Elsie did not bring many personal things, things of sentimental value, with her when she moved from Scotland eight years ago. She had packed her clothes and books, a crate of dishes that her aunt had given her, and a menagerie of family pictures. Her prized possessions, the two material possessions that she prizes the most, those things that she cannot bear to part with are the her father's Bible, thick and worn, handed down through five generation of Hugheses and the heavy, black cast iron clock that belonged to her grandparents that sits atop her mantle. The old clock that marked so much of her time, so many happy times spent with her family; the clock that marked sad times as well, whose hands her mother stilled when her father died. Elsie took it with her to university, restarted it to honor her father's dreams for her future, and now it chimes in unison with the knock at her door. Charles is right on time, precisely eight o'clock.

"Hello," she answers, her hand clutching the door handle. She is not nervous but more than a little excited since their conversation yesterday. He has told her that he is free, but not divulged many details and she has not pressed him. It really isn't any of her business at this point and she already knows what Alice has been doing, who she really is behind all of the fancy clothing, the perfect hair and makeup, the posh voice. Elsie knows that she is a pretender, a woman not good enough by half for Charles. "Let me get my bag," Elsie replies as she asks him in and closes the door behind him.

Charles steps to the side, allows her to fetch her purse from the sofa. Charles notices her cross the room, her movements fluid and easy. The creamy yellow dress that she is wearing is tailored, tasteful, and chic; quite a contrast from the sweater and jeans that she wore to the party at Beryl and Bill's place. Either way, dressed up or down, she is just right in his eyes.

He notices the family pictures on her wall and those in frames scattered about the room. He recognizes those who must be her mother and father, sees a family resemblance. She favors her father, he thinks. Another photograph, with two young girls, in matching dresses with matching hair, hanging in curls with ribbons. The elder girl clearly is Elsie; he wonders if the other is perhaps a sister but she has not mentioned a sibling. Of course, they are not open books to one another and she is as entitled to her privacy as he is to his own, he thinks. If things go well, tonight perhaps there will be other nights and days that they will spend unlocking secrets together.

xxxxxx

"This is a marvelous place, Elsie. Thank you for sharing it with me," Charles says enthusiastically, as he sips on his glass of wine.

"When I first moved into the neighborhood I found it quite by accident. I wandered in one day and, well, it sort of spoke to me, if you will," she smiles across her own glass of wine. "I suppose that seems rather silly, sentimental."

"No, well, maybe a little," he laughs. "But I think I know what you mean. It sort of reminds me of what it must have been like in Paris after World War II or perhaps like in the old black and white films."

"Umm, exactly," she purrs. Perhaps he's hit upon something else they may have in common. She wonders if she should take a chance, if she should ask him. She has never been one to shy away from a challenge, to shy away from something she wants. "So speaking of, are you a fan of old films?"

"I am," he says putting his wine glass down "but I don't get out to see many or even put them on the tele much. You see Alice didn't…"

"…..well, neither did Joe," Elsie finishes graciously, lets him off the hook from further explanation. "If you like, there is a cinema not far from here that runs a nice series of vintage films." She is hopeful that he will agree, that she has not gone out on a limb to be turned down. She watches his face to gauge his expression, her own lip worried until she feels his hand reach across and rest on hers. A smile tugs at his lips. He tells her that he would love to; asks when the next showing is. Saturday noon she replies.

"I could pick you up and we could have a nice brunch or something before," he suggests. He notices the look of apprehension on that briefly flitters across her face. "That is unless you have plans already." He wonders if he is moving too quickly. Beryl has told him to build their friendship slowly and he wants to, he does. But he is more than intrigued with Elsie, drawn to her and the electricity between them is real.

"Nothing that I cannot cancel," she assures him. His hand is still on hers and she turns hers slightly so that she can grasp his and squeezes gently. "I'll ring Thomas early. He'll understand."

"Thomas?" Charles asks, his brow drawing into a straight line. He's not heard of this man before and the look of adoration on Elsie's face has him perplexed. "Your son?"

"Oh no," she laughs lightly, draws her hand away and brushes it through her hair, down her neck. "I haven't any children. I thought that Beryl would have told you that." She notices a blush creep up Charles neck and ears; it confirms what she's thought. That Beryl has been filling Charles in on her life, well, certain parts of it at least. "Thomas is my agent. He's a nice young man who thinks of me as a mother, or well, an older sister I suppose. I must say that I am quite fond of him too. We have brunch every other Saturday morning. But I assure you that he will understand." She notices Charles eyebrows return to normal. She thinks that perhaps it is time for her own question. "You've never had any children?"

"Alice was always wrapped up in something or another," he replies sadly, taking a sip of his wine. She watches as he casts his gaze away from her as if he is embarrassed. Wrapped up in herself, or in someone Elsie thinks, the scene of Alice kissing the man at the taxi flitting through her mind. Suddenly, a thought crosses Elsie mind and she hopes that she has not left Joe hurting like this man across from her. She hopes that Joe will find a good woman to marry and settle down with; a woman who will be good to his son, Peter. "But enough about that," Charles says, turning his gaze back to the woman before him "I want to think about the film series and our brunch tomorrow." He is smiling and his eyes, a combination of green, gray, and amber are twinkling. Elsie knows that it will be some time before Alice Neal's ghost is exorcised but she is a patient woman and she believes that this man may be worth the wait.

xxx

The walk back to Elsie's house is pleasant; the spring night breeze is calm and cool. Charles and Elsie have chatted amiably about his new job and the beginnings of her new book. He tells her that Rosamund mentioned something about his writing a book on the history of cricket during his time while his off the air. Elsie offers her assistance with the archival work, should he need it. He accepts, tells her that he has never done anything of the sort before. She promises him that between herself and Ms. Baxter, they can get him started on the right path.

They reach Elsie's door and while neither is ready for the evening to end, both know that they will see each other tomorrow. Charles hasn't told her but he wants to take advantage of the time he has in between the ending of one job and the beginning of another to get to know her before their schedules may conflict.

"Well, here we are," she says, offering him a smile. They are standing just at her door and he is very close, the scent of his cologne fills her senses. He is all oak and leather, classic, and rugged.

"Yes. Elsie," Charles says, his nerves now beginning to show. "You would tell me if I am pushing in? I am a little rusty, you see."

She puts her hand in his arm, smoothes her thumb across it, looks up at him. Poor, dear man. What that woman has done to him, she thinks. "Charles, you've nothing to worry about. I can assure you of that."

He nods. It is so nice to have someone, a woman, that appreciates him; a woman that laughs at his feeble jokes, that shares some of his interests. "Well, then," he manages as he leans in, kisses her cheek tenderly. He takes in the fragrant blend of iris, vanilla, and lily of the valley that mingles just there on her neck as he lingers a moment longer than necessary, but she is not moving away either. When he does move, her eyes are kind and searching and electric all at once and he feels swept up in some heady storm that he cannot name.

As he pulls away, the place where he has kissed her cheek pulsates with sensation and she is unsure of what she is feeling but she knows that she in all the years she was with Joe she has not felt this, not felt this anticipation. It is part intoxicating excitement but there is an subtle undercurrent of caution at the same time that she wants to quash, to push aside. Alice has hurt him so and Elsie does not want to be the woman that heals his wounds for another's benefit. She doesn't think that he is that kind of man; doesn't think him dishonorable in that way. She thinks that if he is interested in her then he is interested, that theirs is not to be some rebound relationship. She sees the look in his eyes, has heard the genuineness in his voice, in his words. And she is ready, ready to see where this man will take her, where they will go together.

TBC… I would like to thank Hogwarts Duo (Chelsie-Carson on Tumblr) for discussions on this chapter that proved invaluable. Thank you for reading, reblogging, reviewing and to the guest reviewers to whom I cannot individually respond I thank you. Reviews are coveted and appreciated. Brunch is up next.