The Boys in Blue Ch. 05

"Well, will I do," she asked.

Robert's mouth had gone dry "you look absolutely stunning," he murmured.

"You don't look too bad yourself," looking pointedly at the black dinner suit he was wearing.

Davis led the way into the library, where Sir Wilbur received them.

Robert introduced Terry formally as Miss Teresa Kerr; instead of shaking her proffered hand he kissed the back of it.

"I'm so very pleased to meet you my dear."

"Please call me Terry," delighted at his old world charm.

After pouring drinks for them, he began talking to Terry about music, and the operas he had attended, at Covent Garden, when his wife had been alive.

Eventually, Davis announced that dinner was ready, and they filed through into the large dining room. A room dominated by a table that could have seated twenty guests.

There were only three table settings at one end, after putting Terry on his right Sir Wilbur took his place at the head of the table.

Throughout the excellent dinner, Sir Wilbur monopolised Terry.

Robert was only drawn into the conversation when the talk turned to cricket.

Terry learned, that Sir Wilbur's grandfather had presented the cup, The Fitzwilliam Trophy, for the nine villages in the area, to compete for at the end of the First World War.

Sir Wilbur was the chairman of the village cricket selection team.

But has he explained ruefully, now days there wasn't the talent available for selection in the village. Most of the young men and women moved out to the larger towns and cities, in order to find work.

It transpired that Jack, was the Captin of the village team, as well has being the wicket keeper.

At the end of the night, when they were taking their leave, Sir Wilbur held Terry's hand and said, "It's not often these days, that I have the opportunity to talk to such a beautiful, intelligent woman, thank you my dear."

"And it's not often that I meet such a charming gentleman like you," and she kissed him on the cheek, bringing a smile of pleasure to his face.

Terry was silent all the way back to the cottage, back in the living room she said "he's such a dear old man, but I think that he's lonely."

Robert merely nodded "would you like a night cap?"

"Umm a Cognac would be nice."

She watched Robert pouring the drinks.

"You know back home in Scotland, that would be classed as heresy."

Robert looked down at the Jameson bottle in his hand.

"Oh, you mean Irish Whiskey," bringing her a brandy balloon to where she was sitting in his mother's chair.

Settling into his father's chair, he continued.

"There is a reason for it; you see it's in the distilling. American Whiskey is only distilled once. Scotch Whiskey is distilled twice, but Irish Whisky is distilled three times, and do you know why that is?"

She shook head listening to him intently.

"To be sure, To be sure, To be sure".

"You fool," she said throwing a cushion at him and bursting into laughter.

When she came down the next morning, Robert was lighting the fire, although the cottage had central heating, they still lit the fire, more for its atmospheric reasons than for its heat she reasoned.

He was dressed in his track suit ready to go for his jog, as she moved into the kitchen to switch on the kettle, she said, "I should check my e-mails, could I use your PC?"

"Oh course," standing up from the fire "whose your server?"

"BT Internet," she said over her shoulder.

"Same as ours," as he walked into the study.

He emerged a few minutes later, "all set up for you, just put in your address and

Password and it should connect. I'm off now, see you in a couple of hours." He murmured as he passed through the front door.

Terry knew he was stepping up his training periods, with the medical looming closer.

After dealing with the few, e-mail that had been in her in-box, Terry noticed the Media Player tab after, closing down the server.

Curiosity overcame her, and she tapped the tag.

She was surprised at the vast amount artists that were available; Mickey Barlow's taste she realised covered the entire musical spectrum, from classical to pop.

She selected the Playlist tab, which revealed another page with folders on it, each folder having a title ranging from Classical to Disco.

She selected Standards; the screen changed, and a list of over fifty song titles appeared, at the same time the sound of Peggy Lee singing, the folks who live on the hill, came from the living room.

She didn't hear him return; the deep rich voice of Nat King Cole was filling the room, she was sitting in his mother's chair her head back against it with her eyes closed an empty mug in her hands.

He looked down at her, remembering that's how his mother had always sat when listening to music.

She opened her eyes startled,

"Robert I didn't hear you come in, I...I hope you don't mind my playing the music."

"Of course I don't mind, in fact, it seems more like home hearing it."

She smiled "well I'll start breakfast while you have your shower."

It being Sunday she knew Aggie would be in Church it being her day off.

She and Robert had decided to have a quiet day at the cottage, and she would cook dinner later.

He had to admit she was a good cook, as he pushed his empty plate back.

He knew from what she had told him that she and Marge had helped their parents in running a small hotel on the banks of Loch Lochy. Either in the kitchen or serving the guests prior, to being selected for the Royal Academy in London.

She was sat opposite him at the table, "you don't go to church?" She asked.

"No...not now," he paused before adding "the last time I entered one, was at their funeral."

"I'd like to see the church, and where they are laid, that's if you don't mind I....I can go there on my own."

"I'll take you down; if we go about eleven it should be empty."

The church was small, like a hundred other small village churches, spread around the country, dominated by its ancient Norman tower.

Inside, a stone font was by the doors. A dozen old oak pews arranged either side of the aisle. Before the altar, was a more ornate pew, bearing the Fitzwilliam coat of arms.

On the walls were various plaques, celebrating the life and death of Sir Wilbur's ancestors.

Robert stood by the font; whilst Terry moved down the aisle, sliding into a pew, she knelt and prayed.

He watched her suddenly moved at her faith, her auburn hair highlighted by the light streaming in from the stain glass windows.

When she re-joined him she smiled, "Back home we go to church every Sunday, but I never seem to get the chance, in London."

Robert led the way through the well-kept graveyard, granite head stones, some so old the lettering had almost been erased by the ravages of time.

Near the top, in one corner, shaded by Yew trees, stood a plain white marble head stone.

Robert stopped before it.

Terry read the inscription then looked at him in puzzlement.

"I couldn't think of a suitable sentiment at the time...I still can't," a sad smile upon his face "it just seemed such a terrible waste."

All that the stone bore, was their names, date of birth and date of death.

They walked back to the cottage in silence, each engaged in their own thoughts.

Once back in the cottage Terry started to explore the kitchen to find what they would have to eat later that evening,

Robert said he was going to check his mail and e-mails, which he'd ignored since Terry's arrival, saying she could still use the PC, as he would be using the laptop.

She choose the Instrumental folder, then closed the study door quietly behind her.

An hour later she took a cup of coffee into him, "I hope you like pasta?" she began "you don't keep much in do you." Knowing that apart from breakfast he tended to eat out whilst at home.

"Oh,sorry Terry, I'd forgotten to stock up." He said with a smile of embarrassment.

"Yeah, just like a man," pleased to see he had shaken of the gloom of the morning.

"Well we are having macaroni cheese with bacon."

"Sounds good to me," he replied with a grin.

When he emerged from the study, Terry was by the Agar cooker stirring something in a source pan wearing Mrs Mac's pinafore.

"Will I be required to change for dinner?" He asked in an officious voice.

She gave him a dirty look, "No, but you can lay the table in the dining room."

"Will madam be taking wine? If so she had better select it herself."

"Idiot, already selected," she laughed.

They were drinking coffee listening to Debussy's Clair de Luna playing softly in the back ground, when Robert broke the silence.

"I wonder if Mum has anything of yours on the PC."

"No, she wouldn't have, they didn't release a CD until the year following the tragedy."

She had selected the folder Composers; the next record to play was Gershwin's someone to watch over me.

Robert smiled, "this was one of her favourite songs; she always claimed it was their song, hers and Dad's. But Dad always said it was The Carpenters, We've only just begun. I think he was right; she was always playing it."

"Which do you think?" Terry asked.

"Me, personally, I like the lyrics of the Carpenters, it sums up their life together."

They were in the kitchen the next morning with Mrs Mac; Robert was telling her what a fine cook Terry was, and what she had prepared, when Terry's mobile rang.

Terry moved into the living room to take the call, ten minutes later she returned to the kitchen her face solemn.

"I have to return to London tomorrow," she could see the look of disappointment on both their faces, "a window has opened with the recording studio and the orchestra is available. John my manager says it could be weeks before we get another opportunity." She shrugged apologetically.

"How long do you have to stay?" Robert asked.

"The studio is booked until the end of the week."

"So you could come back, after you've finished."

"Well, I suppose I could...but," looking at Aggie.

"No buts about it," said Aggie, "I don't intend to have to look at his miserable face until his leave ends."

"Then it's settled," Robert said,"I'll run you up to town tomorrow."

"No, I'd rather go up on the train," knowing the long drive could affect his leg.

Robert protested, but she was determined, and he had to reluctantly, concede.

*************

To be continued.