"Who on earth could be calling now?" The insistent ringing of the telephone ignored the mild irritation of its owner. Of all the times she could be disturbed now was not it. She hastily tossed the solid coloured scarf into her suitcase and picked up the handset on the end table. She listened to the caller on the other end for several moments as the smile on her face slowly disappeared.
"I see. No, of course I understand, darling. You're needed." She paused to listen to the other person's concern. "Don't worry about me, I can entertain myself. Me too; call me when you get a chance." She sat down on the bed next to her suitcase and sighed as she hung up the telephone. This was the third time in a month that he had canceled on her. If she didn't love him as much as she did, it would have irritated her to no end.
Who was she kidding? It did irritate her. For three years, she had lived as a widow, and he had the nerve, however right it was, to waltz back into her life just as things were becoming interesting for her. But she did love him with all her heart and could easily forgive him anything. After all, she could hardly hold him responsible for doing a job similar to that which she herself had accepted during his absence. She drummed her fingers slowly on her thigh and contemplated what she would do now.
A part of her said to unpack and forget the trip entirely, but another wanted to go on the trip by herself. She had canceled the trip twice so far and both times she vowed that she wouldn't deny herself the pleasure of staying at the inn again. A tiny part of her wanted to call an old friend for advice, but she knew what he would say. Standing up, she went to the closet she shared with her husband and returned two pantsuits that she decided she wasn't going to wear.
'This has been put off for too long and the summer was almost over. If both of us cannot go, then I'll just have to go and enjoy it for the both of us.' She chose a simpler outfit that she hadn't worn for awhile. Being on top of current fashions, there were times when wearing something that was less fashionable and more memorable was better besides black was always a good choice. She closed the suitcase and gathered her coat and hat. 'This is a good idea, right? Of course it is, don't doubt it,' she told herself. 'Time for some fun in the sun.'
He was tired. Exhausted actually, but he would deny it if anyone brought it up. He was also depressed, which he could no longer deny. He missed the trips he used to take, but all of his favourite spots only brought forth memories of a time he partly wished he could forget.
'I need to get away for a while. Somewhere without memories.' He paced back and forth as he thought of where he could go that he wouldn't see her face wherever he looked. He noticed a slip of paper under his couch as he paced. The words on the paper meant nothing to him at first, and then he remembered. He hadn't been to the inn in years; it would be a pleasant diversion for him. They hadn't gone there during the time they worked together- it was just the place to regain his focus.
He quickly packed two bags, donned his favourite bowler and umbrella, and left his flat. A drive in the country to the inn required transportation other than his normal of late. He drove to the storage facility where he kept his favourite cars. When he arrived, he found the caretaker buzzing around with excitement.
"Mr Steed, Mr Steed! Come quickly, you must see this!" Ivan Walker, the excited caretaker, was an older gentleman and appeared to be younger than he was. He had been in charge ever since Steed could remember. Ivan never let any of his workers near any of the vintage cars that Steed kept there and at times could be more possessive of the vehicles.
Steed parked his vehicle and stepped out as Ivan continued ramble on about a package that just arrived. "Steady on there, Ivan. What's this about a package for me?"
Ivan took a deep breath to calm himself before answering. "A package has come for the Bentley, Mr Steed. It's the replacement light you've been requesting for some time."
"Shall we attend to the old girl, then?" Steed followed the eager Ivan to repair the Bentley. A half hour and several inspections later, Steed maneuvered the Bentley out to the driveway. Ivan refused to let Steed out of the car, insisting that he would switch the bags for him and take care for the more recent addition to Steed's collection. Steed chatted a few moments with Ivan before driving off to his final destination.
The Woodhouse Inn was located several miles outside of a midsized town in central England. The surrounding country side was peaceful and filled with the sounds of nature. Every so often the tranquillity was interupted by the presence of modern technologies. Despite the reasonable fame that the inn had generated over the last decade, it was still remotely located and very little traffic disturbed the guests.
A woman in her early thirties, dressed in a brightly coloured sundress walked along the stone paved terrace drinking in the atmosphere. She had arrived in the early afternoon with the excitement she always faced travel with. But now that she had a chance to settle in and decompress, the loneliness of being somewhere that she wanted to share with her husband started to weigh heavily. The dinner hour was fast approaching and she didn't think that she had the strength put forth a happy face.
He had been disappointed that she had chosen to come here, but he completely supported her decision and promised to make it up to her when the time was right. She leaned forward on the stone railing, tucking a lock of her auburn hair and watched the sun begin to sink in the sky.
"Mrs. Peel?"
Although expected, the soft voice shattered the quietness that she had partially become used to and Mrs Emma Peel quickly turned around to observe the source of her disruption. The owner of the voice was a young woman in her early twenties. Her face was framed attractively with medium length dusty blonde hair and she wore a simple uniform with a plain nametag. "Harriet Woodhouse, Assisstant Manager" it read.
"Yes, Miss Woodhouse?"
"Your table is ready."
They entered the dinning room and Harriet led her to a secluded corner that offered both a breathtaking view of the sunset and of the dinning room. The room itself was tastefully decorated with paintings from various periods, but overall the room had a decidedly Victorian feel to it. Mrs Peel wasn't sure want lent it that feeling, but decided that the fireplace on the far wall and the lighting fixtures were the reason. As she sat down she remarked on the placesetting of her table. The table had been set for two people. "I was under the impression that I was dinning alone this evening."
"All single guests are strongly encouraged to interact with each other. I can let the day hostess know you would rather eat alone."
Mrs Peel smiled and replied, "Thank you, but you needn't bother."
"As you wish, Mrs Peel. Henry will be your waiter to night and should be by shortly with the specials and a wine list. Ah, here he is. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening, Mrs Peel."
Emma thanked her and accepted the card proffered by Henry. The list revealed a glimpse into what she determined to be an excellent cellar. 'Steed would love to steal a few moments among the racks,' she thought smiling. Despite her own vow to not think of him, seeing his favourite claret on the list brought to mind some of her favourite memories. She ordered a glass of the claret and one of the house specials.
The view from the solitary table was exceptional. With only a turn of her head she could watch the sky light up with stars and a cresent moon or observe the other guests as they gayly talked with each other. She noted that Miss Woodhouse escorted each guest to an occupied table and made introductions. By the time she left the dinning room her table was the only one that had not been filled to capacity.
To be continued…