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letmewanderinyourgarden2022 · 1 year

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NEW CHAPTER! A LITTLE EARLY. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I dozed peacefully on a mossy riverbank lulled by the murmur of the lapping water. Lying perpendicular to my companion, my head was lovingly cradled in the midriff of the other, a long finger gently circling across my forehead. My eyes lazily followed the pillowy clouds floating above, in between fleeting winks of sleep.

Contented. . .only to be startled awake by a loud, shrill, staccato tone. Blindsided by the sound, my eyes sprang open. I was confused and disturbed by a crimson world pulsating around me. The companion – gone. As if pulled by an unseen tether, I arose. My fingers plugged my ears to lessen the painful blare. I stumbled forward into the stand of trees lining the bank, drawn to a red light flashing in sympathy with the intense sound. When I reached a clearing, all turned to black.

I violently shook my head trying to banish the insistent beep ringing in my ears.

Shit! The alarm.

Yawning, my hand searched the bed covers for the phone to end the obnoxious sound. I groaned finding I was still dressed from the prior evening. My fists twisted against closed eyelids to dispel the muzziness in my head.

Ugh. . .jet lag. . .Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What time is it?

I sprang from the bed and beelined to the kitchen focusing on the cell screen.

Okay. . .Seven. . .I can do this. . .

I hastily slapped a filter into the basket, dumped in the coffee and turned on the machine. Leaning low to the counter stretching my back, forehead on folded arms, I waited for the machine to stop gurgling, trying to wake up. A competing sound – insistent and close by - drew my attention. Turning my face to peer at the living room’s glass doors, a deluge curtaining the patio made itself known, raindrops bouncing high off the bricked deck. A grimace in resignation at the unexpected glitch spread across my face.

Of course. . .

Standing by the patio doors sipping the much-needed coffee, I rethought my attire for the meeting in light of the uncooperative weather. The reflection of my unruly tresses ghosted in the rain-greyed glass. I mulled over options for taming them into something more professional looking than the spawn of Medusa.

My hair and rain just do not mix. . .

I sighed and wandered back to the bedroom closet, coffee in hand, sliding each hanger along the polished wooden rod selecting pieces to fit my mood.

Almost everything I brought is black. . . how appropriate. . .Black it is, then. Professional. . .yes. . .but perhaps just a bit off center.

Selecting straight-legged pants and a soft, silky tunic from the hangers, I threw them on the bed. Still not satisfied, I spied one of my more durable vintage pieces – a velvet cape-like jacket with a burgundy and gold paisley running through it – and gently placed it with my other choices. The 40’s spectator pumps completed the outfit. I rummaged through my accessories to locate the final pieces – two large, carved rosewood hair combs and dangling garnet earrings.

This will do nicely. All black with a splash of red and a bit of gold.

After finishing my ablutions, I quickly slipped on the outfit, before tackling the hair situation. I gathered the long spirals into a thick ponytail and fashioned a twist, secured with the two combs; two strands liberated at each temple.

Too poufy. . .but it will have to do. Ha, ha! Gibson Girl to go with the jacket. . .If I had more time. . .fuck!

I thought that glamming up a bit might distract from failed hairstyle. Make-up was not something that I ever cared about, even though I did own some basics. I chose to follow my usual path of foregoing any addition, other than a swipe of lip gloss. A bit of scent was called for, though, and I dabbed drops of musky patchouli oil on my wrists and behind my ears.

I think that’s the best I can do, considering. . .

Slipping on the jacket, I checked my phone. It was 8:15. I topped off the coffee and sat nervously on the edge of the couch – waiting. Promptly at 8:30, three metallic taps clacked on the front door. Through the peephole, I observed a pleasant looking middle-aged man slightly rocking back and forth under a large golf umbrella.

I unfastened the chain and opened the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Mott,” he nodded through the streams of water dripping from the tips of the canopy. “I’m Mr. Page’s driver, James. Do you need a few minutes?”

“Hi. . .Yes, just a minute or two.”

He stepped back slightly from the door.

“No – please come in, come in.” I waved him inside. “This weather - ugh. I’ll be quick.”

He moved to just inside the door, leaving the open umbrella resting on its handle on the doorstep. “Typical for this time of year, I’m afraid. Don’t rush, we have time.”

I started to collect my laptop, papers and keys but stopped to turn back to him, puzzled.

“Wait – how does that work? You’re James, right? And he’s James. Ever become a tad confusing?”

“Not anymore,” he said with a toothy smile. “I’m James; he’s Jim or Jimmy, mostly. I’ve been with him for a very long time so it's worked out just fine, but we do have a few laughs about it now and then.”

“Huh. Okay. Ready.” I followed James out the door, under the shield of the huge umbrella, hastening up the stairs to the waiting car. Sheltering me from the downpour, he opened the door and I slid across the back seat. He quickly threw in the umbrella and dove into the driver’s seat to avoid being drenched.

“Not the best welcome for your first full day in London,” he commiserated, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Just tap on the glass if you need anything.” The partition closed between us.

James took a route that passed some of the iconic sights of the city. I leaned my head against the window, taking in the London scenery through the raindrops. Hyde Park’s greenery loomed to my left and as we skirted between the boroughs of Mayfair and Soho, Marylebone and Fitzrovia, I wondered what the day would bring. The grandeur of Regency Park and its wrought-iron gates appeared through the rainy mist.

I dug out my Blackberry to confirm that it all was, indeed, real. There it was – the photo – Jimmy hovering at Perry’s shoulder with a sweet, goofy grin and mischievous eyes, silver-white hair loose and flowing. The date and time stamp revealed it was snapped just hours after I ended my January call with “Mr. Hudson.” Its greeting flashed from my phone when I awoke the next morning.

Mmmm. . .that was. . .indescribable. . . And here we are. . .

James cracked open the partition. “We should be arriving shortly, Ms. Mott.”

“Great, thanks, James.” I took a deep breath and nervously bit my lip catching his eye in the rearview. Resting my head against the chilly leather seat, I was lost in the possibilities to come as the car halted at 12 Oval Road, Jimmy’s manager’s office. Thankfully, it seemed the rain had passed.

I started to open the door, but James was quicker. “Ms. Mott, allow me, please. I’ll be waiting here when you’re done, okay?”

“Oh, thank you, James.” I scanned the façade, sighing deeply, “Okaaay. . .here we go!”

“You’ll be fine. See you shortly.”

Perry was waiting just inside the doors. “Jane. How are you this morning?”

“Nervous, Perry, for some reason,” I creaked.

“No need, no need. We’re just on the next floor.”

I followed him up the carved, mahogany stairs admiring the 19th-century features blended into a very contemporary design. “Interesting mix of periods here. . . wow!”

“Yeah, it’s a converted warehouse. They tried very hard to keep what they could.” He swung open a door to reveal a large conference room. A dark-haired woman sat at a long table, flipping through a few papers.

She rose and walked the length of the table to greet me. “Jane. So happy to meet you. I’m Angela. . .Angie, Bill’s staff attorney,” holding out her hand.

“Angie, hi, likewise,” using my most professional handshake. “You’re American.”

“Is it that obvious?” she laughed.

“Well, yeeaah, it is. New York?” I teased. She nodded. Following the normal greeting when attorneys meet for the first time, I continued, “So, where did you go to school, Angie?”

“Uh. . .Columbia, then here for a bit.”

Hmmm. . . I know that tone. Ha!

“Please have a seat, Jane. How about you?”

“Georgetown. . .” I slid into my seat at the center of the table opposite her.

God, I hate that ass-sniffing ritual. . .very tiresome. She seems to hold it in the same regard, though. Ha. Good.

“If you have time, I’d love to talk to you about your school experience in Britain while I’m here. Very interested.”

“I’d love to fill you in. I’ll give you my card. . .Umm, Perry. . .you have everything?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” He scrambled to take his seat at the table.

“Okay, why don’t we start with the non-disclosure?” She queried me over her reading glasses.

“Sure.”

“Alright. No changes from the final draft?”

I shook my head.

“Great. Here are two copies.” She placed each side by side in front of me. “Please sign each one. I’ll do the same as Mr. Page’s representative. Perry will witness. We each will have an original execution.”

“Perfect. . .but, uh, can you give me a few minutes?” I unzipped the case and grabbed my laptop. “I just wanna. . .you know. . .not that I don’t trust you or anything, but – “

“Right, understood, of course. . .Perry?” She nodded to the far corner of the room and stood up from the table.

“Oh. . .okay.” He joined her.

“So, what is the plan for. . .” Their conversation quieted as they moved to the end of the table. My focus centered on the screen, comparing it to the documents before me.

What the hell are you doing? This is not at all necessary. . .I know. . .I know. . .it's just a formality. . .but I don’t want any surprises. . .

Once satisfied there were none, I called out to the corner. “Okay, all good.”

The couple retook their seats. “The pens are right there.” Angie indicated a small, ornate box in the center of the table.

I opened it to find crimson fountain pens nestled inside. Unscrewing the cap, I circled the gold nib across a spare bit of paper.

“This is a lovely touch.”

A deep, rich, aquamarine-colored liquid flowed smoothly as I scribbled.

“Very, very nice pen! Definitely no problem recognizing the originals,” I chuckled, “. . .interesting shade of ink.”

I signed and dated each of the agreements and slid them to Perry for his witness. After Angie scrawled her signature, she waived around one of the documents to dry the ink. She folded the papers and slipped them into an envelope, pushing it across the table. I reached to return the pen to the box.

“No, no! Please keep it – a memento. Perry will discuss the remaining details with you. I’m staying on just in case there are any questions.” She turned her focus to Perry.

“Right. . .Jim. . .uh - Mr. Page. . .is currently at Sonning-on-Thames. It’s about an hour’s drive west. He thought it would be an agreeable place to meet. . .it's a little village.”

“It sounds great!” I bubbled like a thirteen-year-old, much to my embarrassment. “Sorry. . .go on, please.”

“We arranged lodging for you at The Bull Inn – lots of history there and Mr. Page would very much like to absorb- “

“Uh. . .Nope, Perry. I believe we discussed this, did we not? This is on my dime. . .or. . .pound or whatever, right? Now, we don’t need to sign something, do we?” I fluttered my eyelids, smiling sweetly.

“Yes, we did and no, we don’t,” he laughed. “I had to try. Soooo, in that event, the innkeepers have offered a very nominal rate for your stay. James will ferry you to Sonning and then back to London in a few days. That will give you a chance to enjoy the village."

I glared at him with somewhat feigned displeasure. “Perry. . . now how is that any different?? Offered and nominal? Isn’t that still – what did you call it – absorbing?”

He remained silent, expectantly, brows raised.

I resisted a bit longer, really not wanting my adventure to be subsidized by Jimmy in any way. But. . .I gave in. “Okay, okay. . .deal.”

“Alright, good. You haven’t made any firm plans as of yet, right?” I nodded. “Mr. Page was hoping that you would arrive later this afternoon, get settled in, and meet with him tomorrow. We’re unsure of the exact time as he has some business calls scheduled. I’ll figure that out and ring you with the time. Is that to your liking?"

“Yes, that is absolutely to my liking. What happens now?"

“James will pick you up around mid-afternoon and get you checked in at The Bull.” He stood, followed by Angie.

Apparently, we’re done. Very painless.

“God, Perry, I am beyond excited!” I hastily stuffed the envelope, the laptop and the pen back into the case, zipping it closed. “Thank you both for everything. Angie, I look forward to our chat and thanks for the. . .uh. . .memento.”

As Angie walked me to the door, her hand grazed my arm as she slipped her business card into my hand. “Jane, that is a great wrap! Is it original?"

"Oh, thanks. Uhh. . .I have a thing for antiques."

"Mmm. . .Beautiful. There are some great shops to check out then while you're here. I'll give a list to Perry for you. I have no doubt you going to have an interesting experience. Have fun. Please do call me when you get back.”

“I will. See ya, Perry.”

James was waiting, as promised, as I flew out of the building’s entrance and down the marble stairs.

“All good?” He asked with a knowing look.

“Way more than good.”

I couldn’t suppress the thoughts of the "interesting experience," as Angie put it, looming over the next few days. Gazing out the window, I saw no landmarks only the possible scenarios I was conjuring. When we arrived at the flat, James and I set the time for the trip to Sonning.

“Thanks, James. See you soon. I can get this - really – don’t get out.”

I sprang out of the car, rushed down the stairs and through the door, hooking up the laptop in record time. Draping the jacket over the back of the chair, I started a quick internet search, googling The Bull Inn, Sonning-on-Thames.

Historic is right, 16th century! Regardless of how it goes with Jimmy, this is gonna be extremely cool. Ha! Like everything so far.

I excitedly investigated the village and environs, finding that Deanery Garden, Jimmy’s home, was right up the road from the Inn. I grinned.

Okaaay then.

After the laptop was back in its case, I twirled to the couch and flopped enjoying a delicious prickly excitement.

I have a few hours to kill. . .may just a tiny shot. . .What the fuck, Jane? . . .It’s only 11 o’clock- in the morning!. . .Yeah, well, it's afternoon US time. . .I definitely need to mellow out or I’m going to go insane. . .I'd kill for a joint. . .Ha!

Reasoning that food would take away the guilt of alcohol mid-morning, I searched the fridge for something appealing. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a blue and white something on the counter. A basket had appeared in my absence, covered with a checkered cloth with a note on top:

Jane – sorry to barge in while you’re out. I dropped off linens and a little treat. Please enjoy! I forgot to mention that Rob and I will be away for a bit. We have friends visiting while we’re gone, so don’t be alarmed if you hear knocking about upstairs. Just in case it’s needed, there is a spare key to your flat in the urn by our front door – a little key box mixed in with the greens. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Dinner when we return? Emily

I folded back the corners of the cloth to find fresh scones, clotted cream, and homemade strawberry jam.

Wow. . .so nice of her! And just what I needed. . .ooooh. . .they’re still warm.

I put on the teapot after deciding it was too decadent to pair the scones with whiskey at mid-morning. The late breakfast was divine. As time was becoming short, I hastily poured a shot topping it with a splash of water and sauntered to the closet. I carefully placed my most treasured pieces into the waiting suitcase and bag, along with the deep red velvet tarot bag slipped in among the folds.

Precisely at three, the familiar rapping sounded and I threw open the door.

“James, come in. I’m ready.”

“Ms. Mott.”

“James. . .It’s Jane, please.”

“Right. Let’s get you to the car, Jane,” he said as we grabbed my bags.

Once on our way, he called back through the open partition. “There's lovely countryside along the way. Let me know if you have any questions or want to stop, we’re not on a set arrival time.”

“Thanks. I think I need to do some reading to. . .uhm. . .stay calm, you know.”

“Jane, you’re not going to an execution! Just tap the glass if you need me, okay?” he said as the partition slowly slid shut. I saw the amusement in the eyes looking back at me in the mirror.

I forced myself to focus on the new client prospectuses crammed, last minute, into my laptop bag. Plugging in the flash drive plucked from the first folder, rhythms and melodies raced from the computer through my ear pods. I gazed out the window as we sped by patchwork fields and hedgerows, listening to a sample from the short sets of three new bands seeking representation. They were all good – raucous and driving, but I kept returning to the tight grooves of the yet unnamed southern rock band. “. . .heavy. . .somewhat complex. . .definite blues undertone. . .singer - a plus,” I wrote in the band’s workup. I rewound their set to hear it in its entirety. The opening number’s distorted low-down licks chimed with the cowbell intro of Honky Tonk Women, rough and gritty, followed by the unmistakable opening riffs of Custard Pie.

"You-are-fucking-kidding me," I snorted with laughter, apparently loudly. I looked up to see a chuckling James glancing back at me in the mirror. Grinning, I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders, and resumed noting my impressions of the bands. In no time, the car slowed to a crawl. The Bull Inn, a sprawling dark timber-framed country inn with white-washed walls and gabled, latticed windows came into view. We entered to find a warm and inviting atmosphere - a small reception desk to the right with a cozy bar visible thru an arched entrance in front of me. Peeking into the room's entryway, I found a lovely brick and marble bar lit with stained glass lanterns near a massive brick fireplace with yellow-white flames dancing in its center. The sweet scent of birch wood tinged the air. The only other illumination in the room was the sunlight beaming through the row of tall, paned windows set into the exterior stone wall. Sparkling motes of dust danced in the space between the windows and the tables in the shadows. I was transfixed.

“Jane?” James called from reception.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said as I slowly backed out of the bar, not quite ready to leave, and returned to the desk.

“This is Moira. She and her husband Kirk are the innkeepers. She’ll handle the registration, then I’ll get your bags upstairs.”

“So glad you’re joining us, Jane. Just sign here, after you read thru, and then I’ll take you to your room.”

As we navigated the very steep and very narrow staircase to the next floor, Moira chatted about the things to do and see in Sonning. I turned back to see James attempting to maneuver my large suitcase and bag up the stairs. “God, I’m so sorry, James. . .I didn’t take into account 16th-century stairways when I packed! Can I take that bag??”

“Ha! Not a problem, Jane.”

With bags deposited and the low-down on Sonning received, I closed the door and explored my second temporary residence in as many days. A couch and coffee table were tucked away in an alcove. The bathroom contained a walk-in shower and a very roomy clawfoot tub. As I lifted my suitcase onto the bed, I noticed an ecru-colored square propped against the dark blue pillows. “Jane” was very neatly printed on the front in a now familiar color of ink. I plopped on the bed, grabbed what I realized was an envelope, and turned it over. There I found a dark red imprint. My fingers traced the small dragon raised in the wax. Utterly amazed, I lifted the seal, as sparks of anticipation swirled down my spine. Tucked inside was an ecru note card matching the envelope. As I pulled it out and flipped it over, I found a Gorey pen-and-ink overlaid on the front.

Wow! How could he possibly know that?

Gorey was a favorite of mine. Many of his books were tucked into my bookshelves at home. On the face of the card was drawn a woman, adorned with a wild hat of large snaking black lilies, dancing through a maze of tall drapes with a man garbed in white. When I opened the card, flowing penmanship in the same rich aquamarine was revealed.

Hello, Jane~Let’s meet tomorrow at half noon, shall we? The Inn’s Hidden Garden is quite a lovely place to chat. Moira or Kirk will show you the way. We will have the garden to ourselves for your “brain-picking” session. I look forward to meeting you.

Till then ~ J.

Collapsing into the pillows, I giggled until I was breathless unable to contain my joy! I was certain it could be felt by everyone in the vicinity.

Oh my god. . .he is too much!! He took the time to write me himself. . .and the ink! Ha! I must ask about that! And Gorey - what the fuck? But how very sweet and so very. . .personal. Not typewritten on JP letterhead! And the seal. . .my, I think it's. . .definitely going to be an adventure.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, in the bar directly below, the writer was secreted in a far dark corner. He had decided to observe my arrival from afar and now pondered the possible effect of his note in the room above. Sipping his tea, he glanced up at the beams. As a slight shiver twitched across his shoulders, he half-smiled into his cup; my mirth apparently had sought him out, found him, and made its presence emphatically known.

[BTW - I don't profess to be an artist - so my apologies to those of you who are 😊 And yes, Jane does have hands and facial features 😁]

CHAPTER LIST https://www.tumblr.com/letmewanderinyourgarden2022/701210499738714112/chapter-list-let-me-wander-in-your-garden?source=share

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