The Shriving of Miss Esme Stamp...
Episode 41… Journey (Part Two)
‘Well, this is about as far as we go with the car.’ announced Charles. ‘We’ll have to do the rest on foot.’
Esme groaned.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not much further. We can do it in about ten minutes.’ added Charles. He went to the car for their overnight bags and locked the doors. ‘I’ll pick up anything else we need in the morning. Stick close to me. There is a very narrow path a little ahead.’
She said nothing. Anger it seemed, was something of wasteful subject.
It was getting dark by the time they reached ‘the Porrit’s’ cottage. The frail light from an oil lamp spread dimly from a downstairs window and crept out in to easing night. It was a stone cottage of flaking white paint. Four small rooms. A small kitchen and an out back stone lavatory.
When the small front door opened spreading more feeble light on the two visitors, a tall, thick set man with an astonishing jet black beard stood with an outstretched arm and a beaming smile.
‘Charles…Charles!’ his voice was deep and rich, and yet not Welsh. As Esme had expected. He gripped Charles hand with almost over indulgence.
‘And this must be Esme.’ He smiled a row of strong Ivory teeth at her, then kissed her hand. I’ve heard so much about you my dear. You are a true beauty. I must paint her Charles. You must allow me that simple pleasure.’ he said with great passion.
‘Well, this is about as far as we go with the car.’ announced Charles. ‘We’ll have to do the rest on foot.’
Esme groaned.
‘Don’t worry, it’s not much further. We can do it in about ten minutes.’ added Charles. He went to the car for their overnight bags and locked the doors. ‘I’ll pick up anything else we need in the morning. Stick close to me. There is a very narrow path a little ahead.’
She said nothing. Anger it seemed, was something of wasteful subject.
It was getting dark by the time they reached ‘the Porrit’s’ cottage. The frail light from an oil lamp spread dimly from a downstairs window and crept out in to easing night. It was a stone cottage of flaking white paint. Four small rooms. A small kitchen and an out back stone lavatory.
When the small front door opened spreading more feeble light on the two visitors, a tall, thick set man with an astonishing jet black beard stood with an outstretched arm and a beaming smile.
‘Charles…Charles!’ his voice was deep and rich, and yet not Welsh. As Esme had expected. He gripped Charles hand with almost over indulgence.
‘And this must be Esme.’ He smiled a row of strong Ivory teeth at her, then kissed her hand. I’ve heard so much about you my dear. You are a true beauty. I must paint her Charles. You must allow me that simple pleasure.’ he said with great passion.
Comments
Post a Comment