were a couple of nineteenth century oil paintings. One low bookcase was full of CDs and there were books and records galore - rather too many, perhaps. It looked definitely masculine, Jane thought.

"That is Zeb?"

"Yes. I put it up on the first anniversary of his death. I wanted to be able to look at him now and then. The room is a lot like it was then - but the collection of music and books has grown a bit."

Jane nodded. Exactly what she'd thought. It was a comfortable, slightly untidy room, with much more music in it than she would have expected.

"It is a nice room," she said. "Do you play an instrument or sing?"

"I do sing sometimes. I like to think up harmonies. But I don't play any instrument. It seems my fingers just won't get it right. Do you?"

Jane nodded. "I play the piano," she said. "Not well enough to go public, though. But it is nice sometimes."

Then she raised her glass. "Cheers," she said. "To friendship!"

Liz grinned. "Lovely to have you," she said.

They settled down to a nice night's talking, touching upon their work, men - Jane was divorced from a husband who had turned out to be a compulsive gambler, but she had a new boyfriend - and anything else that they thought of.

When Lizzie told Jane about the folk nights at the pub she said, "I have never been. It must be nice."

"It is. I love listening, and singing, occasionally. Oh wait, I can let you hear some."

She walked over to the CD collection and found the one Dan had sent her.

"This is Zeb playing with Dan. There is one track with a fiddle, but I don't know who plays it."

She pressed play, and the two women listened to the old recordings.

"These must be nice to have," Jane said when the music had stopped. "It must have felt really strange, meeting Dan - really a blast from the past."

"It was, a little. It was nice, first and foremost, though." She smiled, thinking back of their meeting. "He is different. He somehow understood my walk was not just a walk, but that it had more to it. Hey, your glass is empty. Let me get us some more."

She went down to the kitchen and returned with the drinks.

"Will you see Dan again?" Jane said.

"Yes I will." Jane explained about the painting, and the purchase she'd made at the charity.

"Okay. Mmm, I wish I could sing. I can't sing in tune. Whenever I try to, no one can even recognize the melody. Seems the good Lord has handed out all talents strictly at random. At least I am reasonably good with words."

"Very good. How do you work?"

Jane tried to explain. Lizzie thought she understood a little; it was probably as hard as trying to tell anyone about her creative processes. The two women grinned at each other. Then Jane said she'd better turn in. Lizzie found to her surprise it was already past one in the morning, so they called it a day.

When she'd made the house ready for the night she went to bed, happy with the day's procedure. Jane was a truly nice woman, she was.

XIII

When Jane had left the next morning - over the hill and far away - Lizzie sent a text message to Dan, saying she would try and call him that evening, as she didn't know his diary, and she expected he'd have the time to talk with her then. To her surprise she got a text back almost immediately, saying he was looking forward to hearing her voice and yes, he would be at home from six onwards.

Okay, she thought with a smile. That's arranged then. It left her with a day to fill as she pleased, and seeing that the weather behaved, and that she'd spent too much time indoors for her own good, she decided to go for a walk. Water, sandwiches, her walking boots, a wind jacket - and off she went. The paths were not too good - soggy, slippery at times - but there was a light breeze and there were some high clouds chasing each other, and the world looked good.

She didn't mind any mud on her trousers, and her boots were sturdy enough and gore tex-lined so she didn't get wet feet, and she whistled tunelessly as she walked. She wondered if she should bring the barn drawing along. She might give it to Dan if he liked it, to say thank you for his hospitality. But what if he also thought she'd drawn herself in the picture, and started thinking the wrong things? Mmm no, perhaps it was not a good idea after all. Not now, at least. When he knew her better and understood there was nothing in it, something like that.

She hoped he would like the painting she'd done of the pub, though. And if he did, it might be safer to present him with his barn... She shook her head. She wasn't inclined to this kind of worrying, as a rule. But then, he had been Zeb's friend, and she wanted him to be a friend of hers, too. Making him shy off was the last thing she wanted.

Would he be shy? She didn't think so. He seemed very much at home in his part of the world, rather like she felt here, with almost everybody known, lots of friends and a few nodding acquaintances. She tried to remember Zeb's accounts of him, but it was too long ago, and there had been so many tales... She had never felt she had to remember everything at the time, because there was no need - Zeb would always be there to fill her in, right? Right. That was the way of things. You always took things for granted until it was too late. Fortunately they had never, never ever taken each other for granted and enjoyed every single minute of their years together.

Smiling broadly she remembered her walks in the vicinity with Zeb. They sometimes brought a blanket on a hot day to act out the Billie Joe Spears song. She knew the heat and her presence were likely to drive Zeb wild, and she loved getting him all worked up - just teasing him a bit before allowing him to undress her... She could almost feel it still. Ah, those had been the days. Too long ago now...

When she had climbed to the top of Joe Brown's Beacon, the local viewpoint, she had her lunch and she made some drawings. Then she took the short way home. Her shoes were very muddy, and her trousers needed a wash, but her mind was cleared a bit.

She had fish and chips in the pub, and then she went home and called Dan.

"Hello! Good to hear your voice again!"

She smiled. "Okay," she said. "Erm, would it be a problem if I came and picked up that cupboard one of these days? I have to deliver the painting of the pub to Geoff - if he likes it. If he doesn't I have a buyer, so it won't be too bad."

"Of course. Any time! What did you have in mind? If you come on Friday you can listen to the folk night; I will gladly have you under my roof again!"

"Mmm... Well, I would love that, actually. I've thought up a harmony vocal for your Prickly Bush, so I might sing that if I may."

"Really? That's wonderful! So - Friday sometime in the afternoon at my place?"

"Yes please. Does my satnav deliver me to your door?"

"They do. They have always done so until now."

"Good. Excellent, really! I'll be there. Everything alright with you?"

"Yes. Fine but a little dull at times. I'm trying to write some poetry. A nice way to spend your time. And you? Painting like mad?"

"Not just now. Not until Monday. I have finished my book commission and the oil painting for Geoff. I went walking this afternoon."

"Okay. Well, hope to see you this Friday!"

"Yes! See you!"

Alright. Part one done! She next called Geoff, hoping he would be there on Friday, too. She rather thought he would. He was in, and when he heard who was calling, and why, he became very enthusiastic.

"Oh, great!" he said. "I am looking forward to seeing it! It must be lovely to have a really good painting of the place!"

"Well, you may not like it at all, so you'd better have a good look first. Anyway, I will show you on Friday, okay?"

"Mmm, yes! Oh, by the way, we're having our folk night then."

"I know. Dan told me. We are planning to sing together."

"Oh great. I remember you sang last time. Nice! What time will you be here?"

"I don't know. I arranged to meet Dan at the barn in the afternoon. So early evening, I suppose."

"Good, good! I can't wait to set my eyes on what you've done! See you on Friday, then!"

Lizzie said goodbye and rang off. Friday. That meant two more days free to use as she pleased. She remembered that she'd seen an announcement for a record sale in a hall in town. That was on Thursday, she thought. She would have the time to go there for once. Perhaps she could find some nice music there. And tomorrow? She shook her head. No idea. She decided to watch the news at nine first. The news was uninspiring and not any different from what she'd expected. But the weather forecast for Wednesday was just simply too horrible. No walking, no painting - just a book maybe. She'd recently bought Hilary Mantel's Assassination of Margaret Thatcher. A collection of short stories was just what she needed on a rainy day.

She smiled. It was a nice prospect to go there and to see some people she'd recently met, like Roderick Burse, for example. But obviously Dan was the main attraction. She had a couple of questions about Zeb that she'd never got round to asking him, and she thought maybe Dan would know. He must know all kinds of things of Zeb's past before she met him. She decided to jot a few questions down tomorrow. Now, though, she felt like having a nice time, in bed with her book and a drink - which is what she had.

The next day was indeed horrible. There was a lot of rain, combined with a westerly gale, and the wind moaned around the house. Lizzie was a little worried about her roof, but the tiles were apparently fixed tightly enough, and nothing untoward happened. It definitely was a stay-at-home day, and she decided to put her feet up. Nothing to do but try and entertain herself. She first went to the music rack and collected a handful of CDs, and she made a large pot of coffee. Then she put the first CD into the player and settled in her chair with Mantel. She started to read, with a mug of coffee on her side table and the sound of Sandy Denny's Old Fashioned Waltz.

The weather outside kept making weird, eerie noises about the house, but Lizzie actually enjoyed her day indoors. She listened to a lot of music and by ten that evening she'd finished her book. She went to bed feeling refreshed. The weatherman had promised a wonderful day that Thursday, so going record hunting seemed a good idea indeed. Oh well. She yawned and went and brushed her teeth. Bedtime!

She had a lazy start on Thursday, and after coffee she drove to town. The hall was situated on the outskirts at the far end so she had to navigate her way right through, but she knew the narrow streets' tortuous ways, and it was no problem. It was fairly busy at the record fair. Most stands sold mainly eighties and nineties pop, but there were a few that catered to her taste, and she spent a couple of hours going through the records slowly. One possible find proved disappointing as there was a big scratch running straight across the grooves, but she eventually found nine records to buy, at very reasonable prices - most of them for a quid only.

When she was about to leave the hall she ran into Charles, who told her he was looking for classical stuff. He hoped there would be some on CD, as second hand classical vinyl was almost always a disappointment. People didn't look after their things properly, he said. Had she seen any? She had, and she walked back with him to the people who had what he wanted. Would he like her to wait for him so he could come back with her? He thanked her for the offer but he would be meeting a friend at the record fair in an hour, so she took her leave and went to the car. Now what, she thought. More shopping? She pulled a face. No. Lunch, though, seemed a good idea.

Early October was too cold to sit outside, but she found a nice place in the town centre, and she had lunch looking out across the square at the hustle and bustle of a market day. After lunch she went home. She spent part of the afternoon doing household chores, and when she was ready she put one of the new records on the record player. She knew the music well - a friend of hers had owned the record way back when she was a girl, and she happily hummed along.

Then it was time for some cooking and an early bed - it would be a long drive tomorrow.

XIV

Dan woke up at six. He usually got up early, and he sat up in bed, drowsily wondering what it was that was so important that day. He broke into a grin when he remembered Lizzie would be visiting. He had put the little cupboard in the living room; it had resided in his study these weeks. He was happy she'd wanted to buy it. This way she'd be a little less like a ship passing in the night. He had enjoyed having her stay at his place immensely. She was - he didn't know how to put it. Different from the other women he knew, that was for certain. And she had brought his friendship with Zeb back to him with a vengeance. Not that he'd ever forgotten about him, but he'd sunk into that twilight area of his memory that was only sporadically visited, and that, even then, stayed somewhat murky. Lizzie had put a flashlight on to it.

He thought about their Cambridge days, about the long talks and the disputes, about the music and punting on the Cam, and listening to King's College Choir and talking about it afterwards - he'd been too busy to try and sing in it then. He'd done some choir singing later, but the choir he'd been in had stopped when their best bass died of cancer. He still fondly thought back of their time together. They'd mainly sung Renaissance music, Flemish, Spanish, Italian, and occasionally some English music too. Their director had once had them sing Victoria's Tenebrae Responsories - it had been almost too difficult but they'd pulled it off, eventually.

He grinned at the memory. He wondered if Zeb and Lizzie had talked about such things. They must have, he thought, knowing Zeb like he did. He missed him, missed his voice and his humour. He'd found other voices to talk to alright, but Zeb had been special. He often wished he hadn't disappeared the way he had. He had been too engrossed in Lizzie, he supposed - and he in Flo, in those days. Lizzie was a real presence. He thought she was still engrossed in Zeb, for all that. But not so much as to be unapproachable; she was damn good company.

He got up and went through his morning routine. Then he went to the village shop for that night's dinner - if they were dining at his place. They could eat at the pub, too. He would just leave it to her, seeing that she had her picture to deliver. He wondered how good she was at making harmonies. Maybe they'd better practice first? But if Zeb had sung them with her she must be good. It would probably be alright.

Near the checkout there was a plastic bucket with flowers, and he bought a bunch to liven up the kitchen table. The garden flowers had all gone brown and the flower beds were mossy. Autumn always turned his garden into a bleak sort of place, he thought. Autumn leaves were beautiful on the tree, orange and yellow and flaming red, but once they'd fluttered down they turned grey, to end up black, eventually.

He sighed. Life sometimes felt damn lonely. Seemed a soul mate was hard to find. All the women he met were either difficult or uninterested in what he found important, or they lacked a sense of humour... He had had the occasional girlfriend alright, and he had enjoyed their rare physical contacts, but they never lasted long somehow. Oh well, he was probably too old now anyway.

The weather was great. It almost felt like September, mild and sunny. He enjoyed the short walk back. Once at home he put the flowers in a vase, cleared the victuals away and made himself a big mug of Lapsang Souchong tea. He enjoyed the tarry taste sometimes. It wasn't something to share though. Like Talisker, you either loved it or you hated it. Most people hated it, it seemed. He shrugged. He had found an old album of photographs that he wanted to show to Lizzie, and he leafed through it. They had had good times together, they had. Life had seemed promising and exciting, and they'd discussed all the things they would do in it, and how their lives would be... Not so, of course. Not that life was bad, but it had lost a little of the shine of those times. Maybe that was just getting older?

He put down the album and finished his tea. Then he went into the garden to rake up the leaves that had fallen from his pear tree, and to remove the moss from the flower beds. He wanted the place to look nice - as nice as possible in this season. The garden did look better because of it, and he grinned.

Strange, actually. He couldn't imagine going to these lengths if it had been Mary Greystone, his lady colleague in the English department, coming for a visit. Or any of those women, really. But then, they didn't have a painter's eyes.

Gardening took some time, as usual, and he found it was half past one when he'd finished. Time for lunch. He made himself a couple of sandwiches with arugula and French cheese, and a cup of coffee, and he sat down to them at the kitchen table. He loved sitting there. It was a restful room, large, practical and light. He remembered having breakfast with Lizzie in it. It had given some extra shine to the place. He reran the history of Zeb and himself in his mind, with the long period of not knowing and then Lizzie's appearance at Tom and Jeannie's. If you could only do things over again... He would have kept in contact with Zeb. Ah my, he thought, but we were young and foolish then.

He had just finished lunch when he heard car wheels on the gravel. He went to the front door to see Lizzie get out of the car. She immediately saw him and put up her hand. Dan grinned at her and went down the drive to meet her.

"Hello. How was the drive? A little quiet on the roads?

"Not too bad. It seemed to be getting busier slowly. Must be awful by four... I'm glad to be here. Do you like driving?"

She opened the boot and got out a small bag. "No big rucksack today," she said and smiled.

"Okay. I don't mind driving, provided I've got some nice music on me. But it isn't my hobby really. Do come on in!"

They entered the barn, and Dan took Lizzie's coat and put it on a hanger in the hall.

"What can I offer you?" he said. "Have you had lunch?"

"I had some sandwiches on the way," Lizzie said. "Some tea would be nice."

"Okay. Let's go to the kitchen then."

Dan put the kettle on and Lizzie sat down at the kitchen table.

"Nice flowers," she said. "It's a nice day, isn't it? The light is beautiful. Pity the days are getting so short."

Dan nodded. He stood at the sink and looked at her. She was a little younger than he, he thought, and she looked great. She looked very healthy and alive. He liked her hair - rather unruly, he thought, but it suited her perfectly. And she had a smile that seemed to set fire to the whole room. Uncommonly nice!

"Yes," he said. "But then, I can get a lot of reading done, and I like lighting the fire on a cold afternoon, and watching the world go dark with just the firelight in the room. Autumn does have its perks."

Lizzie nodded. "I wish I had a fire or a wood stove or something," she said. "But my house is not suited to one. I have to resort to a couple of candles for the same effect."

"Okay. Well, that's good too." He poured the boiling water into the pot. "Just a few minutes," he said. He collected two mugs and put them on the table. "Still no sugar?"