It was a cold Sunday in January when, despite an overnight dusting of snow, they decided to go ahead with their planned walk to Lippinston, a village some three miles out of town. It was Natasha’s idea and he did not want to let her down. She was dressed sensibly in a light blue sheepskin coat, a red woollen hat with a matching scarf and gloves, thick jeans and stout hiking boots. He wore a blazer and cavalry twill trousers. He never wore jeans and would rarely be seen without a tie, but in deference to the weather he wore a roll neck sweater and leather chukka boots. By the time they reached the footpath about half a mile out of town, he knew the boots were definitely not suited to hiking across snow covered fields and as cold seeped into his bones, he regretted not wearing an overcoat. With the collar of his jacket turned up and hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, he trudged miserably after Natasha who chattered cheerfully over her shoulder as they made slow progress along the edge of a large field. She obviously loved the countryside, pointing out the various trees in the hedgerows and identifying animal tracks in the snow. He peered through a gap in a hawthorn hedge to see where a set of tracks led. Had she not told him, he would have had no idea they were made by a fox.
‘He’s way gone by now!’ He was talking to himself; she was running to a stile. She pointed across the next field and beckoned him on. He was rewarded with a big smile as he moved in to share the stile. Natasha had the most wonderful smile which lit up her blue-grey eyes and revealed the whitest of teeth. Purists could argue that her top front teeth were too large, but to him, in her succulent, generous mouth, they were perfect and spoke of a sexual energy waiting to be unleashed.
‘There it is, Lippinston, don’t you think it looks lovely?’
He looked across the field towards a distant church spire surrounded by a triangulation of rooftops and his heart sank. It was miles away.
She caught his mood and snuggled up to him.
‘It’s not far – honest.’ She reached up to give him a soft kiss on the lips. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a bear hug.
‘I don’t think you’re properly dressed for this trip’, she said, breaking out of his hug and taking off her scarf. She wrapped it twice around his neck, pushing the ends inside his jacket and smoothing them out across his chest. As cold as he was, he felt a stirring in his groin which she obviously felt as she leant against him. She laughed that tinkling laugh he loved so much and pulled away. That was the moment he knew he really was in love with her. Despite his many affairs, it was the first time he had ever felt that way.
‘Are you sure you won’t be cold without it?’ She buttoned a flap across the collar of her coat and nestled her chin into the fleece lining. ‘I’ll be just fine. Come on, let’s go.’
They climbed over the stile and walked arm in arm towards the distant steeple. The footpath took them along the hedgerows of five more fields before they climbed over the final stile onto a lane leading into the village. He had never been to Lippinston before, which was hardly surprising as it was not a place you had to pass through to get anywhere. If you came to Lippinston, it was because you needed or wanted to. They walked along the lane towards the church, passing thatched cottages on the way. The village seemed deserted but smoke curling lazily from chimney pots spoke of people enjoying their Sunday morning in the warmth of cosy cottages. They were definitely not in the church, which looked cold and empty. The Fox Inn opposite seemed far more welcoming, but opening time was mid-day on Sundays, which meant another fifteen minutes in the cold. Barrie shivered dramatically to make the point. Natasha tugged at his arm.
‘Come on, we’ll be warmer walking through the village.’
She led him past the church to where the lane divided. The right fork was a dead end to Church Farm. The left fork, sign posted as Smallfield Lane, was a cul-de-sac.
‘Not much point in going down there Tash.’ He was thinking that if they went back and stood outside the pub, it might open early. She was thinking it was the first time he had called her Tash and she liked it.
‘I’m sure it will be worth it,’ she said with a secretive smile. Had he known her better he would have realised she was hiding something. They walked arm in arm down a narrow lane with a wall to the churchyard on the left and a low bank topped by a hedge, neatly covered with a tablecloth of snow, on the right. The crunchy virgin snow bore no evidence of traffic, vehicular or pedestrian, in or out of Smallfield Lane that morning; Lippinston was a sleepy village. After a hundred yards or so, the churchyard wall gave way to overgrown rhododendron bushes divided by a driveway leading to The Rectory, a large, rambling Georgian house. The other houses in the lane were nowhere near as grand, but they benefited from the same view over a meadow to Church Farm on the right, a copse on the left and then a patchwork of fields rising gently to a tree covered ridge.
Natasha tugged Barrie along until they came to a house with an Estate Agent’s board fastened to the front gate post. Holly Tree Cottage was the last property in the lane. It was thatched, but not that old, probably built in the 1930’s. The size and style of the windows reflected that era. Natasha looked over the gate. ‘It looks empty. Shall we take a peep?’ Before he could answer she lifted the catch on the gate and marched down the path towards the front door. Reluctantly following, he saw some movement behind the net curtains in the window to the left of the porch. ‘I don’t think it is empty, you know.’ She smiled and rang the doorbell. ‘I’m sure they’ll show us around if they’re in.’
The door opened almost immediately and a tubby, grey haired woman with a round face and apple red cheeks positively beamed at them.
‘Hello my dear, how nice to see you again. So this is your young man?’
Natasha beamed back at her. This is, Barrie,’ she said. ‘Barrie, this is Mrs Parsons. Mrs Parsons is one of my customers.’ He tried to imagine Mrs Parsons in a corset. Natasha gave him a nudge in the ribs. Could she read his mind?
‘You’d best call me Gwen my dears,’ said Mrs Parsons, as she ushered them into the hallway and closed the front door. She turned to Barrie. ‘You’re a very lucky man, Barrie, having such a beautiful and clever fiancée.’
Natasha turned away, pretending to examine some detail surrounding the light rose in the ceiling. Mrs Parsons chattered blithely on.
‘She’s sorted out my back, I can tell you. Without that wonderful medical corset she made for me, I don’t know where I would be. Well I do know – I’d be in a lot of pain that’s where I’d be. Now, let me have your coats.’ She took Natasha’s coat and clucked her disapproval as she accepted the scarf from Barrie. ‘You must wrap-up well in this weather. Show him around Natasha my dear while I make you a nice pot of tea. It looks as if Barrie could do with warming up.’
Natasha led the way upstairs to a landing and walking past others opened the door furthest from the top of the stairs. ‘There are three bedrooms, but this one has an ensuite bathroom and a wonderful view across the fields.’