Epilogue: Meet Mr Wesley (again)
Mr. Blake Wesley, of number sixty-six, Castle Rd, was proud to say that he was perfectly normal, thank you very much. He owned and ran a small Bed and Breakfast in the distant coastal town of St Just, which doubled as a thriving café during the day, which people travelled for miles to visit. At night, he tended his roses and walked his black dog, Romulus, over the wide Cornish hills and rocky beaches like any other English gentleman, though he was still believed to paint during his spare time.
Mr Wesley had no real friends among the villagers, nor any true family to speak of, though his aloof manner was slowly beginning to warm slightly to the younger adults, and he never failed to treat the elders with a sort of fond respect. In general, however, he was a polite, softly-spoken gentleman with the esteem of most, who tended to keep to himself, not at all unusual for a man in what were yet assumed to be his forties. And he seemed content that way.
But, every now and then, for weekend or holiday, or even an isolated night – though none knew how or why any could travel so far for such a short time - they would hear noise in the normally quiet hallways of the old stone building, emanating from areas unfrequented by his ever-present tenants. And his rooms would be taken over by a strange young man who, though now dressed in clothing far more dignified – and expensive – than when they first met him, had never truly seemed to fit into the small village, and seemed to prefer it that way.
None of the visitors ever knew what had forged this unlikely bond between two people who seemed so vastly different, who seemed to have nothing in common. They were of such different ages, backgrounds, beliefs and interests. There was nothing that could have sparked a decent conversation between the two, without which any friendship would soon perish.
But yet, the young man kept coming, and Mr Wesley welcomed him with open eyes and a bright smile that, even now, surprised the villagers, who had grown so accustomed to his emotionless expressions, and the men would converse and walk as if they had never been parted. Of course, they argued constantly, at least once every visit, though they tried to keep their private discussions just that, and both seemed to grow frustrated with the other at times. Yet, from the looks in their eyes, and the care in their voice, no one could doubt that this was a friendship that would last forever, despite all logic to the contrary.
And every time Mallory Blanc returned, he found it harder to leave.
A/N: Well, there you have it. The end. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed this story, I really appreciate it. I've had a lot of fun playing with Blake and Mallory these past few months, and hopefully I'll write a sequel sometime in January/February. We'll see. Maybe this time there'll be some PLOT! ;)
I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas and new year!
Phoenixia (AKA Morauko, as she cannot be bothered to change pen name)