Read Online Close Encounter with a Crumpet by Fleeta Cunningham - Free Book Online
Authors: Fleeta Cunningham
Tags: Contemporary
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Acknowledgements
Thanks to Parish Vacations,
the gracious people of the Village of Pulborough,
and especially John and Mary Bowker,
Father Paul,
and our own dear Gill
for making their corner of England our second home.
I promised you a story.
Gillian Banks stared at her tea cup and refused to let burning tears fall. Disappointment was one thing; giving way to it in public—no, her Boston pride wouldn’t let her do that. The trip to England had been a dismal letdown from the moment she introduced herself to the tour group, but she’d pinned all her hopes on today being different. No chilly cathedrals today. No echoing churches hailing back to the fourteenth century, with gloomy memorials underfoot to remind the visitor life is a fleeting, temporary thing. Today was to be a celebration, a joyous parade with flags and bands and brilliant uniforms. A lifelong Anglophile, for years Gill had dreamed of standing in Trafalgar Square. Today she’d expected to see the magnificent square as a backdrop when the Queen of England received a salute from her troops in honor of the royal birthday.
Even the sudden icy downpour that left her new hat sodden hadn’t quelled her expectations. It took two meandering, peevish, chattering septuagenarians to do that. Two traveling companions who had not had a pleasant word to say to her in the past twelve days succeeded in scuttling her anticipation with a fifteen-minute “favor.” Now Gill shivered in her soggy light blue sweater, wiped damp trickles—she was certain they were raindrops, not tears—from her cheeks, and stirred the cooling cup of tea.
“Pardon, but this is the only free spot left in the place. Mind if I share the table for a bit?”
Gill looked up at the query. “Simon?”
A slow grin lit his face. “Gill! All on your own, are you? Thought you’d gone off with the grannies to cheer the Queen and see the lads in their fine uniforms.”
Gill couldn’t keep from returning his smile but covered her confusion at his appearance by taking her bag from the empty chair and moving her tea cup closer. She’d never expected to run into Simon, the fair-haired, pleasant fellow who drove the tour bus, helping the old ladies up and down the steps and giving each one a cheery greeting day after day. One of them, a little less stuffy than her companions, had flushed at his attention and declared him “quite a crumpet.” Gill had last seen him at their hotel, waving, assuring them he’d see them early Monday morning to drive the group to Heathrow and the departing flight.
“I got separated from the party when they went to their seats in the stands.” Gill tried to camouflage her disappointment with a polite smile, making light of it. “Two of the ladies suddenly needed to locate a…a loo and didn’t feel safe taking off on their own. They asked me to go with them so I could hold their bags and hats and things. I guess, since they had tickets for seats, they didn’t see the need to rush along. By the time they were certain they knew where they were and were well on the way to their places, I was hopelessly separated from our group.” She shrugged off her distress. “I didn’t have a ticket for the stands and couldn’t shove through the crowd to get close enough to see anything. I just came in here hoping to see some of the parade on TV.”
“Did you now?” Simon raised two fingers and caught the attention of the waitress. “By the look of you, the morning shower caught you along the way, too. Throw out that cold tea and have a half pint of something that will warm your bones.” He turned to the waitress. “Bring the lady a half pint of cider, and a pint of Guinness for me. And have you a platter of bread and cheese? A bowl of your ham-and-pea soup for each of us, as well, if you will.”
“Weren’t you off for the weekend? Didn’t you have plans to visit family or friends?” Gill asked when a plate of bread and cheese covered half the small table and a
Thanks to Parish Vacations,
the gracious people of the Village of Pulborough,
and especially John and Mary Bowker,
Father Paul,
and our own dear Gill
for making their corner of England our second home.
I promised you a story.
Gillian Banks stared at her tea cup and refused to let burning tears fall. Disappointment was one thing; giving way to it in public—no, her Boston pride wouldn’t let her do that. The trip to England had been a dismal letdown from the moment she introduced herself to the tour group, but she’d pinned all her hopes on today being different. No chilly cathedrals today. No echoing churches hailing back to the fourteenth century, with gloomy memorials underfoot to remind the visitor life is a fleeting, temporary thing. Today was to be a celebration, a joyous parade with flags and bands and brilliant uniforms. A lifelong Anglophile, for years Gill had dreamed of standing in Trafalgar Square. Today she’d expected to see the magnificent square as a backdrop when the Queen of England received a salute from her troops in honor of the royal birthday.
Even the sudden icy downpour that left her new hat sodden hadn’t quelled her expectations. It took two meandering, peevish, chattering septuagenarians to do that. Two traveling companions who had not had a pleasant word to say to her in the past twelve days succeeded in scuttling her anticipation with a fifteen-minute “favor.” Now Gill shivered in her soggy light blue sweater, wiped damp trickles—she was certain they were raindrops, not tears—from her cheeks, and stirred the cooling cup of tea.
“Pardon, but this is the only free spot left in the place. Mind if I share the table for a bit?”
Gill looked up at the query. “Simon?”
A slow grin lit his face. “Gill! All on your own, are you? Thought you’d gone off with the grannies to cheer the Queen and see the lads in their fine uniforms.”
Gill couldn’t keep from returning his smile but covered her confusion at his appearance by taking her bag from the empty chair and moving her tea cup closer. She’d never expected to run into Simon, the fair-haired, pleasant fellow who drove the tour bus, helping the old ladies up and down the steps and giving each one a cheery greeting day after day. One of them, a little less stuffy than her companions, had flushed at his attention and declared him “quite a crumpet.” Gill had last seen him at their hotel, waving, assuring them he’d see them early Monday morning to drive the group to Heathrow and the departing flight.
“I got separated from the party when they went to their seats in the stands.” Gill tried to camouflage her disappointment with a polite smile, making light of it. “Two of the ladies suddenly needed to locate a…a loo and didn’t feel safe taking off on their own. They asked me to go with them so I could hold their bags and hats and things. I guess, since they had tickets for seats, they didn’t see the need to rush along. By the time they were certain they knew where they were and were well on the way to their places, I was hopelessly separated from our group.” She shrugged off her distress. “I didn’t have a ticket for the stands and couldn’t shove through the crowd to get close enough to see anything. I just came in here hoping to see some of the parade on TV.”
“Did you now?” Simon raised two fingers and caught the attention of the waitress. “By the look of you, the morning shower caught you along the way, too. Throw out that cold tea and have a half pint of something that will warm your bones.” He turned to the waitress. “Bring the lady a half pint of cider, and a pint of Guinness for me. And have you a platter of bread and cheese? A bowl of your ham-and-pea soup for each of us, as well, if you will.”
“Weren’t you off for the weekend? Didn’t you have plans to visit family or friends?” Gill asked when a plate of bread and cheese covered half the small table and a
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