SOOOO much easier to write than chapter 10 and I actually got to have some fun with them! Hope you like it and are starting to warm to/forgive/understand Elsie a little more.

Chapter 11

Just a quiet weekend

Charles sat in the lounge in silence as she showered and changed. He couldn't face watching the news and having to deal with other people's problems – he had enough on his mind without having to watch coverage of the world going to shit.

He felt both physically and mentally exhausted by the night that had passed but somehow freer.

Truth be told he'd been living in a daze since they'd returned – he'd come home feeling like he didn't know Elsie at all, that all those tender months of taking things slowly and giving each other space to work it out were false. That the fun-loving, intelligent, sexy woman he'd spent so many wonderful hours with wasn't actually who she was.

Now he knew what Anna meant when she'd said to him in the restaurant that Elsie was more, or could be; she is the person he's fallen in love with, she's just afraid to be her. She seems to have spent so long trying to be what other people wanted of her that she doesn't know how to just be herself. He hoped she realised he loved her for just being her, he loved her when she was being silly and laughing raucously, or singing at the top of her voice and embarrassing him in the car. He loved her when she was blurry eyed first thing in the morning and leaning in to him for a cuddle.

He always felt there was something deeper to her, something she kept shut off and when he got close to unlocking it she retreated. Now at least he felt she'd given him the key.

At least he knew. Though he realised that only meant they were at the start of a very long road. Sighing he ran his hand through his hair, nobody screwed you up quite like your parents. And he'd always thought his Dad was a total bastard.

Before she came out he tipped the remains of the wine and almost an entire bottle of whisky down the drain. No alcohol for a while. She needed to be clear-headed, they both did, then maybe she'd be in a position to finally explore those long repressed feelings. Maybe start seeing a counsellor – he didn't know and it wasn't his decision to make, but it could be an idea.

He was filling the sink when she came in and stood with his hands in the soapy water.

"The shower's free. Are you doing my dishes?"

There was an almost a week's worth piled up on the side.

"Don't do that Charles, I will, go have a shower. Let me make you breakfast."

"I don't mind."

"I do, you've done enough." She took hold of a towel and handed it to him and he dried his hands. She looked better, not well, but better. "There's the dishwasher anyhow."

"You know how I feel about those things. A waste of energy…"

"I know, for people too lazy to rinse their own mess. That's why I've stopped using mine, hence the build up."

He smiled; there was something of the old Elsie there, their old easiness.

"I'll make you poached eggs." She said.

"That's my favourite."

"I know."

He liked that she could cook, and he knew that probably made him sound dated, he thought as he stood under her shower, but he liked it anyhow. It made him feel wanted, to know she was cooking for him, such a simple basic thing.

She'd made fresh tea too, the real kind with leaves, and poured juice and set it up on the small dining table in the next room – because he really hated those uncomfortable kitchen stools.

His hair was damp and he smelled of soap, as she leant over him to put the eggs on his plate she breathed him in – as fresh as a new day. He helped himself to toast, added salt and pepper and slit his knife through the silky egg, rewarded with the rich liquid gold interior leaking out. He smiled; some simple things were worth everything and she'd cooked these to perfection.

She was watching him as he did it, her hands folded beneath her chin; the lopsided smile that came so naturally to his tanned face, the curl of hair untamed from his shower.

"Aren't you eating yours?" He asked chewing, glancing at hers untouched.

"I am," she unfolded her hands and reached for the pepper. "But I can make you more, should you want it."

He cut another forkful, "It is very good, you know this is one of my favourite things and I'm rubbish at making it."

"Really?"

"Terrible, saddest thing you've ever heard right?" He said, realising that what she'd told him last night was the saddest thing he'd ever heard, but she was smiling at him as she filled their teacups (proper tea cups, he noted with pride). "They end up a watery mess."

"It's probably the temperature of the water, but I can show you, or I can make them for you. And besides, you cook the best boeuf bourguignon I've ever had."

"My Grandmother's recipe – scary woman, but great at cooking meat."

He pushed his plate aside, "That was really good Elsie."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He drank his tea, reached for his juice. This easy conversation was nice, skimming along the surface of things, not prodding beneath for the moment, because they needed time – she did. He didn't want her to get to the point she was at last night ever again, and whether that meant they'd be together or not in five months or five years time he didn't know, but he would do whatever he could to support and love her. He'd thought at the beginning she needed to heal from her divorce, he'd never have guessed her scars went back so much further.

"Would you like some more?" She asked, gently, her voice still raw from all the crying.

"I'm good I think actually, I will help myself to some more tea though. Did you get this from Taylors?"

"From Betty's, Anna and I went on Mother's Day and stuffed ourselves on cake."

"I remember you telling me."

They were silent, listening to the sound of the breeze coming in from the open windows, the distant Saturday traffic. Spring was in full bloom now and he was glad of sunshine and green lands again after the long winter.

"Shall we do something today?" He asked tentatively, "Or would you rather be alone?"

She looked up quickly, "No, I don't want to be alone."

"A walk maybe, we could drive out somewhere, maybe do the Ripon Rowel walk, that's gentle by the river."

The thought of being outside seemed like heaven, "I'd like that, but did you have plans? I don't want to take you away from anything."

"Only scrutinising the builders every move – I've rung and said I'd be there later and to just get on."

"That's very trusting of you."

"Some things are more important. I'll need to call back though, change, get suitable shoes."

"Of course," she started getting up and stacking their plates. "I'll do these then we can go. I don't mind driving."

"I've got my car here." He got up and took the teapot and cups through.

"Oh yes, I forgot." She put the plates down on the central island. Pausing momentarily, her hands shaking as she was reminded of her actions, "I'm so very sorry for how I was last night."

"You don't have to apologise about that." He covered his hand with hers, "Don't ever apologise for that." He squeezed her fingers. "Things will be okay."

She tilted her head to one side as she looked up at him, his certainty gave her strength.

"I've dreamed of having somebody stand by me the way you do, I doubted this could exist."

He swallowed, his mouth dry, licked his lips. He had so many doubts, so many questions and his own uncertainties. He looked down at where her hand had turned over to hold his in return. "You do want this Elsie, you do want me?" It was a question he was scared to ask but desperately needed to.

"Yes." She said, her voice full and sure. "Yes, I want you. Don't doubt that. Never again doubt that. I'm not saying it will be simple and easy and I won't be… that I won't find myself shrinking back at times but I promise you that isn't because of you."

He nodded, his eyes clouding up; he looked away from her face and down to their hands again.

"I care for you so very much Charles."

He felt her other hand rest on his arm, and her body move closer, "This is okay right," she said softly as she drew him into an embrace.

"This is okay," he said by her ear, breathing in the scent of her skin, her hair, her body warm and whole in his arms.

Charles held out his hand as she jumped over the muddy entrance to the walk, and when she was on the path beside him she didn't let go.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, content just to enjoy the view.

"So, tell me what you've planned then, for the shop." She finally asked.

"Pretty much all you suggested, total refurbishment. I figured if I was doing it I may as well do it all. So, new plumbing is going in – remember how you could never get the temperature on the shower right?"

She rolled her eyes at that particular memory, freezing cold, twisted the faucet barely a mm and then burning her skin off. Charles had come racing in she'd screamed so loud.

"I have a vague recollection of that," she said.

"I'm sure, well new shower, some new plaster work in my bedroom, I'll be sleeping in the spare room whilst it's being done – with the books."

She laughed, that sounded rather sweet. "You're more than welcome to stay with me you know, you can have the spare room, if it gets too dusty there."

"Thanks for the offer."

They both knew he wouldn't take her up on it, not at this point, but he was glad she'd asked.

"So, I've ordered new shelving for downstairs and they're going to put the coffee bit in, as you suggested. I've been looking at coffee machines, I never knew there was such variety, in fact I never knew they existed - I'm content with a bit of Nescafé. Then I thought about all those fancy coffees you have when we go out and I thought I better offer something like that if I'm doing it. So there's a rep coming to see me on Wednesday from some company, take me through what's on offer and how much it costs."

He was babbling but she was enjoying it, it was good to have a distraction from her own mind and he was so excited and animated about it all. It was lovely to see.

"I need to get a new bed too." He said as he climbed over a stile.

"Oh, thank god!" She exclaimed.

"I have great affection for that bed." He said turning to put his hands on her waist and lift her down.

"Nobody else does, believe me. It's the lumpiest thing I've ever slept on."

"Well, I may have had it a while."

She chuckled, "You'll sleep so much better."

"Would it be odd if I asked you to look at them with me, I don't know about this stuff and I feel a bit of a plonker wandering around cluelessly staring at beds."

"Are you suggesting I know a lot about beds?" She teased, and that was the Elsie he knew, the one who liked to have fun and mock and play.

"I think you probably do know plenty about beds… And now we better cease this discussion before it gets messy."

"Oh dear, messy beds." She chuckled as she walked ahead of him down the lane.

"Oh Elsie… Heavens." He shook his head at her but secretly he welcomed her humour coming back, even if she could be a little risqué with it.

Eight months earlier

Charles had changed his shirt three times already and still wasn't convinced it was suitable. But time was getting on, the taxi was picking him up in ten minutes and he needed cuff links yet and a tie.

He was never usually so flustered about getting dressed! But then he never usually liked people as much as he did Elsie. He smiled at the thought of her name, at using her name; he kept turning it over in his mind in schoolboy fascination.

So far he'd come up with seven possible topics of conversation for if things became muted. He didn't want her bored and he loathed it when there were only two of you and there was nothing of interest to talk about. He'd been on enough bad dates over the years to know that silence over a small table for two was the most awkward thing to be part of. He doubted that would be the case following their previous conversations but it was best to be prepared.

Outside a taxi beeped and he glanced out the window, rushed to the kitchen to collect her flowers and his wallet and was gone.

It took exactly thirteen minutes from his door to her street; he timed it alongside watching the meter.

"So, you'll wait here." Charles said. "Keep the meter running, I don't mind."

"Right you are." The driver said and Charles hopped out, straightened his tie, fastened his jacket and rung her bell. Number nine. There was a shared door for the downstairs flat and two separate bells.

The panel beside him buzzed and he heard her say, "Come up," and the door in front of him bleeped and started opening.

He stared at it thinking about how much he liked door keys and face-to-face contact.

The door to her flat was slightly ajar so he gently tapped on it, "Hello?"

"Come in," she said form somewhere inside.

He stepped in, polished wood floors, white walls, tasteful furniture. A large mirror on one side of the hall, a painting of the Yorkshire countryside on the other, then the sound of her heels on the wood and she was coming out of a room towards him.

"Hi," she said brightly, fastening her earring. "Sorry, I'm not late, not usually, I just couldn't find the back to this earring." She stopped short of him. "You look very smart. Are they for me?"

He glanced at the flowers – "Yes," he mumbled. This was going wonderfully so far; she'd complemented him on his outfit, he hadn't hers, and then she'd had to claim her flowers because he hadn't offered them.

"I like your flat," he said weakly.

"So do I." She held his gaze, an enigmatic smile on her face. "So, do I get to put those in water before we leave?"

"Yes, sorry." He thrust them into her hands, an enormous amount of yellow roses; they must have cost a fortune.

"These are beautiful, thank you so very much, they'll brighten up my kitchen. Come on through."

He tried not to look around too much, keep it calm and polite. Her kitchen was small but tasteful, lots of counter space, sleek smooth lines in white. He couldn't see a fridge or washing machine and wondered where all the appliances were – surely she had to wash and cook.

"Is that our taxi?" She asked, glancing out of the window to the man smoking in the street.

"Yes."

"Then I'll trim these later," she bent to retrieve a vase from a cupboard and he felt his collar get tight as her dress moved revealing more of her shapely legs and stretching over her backside. "And just put them in water for now."

She was wearing a simple black dress; it came in tight at her waist and had a kind of flared skirt. Her arms were bare and he was worried she'd be cold as the evening wore on but before he mentioned that she put on a cardigan that was lying over the back of a chair.

The vase of roses was placed on the middle counter between them and she smiled at both them and him, he was so very nervous and she so wanted to put him at ease. "They look beautiful, thank you."

"You look very beautiful." He said feeling a little gormless. She'd done something funky with her hair and it looked quite different to when she was in the shop, curled in a way, he wasn't sure how she'd done it, the ways women did things had always baffled him.

"Well, thank you again." She reached for her handbag, blushing. "Shall we go?"

He took her to Noci's because he felt comfortable there. The food was always good and despite it not being as glamorous as some of the other places around Harrogate he felt it important that they were comfortable and ate well. Then even if the date was a disaster at least she'd have one nice thing to say – though he wasn't even sure if she would have told anybody she had a date and it seemed presumptuous to ask.

They ordered, chose wine and then were left to talk. She had her elbows propped on the table and her chin resting on her hands as she watched him fiddle with his cufflinks.

"I take it you come here often?" She asked, trying to find an easy topic to relax him.

"Yes, but they're probably surprised I'm with someone, usually I have that tiny table over at the back and read as I eat."

"Do you have a favourite author? I can't believe I've never asked you that, in all these years."

"I don't, I like so many, some books you can just read over and over again."

"I know."

He watched the candlelight move over her face, the way she licked her lips after taking a sip of wine.

"Do you have a favourite period of History?"

She smiled, "Sixteenth century was my focus at University but nowadays I just teach whatever's on the curriculum, whether I agree with what's on there or not – government choice, not teacher choice."

He chuckled, he remembered she got very het up during the last election and was so angry when Cameron came to power she threatened to leave the country. It was a fairly awkward conversation considering the fact he had a 'Vote Conservative' poster up in his shop window.

"I read a lot about teachers being unhappy, lots of strike business."

"Are you going to ask me my take on it all?"

"Not at all, and I'm not anti-teacher or anti-strike, believe me. Workers need a voice."

She nodded, glad he'd said that, it would be a pretty shambolic start to the night if he went all 'Daily Mail' on her and started claiming strikes were a waste of time and money.

"My opinion is that you're in a union for a reason and if the majority votes for a strike then I'll strike, sometimes I think there are more important things to strike over but…" she shrugs, "that's how it goes."

There's a basket of breadsticks in the middle of the table and she snaps one in half and starts nibbling it; he's glad, he's wanted one since they poured the wine but didn't want to appear greedy. He quickly follows her lead and happily sits eating as he listens to her.

"I can only speak from my experience of the profession, from what I see, and I can tell you that the teachers I know work so hard. People go on about holidays but teachers work every night, well, I know I do, and of course technically we aren't paid for the holiday weeks."

"I didn't know that."

"I know we really care about our students doing well and sometimes it would be nice to just teach rather than having change after change after criticism being thrown at us."

She grinned bashfully, glancing to the table, "But I'm starting to rant now so let's change the subject."

"I don't mind, Elsie, it's interesting to me."

"Well, I worry I'll put you off if I start getting on my soapbox so…"

"So." He's not sure anything could put him off her. "Can I ask about your name?"

"My name?"

"Is it just Elsie?"

She shook her head, "Elspeth, kind of a tradition in the family, I think we've had one in the last four generations. A bit old fashioned."

"So's Charles. People expect somebody rich and royal with a name like that. And in fact did you know one of its origins is 'Karl', meaning rub, old and grain – so literally an old man worn grey with age. You're naming a child as an old man before he's even started!"

She laughed and he loved the sound of it, the way her wonderful cheekbones were highlighted even more as she did. She had the most beautiful, friendly face.

"But Elspeth is lovely."

She screwed her face up, "I'm not so sure."

"It is, what does it mean, do you know?"

"It's very grand, chosen by God."

His eyebrows rose, "That is very grand, better than being an old man."

Their starters arrived and he waited patiently for them to be served before he went on, "And are you?"

She swallowed the tomato she'd just put in her mouth, "Am I chosen by God? Do you mean to perform some kind of miracle?"

He chuckled, "No, I mean are you religious?"

"That's a very deep question for when I'm eating a salad." She smiled. "Are you religious?"

"I was raised that way, it was never presented as an option to me." He shrugged, "Of course I have doubts and I don't agree with everything but as I've gotten older I do find it a comfort, and I thought well, what the hell, whether there's a God or not if it brings comfort then that's something."

"That's a nice way of approaching it. I'm not saying I don't believe neither, my father was English, I was raised Christian, but we never went to church or read the Bible at breakfast or anything. Do you go to Church?"

"Most Sundays," he said gently.

"Oh…" She put in another forkful of salad.

"Does that make me sound boring?"

She chewed, thinking on it, then said, "Dedicated." And he laughed.

"Thank you for dinner Charles," She said as they walked, it was a lovely summer evening, warm and still. She liked this time of year, people stayed out late and had fun instead of being stuck home watching television. "But you should have let me split the bill."

"Absolutely not, I asked you for dinner, I pay."

She didn't want to tell him how old-fashioned that view was, because it was sort of sweet and he certainly meant it to be sweet, not controlling. "Then let me buy you a drink, hmm, its not too late and there are some lovely bars here, outdoor seating."

He nodded, placing his hand on her elbow as a couple pushed past them on the pavement. He didn't want the evening to end just yet; he wanted more of her conversation, more of her company.

"I'd like that Elsie."

"Good, shall we then?"

Present Day

They stood by the river listening to the chattering of Spring – birds flitting from the branches above them, warm sunlight playing upon the water, that cooling breeze that kept them both buttoned up in jackets despite the sunshine.

"We had a river near our house," she said as she stared at it, and he guessed she meant childhood house. "We used to swim in it in the summer, in the winter it usually froze solid but we didn't dare skate on it because mother told us of a boy who'd drowned there years before. I never did find out if that story were true or just scaremongering."

"What was your mother like?" He asked, his hands in his pockets.

She breathed deeply, pursing her lips as if thinking on it, "A hard worker, solid, dependable. Scottish and very patriotic." She smiled. "We all had to know our Burns and our tartan."

"Read some for me sometime."

"Next Burns night I'll make you a proper Scottish meal and read some," she says as they leant into each other and watched the play of light and insects upon the water.

"She accepted her place," she said sometime later. "I don't think it ever occurred to her to question that there could be more to life. That she could have more. But it was a different time then…"

"Especially for women." He added.

"Yes. Especially for women. Expectations were to get married and have children. Hence her having six of them. Maybe that's why I stuck in a marriage that wasn't healthy for so long."

Charles doesn't want to think about Joe, he thinks if he ever saw the man he'd probably break a lifetime rule and thump him. "Do you see your siblings?"

She shook her head, "Not really, I get emails and texts sometimes from my sister Rebecca, she lives in London now, she married a solicitor, had two sons – did well for herself. We were the only two to leave. My four brothers inherited the farm, two of them still run it – Jimmy and Alan, my eldest brother – Fred – he died many years ago from cancer. He was a good fifteen years older than me and we were never really close."

"You're the youngest?"

"Becky is, by two years. I was closest to her I suppose when we were growing up. But we drifted apart when I moved to Yorkshire. You get your own life, your own children and a husband and a job and somehow time goes by and you lose contact."

"Sadly yes." He thinks of his own family, he has cousins he's never even met.

"What about your brother – John?"

He looked out across the water as a circle appeared on the surface, gradually moving outwards, probably a fish. "As with you we weren't close, I was eighteen when he was born and he's always lived in Ireland so we hardly spent time together. I used to go over in holidays but we weren't exactly friends. He writes though and I reply."

"That's nice."

He looks up at her as she breeze blows her hair into her face and she brushes it back, tucking it behind her ear.

"Shall we continue down the river or are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine, let's go."

They bump elbows as they climb up the bank and she hooks her arm through his.

"I was thinking you might come to mine for dinner tonight." He says, "I could cook, or we could cook together."

"I'd like that very much."

"You could stay, if you liked," he doesn't really want to think about her going home alone at the moment. "You can have my room, I'll take the single in the spare room."

"I wouldn't move you like that."

"You're not, I offered."

She leans in closer to him as they pass a couple with a Labrador bounding along and then jumping into the water.

"I always thought I should get a dog," she smiles after it. "Especially when Anna went to University, for company."

"How's she doing?"

"Won't talk to me, 'stressed to the eyeballs' is what she said when I called her so I've left her alone to focus on her exams. I'll be relieved when it's over and she's packing up and coming home."

They stop as they reach the peak of a hill and look out at the view of the Yorkshire countryside – spectacular.

"When I was doing my exams I used to go walking." He said. "Places like this, just to get out of my room, to get out of my own head. It's a sobering thought to see this and think it's been here long before I existed and will remain here long after I'm gone. Your problems seem more manageable then, when you consider how vast this planet is and all of life upon it."

She squeezes his fingers in hers; stiff and cold now after being out for so long, "You should write a book, not just sell them."

He chuckled, glancing down at her, "I'm not sure I have the passion for it."

She turned her face up to his and smiled and he tentatively leant down to touch his lips against hers. It was a gentle peck, his kind eyes holding her secure. Then he kissed her again, deeply and she turned in his arms until they were embracing, reaffirming their bond.

"You have cream on your chin," she laughed leaning across the small table to wipe his face with her napkin.

It was three in the afternoon and they were having cream teas at a café along the route. It was warm yet quiet following the lunchtime rush and they sat in a corner out of view.

"Thank you," he said, using his own napkin to wipe the rest away. "I thought we might call at Fodder on the way back, pick something up for tonight."

"It's a good job we've walked today, we've done nothing but eat good food."

"As opposed to eating bad food all day…" he smirked.

"Yes, as opposed to that." She said batting his arm. "So, this cricket then, is it tomorrow?"

"Not until next Sunday." He paused, spreading more clotted cream on the second half of his scone, he always saved the top of it til last, he loved the crunchy texture of its surface. "Will you come?"

"I will. Just give me times and I'm assuming I'm going to the cricket club," he nodded, "so I can find that okay but I know virtually zero about the game – at least that gives me a week to learn the rules."

He laughed, "You don't have to, just watch. There's a games night too soon," he said eagerly then mentally berating himself for it – one step at a time Charles.

"Oh… just a second." She started searching in her bag.

"What?"

"Just getting my phone, if you give me the date I'll put it in here so I don't miss it."

He felt his chest flutter as she started tapping away.

"Games night, when?"

"Two weeks today." He said softly.

She flicked through her calendar and added it. "Is that at the cricket club again, some sort of…" she saw his expression, "what?"

"Its not a cricket thing. Well, I guess it sort of is because my friends from the club host it, Richard and Isobel, but it's at their home, we have one every four months. It's like… well, games, you take money and bet and there's a variety of things, you know, cards and bowls and such."

"At somebody's home?"

"They have a pretty big home, Isobel's father was rich. She married a lowly Doctor." He said wryly.

"Poor her." She grinned and swallowed. "Alright, games night, I suppose at least I'll have met some of these people next week."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, it isn't a chore." She tapped his hand with hers. "Anything else?"

He smiled, "I'll think about it."

He'd made pasta for her on their seventh date – he remembered it was the seventh because at the beginning he was counting how many they'd have before she realised how dull he was. Only she didn't, she didn't seem to find him dull at all, unlike previous women he'd dated.

She'd been amazed he had a pasta maker and made his own, being a woman who lived out of packets, so they bought the ingredients from Fodder and he taught her how to make pasta on Saturday night. They made ricotta and spinach stuffed pasta shells and put them in the oven to bake, then roasted vegetables and made a rich tomato sauce.

"I feel like I'm dating Gordan Ramsey." She said, as they stood side-by-side in the kitchen. "You even have your own stripy apron. Only you swear less and have better skin."

He grinned, "You don't want to get sauce on your clothes, tomato can be a bugger to get out."

She watched as he stirred the sauce. How different this day had turned out to what she'd expected of the weekend. To how she was last night.

She shuddered remembering and closed her eyes momentarily.

"Shall we have some music on?" he asked, moving to the stereo.

"If you like," she expected something classical, something light, so was surprised when the familiar strains on Ben E. King filled the room.

"One of my favourites," he said as she glanced over at him, he'd grinned at her expression. "Stir the sauce Els, before it burns."

After dinner they played cards in the lounge, sitting on the floor on cushions either side of the coffee-table.

"I've never been very good at Poker," she said. "I get frustrated."

"Just remember to keep your nerve, keep thinking, you're smart – think about what the other players are doing, the choices they're making."

"Do you win heavily at this games night?" She asked teasingly.

"No, not really."

He laid a card down and watched as she screwed her face up, pursing her lips and considering – she made the most delightful faces. Marvin Gaye came over the stereo and she sat up, her face brighter, "I love this song!" She exclaimed, moving her shoulders about to the beat, nodding her head as she stared at her cards and then joined in, "Baby, I heard it through the grapevine."

He laughed and she looked up sharply, "Don't laugh."

"I'm not," he groaned as his legs protested at the position and he sat back onto his bottom, shoving his legs under the coffee table to one side of her.

She pinched his toe, "You were."

"You've got a good voice."

"I love to sing." She finally laid a card down. "There."

"Well, Isobel was thinking of starting a Karaoke thing, you could join in that."

"Absolutely not. Why did you never tell me you had this collection – we could have been listening to these classics for months."

He shrugged, "I forget what I've got. I just leave the discs in that thing and let it choose. When I get bored I swap them."

She rested her elbows on the table as she watched him and the track changed, "Oh my goodness, is this Elkie Brooks? I haven't heard this song for so long, I mean years and years."

"Great tune, I love it when she says…"

"Listen to me!" Elsie said dramatically grasping her chest and they laughed and sang it together as they played. "Lilac wine, is sweet and heady, like my love… I feel unsteady, where's my love?"

By the time they'd reached the end of the CD the game wasn't over but both were yawning.

"You should put these on the iPad I got you, then you can take them with you, listen to them in the car or on holiday."

"I will." He got up and poured them both a sherry. "Night cap." He'd said handing her one.

"Thank you. I think I'm winning this…" she said focussing on her cards.

The strumming of a guitar came on, 'And so it is, just like you said it would be, life goes easy on me, most of the time…'

She caught her breath, she recognised this voice, the songs he'd sent her the other week – the painful emails. She wondered if he'd kept that email, she wondered if he'd tried to respond to it.

'I can't take my eyes off you.'

She bit her lip, staring at him as he shuffled through his cards, the small glass of sherry dangling between his fingers. Oblivious to her gaze.

'I can't take my eyes off you.'

The long string of the violin seemed to be filling her chest as she watched him.

"You're the kindest man I've ever met." She said suddenly and he looked up quickly, startled.

"Thank you," he murmured, he wasn't used to complements, he rarely gave them, let alone received them.

She smiled warmly at him, "And you have the kindest, sexiest eyes." She added.

He grinned, "Oh now you're just mocking me."

"I am not." She stretched her arms above her head and yawned again, "I have to go to bed." She pushed her hands on the table and got up. "My eyes won't stay open."

He put his cards down, "This isn't over though Mrs Hughes," he said getting up too.

"Alright, no cheating and swapping my cards though just because you know I'm winning this one."

"Promise," he crossed his heart as the song came to an end and a jollier rhythm replaced it. "You know where everything is…"

"I still feel bad taking your room. I can sleep in the spare."

"It's full of boxes, you're up for the loo at least three times a night, you'll trip over."

"Hey!" She gently slapped his chest, leaning in to kiss him very tenderly. "Goodnight Charles. Thank you for a lovely day."

"Thank you, Elspeth."

Elton John's familiar voice seemed to follow her as she padded barefoot down his hallway and to his bedroom, 'Are you ready, are you ready for love?'

I need to say thank you for all the reviews, comments and re-blogs I'm getting for this story – the encouragement is overwhelming – in particular I'd like to thank (and send love to) deeedeee and brenna-louise for never failing to fill my inbox with lovely, long messages!

Songs mentioned were:

Stand by me – Ben. E King
I Heard it Through the Grapevine – Marvin Gaye
Lilac Wine – Elkie Brooks
The Blower's Daughter – Damien Rice
Are You Ready For Love? – Elton John