It had just turned lunchtime on a Sunday autumn day, when he left his stable yard. He made sure his prized chestnut mare was suitably catered for. After he had brushed her down, he replaced her heavy saddle for a more comfortable warmer coat. Afterwards he replenished her straw and water supplies. And patted her head as he locked the white stable yard doors.
The intoxicating acquired smell of horse musk and his own sweat clung to him and his riding gear. As he walked along his gravelled courtyard towards his impressive mansion. He opened his 19th century heavy oak door and walked into the open plan living area of him home. And it was his home. It may not have his children running around the hallways, up the stairs or around the living room. But as he walked into his lounge. He stopped to look around at his expensive surroundings. They were filled with his own and his family's possessions. He saw items that reminded him of days gone by, which he had acquired over many years. All were a certain and acquired taste. But nonetheless personal. And then there were items from his past that reminded him of places and people in his life. Some of those memories he had locked away, never to be spoken of again. But some items remained in mind, and so stayed on display.
He walked towards his fireplace. There he picked up a few marble figurines, such small trinkets from his various aunties. He turned and looked over towards his large oak desk from his Grandfather. He walked towards it, and sat in the creaked wooden leather lined chair. There he picked up his heavy metal silver embossed fountain pen. He sat looking at it, and turned it around in his fingers. As he thought of all the other items that could not be put on display. Some of these were part of him wherever he went. Images that flashed into his thoughts without permission.
That such moment a few days ago, when he was out at a dinner party with a group of influential friends. An old 1967 bottle of Red Premieres Cotes de Bordeaux wine was served and drunk. And instantly the taste brought back images of her smiling face, her auburn hair framed by candle-light. They sat alone in a small corner of Monsieur Jacques' Bistro. A family run restaurant of three generations of the Jacques name, as the elderly owner pointed out whilst serving the wine. The Bistro was situated in the little French village just outside the exact vineyard where the wine had been produced. There they had spent an extended few days of her birthday celebrations. Touring the vineyards sampling wine, purchasing a dozen bottles and enjoying their peaceful beautiful surroundings. It had been one of few memories he found difficult to forget about her.
Like the conversation they recently had. She also has "long, happy memories" of the time they shared together. He suddenly thought to himself. It had been three months since they had spoken. And he had only been back in the country for a week, after returning from Canada. He had missed his home. He had missed this country life. Most of all he still missed her.
As he slowly placed the pen down onto his desk. And he realised now was his chance to make those past memories a reality again. He picked up the heavy phone receiver and began dialling her number. He was worried. He somehow feared the sound of her voice, his stomach churned in anticipation of hearing her speak. The dial tone rang, and rang. Then finally she answered.
"Hello, Emma Knight."
"Emma, it's Steed. Would you be free for dinner tonight by any chance?".
His mouth was dry, his face was flushed, he was finding it difficult to swallow.
"Oh, Steed. Hello. Oh, now that would be wonderful. Say around 6? Where shall I meet you?" She answered, with surprise, and joy in her voice.
"I'll come to you for 6. I have 1967 bottle of Red Premieres Cotes de Bordeaux wine just ready for an occasion like this. Until 6 then Emma."
"The 1967 Bordeaux. I'll look forward to sampling the wine, again once more Steed. Until 6. See you then."
"Until then. Goodbye."
"Goodbye Steed."
He replaced the receiver, smiling to himself. Still shaking slightly from the conversation. And he rose from his chair.
He began unbuttoning his horse musk and sweat soaked waistcoat. As he walked towards and up his oak panelled stair case.
He was now embarking on a new day, and to begin creating new memories to fill his home with. Now was the time to look forward. He realised it was not the past that he longed for. It was his future. And today was the day he would choose to make it happen. Now all he needed was her to fill it.