Read Online The Beachcomber by Josephine Cox - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Josephine Cox
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doctor … except to register, o’ course, an’ I broke a toe once but it soon mended.”
“You’re a lucky man, Jasper, to be so content.” Tom had forgotten how that felt.
Jasper’s response was a question. “You never did tell me yer name, sir?”
Tom laughed. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” he chided, “it’s not ‘sir’!” Taking one hand off the steering-wheel, he grabbed Jasper’s outstretched hand. “The name’s Tom Marcus, and I’m ready for some of that ‘magic’ you were just talking about.”
The old man pointed ahead. “There she is: Cliff Cottage; pretty as a picture.”
Tom looked, and what he saw took his breath away. With thatched roof and white-painted walls festooned with masses of climbing roses of every hue and color, it looked enchanting. “My God! It’s perfect!” The cottage was bigger than he had thought, and as they drew up in front of it, he could see the well-tended gardens stretching back as far as the eye could see.
Getting out of the car, Jasper led Tom through the small white gate, and along the flower-lined path. “I know this place inside out,” he imparted proudly. “I tend the gardens … clean the windows, and last summer I painted the whole house from top to bottom.”
The more Jasper told him, the more Tom thought how, like the cottage, the old fellow was amazing.
“Right then, Tom Marcus, let’s see what yer think o’ the inside.” Taking a key from his waistcoat pocket, Jasper slotted it in the lock and, turning with a flourish, he swung open the door. “In yer go!”
Stepping back to allow Tom by, the old fellow followed, giving detailed commentary as they went from room to room. “This ’ere’s the living room,” he said. “Not so big, mebbe, but like I said, it’s cozy and warm, and of a winter evening the glow from the fire throws out a cheer … an” there’s a whole supply o’ logs in the woodshed … small-chopped and neatly stacked.”
Tom’s gaze roved over the room; with two windows, one facing west, the other south, the light poured in and filled the room with evening sunshine. Surrounded by clean blue tiles, the fireplace contained a vase of fresh-smelling flowers. “That’s my doing, is that.” The old man caught the look in Tom’s eye. “Picked ’em this very morning … must’a known yer were coming.”
He gave a wink, and Tom smiled. “I bet there isn’t much you don’t know,” he declared.
The furniture was good: there was a brown leather sofa on one side of the fireplace, and a matching armchair on the other. The big green rug in front of the fire set the whole room off a treat. Against the back wall stood a small oak dresser, with nothing on top but a large, round china bowl.
The curtains were of plain beige color but “expensive material,” according to Jasper. “The lady had good taste,” he told Tom. “A quiet soul she was,” he imparted fondly, “… kind-hearted too.” He added quietly as an afterthought, “She had her troubles too, poor soul.” When he realized Tom was waiting for him to expand on that remark, he swiftly moved on. “Right then, son, here’s the kitchen.”
Tom followed dutifully, sensing that whatever the old chap had been about to say with regard to that “kind, quiet lady” he had thought better of, and that was all right by Tom. He knew from experience that, occasionally, and for whatever reason, there were some things best left unsaid.
The kitchen was small but functional: there were pretty floral curtains at the window, and a smart white kitchenette with dropdown front and glass doors at the top. On the shelf near the window there was a stack of recipes and cookbooks by favorites such as Marguerite Patten. “Used to pride herself on being an excellent cook,” Jasper revealed.
Both upstairs bedrooms were finished in the same subtle colors. The largest one had a theme of green: smart pink-and-green patchwork eiderdowns, apple-green curtains to match; a
“You’re a lucky man, Jasper, to be so content.” Tom had forgotten how that felt.
Jasper’s response was a question. “You never did tell me yer name, sir?”
Tom laughed. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” he chided, “it’s not ‘sir’!” Taking one hand off the steering-wheel, he grabbed Jasper’s outstretched hand. “The name’s Tom Marcus, and I’m ready for some of that ‘magic’ you were just talking about.”
The old man pointed ahead. “There she is: Cliff Cottage; pretty as a picture.”
Tom looked, and what he saw took his breath away. With thatched roof and white-painted walls festooned with masses of climbing roses of every hue and color, it looked enchanting. “My God! It’s perfect!” The cottage was bigger than he had thought, and as they drew up in front of it, he could see the well-tended gardens stretching back as far as the eye could see.
Getting out of the car, Jasper led Tom through the small white gate, and along the flower-lined path. “I know this place inside out,” he imparted proudly. “I tend the gardens … clean the windows, and last summer I painted the whole house from top to bottom.”
The more Jasper told him, the more Tom thought how, like the cottage, the old fellow was amazing.
“Right then, Tom Marcus, let’s see what yer think o’ the inside.” Taking a key from his waistcoat pocket, Jasper slotted it in the lock and, turning with a flourish, he swung open the door. “In yer go!”
Stepping back to allow Tom by, the old fellow followed, giving detailed commentary as they went from room to room. “This ’ere’s the living room,” he said. “Not so big, mebbe, but like I said, it’s cozy and warm, and of a winter evening the glow from the fire throws out a cheer … an” there’s a whole supply o’ logs in the woodshed … small-chopped and neatly stacked.”
Tom’s gaze roved over the room; with two windows, one facing west, the other south, the light poured in and filled the room with evening sunshine. Surrounded by clean blue tiles, the fireplace contained a vase of fresh-smelling flowers. “That’s my doing, is that.” The old man caught the look in Tom’s eye. “Picked ’em this very morning … must’a known yer were coming.”
He gave a wink, and Tom smiled. “I bet there isn’t much you don’t know,” he declared.
The furniture was good: there was a brown leather sofa on one side of the fireplace, and a matching armchair on the other. The big green rug in front of the fire set the whole room off a treat. Against the back wall stood a small oak dresser, with nothing on top but a large, round china bowl.
The curtains were of plain beige color but “expensive material,” according to Jasper. “The lady had good taste,” he told Tom. “A quiet soul she was,” he imparted fondly, “… kind-hearted too.” He added quietly as an afterthought, “She had her troubles too, poor soul.” When he realized Tom was waiting for him to expand on that remark, he swiftly moved on. “Right then, son, here’s the kitchen.”
Tom followed dutifully, sensing that whatever the old chap had been about to say with regard to that “kind, quiet lady” he had thought better of, and that was all right by Tom. He knew from experience that, occasionally, and for whatever reason, there were some things best left unsaid.
The kitchen was small but functional: there were pretty floral curtains at the window, and a smart white kitchenette with dropdown front and glass doors at the top. On the shelf near the window there was a stack of recipes and cookbooks by favorites such as Marguerite Patten. “Used to pride herself on being an excellent cook,” Jasper revealed.
Both upstairs bedrooms were finished in the same subtle colors. The largest one had a theme of green: smart pink-and-green patchwork eiderdowns, apple-green curtains to match; a
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