Castle (CH 8)

                                     ***Castle***  

🏰 On the journey she was awash with a strange excitement. Invited to his home for the first time, she was about to see the building that had been his been his most successful design before he stepped down from architecture. Neil was cooking for her tonight. He never needed an occasion to use his culinary skills, nor did he bother about how time-consuming and complex the menu. A typical night was gourmet-then-bed. 

   As they pulled up outside his apartment block, Saskia was astounded by the size of it.  It didn't quite grok with her that she was on the outskirts of London now, as no other such grand a building was neighbouring it for miles. It was three sided - triangular but with curved balconies at each edge point where the sides meet. With sparkling glass windows mirroring the sky, she had visions of poor birds flying straight into them!  

   Feeling somewhat ladylike as Neil opened the car door for her, she carefully swung those heels round and onto the ground without chipping the car.  Her view ran smoothly up the building as she stepped out. 'Wow!' she said, impressed at the sight; the view from the top floor must be breathtaking. 

   The ground around her was vast and open, with each side of the triangle having its own square of grass with benches, all surrounded by flowers no higher than a foot. A fountain built in at the point of each triangular peak and spat water fifteen feet into the air in a straight flow. Neat trees either side of the entrance curved and joined to form a dappled canopy overhead. The whole design gave the busy London skies quite spectacular aerial imagery - intricate looking and worked to planned perfection. 

   'And you did all this, Dad?' He simply smiled and gestured for her to follow him.

   Swiping his security card to pass through the first double doors of Balfour Complex, concierge (Martin, today) waited at the next set of glass doors a few feet away with a personal greeting; Neil's well familiar face required no ID, and he wasn't insulted by being asked anything of Saskia. In fact, he was rather amused at wondering what young Martin made of him walking in with a tidy piece of skirt. Not that he viewed his daughter in such terms, but he knew what young minds were like.  

   Her heeled boots clacked off the marble flooring as she followed him to the escalator, her steps resonating too loudly for her liking, striking up memories of high school where she'd be given a tongue-lashing for wearing high heels along the administration corridor if she were caught. She also didn't know if he was fooling her or not when he said he rarely used the lift, but she and her shoes were grateful to be not taking the stairs. It was while waiting on lift descending, that she noticed the sign on the wall to the left:        

        

                                           Residents are reminded to check

                                            both in AND out at reception

                                          when using the pool and/or the gym. 

                                                          Thank You

                                        ALCOHOL  NOT  PERMITTED

   'Told you,'  Neil smiled, nodding towards the words - her face a picture of wowed disbelief. 

   'That's nuts...' she whispered, 'a pool and a gym? I'd never make into work!'  

   All this had the feel of a high class hotel than a block of residential flats. But the splendour didn't end there; she hadn't reached his Heavenly abode yet.

       

Opening the door for her to slip in past him, she only took three steps before being rooted to the spot, the only thing moving being her head. Her eyes took in the wonderment of the open plan apartment. It looked somewhat strange but fascinating seeing four rooms in one stretch of the eye. To her right was his kitchen, not great in size but cleverly designed with space-saving units and just-for-one mod cons and gadgets on spanking, granite counters. Apart from a guest room and a separate bathroom, all other rooms were there before you, but without any walls.

   The biggest feature of the sitting area consisted of a large, grey mega-soft sofa with matching chairs positioned squarely in front of a long, chrome-framed fire place that sunk into the wall, the flicker of false flames dancing up from large oval pebbles behind cool-touch protective glass. A very low greyed pine table sat in the middle of the suite. In matching pine again, a bureau and a couple of sideboards sat against walls as you walked your way in, and any decorative ornaments and bowls were positioned dead centre and in perfect symmetry. Overhead lighting consisted of thin chrome bars bursting like fireworks. The whole decor ran itself radiantly in serene greys and whites with the occasional toss of black for good measure,  while the decor got gradiently darker until black dominated the open plan as it made its way to the windows.     

   It was the bed in the farthest-away part of the floor that fascinated her the most. A king-sized beast of a thing where ten little ones could easily roll over without falling out! It sat close to huge ceiling-to-floor sliding windows - a full wall's worth of a view of distant London while still under covers. Her mother would take a fit if she saw this - she'd never have wished any ex this well...

   'Can I get you a drink, Saskia?'      

   'Hmm?' she mumbled, releasing the breath she didn't realise she was holding. 'Ah...yes. Start with a coffee if that's okay?'

   'Sure. Any preference?'

   Not answering right away, she made her way towards those huge windows, slinging her bag and jacket onto and over an arm chair in passing.  'Ah ... whatever you're having.'

   'Okay, just... make yourself at home,' he was reluctant to say, before picking up the abandoned denim jacket (that looked  raggedly sorry for itself) with a hint of rebuke, and placing it neatly in the closet. He had this notion that tidiness may not be part of her daily regime.  'Home it is, then,' he whispered to himself. 

   By the time he had the coffee's out, she was by the windows, transfixed on the view. Neil smiled, feeling rather good at the way she'd been absorbing her surroundings. Creeping up on her, she jumped at his voice. 'Coffee.' 

   'Jeez, Dad, never heard you there, and I can't hear a single thing from outside, it's like you've pressed a mute button or something!' 

   'Here,' he handed her her drink, 'I'll sort that out right now.'  Sliding one of the doors open, he invited her on to the veranda, where a gentle bustle of outside then said hello. 'Drink these out here before I start cooking.'

 All balconies were a good fifteen foot up from the flat below's one, sweeping round in half oval which joined the three-sided building -like that of the curved end of snooker triangle (though more apparent from above.) Decked out in fancy navy, grey and blue shades, a two-man table and chair set sat at the best viewing point, while a cluster of pots with plants and coloured flowers sitting each side of the doors. Saskia had to feel the petals, convinced they must be fake as he didn't come across as one who would potter about with soil given his nail-checking obsession. But they were indeed real. A canopy and patio heaters took care of sudden weather changes.

   Standing at the railings together, sipping from teeny coffee cups, he felt relaxed at the way she was relaxing. But it helped to be in his company beyond the constraints of a stuffy suit. He looked a different man in mufti; jeans, cable sweater, and canvas shoes, gave him an altogether, softer, easy-going look.

   'God, the view's amazing,' Saskia said, 'I initially pictured you more at home in a converted house in Knightsbridge!'

   Giving a little smile, his memory raced back to his previous home with Magrette, and she was close to the mark on that guess. But he thought it pointless to comment on that; where he lived now was his new start after their split. 'It's nighttime that brings the magic with it. You get a clearer view of the landmarks once they're lit up - quite far off mind you but you can still make them out. Anyhow, I'll leave you to finish your coffee out here, best make a start to our tea.'

   'Tea?' she frowned, 'I was hoping for a glass of wine next... '                          

   He tucked in his top lip to stifle a giggle. 'Sorry ... some daft little habits never leave you. It's what it's called in Scotland - eating a meal around this time.'

   'Ah, I see... '

   During their car journey he made it quite clear that he manned the kitchen all by himself - that his cooking involved him alone - and not to feel offended. But being perfectly honest, she told him that cooking was her disaster point; she'd most likely do more harm than good anyhow. It was a simple dish really, (her request!) but her last attempt at quiche ended up as an omelette as she thought double cream was only used in puddings. No. She was happy with him going solo.

   Washing away the last of her meal with a mouthful of red Bordeaux, she clattered her cutlery down  in joyous gluttony having cleared the plate.

   'I'm not just saying this to big you up, Dad, but that really was delicious. How'd you get the pastry so buttery?'

   He shrugged. 'Practice, I guess.'

   'Right!' Saskia announced, standing immediately. 'I'm gonna have another glass of wine, then wash all those dishes ... least I can do.'

   'No need, the dishwasher will see to that. I'll grab that last bottle of wine from the fridge and we'll head to the sofa, let our food digest for a bit.'

   Now sitting with a stemmed glass of red in her hand, she made extra sure that the drink was hitting both her mouth and being placed back to the table steadily. Despite her head beginning to grow more woolly, she'd die if a splosh of uninvited red landed on the sofa.

   For a short time, while waiting for night to descend, they peppered each other with random questions - something like those meme's on websites - mostly about their likes and dislikes. More importantly, both seemed to be making the other laugh in equal measures, so they had good senses of humour on the plus side. On a lesser but still amusing side, she noted that his nail-checking habit followed him around indoors too, but didn't want to highlight the fact.  At their first meeting in the park, she thought it could be out of shyness, or awkwardness, but she reckoned now, having had quite a few public meet-ups, that the man had a recurrent compulsion. Her red wine train of thought concluded that it was better than picking his nose!

Darkness had settled itself by almost an hour without them even realising. Time flies without the decency of slowing down when you're unaware of its status, so when Saskia queried the time she was sad to mention she would have to be leaving shortly as it would take a taxi at least 50 minutes to have her home. But before the goodbye's, Neil invited her back onto the balcony for that promised night-lights captivation - and she was staggered into stone. What a sight. Had she been bowled over any harder she'd be over that balcony! Once more they took their afternoon coffee stance - now replaced with a nightcap bourbon - capturing the wondrous sounds and visions cutting the night.

   'Who needs Wonderland with all this in front of them?' she cooed. 'And all the stars out, too.'

   'Can you see the Eye?' 

   Her eyes scanned the mass of twinkles and window squares. 'Oh, yeah, I see it now.'  She pointed over to it then spun quickly around, her back to the barrier. 'Dad ... can I ask you a personal sort of question?' But before he got the chance to agree or not, she asked anyway. 'Why did you choose to live here? I mean, I know you designed it, but I thought you'd prefer something more secluded.'

   'Secluded?' he asked, not really following her. 'I'm pretty much on my own up here! '

   'Yes, I know, but I kind of pictured you either in a house with three floors and loads of squared windows, or one with a looong driveway, back and front garden— '

   '—and electronic gates, huuuge stone lions at the entrance, red telephone box outside,' he teased.

   She tutted at his joshing. 'Maybe not to that such a degree ... ' She knew him well enough now to know that wouldn't quite be him (as much as it appealed to her) '... but I thought you'd have preferred somewhere more central.'

   'Nah. The heart of London wasn't for me anymore after my divorce. I'm used to my own company now anyhow and it feels safer. Can get a bit noisier out on the balconies during summer though, but the soundproofing makes indoors peaceful enough.' 

   'Don't you think Magrette would come running back if she saw this view?' The tipsy-induced thought slipped out from her too quickly.

   'I don't think her husband would be too happy about that!'

   Saskia noticeably cringed and she flushed in earnest, not sure what to say.

   'Ah, sorry, Dad, me and my big—'

   Neil reached out and pulled her into a hug, laughing at the look of abashment at her blunder. 'That's okay, kiddo, (a nickname he'd started using for her on occasion) 'you weren't to know.'  He released her from his fatherly crush a few long moments later, her red face started to lose its luster.  'Anyhow, we best be getting you home. I'll give Marcus a call and he'll come pick you up.'

   'Who?' Saskia felt a bit concerned at first, not having heard the name before.

   'He'sa driver for our company - my one, usually.'

   'But it's half eight.'

   'He gets paid for the inconvenience, plus he lives just five minutes away. He'll see you home safely.'

   'Wow ... taken home by a chauffeur? What will the neighbours say!' she playfully quipped.

   'Don't fret, he'll have normal clothes on.' 

   'Okay then, Dad, cheers ... best nip to the loo first.' 

   Heading back to the balcony after her loo visit, she stopped quietly by the open doors, arms crossed and leaning on the door frame. She stared at him holding on to the balcony, arms outstretched. The spotlights in the decking threw up a hazy brightness, causing a misty aura to his outline in the cooling night air. Saskia smile. She could see for herself why he had satisfaction from the highest floor - he was lording it over everyone else, wasn't he?  King of the castle, jewel in the crown. Sensing her presence, he turned and followed her back inside to call his driver. 

  

Standing ready to leave, jacket on, Saskia thanked him for such a pleasant evening, stating that it was a shame the night ended so soon, but sleep beckons earlier bedtimes for working hours. His excitement and joy had fortified and heightened each time he saw her. Tonight had been more private, the first time away from the distraction of others. Fatherhood was kicking in at an enormous rate and he was yearning for more. 

   'Listen, Saskia, let me know if you think I'm overstepping the mark here, but ...' His nerve slipped a little and he bottled it, '... och, it doesn't matter.'

   'No, go on. What were you about to say?'

   'Well, there's actually a spare room tucked away here,' he nodded to the door in particular, 'and well, maybe sometime in the future you could use it? Obviously with certain arrangements to suit work and your mum and things. It would be nice to know you didn't have to rush off.'

   'Um ...' she was taking her time to considering this.

   'Sorry, sweetheart, of course it's too soon. I didn't mean to put pressure on you.'

   She smiled broadly, and grabbed him into an unexpected hold. 'Of course, I could. You are me old dad after all!' 

   Neil gripped her back to near crushing point, eyes closed, relieved he hadn't botched the evening with his impatience. 'I've loved having you here tonight.'

   Pulling herself free from him, she fixed him in an affectionate stare. 'We've twenty seven years of catching up to do, so I think I can manage one or two nights a week!' she assured him. 'Leave it with me.' He nodded, happy with that.

   'Right, then... do I have time to check out this room before I'm chauuuffeeered,' she said in a  deliberately lengthy tone,  'home, tonight?'

   'Yeah, sure.'  

   As he was leading her to her new sleeping quarters, she said in a faux, posh voice 'Ooooh! I do hope the neighbours will still be up.'

   She expected the room to be drab or in pastels as most are, but the hit of colour - mainly red - startled her. Tartan bed sets and curtains welcomed guests, while large, commissioned paintings by Steven Brown, mainly stags and highland cows in vibrant colours adorned the walls. On another wall was a hung a lonesome Scottish calendar that an old friend never forgets to post every Christmas.  The carpet was red and a set of pine double wardrobes with matching dresser, stood solidly in place. Bedside tables with lamps finished off the room. She loved this little splash of native eccentricity in his otherwise neat world.  To most, it probably conformed more towards the feel a of a cheap highland bedsit or But and Ben, but to her it shouted I still miss Scotland.   

   'As you can probably guess it doesn't get used much,  I think the cleaner's maybe had a kip in it before!'

   'You have a CLEANER?' She gawped wide-eyed at him.

   'Here as well, yes. Just on Thursdays, and ah, sometimes Mondays, look ... ' he brushed off the luxury that was tantamount to Saskia as good as having his arse wiped for him, and continued with his thought, 'we can change the decor, make it more to your liking.'

   'What? No!' she protested. 'The room's fine as it is, really. Besides, I'm half-Scottish now, am I not!'

   'Yes,' Neil smiled at the pleasant reminder and ran a finger down her soft, warm cheek, 'so you are!'

   A loud buzzer went off somewhere in the sitting room, indicating that her car was ready to see her home. He accompanied her and introduced her to Marcus, and soon waved her off.  It had been a successful enough evening, one of many aspired ones to come. Because of his millions, and with his standard of living and level of comfort around him, he hoped he hadn't come across as too much of a pretentious git. But if anything, she had truly helped strip away that businesslike, city-hungry veneer that cocoons him throughout the day.                                                 

Back indoors, he picked up her wine glass from the sitting room table, twisting it by the stem and examined all the fine and crooked lines the stain her lip gloss had left. It still felt surreal that he had a daughter. Tonight had meant the world to him.

   Usually the dish washer was loaded minutes after the meal, as a dirty pile bugged him. Tonight he hardly noticed it. Although starting to feel tired, he didn't quite like the thought of waking up to mess in the morning, yet he survived the tableware stewing in their own congealment these past few hours.

   'Pat yourself on the back, mate'. He said to himself. 

               end of ***Castle***

The Most Beautiful Thing In My Life (CH 7)

     **THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING IN MY LIFE**

 🌞 Frankton Park was relatively quiet for a Friday afternoon.  Although the vast coloured flower beds were singing summer, for May it was bright but particularly cold. Neil felt it wise to put on a long winter coat.  He didn't mind meeting outdoors at a coffee bar - whatever surroundings she felt were congenial.

   Enthusiasts brought a  mass of remote controlled sailing ships to the lake, each one a vessel of calm and this helped to hold his interest during the wait. His head kept flitting to every movement that caught his eye, and he still could hardly believe exactly who he was waiting on. Now ten minutes late, he was starting to consider a possible change of mind on her part. Punctuality was rather an obsession with him, and in his line of work he hated being the one kept waiting. But this was bigger than any contract or business deal. Nothing to sign here, just hope that all goes well. 

   Then she appeared, descending from the steps close by.  A picture of pure delight; dressed in a little black cropped woollen coat with a red tartan skirt peeking an inch or two from under it, thick black tights to fend of the unexpected chill of the day, and red ankle boots with funky little key rings hanging from a metal loops at the back, finished off her outfit. She permitted her recklessly-dyed blond hair to go wherever the weather took it. Neil waited until she reached the bottom step before rising from his seat at the coffee bar to greet her.  A huge smile spread across each face the second they saw each other.

   'Hi, Dad!, she said, moving round closer to wrap him a hug - that took care of the concern (handshake, kissed cheek, distanced hello?) as to how he should welcome her!

   'Hi. How are you?'

   'Good, thanks.' 

   'Get parked okay?'  

   'Just round the corner.'

   'Good, good,' he answered, feeling a little stumped; the dialogue and questions in his head as to how the conversation may flow seemed to have taken off with the ducks. After a brief silence and some looking around till their eyes met each others again, Neil started wriggling free from the table and chairs.  'I'll, ah, get us a coffee, then ... any preferences?'

   'No, not really,' she replied, 'I drink any that ends in a vowel!'

   This made Neil's grin wider. 'A safe cappuccino, then?'

   'Safe cappuccino,' she nodded.
   The skittish smile remained on his face as he ordered their drinks, all the while telling himself that she was a strikingly beautiful girl and seemed to have a remarkably sunny nature, but it was expected at some point that circumstance would prioritize conversing and he was unsure as to how where it may lead. Naturally, he knew they both would have questions for this coming together for the first time. He laid down her drink in front of her along with some sugar sachets and plastic stirrer, not really sure where to start. But Saskia's directness dealt with that. 

   'I really was delighted you wanted us to meet. What changed your mind?'
   He took a careful sip of his coffee, rubbing away any possible froth with his bottom lip, and leaned back further in the metal seat. 'Time to think really. Took a bit of courage to look through the album you gave me. As you can imagine, the news came as a bit of a shock ... but I'm glad you left that contact number in the back page - bit of a clever touch that was!'
   'As long as you didn't find it too cheeky?' 
   'No, not at all ... and as for that Jack Daniels bit?  Spot on! A good guess?' 
   'Had a feeling it might be, I honestly did, but I asked mum if  I was right.'
   'Ah,' he said,'  'I'm surprised she still remembered my preferred tipple!' 

   'Trust me - her memory was always as sharp as a tack. I could hardly get one over on her as a kid! Of course, she's slowed down a lot at the moment - sleeping a lot. '

   His smile dropped slowly and he briefly glanced away.  'I'm really sorry about your mum,' he felt obliged to say now she'd mentioned her, she was the catalyst for them being right here, right now.

   A brief gaze landed on her polystyrene cup, then straight into his eyes as she nodded her gratitude. 'Still not fully sunk in.  You get a few brief moments after waking and then it hits you again. It was so unexpected, out of the blue. Two weeks prior to finding out for sure we were still going swimming. Mum's pretty fit for her age, but I knew something was up. She did her best to hide it. It's  taken a lot out of her, but,' she gave a little drum roll with her forefingers on the table's edge in defiance, 'we're determined to soldier on, keep daily life as normal as possible.'

   'I admire that ... still, must be tough on you too?'

   'Oh, I don't mind the physical stuff. Mum's too knackered to function at times and that can be hard to witness - it's the uncertainty that's worse. Even with the nurses and hospital clinics being really supportive and positive, I know there's a chance she might not beat it. Fear drove her to tell me about you, she was so nervous. I've never seen her cry and shake so much, begging forgiveness, and I was still a right cow to her ... '

   'Saskia,' he interrupted her before she went any further, feeling bad for asking, but it was genuine concern. 'There's no need to go over this. Really. Your mum explained it all to me. I've been a bit of a prat in trying to ignore things, myself.'

   'Dad, you don't have to apologise or anything.'

   'Yes, I do, I handled our first encounter rather harshly. It was all so staggering, I mean - becoming a dad at fifty six?' He whistled and rolled his eyes, making her laugh. 
   'Make any man run a mile!' she concluded. Those dimpled cheeks when she smiled were fetching, making her fleetingly appear younger than her twenty-seven years. 'Want to finish these coffee's and take a little walk? I love this park.'

   'Aye, then you can let me know more about you.'
   'You too!' She threw the suggestion straight back, pointing a finger at him. 'Don't think you're getting off with that, either!'

   'Sure ... if you want to be completely bored out of your nut!'

   'I was thinking that myself!' she said, and it was no sooner out than she realised it may have sounded as if she agreed with him. Rapidly, she flushed a panicky shade of red that almost matched her neck scarf!  'Oh, God, Dad, I didn't mean you, I meant me doing that to you - the same ... the boring bit, ah, thing...'

   A bemused smile crossed Neil's face, delighting in her bit embarrassment. 'I know what you meant.  Guess we're both a bit clueless at the moment.'

   'Yeah, but it's not the best of starts with my newly-found father, is it..? She gave him a fluttering glance to accompany those rosy cheeks, and he found the unintentional blunder a touching benchmark to the start of a possible new phase in his life.  'C'mon, let's see if we can do a lap of the lake without me putting my foot in it... '

      
Their stroll was taken at a very slow pace, walking side by side with a respectful gap between them. By his judgement, they seemed to be clicking. Just a few minutes in and she had him hooked by her jocular banter. 
   She used this time also to overtly-but-surreptitiously look him over, scanning certain bits of him at a time, concluding that he was not an overly handsome man. When he smiled, skin crinkled around his softly-clouding, greenish-blue eyes, and two little sickle-shaped dimples bracketed his mouth when he smiled, but that was what redeemed the rest of his ageing features that were perhaps making an appearance too soon - a consequence of hard work, no doubt.  Face; long and thin, with the beginnings of dripping jowls and his nose long and slightly squint - though you had to stare to see it - with its slight bump only showing in profile.  What captivated Saskia most was his hair still being luxuriously thick, though largely grey, with bits of black sneaking an occasional peek through unpredictable waves. This seemed to be the only unruly feature about him. 

   As they walked, he could see she certainly did had a definitive resemblance to her mother at that age. Her big green eyes sitting over parallel-line cheekbones, and the dyed blonde hair perhaps took her looks up a scale, if she naturally shared the same hair tones as her mother. Like Beverly, yes, but nowhere near as fetching. 

  During their walk, he got a thrill every time she referred to him as Dad (something she did without okaying it with him first), hoping persons passing heard. Inside he was screaming look at me, I've a daughter!  He was receptively discerning, knocked for six at the speed of this importance. Maybe there was such a thing as instant fatherly devotion. And for Saskia, the biggest relief was her unexpected aptitude in grasping his rich Scottish accent (which he used in properly pronounced words and not some unintelligible Scottish slang) as she feared she may have to pardon herself repeatedly if not.

   'So, what is it you do?'

   'Gee, where do I start?' he said, knowing he would have to use layman's terms as he didn't want to sound as if he was a pretentious (and rich) git. 

   'Property mainly. Buying, building and selling, renting out apartments, houses, offices. We also import and export building materials abroad. I also own a small advertising agency on another floor where I work. It's my mate who runs it mostly, I'm just one of the directors.' What was that he just said about pretentious gits? 'All perfectly boring.' He decided to stop there. 

   'Ooooh - you're a Jock of all trades, then?'***

   'Och,' (now that sounded very Scottish) he gave her a good-natured, chiding expression at her dig at his birthplace and resisted reminding her that she was actually half Scottish herself now.!' 

   'Just joking, Dad... couldn't resist. Sounds not that bad at all, you've not heard what I do in my spare time - it's become quite a passion, actually!'

   He frowned, intrigued. 'Go on.'

   'I take night classes ...  in woodwork.'

   'Seriously?' He didn't look convinced, and it showed with such a bushy-brow frown.

   Saskia couldn't help but laugh, it was the reaction she was used to.  'I'm serious! I couldn't quite build a shed or anything, but I love carving wood. I'm a dab hand with a rotary burr set!'   

   'I must say, I never expected to hear that!' he said slowly. 'What made you interested in such a ... blokey thing?'

   Well,' she said, with a nod of the head.  'I chose it in my last year at high school for a couple of reasons. One was because I used to get teased because of my name.'

   'Your name?'

   'Yeah. The "kia" bit of my name got me labelled  Ikea - you know, the famous Swedish wood company,' she said, rolling her eyes, 'so I thought, sod it, I'd be as well living up to my nickname somehow just to piss them off, but mostly it was because I really fancied the teacher, Mr Bruce - as did most of my friends. It was supposed to be a giggle, but I got right into it after making an egg rack! Mr. Bruce, however, lost his appeal when rumours went round that he was shagging the head of the drama department.'
   'Ah, so there was a rival in with a higher chance, then?'

   'Not really ... Mr. Kendall was head of drama - but it made us feel good that we weren't in with a shout to start with!' This made Neil laugh out loud.  'Anyway, the local council opened up free night classes every Monday and Thursday at college, so I signed up for a term. I'll only be making menial things, mind you. I've already made a jewellery box, some kitchen utensils, and this God-awful mug tree that looks more like a weapon, but, hey ... I've advanced to "things for the hall" now. Not quite sure what to choose next, it's a toss up between an umbrella stand and a shoe rack!  I get a certificate at the end, but sadly,' she feigned a huge sigh, 'there's not the remotest possibility of a romance on offer.'

   'I'm surprised, you're such a pretty girl,' he risked a compliment, and she glanced away with what looked like the beginnings of another little flush.

   So, what about you?' she asked, to ward off any awkward reaction stirring up. 'What do you like doing? 
   'Well, surprise, surprise - I play golf.' 

   'Golf? Saskia scrunched up her face and replied in single syllable segments. 'I had a fee-ling you might say that!'

   'I know, I know, the dreary typical dad thing!  But I do find it relaxing ... and I cook for myself every night.'

   'Every night?'                                                  

  'Every night I'm able.'

   'You're keen! I get sick at the sight of cream cakes and sandwiches at the tearoom, and it's usually just microwaved whatever at home!' 

   'You or your mum not into cooking then?'

   'Not so much these days. I sometimes feel bad if I hear her vomiting after meals as I don't know if it's an aftereffect of treatment or if she shuffles it down hoping it stays there, not to worry me.'

   A short silence befell them, and he didn't quite know how to react to this which she picked up on right away. 'God, Dad, I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't bang on about Mum too much, don't want to make you feel awkward.'

   'No, it's me who should be apologising, it was an insensitive thing to ask, I just wasn't thinking...'

   'But, still... you shouldn't need to hear any gruesome bits.'

   He waved a hand in front of him, flicking away her words. 'Don't be daft, I don't mind. She's your mum.'

   'Yeah, I know, but she made me promise I'd give myself a break as well, focus on me for a while. That's why I'm glad to be here - even if it's only just this once.'

   A huge rush of pity and affection for her washed over him as she stood dewy-eyed, stemming tears and he wrapped his arm round her shoulder; a first time experience. He'd just been drawn into the scope of fatherly protection and didn't quite know it. They continued to walk in silence a short while, till he said, 'Shall we grab another coffee?'

   The sun appeared from behind the clouds at that precise moment, as if indicating that she was okay.       'Yeah, c'mon.' 

   He withdrew his arm as they headed back to the coffee bar, as he had this sudden fear she may find him overfamiliar too soon. 

Three young, preschool boys headed their way, all clutching dinosaur figures and imitating their loud growls, and nearly ran into them; their mother scolding the little rascals for not looking where they going.

   'So sorry,' she said in passing, 'boys and their toys, eh?'

   'Oh, I don't know, ' Saskia replied,  'I loved a good T-Rex myself when I was little!'

   'Really?' Neil said with a huge grin, forming those cheek-sickles again. He reckoned with someone so dainty it would have been rainbows and kittens all the way during her childhood. 'I was dinosaur mad myself as a boy, well until I started high school at least.' This daft insight, this past connection in common thrilled them. So, his little lost girl was into a similar liking as a child.

   'Me too! I remember mum shopping with me for tee shirts and suchlike in the boys department and pretending they were for my non-existant brother.  I had the full works, bedroom was covered with them: duvets, curtains, posters. nightlight - I sort of went from Cartoon Network to the Discovery channel overnight. Mum tried to discourage me, said I had too  sweet a face for a tomboy, but her boyfriend at the time was on my side. No way was I backing down - she had to get used to it.' 
   'Obsession is obsession, I suppose! Okay, then ... favourite?' he challenged her, raising his rather unruly brows.
   'That's easy! The Charonosaurus, they looked really graceful. I loved the crown on their heads, the way it swooped right back.'
   He was impressed. Those fellows were not very typically talked about in documentaries and books.  'Oh, yes, I remember those. So there was a hint of girliness still lingering back then?'

   Saskia playfully slapped his shoulder. 'Shh - you'll ruin my childhood street cred!' 

   They exchanged ludicrous grins, both feeling a bit giddy by their absurdity. It felt like a guilty pleasure they never wanted to expose yet having, at last, a valid chance to do so. It was fun, so they kept on.

   'Okay, then, Raptor,' she jokingly used instead of calling him Dad - since they were on the subject. 'What was your favourite?'

   'Ah, now,  I was fascinated by the Ankylosaurus.  Beauty of a beast that was, and fabulous in battle!'

   She went on to impress him even more. 'Weren't they kind of spiky, with a ... a ... ' she was gesticulating a tail coming from behind her while trying to recall them, and he found it highly amusing to imagine what it must look like to others, '... like a cannon ball on the end of its tail for whomping the enemy?'

   'That's the guy!'  

   To think one of his main worries for today was the inability to bond, and never in a million Triassic years reckoned dinosaur-talk would have a strong pulling bind. Any fear at not being able to think up cherry small talk was quelled five minutes after meeting. Words were no problem for her, she swam through them effortlessly, and he was lapping up every minute of their balmy ramblings.  

       

  
In the sky, the wind was bullying a few clouds around, while a bitterness snapped at their faces as they walked. The smell of his strong cologne, one that she couldn't place (as it was too expensive for her nose to have previously sniffed), helped to mask the smell of damp wood chips enclosing the seating area.

   Sitting back down at their previous table, replenished with welcoming hot coffees, (which she insisted she paid for - rich dad or not) time neared for her to go: it had zoomed by by way of success.

   'Dad, can I ask you something? I know it was a while ago, but I'm curious.' 
   'Ask away.'
   'Did you love Mum?'

   'Yes. I loved your mum very much at one time. We were pretty serious, it just wasn't meant to be.
   'Do you think you'd still be with her if she'd told you about me?' It was at this point that Saskia realised he had a habit of checking his nails a lot - particularly at more awkward moments.
   He gave a long, reflective look at the yachts over the lake again. 'I don't think your mum or I could answer that for sure now.'  Had that been the case, he'd never have met Magrette, who'd been the only  women he'd ever loved, and still carried a photograph of her on him. But, as work was the biggest issue before losing her, work would most probably have destroyed him and Beverly, too. He could understand however, Saskia's desire to have a sense of belonging. Especially now. 'I would have taken care of you, though, had I known.'

   She nodded and gave him a reassuring look, although she wondered if that would mainly have been a monetary matter. 'I know you missed out on a lot, Dad, I have too, and it's something we'll never recapture, and I guess we've only got the future that could help heal that sort of wound.'

   Neil couldn't answer right away, he was stunned by her words and took a deep, made-up-his-mind breath. 'Then let's see how things go from here. Would you like to do this again?'

   'Yes', she said, her smile broad and quick about it. 'Maybe go for a wine or something?' 
   'Sure. Any part of your weekend free?'
   'Got to work full days Saturday now ... could make it at night, though?' 
   'As long as it's not interfering with plans, or friends or ... anything?'
   'Dad,' she said, with wide eyes and high brows. 'I'm sure they'll survive a night without me. Mum's friend usually spends Saturday's with her to give me a bit of a break. It'll be fine.'
   'Okay then, we can confirm where and when nearer hand the time?'
   'I'd like that - let's go for it! You can maybe let me taste your cooking sometime too.'

   So with that inked a stamp of approval of the other.  

After walking her back to her car, she hugged him extra tightly, and he felt a 'thank you' within it, as well as a frisson of something totally new betiding in exchange. Happy with the sentience that she'd be smelling that fragrance again, (next time she'd ask him what it is) she kissed his cheek, then set off, flicking him a last wave at the exit, carrying the vision of his demilune dimples on her journey home. 

   He watched as her car took to the busy street, to be sucked away into the flow of traffic. Slowly his hand moved from wave position to touching the feel of her lips on his face, savoring the tingle. Who knew the girl would hold such pleasure. For now, though, she was still Jacqueline's prized secret.  At least he had one person to share his first moments of pride with. He might even go through the photo album with her. Then the discernment that they may never have got in touch at all if not for that album, suddenly scared him.

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

Peeking through a slither in the door, Saskia saw her mother laying on the sofa, PJ's on in front of the telly. 

   'How did it go?' Beverly called to her as she hung up her coat. 'You were gone a lot longer than expected, I was getting worried.'

   'Went well, actually.'

   'Does he want to see you again?'

   'Of course he does.'

   Beverly gave a slight giggle.  'How could he not, eh? Are you sure you're gonna be okay with it?'

   'Why wouldn't I be? Today went fine - stop panicking mum!'

   'Well, that's good. Can you put the kettle on, love, I'm parched ... that film will be on in a minute.'

   So that was it? That was all she was gonna ask? Saskia sighed at her lack of interest. She knew her mum had been to hell and back these past months, but she'd been there with her and she was doing her best to appease her. Life would continue to throw bad blows around relentlessly, while presenting nothing but pitfalls. Saskia knew a future relationship with Neil, a man she'd never heard of until recently, was a huge gamble. But it really wouldn't have taken her mum that much energy to muster up a bit of returned interest. 
 

*** end of THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING IN MY LIFE**

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Love Comes ( CH 6 )

                 **LOVE  COMES ** 

💞 Friday at last. This week had been a time-consuming-perpetual-meetings one and despite staff overtime there were still ends to tie up. As golf was expected to be wiling away his whole weekend, he needed everything - especially paperwork - out of the way.  Not wanting the latest contract to be decided without his stamp of approval, he had no choice but to burden himself with patience and takeaway food. By eight o'clock, he was already three drinks affiliated.

   Popping over to his vast book shelf, incessantly searching  for a certain one, he sighed in despair at a fair quantity of them being higgledy-piggledy and out of sequence. His rich Scottish accent always seemed to thicken when no ears were around to hear him curse, but he was in a native-lingo rant when the glass door swung open and almost caught his elbow.

   'Whoa!' 

   'Oh, I'm sorry, sir, didn't know you were still here!'  Valerie, his cleaner of ten years for both office and home was keen for the off, hoping he wouldn't ask her to hang around longer.  'Like me to do anything else before I get to you?'

   'No, it's fine Val, be as well calling it a night, I might be some time yet. Have a good weekend.'
   'You, too, sir.' The perpetually pleasant cleaner, skedaddled forty-five minutes earlier than usual, giving her the chance to make even more paper posies for the church fete tomorrow

   After locating the book, he topped up glass number four and sat back down again to finalise his desk work - that last full stop would make him feel gloriously free. Tapping the A4's  into neat structure, all it needed was a quick staple and he was outta there!  But the gun wasn't in its usual place, setting off  another annoyance. 'C'mon, c'mon... ' 
   Swiping drawers open and shut, faster and louder with each wrong guess, it had to be in the last damn lateral drawer to his left. With mighty quick movement, the drawer opened, sliding the stapler and the photo album Saskia handed to him those few weeks back to the front, stopping it dead.
   Neil, stared at it. It hadn't entirely been a case of, out of sight , out of mind, with the purple leathery thing, for it it caused a seed of disquiet to germinate inside him from the day he accepted it, but he never got quite to the point of wanting to take it home.  He grabbed the staple gun, used it, put it back in its particular place, and just as he was about to close the drawer, impulse decided to put its neb in.

   It felt weird in his hand, knowing what content lay inside. Jacqueline was the only other person who knew about it, and he trusted her implicitly to keep schtum. As much as she wanted to though, she never pushed for him to act upon it. The promise he made to the girl was that he would not throw it away. Let it gather dust (fat chance) if it must and even if it's never opened, she said she shall at least settle knowing that she tried. Wouldn't necessarily matter then if he had a look or not, she would never know anyway. 

   Under the rays of his desk lamp, now that evening had come calling, he flapped it open to the first plastic coated photo; one of her as a baby asleep in a cot and she'd put a paper tag in beside the snap letting him know that she was one year old. Despite knowing perfectly well what the album contained, that first glimpse still caught him unawares. As he flicked over each laminated sleeve, he saw that she'd arranged the photos in chronological order of age, and he gave a smile - knowing that's how he'd have organised it too. Something in common then?  She made the journey more interesting by adding in days of significance - Christmases, Easters, Halloweens, birthdays - and he found himself taking longer over each new photo revealed.  
   A succession of warmth, sadness, loss, pride and joy, streamed through him like coloured wiring all wrapped in one wax coating and switched on. The very last sleeve held a snap of her and her partner at her high school leaving prom. What an amazingly beautiful, young woman. The joy in her tuxedo-beau's face said it all.  Her looks certainly did come more from her mother's side, but in the close up's he noted an eye imbuement much similar to his own. All in all, he concluded from the snaps that Beverly had done a ruddy good job of raising her.  

   Flipping over to the very last page, Neil found no photo there, but an unexpected hand-written message from Saskia:

        'Well ... you made it to the last page!  By this point I'm guessing you're roughly on your third or fourth Jack Daniels?!  If not I hope you might still feel brave enough (or mad enough ) to give me a call.  I'll keep my fingers crossed and my hopes high. xxx.  Here's my number, just in case: 

   So - she seemed to have a good sense of humour, and she was uncannily right about the Jack Daniels.  That was either a really good guess or her mother had a good memory! The message kind of threw him by way of her making the extra effort.  All she asked for was a bit of contact - was that really so awful?  He just watched the growing up of his child in a matter of minutes, and asked himself if he was he happy to let any more years pass regardlessly by?  Logic told him that calling her may not be a good idea; she had been a snag in his head slowing down his mundane life by interfering with his thoughts, but would it really be that bad in her presence?  From the moment he unexpectedly met her, he carried a feeling of having nothing to offer her as a father (he wouldn't know where to start!) and he was certainly no substitute for her mum. If still married to Magrette, he knew she would encourage him to do the decent thing (under the circumstances) and at least call the girl. Ignoring her existence would not eradicate her from this world or from his head.

The nib of his pen was tapping off the desk in a rapid 'will I, won't I'  manner.  After one extra large slug of Jack Daniels he lifted up his phone, carefully punching out the numbers that may change the course of the rest of his life. 

   Ringing. One beep to two of his heart beats. A sudden disquietude swept over him, making him nervous enough to be digging his nails into the palm of the phone-free hand. Nothing yet. He would give it just a few more rings, then stop; he wasn't prepared for leaving a voicemail. Then he heard a bright hello. 

   'Uh, hi ... is this Saskia?'
   'Yup?'
   There was crowd noise in the background, so he hoped she'd hear okay. This call might potentially never take place again if not. 

   'It's ah ... Neil, here. Neil Balfour?' 

   'Oh!,' she sounded surprised. 'Wow!'
   'I've been thinking that I would like us to meet up some time ... can that be... '
   Before he got the chance to finish, a rather elated sounding Saskia cut him off.  'Really? Oh my God - that's ... brilliant!'
   The raucousness in the background was getting louder and before Neil got the chance to talk arrangements she rather loudly had to tell him: 'Oh, I'm really sorry, but that's the doors opening and we need to get to the front. Been here for hours! Can I get back to you on this number later ... tomorrow?'

   'Yes, yes, of course.'
   'This is rotten timing. I really am sorry, but I've gotta go...'
   'Um, okay. Bye then,' he said, but before he pressed end call, he caught her shouting to him:
   'I'm glad you called, Dad! Bye!' 
   He sat back in his chair, swiveled from side to side as far as his feet would allow. There. Two mad-rush minutes was all it took, and it felt sound and redeeming. Her call would most-likely come when he was on the green, but for now he at least had time to think about a meeting place. Pity he caught her while she was out with friends. To see some atrocious band, no doubt. Hark at himself.  Two minutes a father and he deemed himself ready-equipped to critique the young! 

   He grabbed the album and tucked it in his inside jacket pocket. It was going home with him this time. Whatever would become of tomorrow's call, she felt comfortable enough to already be calling him Dad. And with that in mind, instead of going straight home, he thought he'd pop in somewhere (albeit by himself ) to wet the baby's head. 

                          

Nothing Is Real But The Girl (CH 5)

   **NOTHING IS REAL BUT THE GIRL** 

👧 Taking the lift to the cafe in Blazes, Neil was awash with trepidation. How things were going to pan out he didn't know.  This time yesterday he was on a golf course, whacking any frustration or displeasure out on a little white ball and the promise of a good swallow afterwards. Now he was potentially going to have his life turned upside down in his dinner hour - food the last thing on his mind. 

   Stepping from the lift, he gazed around at those sitting at tables. The coffee bar looked pretty full, and he couldn't see her anywhere. He walked aimlessly around until a hand reached out and grabbed him at the wrist before he passed. A woman in a baggy, beige raincoat and a patterned blue headscarf looked up at him and gave a little smile.

   'Beverly?' he inquired, startled somewhat by her appearance.

   'Were you looking for the long auburn hair?' she said rather puckishly, knowing the bald head underneath tended to make people feel uncomfortable.

   'Something like that ... ' he smiled awkwardly back, sliding his legs under the table and sitting across from her. Both noted right away how much they had aged over the years.

   The stunned silence at seeing each other again after all this time lasted a short while, until the waitress come over to take their order, each only asking for hot beverages.

   'Cancer?' he asked, his business-like head pushed him straight to the point.

   She gave a curt nod. 'Breast.'

   He nodded back in ascertainment, but didn't pass on any sympathy - not knowing quite what to say.

   'I wasn't too sure if you'd turn up - must have been a shock to say the least.'

   'Well, it's not the usual type of mail I receive,' he added, with a brief smile. 

   'I didn't have any other means of contact with you, it was a bit desperate, I know. I am sorry.'  He gave a terse nod of understanding and let her continue: 'I didn't come to this decision lightly, Neil, but when you're diagnosed with a life-threatening condition, all sorts of things run riot in your head. Terrified me, still does.'

   Another brief silence gripped them, and he felt lost again. He would have to let Beverly broach the subject as best she could, her being the news bearer.

   'I was five months pregnant before I found out for sure, too late to make any other choices.  Everything happened so quickly, the timing couldn't have been worse. My parents went nuts - especially my father, as you can imagine.'  Thirty years may have passed, but some memories of their time together should still surely be carried with him? They certainly were for her. 

   'So, why couldn't you have told me? I know we had our differences, but ... '

   Dropping her head for a few seconds under this complexity, she knew it all had to come out, no matter how grueling the manner.   

   'We had not long since split up and I thought how bad I was physically feeling was down to that; nausea, achy, tired and stuff, and before I knew it, I was too far on to do anything about it.'  Her eyes rose to meet his. 'You do remember that previous pregnancy scare we had?' Neil indicated he could by giving a small quantity of nods and a bite to his bottom lip. 'You more or less said you would drag me to the abortion clinic if I was.'

   True, he was appalled at the possibility of a baby, but he also recalled her reaction as being similar.  They were still fairly young, speaking of a future fresh with certain plans that didn't include being hampered by such responsibility. 

   'That was near the start of our relationship, Beverly, we hardly had been going out together.'

   'Yes, I know, and we were scared shitless as to how our father's would react.'

   'It really wouldn't have been up to them.'

   'Well, it shouldn't have but, come on ... it was never easy with those two. You and I would have been better off as just friends.'

   'Maybe, but they would had to have accepted our decision in the end.'

   Beverly gave a slight shake of the head. 'After the way things ended between them I doubt there would have been any happy endings - especially with a baby in the mix.'

   'I believe my father may have come round in the end.'

   'Neil,' she sighed, 'I don't mean to sound spiteful or anything, but your father left my father a broken man after he pilfered his share of the business from him.' 

   Neil cast his eyes downwards - he thought pilfer far too small a word. This was something his father hid remarkably well from him, and it wasn't until much later on in life that he found out just how bad it really was. Although Neil had no direct involvement in this, the money had set both father and son up for life, while Beverly's father legally could do nothing about it. His father was a crafty financier, with craftier friends who helped bilk thousands from right under his partner's nose when his partner refused to take on an iffy proposition, but one which fortuitously paid off in the end. 

   'But what's that got to do with you being pregnant if the baby was mine?' he asked, his voice rising up a notch.

   The waitress arrived with their order, noting the sudden hush from them both. It was amazing the stories she regularly overheard, and sensed this must be a biggie! They courteously thanked her and took a quiet pause while sorting their drinks, and waiting until she was out of earshot.

  Beverly sniffed and scratched the back of her neck with a finger, and put down her cup before she continued, knowing this may not go down too well with him. She still hated his father's guts, still felt  his cunning, sly composure, his double-tongued smoothness. Words would have to be chosen carefully, it was important she didn't flounder.

   'Once my dad got over the initial shock he changed, became wildly protective of us - felt he had let us all down. Took him a while to accept my pregnancy but he was pleased in the end, it gave him and Mum something to focus on, something good to come from it all.' She raised a fist to her mouth and paused, as if reluctant to let the words out. He knew this must be fairly daunting, but listened intently as the story unfolded. 

   'We agreed to raise the baby ourselves, and Dad made me promise not to ever let you know.  He was raw, devastated, determined not to let your father - or you ... ' she gave a quick, nervous grin, '... take anything else from us. Didn't trust your father at all after that and with their split up so acrimonious, he was genuinely scared you'd have a hold over his granddaughter, too. Mum died just a few years later and we were safeguarded even more.'  Beverly drew her eyes from him and took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. There. She'd got through the worst bit.

   Neil sat, obfuscated, not quite sure where to go next, what to say. Should he be sad? Relieved?Angry? But an ill woman sat across from him, and wherever the conversation had to go, he had to keep that in mind. All he could pull out of the pot for a few moments was a nod of the head and a rather quiet okay.  

   'Is your father still around?' He felt he had to ask.

   Beverly closed her eyes and shook her head. 'Died just over a year ago. Yours?'

   'Both away.'  

   The pair of them seemed reluctant to elaborate on the causes, but Neil knew that grief from their fathers' deaths would have hit her far more intensely than his, she was always very much a daddy's girl. Her account of things, as unjust as it still might sound to some, started to make relative sense, if not totally understood.

   'Neil, my mum died of cancer fairly young - younger than I am now. That's what triggered my decision to contact you.'

   'How is your treatment going?'

   'Awful!' she grimaced, 'I'll probably go home and be violently sick in a few hours, but I have to put my faith in what's ahead. The backup is amazing - nurses and doctors, group support. I've always someone at the end of a phone. It's that bit easier knowing others going through the same.'  Beverly stared down into her tea cup, unblinking, and Neil was afraid she might cry. Tears were something he was not good company with. 'If I die, she'll have no-one, no family at all ... well, just my useless sister, but she buggered off to Spain years ago and hasn't showed face since - not even for her own father's funeral.'

   'That's not so good,' he said, not feeling concerned with the fact, but felt obliged to react.

   'She'll have no-one if I die, and Saskia's a good kid ... well, grown woman now, really.'

   'Saskia ... is that her name?'

   'Yes,' she smiled fondly, 'took us a while to decide, but it was fairly new and fresh back then. Dad didn't like it at first, often call her 'Sassy' to wind her up.'

   'Have you a photo of her?'

   Things were now going in the direction she had hoped, some interest building up. 'Yes, of course.' Beverly tapped through her phone and handed it to him. 'That was taken last week in the little cafe we run together.'

   He reached for it slowly, and she never blinked as she kept her eyes on him. The reaction he'd give to such a disclosing moment could go conversely, but a smile crossed his face almost immediately.

   'Pretty. Looks more like you, though.'  He stared for a few seconds longer and felt his tummy churn and a warmth rise in his chest, unsure if it was over the vision in the picture, or attestation hitting home that the girl must be real. He handed the phone back, where Beverly continued to admire her. 

   'Yes, she does quite, although a lot of people think she's more like Mum. She's kept your eye colour, mind you, that speckled green and not boring brown like mine. And that platinum blonde hair in the picture she's had for a while now, but she's had it all colours; pinks, blues, red!'  Beverly stared proudly at the picture a bit longer, before dropping the phone back in her bag.

   'So ... ' he had to ask,  'what has Saskia made of this all, I presume you've told her?'

   She raised her eyebrows. 'Went crazy, as was expected. Tried to tell her what I've just told you in the most sensitive way I could, but she was still gutted and I can't blame her. Of course, she felt cheated, lied to, angry that she hadn't the chance to know you. Hardly left her room for two days - not even for work.'

   'And how did you explain my absence? She must have asked about me at one time?'

   'She did as she got older. I told her we had been dating just for a few weeks and you left for work abroad ... we lost contact. To be honest, she accepted it more easily than I dreaded, but there were other single-parent friends of hers at school, so it helped knowing she wasn't the only one.'

   'Did you ever tell her my name?'  The questions from Neil were flowing fairly easily, despite not having had time enough to prepare himself for this. But if this was the only chance he had, he would need to pepper her with as many as possible.  

   'Not your real one. Dad decided against it, too scared she might hunt you down in later life.'

   'And the birth certificate? What went on that?'

   Beverly cringed. 'God, that wasn't pleasant. I had to say that I didn't know who her father was, so a section is left open for any future declaration of parenthood on the father's side.  Basically, you were classed a one-night-stand circumstance.  I can still hear the loud sigh of disdain from the registrar yet, as if saying, yet another one! '

  'Yes, I can imagine,' he said. Of which he really couldn't, but he was more gearing himself up for his next question. So far she hadn't mentioned any partner or other siblings, but he still would like to know.  'Is there a father figure in her life at all now? I don't mean to pry, I just ...'

   Beverly sat up a bit straighter, waving any uncomfortable intent away with her hand. 'Not at all, it's okay to ask, but no. The closest we got to that was when I was engaged for seven years, but we split up when she was fourteen. Terry was a great step-father, they got on really well, she was fond of him. Marriage didn't come about though, we always seemed to be putting it off until next year. He was always just Terry to her, I never pressed her to call him Dad or anything. Despite how things stood, I always knew something like that wouldn't be right.'

   For a reason he himself was unsure of, he felt a mild sense of relief knowing this. 

   'And if you don't mind me asking, Neil ... has Saskia any half-brother or sisters?'

   'No,' he smiled, feeling she may have already guessed that, 'but ironically I was married for seven years, but that was as far as it went. No children.'

   'Really?' Beverly took the liberty of drawing them into a bond of coincidental humour;  'What's that they say about the seven year itch ... ?' 

   Neil let himself wonder how things may have turned out had he helped raise his child, but he knew that even if he had done the decent thing, there would have been no marriage for them. 'I did have a couple of step-sons during that period. One still works in my company building, although we don't seem to meet much, and the other returned to Italy to be with his Dad. Sadly, we've lost touch now too.'

   'Ah ... distance and time. Something I never really gave any relevance to till now.'  Beverly said wistfully, while Neil realised he'd just given her more information than necessary. So there was, at the very least, a sort of equal respect unfolding.

   Neil's phone went off and he had to excuse himself to take the call.  After fifteen minutes, he hadn't returned, so Beverly ordered another tea. Thinking that this might have been a chance for him to split, she was relieved to see him return from around the corner. It looked like he was going to see this one through.          

   'Sorry about that, I really should have switched it off.'

   'That's okay,' she said, bemused a little. 'Still a busy man, I see! If you need to leave, I'll ... '

   'No, no, they'll manage till I'm back.'

   'Well, I shan't keep you much longer, anyhow, I usually need to rest after the chemo.'

   It was undeniably unpleasant to hear her say that, and he respected how arduous going through cancer must be, so he decided it may be a good idea to wrap things up anyhow.  'Have you any thoughts on where things go from here? Any expectations?' he asked.

   'You showed up, Neil, I have to credit you for that at least.' 

   'So ... ?' he pressed her. 

   'Look,' Beverly sighed, spreading her fingers and flattening her palms out on the table in readiness for her declaration. She'd been waiting for this bit with prior thought, wanting to give him a realistic perspective. 'I think she would like to meet you some day, I guess it's only natural to want know where you came from. But she understands, too, that might not happen - even with you having turned up today. Saskia's rarely on the negative side, but I think now she's prepared even for that. And just in case ... ' She hauled her bag onto her knee from beside her and brought out from it a small photo album, sliding it across the table to him.

   On the cover it read;  For Dad.

   Neil simply stared at the leather covered memento, as Beverly explained:

   'She's filled it with photos of her from a baby upwards, to more or less the present day. Bit of a warning though, there might be a few with me in it too. More than anything, she wants you to have it -  just to know that you know of her.  She's aware that this might be as far as things go, but I promised I'd offer it to you, and I at least owe her that.'

   Neil didn't lift it.  A whole part of his life he'd had no control over, no choice in, was contained in these pages and that scared him. He was struggling to process the enormity of it all, and he felt lifting it might be seen as his form of acceptance. There was admiration there with her laying bare her soul as such an illness tore her apart, but it didn't alter the fact that this girl would have most likely never have known of him on any account.  Even with the revelation out in the open, it made little difference to the here and now.  

   'Beverly,' he said, deciding to be brutally honest, 'Don't you think it's a bit too late now?  We don't know a single thing about each other.' 

   'Oh, I've said this to her, and myself time and again. I'm in the wrong, and that's unfair to you both. It's just a pity that it's taken something like this to bring out the past. You know now at least.'

   It pained him to see the ravaged woman sitting across from him - the Beverly from his youth - looking pale, bald and emotionally torn, and he struggled to find any comforting words or solution to her situation. All he felt he could do was wish her well and leave her believing that he would at least think things over. But he had no time to do so, for there and then, his decision was final.

   From over Beverly's shoulder,  Saskia, who had been waiting in the basement car park, appeared from the lift just up from them, and quickly scanned the faces for her mum. She made eye contact with Neil and the second he realised who was heading towards them, he wriggled free from the table, taking no second look at his daughter. 

   'I'm sorry, Beverly, I can't do this ...'

   It took her a moment to work out his hasty reaction. She twisted round, watching him go. 'Can't you just say hello, Neil!' she called after him, but he quickly entered the lift.  'You bloody, idiot!' she near-shouted at Saskia. 'I told you to stay in the car!'

   'I was getting worried about you!'

   Snatching the photo album he'd left behind - purposefully or not -  Saskia headed for the stairs. With any luck she could catch him in the underground car-park, if indeed, he was parked there. No guarantees, though, she couldn't recall seeing him while she had been there.

   The young, messy, browned haired waitress felt rather smug at predicting possible chaos, nudged her and said to her friend. 'Biggie ... told ya!'

He was aware of running footsteps behind him as he neared his car, and just as he reached down to open the door, she called from a few yards away.

   'She sprung all this on me too, you know!' Her words rooted him to the spot as she, quite out of puff, paced more towards him, 'but believe me ... she's been punished enough. Please don't blame her.'

   Neil drew his hand back, straightening himself up and looked in more detail at this young girl.  A quirky little thing, wearing a short jacket, bovver boots and a skirt hardly covering her grace. Her black beret was struggling to hold up a huge sunflower at the front.  Her heart-shaped face was blessed with neater features than his own, cheeks taking on a mild blush after panning down those eight flights of stairs. From the short distance away she was smelling sweet and delectable. Despite the apparent blood-tie to him, she still had the aura of a stranger, no different from any girl who passed him in the street, or served him in a shop. For the first time in his life, he felt lost and incapable with her standing there in the flesh. But he had to reach inside and handle things with honesty.

   'I can respect what your mum's going through, I really can, but I don't think we would work. You look and sound a really nice girl too, but I'm sorry.'

   Saskia hung her nodding head, and he hoped that her mother really had prepared her for this. 

   'Okay.' She smiled up at him. 'That's okay. I can imagine how you must be feeling, it did my head in for days!'

   'I hope you don't feel too disappointed. I truly am sorry.'

   She whipped her head back up to smile at him. 'Hey ho - that's a bit of a pity. When mum told me about you, I thought I'd found someone who may actually approve of my music, and my hair, and my driving. I don't cause much bother these days, either - well past shitty-nappy stage and  the teenage tantrums, oh, and I calculated you owe me around twelve years back pocket money ...'

   He couldn't help but react to her humour and gave her back a grin, while she gave an antsy sway, surmising that the humour was a cover, a way of her withstanding rejection. 

   'Can you please just do me one favour?' She handed out the little album book that he left behind as he fled. 'Take it with you?'

   That he did, saying nothing in return. In the few second's silence she stuffed her hands in her pockets and started to take steps backwards, signalling retreat. It was sad, but Neil felt relieved when she turned completely to go. After a few steps she swung round one final time; 

   'You don't even need to look through it, I'm happy with the thought that one day you might. Bye then.'  The gutsiness in the girl had to be admired as despite her cheery exterior, he intuitively could tell that she must be hurting.  'Oh, and if I ever forget what you looked like - I'll Google you!'

   A last nod, and he was finally in his car, angry at himself for not leaving things for another week as was Jacqueline's advice. What difference would an extra seven days have really made in the twenty seven years he'd never known her?  It might have given him a chance to prepare and ascertain better handling of it, or completely decide against it, instead of now feeling like shit. But it wasn't exactly a contractual matter, (where he was an expert) it was to do with morals of flesh, blood and emotion.  Even so, he was pretty sure the outcome would have been the same.

'Well?' Jacqueline asked, as soon as he closed the greenhouse door on his return. A simple small shake of the head said it all, and she sighed, wishing now she had made that weekend call to him.

  

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

Five O'Clock World (CH 4)

           **FIVE O'CLOCK WORLD** 

⏰No one could face London traffic without being extra guarded.  It was the scourge of any beautiful day, driving from the clean air of the outskirts and into the manic and pollution of the city.           Every morning Neil drove himself to work at Balfour Enterprises. His day, as always, finished at 5pm on the dot, and didn't really care if anyone else's did.  Complete your quota and you were outta there with him - tough if you weren't. Perks of being the boss.

   His usual morning hit of caffeine came in the shape of a drive-through large cappuccino to help tackling the traffic. Had he ever paid any attention to his car-rantings, he would have driven his own self round the bend. And now a quick right turn had just helped to spill coffee from his polystyrene cup onto the passenger seat. Had it hit his suit, he'd have gone turnaround and straight home to change. Image carried utmost importance for him and his staff, presenting a whole, not-a-hair-out-place affair - if you excluded his own, unruly waves - of which singularly, he could.  But dried in map-like stains on silky suits, simply wouldn't do. Entering the car park, Mark, his chauffeur and attendant, wished him a good morning and opened his door for him. 

   'I'm afraid there's some spillage, a dodgy coffee lid. Could you see to it for me?'

   'No problem, sir.'

   Neil swung open the doors to the building, giving his usual 'here-we-go-again', sigh. Even being as fit as he was at 57 years old, he always took the elevator. Although he rented out many of the floors in this building, he was happy to be nearer the top. A twenty-three floors ascent is still one heck of a climb, and he wouldn't risk a sweat-on. 

   The floor from which he ran his businesses, that dealt mostly with property and overseas building sites, (now his architectural days were behind him) had his own office incorporated within it. A room within a room, if you like, big enough to just host him and a secretary.  It was dubbed 'the greenhouse' (which he found quite amusing) as it consisted of four sides of eight feet high windows, with a light polycarbonate roof.  Each and every window, on each and every side, hung top to bottom venetian blinds.  That gave him the scope to shut his employees out, or keep one very keen eye on them. With one turn of the head, he had the peripheral view of the whole office and workers, although most staff desks were adjacent to his. 

   On entering the pristine room, he gave his usual morning greeting to all as he weaved his usual route to get to his space. One sit down and quick check around from his uncluttered and orderly desk (the exact way he expected all desks to be) he was appeased to see heads down going at it.  There was at least two inches of paperwork per person, materially enough to his satisfaction. Yesterday had been a bank holiday, so there was a lot of catch-up in play!  He had a stolid approach to the efforts of his staff, and generally viewed him comparatively to fireworks - still safe in it box if all was well, or a sudden explosion if you sparked his wrath!

   This morning was rather warm for the time of year and the heating system was still on, so within ten minutes his jacket was off and hung up. Jacqueline, his private secretary of ten years, who typified the whole secretary look, (cardigan, glasses and hair up in either a no-nonsense bun or ponytail) knocked twice and came into the greenhouse to start her day too.  Usually she gave him a percolator coffee and an hour before approaching him with anything, but she knew this couldn't wait. Slowly, she crept over to stand at his desk. Trying to mask his annoyance, he spoke as pleasantly as he could.

   'Jacqueline ... what can I do for you?' Said without looking up.

   She licked her lips. 'It's regarding Friday's mail?'

   'Something need signed?'

   'No, it's just ...well, a letter arrived for you and I think you need to take a look at it.'

   'Can you or Robert not take care of it?' he asked, his focus still downcast.

   'Not really.'

   'I'm trying to get the Carter contract away in time, so I don't need this right now, we've a day to catch up with.'  A hint of irascibility started to pinprick its way through, with a hefty sigh on standby.

   'I appreciate that, Sir, but it's rather personal ... from a Beverly?' 

   His pen stopped dead and his head jerked straight up. Beverly was an old flame, or rather a former partner who had long fizzled out. She was more or less his first serious girlfriend, but he hadn't heard of, or thought about her for nigh on thirty years. There was no other Beverly he knew, so in all likelihood it was her. How strange.

   'What did it say?'

   'Please sir - read it.'  The reluctance of committing herself to read aloud sparked certain caution in him, as she held the letter out.  He took it from her and she turned to leave the room.

   'No, Jacqueline ... stay, please.'  The nature of how she was handling this told him that she must be aware of some pivotal point or other. No wonder she'd been acting strained.

       

       Dear Neil,

                        I'm not sure if this message will actually get to you, but if it does, I hope it finds you well. I am not doing so good and it's because of this I need to let you know.  This letter was not easy to write and  I wasn't going to send it at all. I do hope I've made the right decision. 

      Neil, you have a daughter.  I gave birth to her months after we split up, and she's almost 27 now. I know this will be a shock, and I apologise for that. All I ask is for a chance to explain. 

      I shall be in London this Tuesday attending a hospital appointment and this could give us the opportunity to meet. I'll be heading to Blazes department store afterwards, which I believe is not too far from your offices. From 1pm, I'll be waiting in the coffee bar section of their restaurant.  If you can't make it or don't get this letter in time, I shall be back for treatment the next again Tuesday (9th). Same arrangement.  If you don't show up for either one, I will wholeheartedly understand.  

                                              Beverly (Reymarr) 

   His secretary never took her eyes off him as he read. Slumping back in his seat, exasperated, and still holding the paper bolt-from-the-blue, she couldn't begin to imagine how such news must feel.  After a short silence, he sat forward, not quite taking all of this in.

   'Did you read it all?' he asked.
   'Yes,' she admitted, 'it was kinda hard not to once I read ... you know.'

   He smiled at her honesty. 'Fair enough. What do you make of it?'
She raised a hand to sit on her chest, and glanced awkwardly around her before holding his gaze again.  It was as if neither wanted to voice their conclusion, despite both surmising the same. She drew in a brave breath. 'Sounds like she's ill with something serious.'

   He nodded and had a stare at his paperweight.  'Anyone else know of this?'
   'Absolutely not. I was the one who opened it. The envelope wasn't marked 'private' or anything, but I thought it odd with the hand-written address, so separated it right away.'

   'That's good'.  Loyalty from her knew no bounds, and he knew he would be lost without her and often told her so.
   Looking at the envelope in more detail, he noticed the postmark from where it was sent was not too far away, and she still seemed to be using her maiden name. Why she added it in brackets kind of puzzled him. Even with the vast passing of time, it was something he'd hardly forget given that both their father's ran a small business together way back. That was how they met.  The handwriting didn't spark familiarity in the least, and there were no lasting embers of romance that some carry with first loves.
   'This can't go any further, Jacqueline.'
   'Of course not, that goes without saying. So ... what are you going to do?'  The big question!  Jacqueline knew only too well that Neil Balfour was a man that very much needed to get things out of the way (usually by 5pm if at all possible). But this predicament couldn't be listed for quick erasure off the to-do list. While knowing the golden rule of never disturbing him at home for anything work-related, (lest the bloody building be on fire) she was now questioning herself if perhaps she should have called him at home over the weekend. But a call over something so startling, she felt, was better disclosed personally.
   Neil rubbed a hand over his chin, his working mind now well and truly addled.  'Not sure, Jacqueline, but at least I've got till tomorrow to mull it over.'
   'It's Tuesday today, sir.' She raised her eyebrows. 'Bank holiday yesterday?'
   The news had thrown him off guard from usually being on the ball. 

   'So it is,' he gave a part-embarrassed smile and tapped nervous fingers on the desk, leaned back and shaking his head at the ceiling, morally stumped. 

   'Why not give yourself till next week, a bit more thinking time?'        

   'Christ, I don't know ... ' he composed his sitting stature. '... you come to work of a morning and you're a father by elevenses!'
            

                                   end of  Five  O'Clock  World...