Read Online A Place in the Country by Elizabeth Adler - Free Book Online Page B

herself together and smiled at him. “I’ve seen you in the pub.”
    â€œRight.” He waved his mate over, the huge giant of a man who looked capable of shifting the old stove all by himself. “This is Georgki, he’s a stonemason. Heard you might be needing a bit of help.” He glanced at the barn. “Certainly looks as though they were right.”
    Caroline led him quickly through the little courtyard-garden into the old kitchen. Thumbs still in his jeans pockets, he studied the situation.
    â€œLord save us,” the giant named Georgki exclaimed, looking at the stove.
    The carpenter said, “If anyone ever ate anything cooked on that bastard, he would have ended up at the Radcliffe Infirmary.”
    â€œMore like in coffin,” Georgki added, in what to Caroline sounded like a Russian accent.
    The carpenter turned to smile at her. “Not to worry, we’ll have this out in a flash. By the way, my name’s James.”
    â€œOh, no!” Caroline stared blankly at the hand he held out for her to shake. A nice, square, long-fingered hand, nails clean and everything, even though he was a manual laborer.
    â€œI don’t usually get that kind of reaction,” he said mildly.
    â€œOh,” she said. “It’s just that my ex’s name is, was, James.”
    â€œIs? Or was?” He was laughing at her.
    â€œHmm, what I meant is that he was my husband. Now, he is my ex.”
    â€œIf it makes it any better I’m usually known as Jim. Jim Thompson.”
    It did make it better; easier anyhow. “Okay, Jim,” she said. He was definitely easy on the eye, as she had noticed in the pub. Medium height with a compact body that looked muscled from hard work and not merely from a workout at the gym; dark hair short-cropped; lightish-brown eyes that seemed to see everything, notice everything anyhow, because the next thing he said to her was that she was wearing that same yellow sweater the night he’d first seen her in the Star & Plough.
    â€œNever forgotten it,” he added, with an admiring grin.
    Caroline wavered for a second or two, trying to decide whether to be insulted or grateful that she had been appreciated. Smiling, she decided to allow herself to be appreciated.
    â€œIt’s long past its sell-by,” she said, folding her arms over her breasts where the sweater definitely stretched too tightly. She told herself she had to stop eating Maggie’s leftover tacos, sneaking downstairs late at night, followed by that little wraith of a blind cat, who she’d found also appreciated a cold taco.
    Then, with a smile that included Georgki, who had not uttered a word since the first shocked, “Lord save us,” she asked what they thought of her barn.
    â€œLotta work,” Georgki said, heaving his bulk over to the wall and running a hand over the stone, which crumbled under his touch. “Beautiful, though,” he added, making Caroline’s heart sing. At last, here was someone who saw the beauty she saw.
    â€œCan be done, though. Maybe.” Georgki took in the sagging plaster ceiling held together by a crisscross of scabby black beams. “The bones is good.”
    She said, “Yes, I think the bones is good too.”
    â€œGeorgki is a stonemason. He’s the best.” Jim went and looked at the stove. “Okay, so we’ll get the equipment and lift her out of here. Send the poor old thing back to her maker.”
    Jesus came in to see what was going on. He was acting as Caroline’s contractor, he knew what he was talking about and exactly what was needed to put this wreck back into shape. He also knew what workers he needed and how to lay his hands on them. Certainly one way was via Jim Thompson, who knew everyone, from electricians to plumbers, to backhoe drivers, floorers, and roofers. And of course, Georgki, the best stonemason in all of Oxfordshire, who, while Jim was conferring with