Full Disclosure

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Just Old Al
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Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 1:

I wanted wings till I got the Godsdamned things,
Now I don’t want them any more!
They taught me how to fly,
Then they sent me off to die.
Well, I’ve had a bellyful of war!

You can save the bloody Zeros,
for the other sons of heroes,
Distinguished Flying Crosses do not compensate for losses, buster!”


Ari chuckled to herself on hearing the lyrics being bellowed in Al’s usual key of Off. However, hearing more, she began to frown. There was something just a bit odd in the singing – something…not right. Heading into the bay she found Al removing the wing from a 110 in preparation for a bit of welding. Things were quiet in the back shop at the moment as MIB had assigned permanent staff, so he was indulging in a completely unnecessary bit of hands-on personal entertainment.

“Al? You OK?”

Al turned to her, and she was shocked to see the streaks of tears running down his face, despite the cheery tone of the lyrics he’d been singing.

“Al, what’s wrong?”

Removing his glasses and blotting at his eyes, Al removed his phone from his pocket, swiped and tapped, and handed it to Ari.

An email read the following:

Sergeant-Major Richer, it is our sad duty to inform you of the passing on of Wing Commander Michael Rutherford (RAF ret). As you are his executor, would you please contact us soonest at +01144…

At your service,

Dagenham and Dagenham, solicitors.

“Oh, Gods Al, I’m so sorry. Was he a relative of yours?”

Wiping his eyes again, he returned his phone to his pocket and sighed.

“No, Ari…he wasn’t a relative. Michael was an old and dear friend, and a mentor to me when I needed it. He and I didn’t cross paths for years, but he helped me many times when I was a young lad, and after.

“When I met him he was a pilot – and a good one. Cocky little bugger who would take anything anywhere in any weather as long as it had engines and wings. He and I became friends despite his handicap of being a member of the RAF“ Al smiled, a bit mistily “and we stayed in touch.

“He and I worked together on some things…well, perhaps discussing them is not the best choice. Staunch, solid and a heart of gold.”

“Sounds like a good friend indeed.” Ari said, being at a bit of a loss seeing Al this vulnerable.

“Oh, he was.” Al continued. “While we didn’t see each other much the reunions were glorious, even though few and far between. He retired and ended up settling down as a flight instructor – had a tidy little business at one time. Married, too, though she passed away almost a decade ago. This is when I ended up his trustee – they never had children, and the rest of his family had either drifted out of contact or predeceased him. FO - short for Flight Officer - was approaching his centenary when he passed away - I had planned to go over and celebrate with him. Never occurred to me the old bugger would just up and die on me.”

Al shook himself, and the mood passed. “I am going to have to nip over to the UK for a few days, and deal with settling what there is of his estate. The solicitors will deal with the details – I just need to ensure that his wishes are carried out.

“I will be available, so other than the time shift things should be business as usual. Please have a look at my calendar for the next two weeks when you can – reschedule any personal meetings. I will notify our colleagues in the dark suits that I am going to be hors de combat for a time – I doubt there will be an issue.”

“I am going to be here for another hour or two – don’t feel up to driving at present. After that I will be headed back to the Estate, so be aware.” With that, he stood quietly, mind anywhere but in the room.

Ari moved forward, gathering the old man in her arms – a most uncharacteristic move which would normally be met only by vociferous protest. However, this time Al said nothing and just leaned into the hug, comforted by the physical contact. After a moment he straightened and Ari released him as he turned back to his work.

Enmeshed in his work Al never noticed the second visitor to his work bay. Arms wrapped around him, and a warm presence pressed itself to his back.

“What are you doing here, love?” he asked, surprised at her presence.

He turned, and she claimed him in her arms again, pulling him close. “Shhhhhh, love.” she said, pulling his head to her shoulder. They rocked together for a few minutes, oblivious to the world and focused on each other.

“But…how?” he asked as they separated, still holding hands.

“Do you think I wouldn’t know when you’re sad? I can tell. When whatever happened happened I got ready and came out – you told me you needed me.”

“I did, did I?”

Her smile grew warm, and his heart melted, the sadness momentarily fading. She pulled him to her breast again, and time dissolved in a haze of affection.

“What’s wrong, love?” she asked, holding him close.

“An…old friend of mine passed on. I am so angry with myself – even with the simplicity of travel through the Library I never made the time to go and see him. Now, I can’t. All I can do is see his wishes are met and lay him to rest.”

“Lay him to rest? What about his family?”

“As it turns out…I am all that’s left. His family are dead or just gone, his wife is gone, and I’m his executor. Long and the short of it…I’m it, and I wasn’t there for him.”

Daisy could feel his emotions – the building of the waves of sadness and regret in the old man. She held him to her and the tears began again, slowly and gently helping to carry away the grief.

A few minutes later he stopped, and Daisy released him again. “So, what do we have to do?”

“We?”

“Yes, we. Do you think I am going to let you do this alone?”

“Why, it never occurred to me. If you can spare the time I would be very grateful to have you with me.”

Daily cuffed him smartly on the back of the head. “Spare the time? Really? LOOK, Two-Legs…you’re being an ass. You’re hurting and doing this alone is just unnecessary. Your friend deserves more than just a minister at his grave, and you need to say goodbye.

“There’s nothing I need to be doing that can’t be set aside for a little while, and the household will go on just fine without us for a few days, a week or whatever time you need. I WANT to be with you.”

“Thank you, love.” He pulled her close again and for timeless moments they rocked quietly together.

She pulled away and looked at him. “You need to change and we need to go home. You’re not going to be useful here no matter what.” She nudged him toward the door. “Go change.”

“But…”

She looked stern. “GO change, I said. Then we’re going home. I’ll drive you in tomorrow. Go on!”

He went, slowly. After he left Ari walked into the bay.

“I assume he’s told you?” Daily asked.

“Yes, he did. I had to push him to tell me, though – he didn’t come to me. Is there anything I can do?”
Daisy thought. "No, just do what you do so well for him. Keep things running and handle the day-to-day. We’ll be available so if you need anything contact either of us – if you can’t reach him talk to me.” She stopped, thinking, and then spoke again. "Yes, there is something you can do. Call Director Oduya and let her know he's going to be off-line. I know he will but I want to make sure they're not pestering him for things right now. Explain to her what happened, and ask for a sub for the back shop while he's gone. I don't want there to be any pressure on him."

“Will do.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 2:

“Al Richer here to see Mr. Dagenham, please.”

Al and Rosalynd stood at the reception desk in the solicitor’s suite of offices. Like most solicitor’s offices in traditional firms the woodwork was dark, the floors highly polished and the atmosphere thoroughly dignified. The young man behind the desk was nothing like the traditional law clerk, however, being bright, cheerful and appearing as anything but a dusty law clerk.

“Mr. Dagenham will be out momentarily. Let me get you two some tea while you wait.” They seated themselves at the reception table, and the clerk returned a moment later with china mugs of tea, cream and sugar on a tray. Parking the tray on the table he served them, then lifted the tray and said “Mr. Dagenham won’t be but a moment, but do enjoy your tea. His ten o‘clock conference is going a bit long.”

“No hurry young man – we’ll be quite comfortable here.” Daisy said, quite at ease in the staid environment.

Al sipped at his tea and looked around. Pictures of long-deceased members of the firm adorned the walls, and the brass and polished wood of the décor was nearly overwhelming in its gravity.

Within a few minutes an elderly gentleman emerged from the back room and walked over to them. Smiling broadly he held out his hand to Al, asking “Sergeant-Major Richer? Charles Dagenham, senior partner here at Dagenham and Dagenham. And this is?”

“Mr. Dagenham, I would like you to meet Lady Alexander, of Alexander Harvesters.”

The mention of title immediately transformed the meeting. Slipping into a more deferential mein the solicitor executed a curt bow, which Rosalynd accepted with all of the dignity due a Lady of the Empire.

“Please follow me, Sergeant-Major, Lady Alexander. We can speak in my chambers. This way, please. Alex, would you bring in a full service, please? We will be some time in discussion.”

With that they walked through the door to the suites and down the carpeted corridor. Stopping at a paneled door the solicitor opened it, ushering Al and Rosalynd into the room.

Al’s first impression was books, and more books. The walls of the large room were finely crafted bookshelves extending from the floor to the patterned ceiling. An Oriental carpet covered the polished wood floor and extended to the large desk at one end. The end of the room they had entered at was dominated by a heavy mahogany table, surrounded by matching wood and leather chairs.

“Please be seated – Alex will be in momentarily with tea and we can have a cup and chat. How was your flight? I must confess I was rather surprised that you made it over as quickly as you did – from…Minneapolis, was it?”

“We wanted to be here to attend the Wing Commander’s burial – and Lady Alexander has contacts with corporate aircraft, as you can imagine.” Al lied smoothly. In truth they had left Alexander House no more than a few hours before, going to the Library and from there to Mornington Crescent. A taxi, then a hire car with driver soon had them to the solicitor’s offices.

Within a minute or two the clerk bustled in again, holding a tray with a silver teapot, teacups, silver cream and sugar bowls and a china plate of digestives. Setting things out on the table and setting the tray aside, he poured for the three seated at the table and left.

“Efficient lad, that.” Al quipped, reaching for his cup and adulterating it.

“He should be – that’s my partner’s son. He’s reading law here in Cambridge at the University. A fine lad – he’ll be an asset to the firm when he joins us. Till then, well…every place needs a tea boy, eh?” The solicitor laughed as did Al and Rosalynd.

The conversation remained at generalities for a few minutes, then the solicitor stood and walked to the credenza, picking up a file box. Returning to the table he opened the leather box and began to remove folders within it.

Al looked at these with interest, One folder was obviously new, and likely contained the work done since the passing of his friend. The others were a collection of papers shading from old to very old in folders of various colours, and envelopes containing objects from the bulging of their surfaces.

The solicitor spoke.

“Sergeant-Major, the late Wing Commander was in constant touch with us during the last several years of his life. I assume you and he were not?”

A wave of bittersweet pain flowed through Al – this was a sore point. Rosalynd put her hand on his knee, and the steadying presence helped. “No, sadly I was not. Being in the States as I was and with the Wing Commander not being overly enamored with electronic means of communications he and I did not communicate often. He also wasn’t one for conversing on the phone, so communication was limited.”

With a nod, the solicitor continued. “Very well. I did not mean to cause regret, but I wanted to know what level of detail to go to. Let me begin with a question – do you intend to allow my firm to handle the details here in-country, or do you plan to do so yourself?”

Al and Rosalynd had discussed this the evening before and the answer was simple. “I am more than content to let you handle the legal affairs with my consultation at a high level. Once I read through the Wing Commander’s papers and glean the relevant facts I am more than happy to let your firm wind up his affairs for me.”

“Very good. I don’t think we will disappoint. We as a firm have handled his affairs since he set up his school at Cambridge Airport, so we are more than capable of doing so. Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“Michael was no fool. If your association goes back that far I have little doubt that your firm is trustworthy and competent. As I no longer reside here it makes far more sense to leave it in your hands – business requirements of my own would keep me from discharging my duties properly. So, consider that settled.”

With a quiet throat clearing the solicitor reached for the newest folder and opened it. From it he removed two copies of a document, themselves held in clips. One he passed over to Al, the other he set on the table before himself.
“As you are the sole interested party in the affairs of the late Wing Commander, let us consider this a preliminary reveal of the will. All of this will need to go through the Courts, of course, but to all intents and purposes we can consider this the official reading. Is this satisfactory?”

Al nodded, and the solicitor continued.

“First off, the Wing Commander was hardly penurious when he passed away. With careful management after the selling of his business he had done quite well out of his investments, and left a considerable fortune.

“The first few pages of the document there is bequests from his fortunes. A few of them are cash grants to various individuals associated with him in his business days, though most are to people who dealt with him in his later years – his gardener, cook and so on.. There are also cash grants to several charities for servicemen, mostly revolving around care of dependents of serving men and so on.

“The second section involves certain properties that the Wing Commander still possessed here at the airport – the ex-premises of his business. They had been on long term lease to the purchasers of his business, and the Wing Commander wished that that should continue, title of the buildings devolving to a trust.”

“Is there anything of Michael’s still there? I know at one time he had owned a personal aircraft or two.”

The solicitor shook his head. “No – he vacated the premises down there when he sold the business and wound up his affairs in that sphere. The aircraft were sold as well, though he still flew on occasion. As you can imagine the aviation authorities took a dim view of a man his age as pilot-in-command of a large aircraft, or anything in revenue service for that matter. Up till the past year or two he had managed to still pass his physical for a private license, though his commercial certifications were long a thing of the past.”

Al chuckled. “I have no doubt of that. Considering when he got his start I am sure the H&S types were quite interested in his doings.”

With a shuffling of papers the litany continued.

“The third section involves nearly all of his assets other than those previously mentioned. His wish was for them to be granted to the University here, to fund a scholarship for those like himself – servicemen exiting Her Majesty’s employ and wanting to go into the aviation field from which his fortune came. The details are there – cash grants where appropriate, zero-interest loans to fund education and so on. The income of the trust from the buildings – and it is not a tiny sum – will be used to add further funding to the program and allow it to be self-perpetuating.”

Al set the paper down on the table and began to clap quietly. “Bravo – bravo to him. I take it I can leave the details of establishing this with you?”

“No need to leave it with me. The Wing Commander did so himself and they are aware of this. After probate everything has already been arranged, and the scholarships will be granted in his name, of course.”

“Good for him. Michael was always one to give back, and he’s going to continue to do so. Good for him.”

With a slight throat clearing the solicitor refocused the discussion. “The last section involves you specifically. I have items here that the firm has been holding for you, and I will pass them along momentarily.

“During the last years of his life the Wing Commander lived in a village near here – Fen Ditton. He still walked, drove and did what he wished though for the last year or two that was less the case as age took its toll. He always had a jobbing gardener and a cook/housekeeper, and for the last year or so a nurse who looked in on him periodically.

“The people who took care of him as you remember were given cash bequests as above – but the house, land, outbuildings and their contents in Fen Ditton have been granted to you. He’s also left you a sum which should cover the duties and inheritance, so you own it effectively free and clear.”

Al was stunned. “Oh, my. I expected nothing from this – I merely wanted to help him as he had no one else. Oh, my.”

“It’s an impressive property. There is the house and a few outbuildings, one of which he had fitted out as a workshop and garage. Much of this went unused for the last year or so, but near as I know from the property inventory taken at the time of this will it’s still there.”

“Michael was too generous. I have no idea what I will do with it, but having a pied-a-terre here at home ….” Al trailed off, mind in a whirl at the gift.

“I do believe that the last may have been the Wing Commander’s intentions. He knew you had been an expatriate for many years, and I believe he thought this might tempt you to return. I don’t believe he was aware of your connections to the United States, though.” he said, with a nod to Rosalynd.

“Actually, he did. When Lady Alexander and I married I wrote to him and sent photographs, so unless the letter went astray he was aware of it.”

The solicitor smiled, knowingly. “Then I expect that he wanted you to have a connection to home, then – and to him. In any case, now that we’ve gone through the will in broad strokes, we have a bit of work to do here and now before we can begin probate.”

“When is the service?” Rosalynd asked. She’d been quiet and a support to Al up till now, but she spoke up. The solicitor was a bit nonplussed – while discussing the affairs and such he was in his element, but this human aspect was a bit disconcerting.

“Why, I don’t believe there is to be one. As you and the Sergeant-Major are the only people directly involved with him, I don’t believe a memorial was planned by the undertakers.”

Rosalynd was angry. “And what about the people who cared for him – and about him, I have no doubt? I am sure there were people he worked with and who worked for him that would like to say goodbye, and residents in the village who might have wanted to know him.

“Had we not wanted to stand sentinel and say goodbye to a man who meant a LOT to my husband, all of this could have been handled through correspondence. He may not have had family, but he DID have friends and acquaintances, I have NO doubt.

“Bless your heart, I will see to this myself. Please give me the number of the undertakers – I will deal with…this. You and the Sergeant-Major can deal with the probate details – I will handle this. Is there an office I can borrow?”

When Al heard the words “Bless your heart” he realized that the solicitor was treading on very dangerous ground. Daisy was angry. Daisy was VERY angry.

The solicitor realized this as well. The combination of Rosalynd’s ire and her title combined to cow the man rather effectively. “Apologies, Lady Alexander – you are QUITE right, and we as a firm and I personally was being thoughtless. We can handle the arrangements, or if you wish you can as you feel fit.” He flipped open the folder, noted a number and scribbled it on a piece of note paper. “If you see Alex out at the desk he can find you an office and a phone to use – no need to use up the roaming on your mobile. Please feel free to use our facilities as you desire – and I do apologize for our businesslike attitude.”

Rosalynd stood, and turned to her husband. “Are you going to be all right here while I do this?”

“Yes, dear. I will. When you arrange the service please make sure to arrange for a reception. Don’t spare expense – I can easily bear the cost, and thank you for reminding me that my responsibilities here don’t extend just to the legalities.”

“Love, the money is nothing and you know it. We won’t count the cost, and your friend will have a proper send-off.” Turning to the solicitor, Rosalynd asked “How can we contact any associates he might have had?”

“I will give you the number of the gentleman who purchased his business – he was an employee of the Wing Commander’s and would know his contacts in aviation. For the personal connections I suggest you speak to his housekeeper. That reminds me – do you have arrangements here in the city? As there is to be a service and we have things to discuss, I am assuming that you will be staying for a bit.”

Al spoke up. “Yes, we will be staying, and no we had not made arrangements as of yet – I assumed we could get a hotel recommendation from you and your staff, so we came directly here rather than stopping off for lodgings."

“Let me call the Wing Commander’s housekeeper – she is still in residence at Arabesque and would be more than happy to see you, I expect.”

“Arabesque?” Daisy looked confused.

“Arabesque is the Wing Commander’s home. The villages hereabouts still retain the charming habit of naming houses even if there is a perfectly serviceable number and street name for its identity. So, if you were to write to “Sergeant-Major Richer, Arabesque, Fen Ditton CB5 8ZB” he would happily receive your missive.”

Rosalynd smiled. “What a charming idea. Let me go off and make the arrangements, and I’ll be back once I have it arranged. Would you give me the number of the gentleman who bought his business as well? I may as well get that ball rolling.”

The solicitor scribbled again and passed the paper along, and Rosalynd left the office.

“A formidable woman, and quite right. Oftentimes in my profession we forget the human side of a death in handling the ‘arrangements’. Sergeant-Major, you are a very lucky man.”

“I am well aware of it. Now, would you call Michael’s housekeeper, or would you prefer I do? More the point, do you think she would be amenable to caring for us?”

“I think she would be very happy to do so. I know that the Wing Commander’s death was not a happy thing for her – she found him. Meeting you and Lady Alexander and caring for you might fill a need, and at the same time you can discuss with her who needs to be notified of the memorial.”

“Very good – then let’s do that. For the present, though, what do you require of me?”

“Not as much as you’d expect. We already had the Wing Commander’s power of attorney, so much is already in process. For your part, I have the papers arranged for your scanning and signature.” With that they set to work.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Wed Sep 13, 2023 11:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 3:

Clattering to itself the taxi navigated the narrow streets of Fen Ditton, finally turning on to Horningsea Road. A mile or two saw them turning into a tidy cobbled entrance, at the back of which was a brick house in the contemporary style. Two small cars were parked at the back of the court, one covered with the grime of disuse with a FOR SALE sign stuffed in the window facing the street.

“Somehow, love, given your description of your friend I thought he’d be living in the equivalent of an old hangar – cot in the office and all with a Tiger Moth in the place of honor. This is kind of…mundane.”

Al laughed as he dug out his wallet and paid the driver. “Wait till we get inside. When you see FO’s office you’ll see the real him. He’s… he was always a very practical man when it came to the amenities and maintenance – he’d have been revolted at Building Two and would have been at me to move to ‘proper quarters’.

Rosalynd attempted an aggrieved snit and failed dismally. Sobering, she asked “I wonder if we did the right thing, coming here. I mean, your friend’s house and all…and his housekeeper.”

“I discussed it with Mr. Dagenham. To be honest, he thought it a good idea. Tirion was the old man’s caregiver – not nurse, he had one of those as well – but the woman who cooked his food, cleaned his house and gave him stick when he trod across the carpet in his muddy boots these last 10 years. He’d hired her after he lost his wife – he was never one like me to cook and care for himself.

“She’s a bit lost right now- and it seemed to him that meeting us and helping us would do her well.”

“What does she know about us?”

“She knows I’m FO’s executor. She also knows we’re in from the States and need a place to stay, and she’s made up the guest bedroom for us. FO was always big on company, so the house is well-arranged for guests, no doubt.”

“She’s at the door – let’s be at it.”

Exiting the car, Al walked to the hatchback as the driver unloaded their suitcases. As he took them in hand a sturdy older woman bustled out the door and took them firmly from his hands, saying “I have these, sir. Please follow me – I’m Tirion.”

Bemused, the pair followed her into the house. As they stepped into the entrance Tirion said “Please, go on through into the lounge and I’ll be down to bring tea in a moment. Let me get these bags up to your room…” and she walked up the stairs, the burden of the suitcases slowing her step none at all.

Doing her bidding, Al and Rosalynd stepped through into the lounge. Here, the stamp of the owner of the house was plain – a wooden propeller over the fireplace, leather covered furniture and dark wood accompanying pieces.

The rest of the wall space was covered with photographs and mementoes. Pictures of a distinguished man in an RAF uniform posing with aircraft, the same man in flight gear posed with a flight crew. Photos with notables, certificates and licenses in frames crowded the walls, each telling a small part of the life of an accomplished man.

“Is this you?” Rosalynd pointed to a photo over the divan.

A man in a pilot’s coverall was arm in arm with a man in jungle pattern camouflage. Both grinning wildly and showing the adrenalin rush of survivors of some unlikely adventure, the picture was electric.

“Oh, Gods….where did FO get that? I don’t remember it being taken – and on that job…it shouldn’t have been.” Al chuckled and shook his head. “That one’s still covered by the Official Secrets Act…”

“I see what you mean. Your friend lived quite a life.”

“That he did. He was quite a man, he was, was Wing Commander Rutherford.” This, in a female voice, came from the door.

Rosalynd and Al turned, and Al spoke first. “Tirion, I am Sergeant-Major Richer. FO and I were old friends, and I am so sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. This is my wife, Rosalynd Alexander-Richer. Thank you for taking care of us – I know this is above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Sergeant-Major, Lady Alexander, please…having you here is a blessing. It keeps me from thinking about Michael. Please, sit down, and I’ll fetch tea.”

“We will happily do so, but only if you sit and talk with us. We have some things to discuss, and we need your help and advice.”

The old lady’s eyes softened and grew shiny, and she turned away. “Certainly. Let me make tea, then we can sit and talk.” She bustled back out of the room, and Rosalynd and Al sat on the divan.

“It seems someone was briefed – Lady Alexander, indeed. Now I do wonder if Mr. Dagenham has told her about the bequest – and the disposition of Arabesque.” Rosalynd was a trifle nettled – she did not want to be an emotional burden to the old housekeeper, and that title was going to get in the way.

“We can establish that soon enough.” They conversed in low tones for ten minutes or so, and then Tirion wheeled a cart into the room. The smell of properly brewed tea hit Al’s nostrils, and he felt as if he’d not had a proper cup all day.

Distributing cups, plates and silverware Tirion poured the tea, asking Al and Rosalynd their preferences and adulterating the cups as required. Setting a plate of digestives on the table she then poured herself a cup and sat across from them, uncomfortable in the role of a peer and not a servant with these strangers.

“Sergeant-Major, Lady Alexander – what can I tell you?” Tirion asked, as the steam wafted up from her cup. She sipped, then set it down again.

“First things first, Tirion – I am Al and this is Rosalynd. If FO was here and we were popping in as his guests then the whole titles and sir and ma’am nonsense would be there – but now it is just the three of us – and all with a common bond of Michael’s loss. Please, no titles.”

Tirion looked into Al’s eyes, then Rosalynd’s, seeing the sincerity there. “Aye, you’re right. Poor Michael is gone, and there’s just us.” Her voice grew a bit husky, and she sipped again at her cup to cover. Al and Daisy waited patiently, willing to let her recover.

Al leaned forward and claimed a biscuit. As he did he spoke, asking the question that had plagued him. “First off – what happened? I know FO was no Spring chicken, but last he and I wrote he was still doing well for a man his age.”

“Aye, that he was. Got out for a walk most days, liked a gin at the pub – enjoyed life even though the nurse came in to see him a few times a week. His mobility wasn’t the best, but he did all right. He’d given up driving – used to get cabs wherever he wanted to go. As a matter of fact, his Renault out there was for sale.

He had been having a bit of difficulty Monday night, but as the nurse was dropping in on Tuesday he didn’t make a fuss. When I went in to check on him Tuesday morning – normally he was up at dawn regular as clockwork – I found him…gone. He’d passed in his sleep, peacefully. Bless ‘im, he never knew a thing.”

“Gods will him to his rest.” Al said, half benediction and half exclamation. Rosalynd put her hand on his knee for comfort, and they sat this way for a moment, the three of them remembering a friend.

After a moment Tirion looked up and said "Michael was spot-on - he said what you'd be like. He also mentioned that, old bachelor that you were, you'd finally had a good woman trip you into marriage - and he was thrilled about it. He hoped that you would be as happy as he'd been with his Bess, all those years." Tirion dabbed at her eyes and her voice was a bit husky, but true to her kind those were the only external signs of the deep emotion she felt.

Al and Rosalynd looked at each other - obviously there was much more going on here than the relationship of an employer and his housekeeper. "From that, I take it you and Michael were close friends, then?" Rosalynd asked, more as a rhetorical question than for affirmation.

"Oh, aye, we were. When he first engaged me that wasn't the case - he kept to himself and I did my job. He was so lonely, though, having lost Bess the winter before to cancer. After a while though he opened up and started to talk to me, and then we became friends after that. I will miss him."

"Then we have exactly the right person to talk to." Rosalynd said, sitting a bit forward on the divan. "As you likely know the solicitors" Rosalynd made it sound like a curse - obviously she was not entirely over her upset "hadn't planned a memorial service for the Wing Commander. I've taken that job on for Al, and made arrangements for a service at the church here in the village day after tomorrow. The Reverend there said that while the Wing Commander wasn't a regular churchgoer he was more than happy to have him there for a service. Do you think that will be all right?"

Tirion laughed. "Michael was not a churchgoer. His idea of a way to spend a Sunday morning was buried in that shop of his, or feet up in the garden with the Times and a pot of tea. He was on good terms with the Reverend, though, so what you tell me isn't a surprise."

"Odd. If he wasn't a churchgoer why would he be on good terms with the Reverend?”

Tirion settled back in her chair – a sure sign that the tale was going to be a good one. "That is a story in itself. As you can imagine, the church has an organ - a rather impressive one. Like all church organs, though, it suffered from its age and a bit of neglect.

"The organ had broken down – from what I heard the blower had gone U/S and as it was a bit ancient, bearings for its old electric motor were nowhere to be had. The old motor was something odd, and a new one was in order but would have to be made - at great expense. Because of this the church had fallen back onto an old electronic organ – a disappointment when one is used to a pipe organ.

"This is where Michael came in - he was down the pub having a gin and heard of the problem. He finished his gin and went to hunt up the Reverend, and the next day saw him there with a tool box.

"He dismounted the fans and the motor and hauled the motor back here into his workshop. He then made a new set of bearings to fit the silly thing from a bit of bronze – I remember him being dead chuffed with the job. New bearings in, a bit of scraping to fit and some new oil wicking and the motor was as good as new. Back down the street and in and St. Mary's organ is good for a good few decades again.

"As you can imagine that put him in good stead with the local churchgoers and the Reverend. This is why you got a good reception - Michael was well thought of, and I'm sure Reverend Leary was happy to help."

Al laughed delightedly. "About damned time that man got out of his armchair and did something useful. I'll have to have a look at that when we go to the service. That is classic FO – dive in and make things happen no matter what’s needed. I can hear him chuckling to himself in the shop as he made the parts.”

Changing the subject, Rosalynd asked a question. "Speaking of the service, though - I haven't arranged for a reception yet, and I'm not sure how to go about contacting local folks who would want to attend. How would I do that, and where would be a good spot?"

Tirion thought for a moment, then answered decisively. "Lady - Rosalynd, there's one place and one place alone for this - the Ancient Shepherd. It was Michael's local for one, and between it and The Plough I would...well, The Plough is not terribly good though the scenery's better being on the river. If you were to go anywhere else Michael's shade would hunt you down and shout at you.

"It's on the high street not a block or two from here, and about the same distance from the church. After the service people can just walk down to the pub, and not have to worry about their cars if they use them."

Rosalynd laughed. "Perfect. That's settled - I'll call them tomorrow and arrange lunch for after the service. Now for the next question - Michael must have had acquaintances and such here in the village - how do we let them know about the service? It's too late for the local paper - and I don't even know if there is one."

"I think you can leave that to me, my Lady. I ring one person here and they'll ring others and they'll ring others - the ones who need to know will know, never fear. Michael was well thought of here and those that knew him will be there to give him a proper send-off. Even if I didna bell anyone up your contact with the Reverend and the Shepherd's owner would do it quick enough."

"Small village?"

"Yes. Nowt travels faster than the speed of gossip." Tirion looked at the watch pinned to her blouse and exclaimed. "I can't be sitting here any longer - there's dinner to get."

"Please, don't worry about us-"Al began, and Tirion quite firmly stepped into it. "Al, My Lady, no, I will NOT be having you eating at the pub. It's good, but I do far better than they do. I've a need to cook for myself anyway, so it's nowt to cook for you as well. I've a very good larder here and there's no reason to turn you out into the street."

Al realized that this was a debt of honor - Michael's guests would be treated well whether he was there or not. "Tirion, we accept. One thing, though - Rosalynd is a vegetarian, so meats aren't on. I eat nearly anything, but if you want to just do vegetarian for us both that's fine - I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"'Tis no trouble, Al. Michael was semi-vegetarian for the last five years or so on the advice of his doctors, so vegetarian is no trouble. Can I interest you in a nice chop or the like?"

Grinning, Al replied. "Oh, MOST definitely. While my dear wife is a vegetarian, I am decidedly not. I will warn you I am a bit of a trencherman."

Tirion nodded. "Then you and I will get along well. I love to cook, and Michael enjoyed my cooking. More than happy to feed you up properly."

Al was warmed by the housekeeper's presence. "Many thanks. If you don't mind, though, Rosalynd and I are a bit tired - it's been a long day. I think a bit of a lie down might be in order, unless you'd like help in the kitchen?"

"No, I've no need for help. I've spent many a year in that kitchen and my feet know the floor there well. You two go and rest, and dinner will be at seven.”

Pointing to the stairs, she gestured a path. “If you go to the top of the stair and straight ahead you’ll find your room. I’ve put your bags there, and the toilet and bath are at the other end of the corridor. Please make yourselves at home.”

"Could you knock us up about six-thirty? I expect we'll both sleep – with travel and all we’ve not slept well – too few hours and none undisturbed.”

"No problem. See you then."

With that Al and Rosalynd excused themselves upstairs, and Tirion to her kitchen.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 4:

The next morning Al rose as the eastern sky began to glow. Donning on his workout clothes, he slipped out of the bedroom and quietly descended the stairs. Heading through the kitchen he found the back door and slipped quietly outside into the early summer freshness.

The dew was still on the ground, and the dampness of the air was a tonic for his spirits.

Removing his slippers, he stood on the damp grass and began his forms, smoothly gliding from one to the next, then returning through the circular sequence. Several repetitions of the sequence left him mentally alert and refreshed, and the magical grounding and balancing left him full to repletion and feeling well able to take the stresses today would bring.

Returning his attention to the present he was surprised to see lights on in the kitchen, as he’d left none on. Donning his slippers he walked back to the house and entered, to be confronted by a robed and slippered Tirion busy at the counter. Pressing the button on a coffeemaker she turned to him, a cheerful smile on her face.

“Coffee, Al? I dinna pick you as a tea man in the morning, despite yer good habits.” she said, inclining her head toward the door he’d just entered.

“Yes, coffee certainly – Rosalynd is a coffee drinker as well. Cream and Demerara sugar as well if you have it, plain sugar is fine, too. I do sincerely apologize – I thought I was quiet going out. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She shook her head. “You disturbed nothing. As Michael was usually up at this time so was I. He liked his tea early in the morning, and used to enjoy watching the sun come up – as you seem to. Is this all service folk, or just you two?”

“Just me, but I can see the reason. Years of rising to the bugles tends to get one out of the habit of sleeping in. I got back into the habit a few years ago under the tutelage of a good friend of mine – she taught me how to enjoy life again after I burned myself out with overwork.”

“A friend, eh? Does the Lady know about this friend?” she asked teasingly, nodding toward the room above.

“Yes, as a matter of fact she does. She is not THAT kind of a friend, thank you!” he said, playing along with the joke. I wonder what Tirion would make of Ialin? oh, my…Welsh sensitivities and a dryad’s puckish sense of humor…oh, dear!

Teasing accomplished, Tirion sobered a bit. “And what have ye to do today? More paperwork?”

Grimacing, Al replied, his tone making his displeasure evident. “Back to the solicitor’s office for the morning, I suspect, and likely part of the afternoon. I need to call them first, and find out when they need me. Mr. Dagenham was supposed to contact me but I’ve not heard from him.

“Other than that, Rosalynd needs to go and speak to the landlord at the Shepherd, and confirm with the Reverend for tomorrow at ten. Will you be able to get the word out in that little time, or should we push it a day? I doubt the Reverend would have an issue with moving things if need be.” Al sat down at the kitchen table, relaxing and awaiting the coffee.

“Nay, I doubt there’ll be grief. Everyone who would like to pay tribute to Michael will come. Did Lady Alexander manage to ring up the gentleman Michael sold the business to?”

“Yes, she did yesterday, and he is getting the word out. She’s asked him to give us a tentative headcount by noon today so we can get that to the pub. If you could do the same it would be sincerely appreciated.”

“That should be no problem. I can-“ and the coffeemaker beeped for attention. Fetching down three mugs from the cupboard she filled two of them, adulterating Al’s as requested. Passing the cup to Al she took her own and sipped gratefully as she sat with him at the table.

“Ahhhh… Lovely. As I was saying, that should be no difficulty. It will likely be around a dozen or so – his doctor, the nurse, Stoddard the gardener and some of his mates from t’pub.”

“Mates from t’pub? Oh, dear…it does sound like FO was associating with a rather rough-and-tumble segment of the population! Perhaps this is a poor idea…” he subsided, pretending to think on the issue furiously.

Tirion laughed, a musical sound in the quiet kitchen. “Aye, scandalous folk. Two of the local schoolteachers, the head of a local architectural firm, the local estate agent and other such dregs of society. You ARE right – perhaps they shouldn’t be invited.“ Tirion laughed again.

“Oh, I think we can. Restrict the drink and they’ll be sedate enough, I suspect.” Al said in his best toffee-nosed accent.

“How’s the coffee?”

“Lovely, Tirion. Thank you again for caring for us – this is far nicer than any hotel we could have stayed at, and you are a wonderful hostess.”

‘It’s the least I could do for the old man. Now, when would you like breakfast?”

“If I could have another of these” he said, holding out the empty mug, “and another like it for Rosalynd, we could happily wait till eight or so for breakfast if that suits you. Would that be all right?”

“That would be fine. See you then.” Tirion took Al’s mug and the extra from the counter and filled them, adding cream and sugar.

Al took the proffered mugs, then set them down on the counter.

“Tirion, a question if I may. Why do you have no problem calling me Al but you call Rosalynd by her title?”

With a broad grin Tirion answered. “In this house, Sergeant-Major, military men are two a penny. However, a titled Lady in residence is an event to be celebrated. If Lady Alexander insists I will call her Rosalynd, but if she does nae mind I would prefer to use her title. Pure swank, I know.”

Al burst into a delighted chuckle. This is altogether too good and Lady Alexander is NEVER going to live it down! “That being said, please do address her as you wish. She was concerned that you were uncomfortable with her being here and being formal because of it. If it’s swank, and especially if you can use it as grist for the gossip mills, please do. Until, breakfast, then.” He then took the mugs and headed back upstairs, where a tousle-headed redhead awaited him.

A bit before eight, the couple descended the stairs, empty mugs in tow. Both were dressed casually – Al in his usual khakis and Rosalynd in slacks and a blouse. Now familiar with the house, both wandered into the kitchen.

“Gracious lady of the kitchen, can we beg more coffee?” Al said, tongue firmly in cheek.

Tirion gestured to the pot. “Just made it fresh – help yourself. Cream is in the pitcher, and sugar in the cupboard.” she said, hands busy cutting out rounds of dough and setting them on a baking sheet. Cutting done, she reached into the cabinet and pulled down a jar of coarse sugar, sprinkling it along the tops of the dough rounds.

“Scones?” Rosalynd asked eagerly.

“Aye, Lady Alexander. Nothing but the best for the gentlefolk.” With an economy of motion she took the tray and slid it into the oven, setting a timer. “Those will be out in a few minutes. Until then can I interest you in a bowl of cereal as a starter?”

“No – I’m more than willing to wait for scones. Do you have…clotted cream?”

Tirion looked scandalized. “Do I look the poor cook who would serve scones without strawberry jam and clotted cream? Yes, we do, and plenty.”

Rosalynd rubbed her hands together. “Marvelous. Many thanks!”

Turning to Al Tirion asked, “And can I interest you in a fryup? I don’t have black or white pudding, but the rest is right to hand, and the product of local farms right down to the eggs.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. Eggs over easy, please.”

“Toast?”

“Yes, whatever you have is wonderful.”

Soon, the pair were presented with laden plates. Refilling their coffee Tirion filled her own mug and sat with them, comfortable with their presence.

“Lady Alexander – is there anything I can do to help with the arrangements? Al mentioned you were going to speak to the Reverend this morning and the landlord at the Shepherd.”

“Yes. I’d love it if you’d come along. These people don’t know me from any other American tourist – this will save a lot of misunderstanding. Thank you for asking!”

“Not a problem. I’m glad to see Michael being given a proper send-off as opposed to what the solicitors had in mind. He deserved far better than that.”

That matter settled, Tirion turned to her other charge. “Al – have you heard from the solicitors?”

“No, not a word. I’ll wait till ten or so and ring them. I think a good walk through the village would suit me well – between travel and the day in chambers yesterday I’m getting stiff.”

“Why don’t you have a look around the property here?”

“If you wouldn’t mind I’d love to have a poke into Michael’s workshop. I promise to disturb nothing-“

“Al, stop pretending.” Tirion’s voice was flat. “I am well aware that you are the new owner of Arabesque – Michael told me as much when he last revised his will.”

Al was taken quite aback – this was not a matter he’d planned on addressing until after the service. “Tirion, believe me, I had no idea of that when I agreed to be Michael’s executor. You, of course, are more than welcome to stay here perpetually – I would love to have you here as a caretaker.”

He and Rosalynd had discussed that once the situation was laid out at the solicitor’s office. Al had NO intention of turning anyone out of their home no matter the issues involved.

Tirion nodded, began to speak, stopped and then began again. “For that, Sergeant-Major, I thank you. I had planned to go and live with my daughter and her family in the village – I was going to add a cottage for myself on their property. However…you and I can talk about this – I would not object to staying on here as your caretaker – with a few conditions on the agreement.”

“And those would be?” Rosalynd asked.

Tirion held up a finger. “I will live here in exchange for rent, and we can discuss a sum for my being the caretaker. Trust me, my demands will be minimal except for one.”

“And that would be?” Rosalynd asked cautiously.

“I want to see you two and your family or friends at least once a year. I will not be handed a sinecure because you ‘feel sorry for the old woman’.” Her eyes flashed – obviously this was a subject that she felt strongly about.

A look passed between Al and Rosalynd – both were thinking exactly the same thing, and neither had any issue whatsoever with the conditions Tirion had imposed.

Rosalynd spoke up. “You may want to amend that ‘friends and family’ condition. Our brood are a rambunctious bunch, and our friends…well, the less said about them the better.” Tirion nodded at the implicit assent.

“Do we have a deal?” she asked.

Al settled back, sipped from his cup and then spoke. “Most certainly. After a breakfast like that I could say no less. I will under no circumstances allow you to short-change yourself on caring for the place – consider me a hard negotiator on that subject.”

In her haughtiest tones Rosalynd spoke. “And if he wasn’t – I would be. And as Lady Alexander I am unused to not having my way in a discussion – you can ask my husband for confirmation on that.”

Dramatically cringing Al replied. “She is a red-haired devil – an absolute harridan. I quake in fear of her temper.”

“I will take this under advisement.” Tirion said straight-faced, then burst out laughing.

“Let me pour you some more coffee, and finish your breakfasts. The Lady Alexander, you and I can wander down to the church and t’pub to make our rounds. Do remind me to lend you a kerchief, though – the Reverend is rather strict that ‘the proprieties will be observed’ – he’s rather traditional. The tea shop would likely benefit from a visit as well afterward – I must make sure I’m seen with Lady Alexander to give all the local gossips something to talk about.”

Her look turned sly. “And you, Sergeant-Major, should stir about and see your new domain. I daresay you will find a thing or two of interest in the garage.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 5:

Full of breakfast and suitably caffeinated, Al wandered out of the kitchen door. Tirion’s instructions had been simple: “Out t’door, follow t’track and t’garage is at t’back.”

Walking down the neatly groomed gravel he looked around. On the far side of the fence was ploughed land – the plot plan said that a part of that was part of his property – he assumed it was leased for farming. A good bit of income in that, no doubt. he thought, realizing that Arabesque was hardly going to be a drain on his resources.

A minute or two saw him at the garage – a solid brick building with three doors – one for people and two bays. Walking to the person door he opened it with the key and stepped in, leaving the door open. A quick search by the door turned up the light switch, and the fluorescents on the rafters flickered on then steadied.

“Oh, my. Oh, my, my, my. I AM impressed FO me old mate.”

Revealed under the lights was an impressively equipped machine shop. A Boxford AUD lathe sat on its stand, a fluorescent light over it giving nearly shadowless illumination. Next to it was a Tom Senior milling machine, its collets and attachments in a rack on the wall behind it. The milling machine was graced with movable lights – perfect for illuminating the work.

At the far end was an Alba shaper, its clamps and tooling on a shelf behind it.

Benches stood around the walls, with an aisle up the center of the narrow space. In the spots not occupied by benches were cabinets. Al stepped to the first one, to find wooden boxes containing measuring instruments, stands and a bewildering array of small drawers containing hardware.

Another cabinet turned up chucks and furniture to fit the lathe and mill, and a rack next to that held stock in various lengths. The bottom of that was a row of buckets, each containing short lengths of material segregated by material.

The last cabinet held books – lots of them. All of the manuals for the machines, bound volumes of the “Model Engineer” and plans galore. Two shelves also held projects – miniature engines, dynamos, and boxes containing part-built engines. Noting these for transfer to his shop at home, he closed the cabinets and moved on, overriding an overwhelming urge to roll up his sleeves, oil the machines and get to work.

Walking to the door in the partition, Al opened it.

Hulking in the dimness was a covered shape. Large, imposing and utterly anonymous, the car – and it could be nothing else – huddled under its cover. Flipping on the light, Al walked to the front of the cover, and heart hammering in his ribs, flipped it up.
A cream front end graced by a massive chrome bumper and radiator grille looked imperturbably back at him. Topped with a Winged B the front end of the car was conservative, understated.

It was beautiful.

Moving quickly, Al rolled the cover off the car, revealing a cream paint job with a black roofline, bonnet and boot lid. The chrome and cream hubcaps matched and the massive tyres with an understated whitewall were perfect. The only thing marring the perfection was the slight dust coating the upper surfaces.

Al sat down on the floor and simply stared.

Long minutes later he stood, carefully dusted himself off, and opened the driver’s door of the car. The interior lights came on, illuminating the saddle leather and brown wool carpeting of the interior, all maintained in loving detail.

Quietly closing the door and locking it he returned to the house.

He walked into the kitchen, where Rosalynd and Tirion were about to leave. Tirion looked at him and laughed long and hard. Continuing to laugh, she turned to the coffee pot and poured the remains of the pot into a cup.

Rosalynd looked at him and said, “Al…are you all right?”

Al nodded, dumbly, and turned toward the back door and pointed. His jaw worked, but no words came out.

Tirion stepped over and handed Al the cup. Looking at it dumbly, he gulped a mouthful of the contents, then drained it.

“I take it then ye found wee Victoria?” Tirion said, hugely enjoying the old man’s discomfiture.

Rosalynd snapped her fingers in front of Al’s face, trying to get his attention. “Al? Rosalynd to Al…come in Al…Al? Godsdamnit old man talk to me.”

Al, power of speech finally having returned, said “Rosalynd, there is a 1953 Bentley Model R in the garage – in mint condition. It’s a 97-point car if ever I’ve seen one. It’s immaculate.”

“Bentley? Did you say Bentley?” Al could practically hear his wife’s nipples erecting.

“Yes, dear. A Model R. Tirion…?”

Tirion was still snickering, obviously enjoying Al’s shock despite herself. “If you are asking what I think you’re asking, then yes, it is up to date. The past few years the local garage came for it four times a year and changed its fluids as needed and took it for a good long run. They also kept the MOT up to date – she’s good till Autumn.”

“Can I?”

“Of course you can – she’s yours. The old man told me what your reaction would be. ‘Tirion, keep the mop handy – he’ll likely wet himself all over your kitchen floor.’

Rosalynd guffawed. “Oh, Gods, Tw..Al, he had your number.”

“Tirion – a brandy, please. A small one. Would you two join me, please?” Tirion nodded and headed for the drinks cabinet in the lounge, returning with the drinks tray, a bottle of Courvoisier and three tulip glasses.

“Al, you don’t drink. Is this…”

“I will not go anywhere near that magnificent beast until it is out of my system, and this once…it is necessary.”

Drinks poured, Al picked his up, and the ladies picked up theirs.

“Join me. To Michael Judson Rutherford, ex-RAF, ex-this planet. You will be sorely missed you magnificent bastard.” The three drank, and Al walked over to his wife and hugged her deeply as the tears began to flow.

The sadness lasted but a minute. Al stood again, and Tirion innocently asked “I take it ye didna look in the second bay?”

Al looked at her flintily and said “Tirionnnn… what are you not telling me?”

“It all depends on how you feel about Morgans, I suspect.” she said, airily.

“Tirionnnn…” Al growled, warningly.

“All I will say is that it is in the same condition as Victoria – and has been maintained the same way.”

Al sighed – the put-upon sigh of a man who has been well and truly bested by a member of the opposite sex. “Very well. I need to call the solicitor right now, and I expect investigating the second bay will have to wait till later today. Tirion, you try my patience.”

She stared at him, then broke out laughing. “If you say it with a bit more sincerity, I might be tempted to believe you.” She shooed him a bit, saying “Call the solicitor. Lady Alexander and I have things to do, and you need to go sign papers. We will see you for dinner.”

With that Tirion and Rosalynd walked out of the house, and down the lane.

First stop was the Ancient Mariner - a welcoming presence in yellow brick on the high street. In the front door they were confronted by a painted sign pointing one way for the “Public Bar” and the other to the “Ladies Lounge”. Ignoring it firmly they turned to the public bar, to find the publican at his station. On seeing them, he exited his enclave, came out and took Tirion’s hands.

“Good morning! Tirion, I am so sad to hear about Michael - he will be missed.”

Tirion nodded. “Yes, he will be. Devan, let me introduce you to Lady Rosalynd Alexander. You and she spoke on the phone yesterday I believe - it’s about the lunch for Michael’s memorial service.”

He nodded, a quick gesture. “Lady Alexander, it is a pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under more auspicious circumstances, but even an ill wind can blow some good. Please, sit down and let’s chat.”

They went to a table in the lounge area and sat. Rosalynd reached into her purse for her phone and brought up a document.

“As I said on the phone yesterday, Michael’s service is tomorrow morning. We are expecting about 40 to 50 people total between his friends here and those he knew from his business and flying in general. I was debating - should we have a cold lunch or a hot lunch? How are these things normally done here - I have no idea.”

“Lady Alexander, it could be either way depending on what you would prefer. A cold lunch is often served for those looking for a cost effective way to cater to their guests, pardonin’ the pun.

“If your budget can stretch to it, I’d -“

“In this, budget is not an issue. At All. Am I understood?” Rosalynd was a bit sharp, but she wanted that question put to bed.

Devan grimaced, and Rosalynd thought that perhaps she’d been a bit too sharp with him. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Lady Alexander, but those are words we do not often hear here.” He grinned, and added “However, being said, that makes the answer much simpler.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

Well, what I might suggest is this. Poached chicken breast in a cream and mushroom sauce is always a good choice - easy to self-serve. Have that along with fresh salmon and prawns au gratin for the fish-eaters, and a homemade fresh vegetable lasagne for the vegetarians.

For sides I might suggest hot new potatoes and a dressed mixed salad.”

“What about dessert? Tea and coffee as well, of course.”

“Dessert I will arrange with the local baker - I can have him provide an assortment of things for people to enjoy - chocolate, cream and fruit.”

Rosalynd turned to Tirion. “Does this sound satisfactory to you?”

“Are you sure you want to do this? Honestly, no one would be offended by platters of sandwiches and pots of tea.”

Rosalynd was having none of it. “You heard the Sergeant-Major this morning. ‘Spare no expense.’ were the exact words he used. If I go back to him and say that I set up a platter of brawn sandwiches and a pot of tea for the Wing Commander’s reception what exactly do you think he’s going to do to me?”

Tirion snickered. “Aye, ye do have a point. That being said, I do think that is a lovely spread. However, can we add a jam roly-poly to the list of desserts?”

Devan asked “With or without custard?”

“With, of course, d’ye think me a barbarian to serve a roly-poly without custard?” Tirion was indignant.

Rosalynd laughed, and said “I take it that is a favorite of Michael’s?”

Tirion nodded. “The man could have anything he wanted within reason. However, a bowl of roly-poly with a dollop of custard was his choice every time. It would be right to have that on the table.”

Rosalynd turned to Devan and said “Make it so, please.” She proffered her American Express RE Corporate card and said “Please charge everything to this. I will expect a tab at the end, but in case we get crossed up this way you can charge me.”

“Oh, before you do that - let’s discuss drink.”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“I expect a bar set up in here. Whatever folks want, they get. I do NOT want the normal bar bottles for liquor - I want quality. Am I understood?” Rosalynd stared directly into the publican’s eyes as she said that.

“Yes, my Lady.”

“I also expect that whoever is serving will use good judgement as to whom is being served and how much. I will not have this reception degenerating into a drunken brawl despite the dubious reputation of some of the Wing Commander’s friends. Am I Understood?”

“Yes, my Lady. I’ll do it meself.”

“Tirion, any additions or suggestions?”

“No, my Lady. I do believe you’ve covered it very well. “ Rosalynd could tell from the twinkle in Tirion’s eye that she was endlessly amused to see the thoroughly cowed expression on Devan’ s face and the humble tone in his voice, all compounded by the suggestion that the Wing Commander might have – oh, no! – dubious acquaintances.

“Very good. Why don’t you run that card so you have it, and as I said I expect a statement from you on the food and drink at the end - or you can mail it to me or email it to the States.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Devan scurried off to note the card details, and Tirion leaned over to Rosalynd. “Strewth I thought he was going to leave a puddle on his chair. How did you do that?”

“Did I mention that I ran Alexander Harvesters for over a decade as my son was growing up?”

“That, my Lady, explains it nicely. He will have this all over town in the time it takes him to serve the usual suspects at the bar tonight. You are going to have a formidable reputation here in the village.”

Rosalynd chuckled, thought a moment and answered. “This…is never a bad thing. Shall we reinforce this when we stop at the tea shop later? You can introduce me as your friend, Lady Alexander…”

Tirion snickered. “Already planned that. The local biddies will have quite a bit to discuss for the next fortnight.”

Devan returned with Rosalynd’s card, and by the look of awe on his face it was obvious he’d checked the credit limit on it.

“Lady Alexander, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I think this will do nicely. Remember, I expect top notch service for this - the Wing Commander’s memory deserves the best, as do his friends. Please do not disappoint me.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

With that Rosalynd and Tirion left the pub. As they got outside both burst out in laughter.

“I’ve never SEEN him that obedient! ‘Yes, my Lady. Yes, ma’am. Yes, Lady Alexander.’ Normally had he been asked for something like this next day he would have been all ‘oh no that’s not possible special costs so on and so forth’. He was an absolute mouse.”

‘It comes with the title. I had to go to a special class for that when I inherited the title after my husband passed on.”

“Truly? You had to take a course…”

“NO! Tirian, when we get back to Arabesque look up ‘gullible’ in the dictionary - it’s not there!”

Both women laughed, and they turned from the path onto the high street heading for the church.

As they did, behind them there was a grumble, which turned into a full-throated roar. A low shape with two wheels at the front and one at the back and the engine incongruously glued to the front passed them on the street, bellowing like a herd of elephants.

Painted green and with a Union Jack on the scuttle panel at the front, it embodied British engineering madness.

The pilot (and there could be no other word) suited the vehicle perfectly. Head clad in a leather helmet and goggles on his face, he looked like a wartime fighter pilot, lacking nothing but a set of Vickers machine guns on the cowl to suit.

Rosalynd was amazed as the vision slowed as it passed, waving, and then sped up again. She turned to Tirion, who strangely was having severe breathing problems - leaning on the wall of the pub and gasping.

Rosalynd put two and two together. “Was that…”

“Yes…BWAAAHAHAHAAAAaaa…..”

“What was he driving?”
“That is Michael’s old Morgan three-wheeler. While they’re still built that is an original - and the poor thing hasn’t seen road other than a gentle drive to its MOT in years. Looks to be it’s going to get a proper day out. GOOD for both of them. No doubt Michael’s riding along and whinging about his driving.”

"Where could he be going?"

"Looking at the time, my Lady, I suspect he's headed to the solicitor's. However...he may not make it there for a good long while, I suspect."
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 6:

Later that day Rosalynd and Tirion were in the kitchen, chatting casually. Suddenly Tirion’s head rose, and a distant look appeared in her eye. A second later, Rosalynd heard it too – the thrumming roar of the Morgan.

The roar swelled, then settled to a mutter as the car pulled alongside the house. After a moment it roared again, then the sound diminished as it rolled down the track, to stop a minute later.

Tirion rose, went to the refrigerator and poured a large glass of water. “He’ll be thirsty – Michael used to come home in that thing and down water till he squished.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be catered to. What possessed him to take that thing out?”

Tirion looked confused. “Why not? As you told me over tea at the shop, the man can’t resist anything with a motor in it, be it with wheels or wings. He’s had a beauty of a day out despite having to deal with the paperwork. I think it’s grand.”

Rosalynd was unmollified. “This is hardly the time to be playing with toys!” she said, grumpily and not terribly kindly.

Before Tirion could answer Al bustled in the door. Having left the helmet and goggles with the car, he was wearing a short bomber jacket despite the warmer temperatures. Shedding the coat, he mumbled “Back in a second.” and disappeared into the lounge. A door opened and closed and then he was back, windburned and with the marks of goggles on his face.

“Al, what possessed you to go off joyriding at a time like this? Really, I know you can’t resist a car, but this is just undignified.” Rosalynd was pulling no punches – she was displeased with her spouse in no uncertain terms.

Al was having none of it. “Dear, I would not normally have done that. However, after speaking with Alex at the solicitor’s office I was told when to come in and had plenty of time – so I decided to wander out and investigate what Tirion had twitted me about. Is that for me? Thanks – parched.” Al drank, then sat at the table and continued his tale.

“I had gotten the cover off and been utterly gobsmacked at what I found – I was expecting a Plus 4 or something similar. As I was admiring it I heard a voice behind me, plain as day, whispering. “Go on, then. You know you want to.” I whirled around to see nothing.

“However, the more I thought about it the more I could see Michael in the cockpit of the little beast, jacket, helmet and goggles on, rumbling through the town. Nothing illegal, nothing childish…but enjoying the road and in the meantime giving his friends a notion of what a REAL car was. Utterly, completely daft…and so him.”
“Still, really. At this time and all..”

“And what time is that, Lady Alexander?” Tirion asked. “To be honest, and beggin’ yer pardon, I think it the perfect time.

“Memories are powerful things. If that wasn’t Michael’s shade whisperin’ in Al’s ear out there in the garage I don’t know what it was.

“Michael was a merry man, all that Sherwood Forest claptrap notwithstanding. He enjoyed life and his toys were a part of it. Rather than ignoring his death, Al was celebrating his life.”

“But still – running around the village in that…thing. Really!”

Al began to speak, then stopped, then started again. “Actually, that was part of the exercise. While I was standing there looking at the lovely thing, it occurred to me that the sight of that Morgan would have been a familiar one to the folks in the village. Love it or hate it, you can hardly ignore it.”

“Al – how did folks react when they saw you?” Tirion pressed.

Al chuckled. “I will confess to not taking the most direct route out of town. I did run up and down the high street, and ran about on the B-roads a bit. The controls on a Morgan are hardly common with the foot brake, hand lever brake and hand throttle combined with the manual gearbox.

“While I was touring the village it was amazing. Folks lit up – many waved, and nearly all of them had a smile. One old man, however, on the road out toward Cambridge was less than impressed. I got a mobility cane shaken at me, and I have no doubt the mouth motions I saw were connected to very uncomplimentary words.”

Tirion laughed heartily. “And that would be old MacPherson. Hated Michael, hated his joy for life and particularly hated the Morgan. What did ye do when ye saw him?”

Al looked abashed – a bit of a guilty conscience coming to the fore. “Sadly, I did not uphold the best of human nature. I declutched the Morgan and revved the bollocks off the engine. With the straight pipe exhaust on that car it was quite a racket. I do hope Michael will forgive me for doing that to it.”

“I doubt forgiveness would be the emotion he would be feeling – that is exactly what he used to do as well. Somehow, the thought of unbridled glee comes to mind.”

Tirion turned to Rosalynd. “Lady Alexander, while I understand what you say I don’t believe grief is what Michael would want.

”I miss him – I always will. However, I will not let his memory become a sad one. I shared the last ten years of his life and he became a close friend to me. I miss his laugh, his smile, and the awful old stories of his military days he used to tell. However…I will not cry. I will glory in having known him.”

Rosalynd and Al looked at each other – both wondering what exactly the relationship had been there. However, both held their peace.

Rosalynd spoke, slowly. “Tirion, I am sorry. People handle grief differently – some are prostrate with it, others struggle under it, and the lucky few can see through it to celebrate the life that’s gone. I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to criticize.”

Nodding, Tirion listened. “Rosalynd, please don’t misunderstand me. I miss him dearly and would give nearly anything to have him back – but that would not be his way. Like most Englishmen he’d be at me telling me to ‘keep my pecker up’, and ‘carry on, old girl’.

“I can cry for him, and I do – but that can’t be my answer to his life. That’s why I pointed the Sergeant-Major out to the garage, because the thought of his toys out and being enjoyed is…satisfying. As long as they’re being enjoyed he’s here as well.”

Tirion stopped, looking embarrassed. “I’ve said too much, I have.” Standing, she headed for the refrigerator. “Give me a bit and I’ll start dinner.”

“No you don’t.” said Rosalynd. Standing and walking to where the old woman stood, she enveloped her in a hug. Shocked by the familiarity for a moment she should stiffly, then melted into the embrace. Her arms went around Rosalynd’s waist and her shoulders shook as she began to cry, quietly.

Rosalynd held her, quietly, comfortingly. A minute or two went by, then Tirion stood back a bit, embarrassed. “Oh, look at the old woman…” Rosalynd pulled her close again and held her, quieting the shame. Another minute went by, then Rosalynd pulled back a bit, arms still on Tirion’s shoulders.

“If you start gettin’ all embarrassed on me, hun, we’re never gonna get to be friends.” Rosalynd said, the southern in her speech coming out in force. “Now, we’re all friends here, and friends don’t let friends hurt alone. Relax.”

“And that goes for me as well, ducks.” The tableau – Tirion and Rosalynd close, Al seated – held for another minute, then Al got up from his chair, slapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Now, what do you want help with for dinner?”

Rosalynd released Tirion, who turning to Al said “You? In my kitchen? I will not have that, thank’ee. You sit right back down, or go sit in the lounge and watch the telly or whatever – I’ll not have ye making a mess of my kitchen.” Things were back…and the better for the truths that had been told. 
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 7:

Arabesque was quiet the next morning. Al, as was his way, had been up and done his forms, and Tirion again had coffee ready when he finished. As before, he wandered upstairs with two mugs, to kiss his sleeping wife into wakefulness.

“Morning?” she said, as if the thought was unpalatable. Al was used to this, as Rosalynd was at best not a morning person. Handing her a mug, he sat on the bed next to her and sipped at his own.

After a few minutes and several sips of the warm beverage her synapses began to function. “Today is the service, right?”

“Yes, dear. I can’t thank you enough for taking that into your own hands. I had gotten hyper-focused on the legal details…” He shrugged, helplessly.

“Understandable, love. However, for the life of me I cannot abide those damn lawyers – how can you be so cold and callous as to not give people a chance to say goodbye!...”

He took her in his arms, setting their mugs aside. “I know. I was just as bad as they. You’re my humanity, love. Without you…” and his voice trailed off as he held her close.

“No, love…you would have done the same, but you were trying to do right by your friend’s memory and make sure things were done right. We are a team, after all – and between us we got it done.”

“What do you think about Tirion? Is she going to be all right?” Al was concerned. “Once all of the shouting is over and we leave…well, I’m worried about her. Alone in this place with her memories of Michael…I’m not sure that’s healthy. Maybe I should have let her go to her daughter’s.”

Rosalynd shook her head, causing sympathetic vibrations elsewhere. Wrenching his attention back to the conversation, he asked, “What do you think?”

“There are a few things we can do. First, we make sure we come over for even weekends regularly. Second, I’m sure the kids would enjoy being here. All those nice postgraduates for Cinnamon to graze in, after all…” She smiled archly, and Al laughed.

“I am not sure a proper lady like Tirion would approve of Cinnamon’s catches in a situation like that! I do expect Rowdy and his doctor ladyfriend would love the place though. With Michael’s Renault put back in shape and maintained it would be perfect for anyone visiting to use. It’s small, economical and not at all hard to drive. I’ll have to get the V5 reassigned, though – might get the solicitors to do that for me.”

“Not going to let them use the Bentley or the Morgan?”

“HADES, NO! NO ONE drives that Morgan but me. The Bentley…well…I might let you try it, though my common sense tells me otherwise.”

Rosalynd leaned forward, and Al found his chest being nuzzled by Rosalynd’s ample assets. Mind going completely blank, he struggled to pick up the conversation.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yes…of course you can drive the Bentley, dear…”

Rosalynd giggled, delighted her ploy had worked. “More seriously, I do think living up to the spirit of our promise is the way to go here. Between us, the kids and her friends and family here I think she’ll be fine.”

“Speaking of Tirion, though, I suggest you get that lazy centaur backside of yours out of bed. Breakfast will be ready soon – I saw a bowl of scone dough in process as I came upstairs.”

“OOO Scones!” She bounced out of bed, and the rest of Al’s intelligence fled as he yet again fell in love with his wife.

Soon after both of them came downstairs dressed casually. Wandering into the kitchen they were met by Tirion, working away at the stove. “Got the bacon and sausages on and I’ll start the eggs when they’re ready. Beans?”

“Yes, mum. Please!”

“Mum indeed. Go on with ye!” she said with a grin, then sobered. “Lady Alexander – Al. I meant to ask you last evening – would you prefer I set the dining room for meals? I know we’ve been eating in here, but that’s hardly what should be happening. I can set the dining room for you two-“

“No. Absolutely not. Tirion, you are not hired help – you are our friend.”

“But-“

“No. We have staff at home – and you need to come and visit us there. Much of the time my cook Rosalita sits with me for breakfast and lunch and I’m happy with it. Please, no. This is not Alexander House – it’s your home and we are guests in it.”

“But-“ Tirion looked confused.

“Tirion, ducks...when she uses that tone of voice I have learned not to argue. Please – she is absolutely right.”

Tirion sighed. “Very well, Lady Alexander. If I must. Dining with the gentry and all…” She sighed, then turned back to the stove. As she did Rosalynd and Al looked at each other – things would be all right.

Soon breakfast was served, to the delight of the two served and the satisfaction of the server. Al’s plate was full – eggs, bacon, sausage, toast and a small bowl of beans. Rosalynd’s was as well, with scones fresh from the oven and pots of clotted cream and strawberry jam.

Tirion, unlike the day before, had waited to break fast till they ate and sat with them, with a plate combining a bit of each of the others. As they ate the plans for the day were discussed, and contingencies made.

“So, we’ll need to be to the church a bit before 10. The undertakers will be bringing Michael’s urn over for the service, and handing it to us afterward. Lunch is scheduled for noon, given the length of the average Episcopal service that will give an hour or so for folks to straggle down the street to the Shepherd, have a drink and socialize.” Daisy was ticking items off on her list, making sure everything was set up and going according to plan.

“That works well on the timing. We are due at the airport at 3 – so plenty of time to be at the reception and still make our appointment.”

Tirion chuckled. “Quite fitting, that. A flight in an airplane for his ashes to be spread. Thank you for arranging that, Al – I never would have thought of it.”

“With Cambridge Airport so close it was simple to arrange. We will probably be breaking a few regulations to make it happen, but to be honest I could not possibly care less.”

The rest of breakfast was similar – checking of lists, arrangements to be made and so on. Finally, breakfast complete they tidied up. Al, finishing his coffee, put his cup and plate in the sink and headed for the back door.

“Aaaalllll…where are you going?” Rosalynd asked.

“I am not taking Michael to his last flight in a taxi. As there are three of us, we can’t use the Morgan – so we have one other choice.”

Rosalynd nodded. “Good thought, and I concur. A cab or the Renault would just not be right, given the other choices. I’m tempted to have Tirion drive and let you take him in the Morgan, though. Tirion, opinions?”

Putting away her own dishes Tirion turned from the sink she was filling to wash them. “Honestly, both are tempting, and it would be grand for Michael to harass MacPherson one more time. However, I think the Bentley a better choice. Michael was always about panache – and that car embodies it.”

“The Bentley it is, then. I’ll run it up and pull it into the court, and we can take it from there after the church and the reception. I expect we’re walking down there?”

“There’s little parking right by the church – and what there is I wouldn’t trust Victoria in with the drivers here. Scandalous lot.” Tirion, it seems, was unimpressed by the driving skills of the other villagers.

“Perfect – we have a plan.” A thought occurred to Al, and he asked “Tirion, your daughter lives in the village here – would you prefer to go with her? I assure you we can find our way to the church unaccompanied.”

She smiled – obviously that had occurred to her as well. “She’ll be meeting us there. Can she sit with us?”

Al started to speak, but Rosalynd beat him to it. “Tirion, that’s just wrong. Of COURSE she can sit with us – what kind of twisted lord-of-the-manor thing do you think we have going here, hun?”

Tirion looked abashed. “Lady Alexander, I wasn’t sure. This is why I asked. While we’re friends, I wasn’t sure this extended to my daughter.”

Rosalynd took her hands and looked straight into her eyes. “Hun, this includes daughter, partners, children if any…and I’d love to meet them all. Will you introduce us when we get to the reception?”

“Certainly.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 8:

“Are we ready?” Al fidgeted in the lounge.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, I guess. Let me get my purse and put on my hat and we’ll go. Tirion?”

“Ready in a moment. I need to do the same.”

The three were all dressed in black – but that was the only common feature.

Al was dressed in a black wool suit from Prescott’s in Bond Street. This was complimented by a crisp white shirt, and a maroon tie with the cap badge of 1 Para embroidered on it. His pocket square was the same maroon, as was the ribbon on his fedora.

Rosalynd was attired much the same – black fitted suit, black heels and a black pillbox hat with a symbolic lace veil attached to it. At her throat was the cloisonné pendant that Sterling had gifted her with – the centaur rampant proud on it.

Tirion was in a dress in the same colour, with a short jacket over the top of it. She wore a hat similar to Rosalynd’s, with a mesh veil just down over her forehead and reaching to just above her eyes.

“Come on, then – it’s nearly 9:45. We need to get a move on.” Al was decidedly nervous – he despised public speaking on a good day, and unfortunately the eulogy was his to deliver.

Rosalynd wisely refrained from informing him that they’d hardly start without them. She also very wisely refrained from remarking that Michael wouldn’t mind either – now was not the time for that level of snark. Instead she composed herself and sent waves of tranquility down the connection they shared.

Visibly calming with her help, Al relaxed, and didn’t chivvy further. Within moments the ladies were ready, and the three made their way out the door of Arabesque and onto the street.

Al, Rosalynd and Tirion walked down the street from Arabesque, onto the high street and made their way past the Ancient Shepherd and toward the church. The few blocks of distance went past swiftly under the bright blue sky, and the walking was effortless. Even the traffic seemed muted – or was it their spirits?

The trip was made quietly, each enmeshed in his or her own thoughts. As they approached the stone bulk of the church in its garden, Al’s steps quickened, seeing a figure on the path from the street - a very familiar figure.

Unlike the people swirling about the entrance all clad in black, she was in stunning white from her silk jacket and Mandarin-collared shirt to the palazzo pants and ballet flats on her feet. Pinned to her silver hair was a fascinator in white, with a red lace rose blossom at the centre.

She turned and smiled, and a familiar thought pattern spoke in his mind. Hello, luv.

Al, amazed, walked up to her holding out his arms. She entered the grasp willingly and they hugged deeply.

Letting her go, he asked “What are you doing here? Not that I am at all complaining, but….?”

“I was over here talking to my publishers, and heard about the passing on of your friend. I knew you’d be here, and thought…you know.”

Looking over Sterling’s shoulder Al’s eyes opened wide. “Greg?”

Coming out of the church was his old friend and comrade, clad in a spotless black three piece suit, a dignified homburg on his head. A gold chain trailed across his vest, no doubt with a heavy pocket watch on the far end.

Greg heard the exclamation and answered. “None other, old man. Heard about what happened and…hopped a flight.” As Greg said that he nodded toward Sterling, and Al understood. Magecraft had been at work that day, and Sterling had been Greg’s ‘flight’.

“What possessed you two to do this?”

Greg looked at Al and said, “Shared pain is diminished, and shared joy is multiplied.”

“True enough, old man. Come here.” He reached out and he and Greg hugged. Letting him go, Al said, “It is good to see you both. Let me introduce you to Michael’s friend, Tirion. Tirion, please meet Sterling and Greg - Friends, battle comrades and combat veterans like Michael and I. They’ve come to stand sentinel at our side.”

Tirion curtsied - a charming gesture dressed as she was. “Miss Sterling, Mr. Greg - it’s my great pleasure to meet ye.”

“Now, Miss Tirion, there’s t’ be none o’ that. Ah work for a living, I do.” Greg laid it on thick, beating Sterling to the punch by a scant second.

“And the same for me, please. Just Sterling will do fine, until you learn the words Al calls me.” She grinned and Al mock-fumed a bit, then sobered.

“It’s about time. Shall we go in?” he said, and the party headed up the walk, Tirion leading, then Al and Rosalynd, then Greg and Sterling.

Once they walked inside Al was shocked, and stopped. There were a good hundred people there, far more than he and Rosalynd had expected. Leaning toward her, he said urgently “Duck back out and call the landlord at the Shepherd. If he can put on extra food have him do it. He knows we’re good for it.”

Nodding, Rosalynd ducked back outside, as Al smoothly took up position next to Tirion. They walked up the vaulted aisle, and Al appreciatively took in the stained glass and the beautiful woodwork of the church.

Tirion and Al seated themselves in the front row, with Tirion’s daughter sliding in from the far side to sit next to her mother. Sterling and Greg sat behind them, in whispering distance if needed. As they did, the Reverend came over. “Tirion, dear – so sorry about Michael. He will be missed. Sergeant-Major, could I see you for a moment?”

“Certainly, Reverend.” With that he left his seat and accompanied the Reverend to the nave.

“The service unless you have a particular choice is going to be Anglican – is that acceptable? I meant to ask your wife but in the arrangements it slipped my mind.”

“I see no issue.” Al said. “Michael was if anything raised Anglican so I think that entirely acceptable. While he was more an assistant to your mechanical items than a devout churchgoer I doubt he’ll be complaining. Also, speaking with my command hat on, the service is for the survivors, not for the decedent. Most if not all here are C of E – so can take comfort in that. I do have a change or two for you, here…please do the following as the reading before the eulogy..”

The Reverend nodded decisively. “I have no difficulty with that. I assume this has something to do with your eulogy, Sergeant-Major.” He smiled, faintly.

“One does not rise to command rank, warrant officer or no, without learning about human nature, Reverend. Has the undertaker arrived with Michael’s urn?”

“Yes. We’ll be placing it in front of the altar.”

“Very good.” With that, Al returned to his seat, only to find Rosalynd had beaten him there.

“Budge up, then – make room.” Al said, returning to the pew. Lowering his voice he asked “Everything all right?”

“The lunch special has been repurposed and the sides are being augmented as we speak. No problem, but this is going to cost you.”

Al shrugged – money was not an issue when it came to his friend.

After a minute or two the organ began to play. Given the story Tirion had told them Al chuckled quietly, glancing at Tirion and pointing up. Tirion nodded and chucked as well, mouthing the words Nice to see the silly thing cooperated!. Al nodded.

The Reverend came forward holding a golden metal box – the mortal remains of Michael Rutherford. He carried them to a small table at the center front of the nave and set them there, heading back into the nave.

In a few minutes the organ began to play Nimrod, by Elgar. With that, the Reverend emerged in his robes, acolytes at his sides. One carried a censer and the other a holy water fount.

Stepping to the table where the urn stood, the Reverend took the lit censer and made several passes over the urn.

As the music quieted, the piece done, the Reverend took the wand from the fount and sprinkled the urn with water. While sprinkling the urn he spoke, his words loud in the church.

“With this water we call to mind Michael’s baptism. As Christ went through the deep waters of death for us, so may he bring Michael to the fullness of resurrection and life with all the redeemed.”

He then turned to the group gathered there and chanted, “The grace and peace of God Our Father be with you.”

To that, those present answered “And with thy spirit.”

The Reverend began again, still standing by the urn on its white tablecloth.

“O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered, accept our prayers on behalf of thy servant Michael, and grant him an entrance into the land of light and joy, in the fellowship of thy saints; through Jesus Christ thy Son our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.”

“Amen.”

The Reverend then stepped to his podium.

“A reading from the First Letter of Saint John.

“See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God’s children now; it does not yet appear what we shall be, but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.

“The word of the Lord.”

The congregation responded, “Thanks be to God.”

All of this time Al sat, analyzing those around him as he stood by his friend for the final time. His emotions were awhirl – sadness, satisfaction at the turnout and the success of the memorial service, care at Tirion’s condition.

Tirion and Rosalynd sat close, with Rosalynd holding Tirion’s hand. Her daughter was on the other side, also holding her mother’s hand.

A voice intruded into his head, incongruously whispering even though no one else could hear. Ailean, did ye plan this service? It seems fair-on generic – not much about yer friend.

Sterling heard a dry, sad chuckle. Wait for it, ducks. There is a bit of stage management going on here that you will appreciate – and which will allow me to say my piece for my friend. Be patient.

Aye, I will. Know that I’m here for ye, as is the madman by my side.

I know. Trust me, this is the best thing I could have hoped for for today – but I could not ask. You did not know him.

No, but we know you, ye daft git. Why did ye not ask?

That….is a difficult question. It just didn’t seem right, in some way, to bother you with the death of a man you’d never met.


The voice that responded was angry. You, the Sergeant and I are going to discuss this…at length. Considering the times you, Sir Galahad, have ridden to the rescue…well….I am too annoyed to talk about this now. However, we WILL discuss this.

Al turned to look at Sterling, to see her pointing to her eyes, then at him. Mentally, he chuckled again, then said to her Shut up now…the show is about to begin.

At the end of The Gospel reading the Reverend said, “The third reading s by… WH Austen.” There was a bit of a murmur in the church at that, but the Reverend went on.

“Funeral Blues”

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead,
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever:
I was wrong.”

Tirion bowed forward, desperately trying to conceal the tears and the sob. At that Rosalynd on one side and her daughter on the other reached to her, holding her in comfort.

The Reverend continued, his voice filled with the emotion the piece deserved.

“The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

At the end of this the church was silent, save a quiet throat clearing or two. Kerchiefs were removed from pockets and eyed dabbed at, hands were held, and more than a few who remembered Michael felt an unenviable tightness in their throats.

Ailean you miserable BASTARD. How could ye do this to people? This is a horrible note to take in the service.

Sterling, do not concern yourself. This will not last long, you meddling mage – and you will be thanking me for it. The Reverend brought them down, and I am going to lift them up.

You had BETTER, old man…


The Reverend looked up at the quiet church, then said “And now, the eulogy will be given by Sergeant-Major Allan Richer. “ He stepped aside and Al, armed with his glasses and a sheaf of papers mounted to the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming here today, to honour my close friend and battle comrade Wing Commander Michael Rutherford. He would be pleased and proud to see you all here, and to know of the connections he made in life and that they are still strong.”

There was still silence in the church – the reading still strong in the peoples’ minds. Time to shake things up a bit, it seems.

“Now, the piece of poetry by WH Austen that the Reverend just read is powerful. It says that a death is the end of life as well for those who loved the one who died. The imagery is vivid – tie bows in black on the mourning doves, the aeroplanes skywriting the news to those near and far.

“Along with that comes the stark realization that love has died as well – a thing that was to be eternal is gone.

“BOLLOCKS.”

Al put all of the power of the Sergeant-Major into that, and all of the sadness and grief he’d felt over the last few days. As the rude word echoed through the church the effect was electric. Those lost in their sorrow and in the sad realization that their friend was gone sat up, shocked at the immoderacy of the statement.

Al waited a carefully timed moment, then said it again.

“Utter bollocks.

“Michael is no more gone than any one of us will be when our time comes – he is just not HERE.

“He is in our hearts, and in our minds and our souls. He will be forever, or as long as Man’s memories last. Longer – as his bestowing of a grant to Cambridge’s aviation engineering department means that he will be benefitting others long after today.

“Show of hands – who saw Michael’s Morgan out and about yesterday and thought of him with a laugh or a story?”

Hands rose – a few, and Al nodded.

“Of all of us here I’ve known Michael the longest – he and I met when I was in jump school. Through some transgression or another Flight Officer Rutherford had incurred the wrath of his superiors and had been assigned to flying cattle cars – or jump planes. Trundling around the sky all day herding groups of trainees out of a C-130 was hardly a challenge for someone like him

“His kind word to a scared-green corporal on his first jump lead to conversations on all sorts of things – usually ending up with one or the other of us collecting demerits for associating outside of assigned duties.

“He saw something in a scared corporal and helped me greatly. I can say without any hyperbole he helped make me the man I am today.

“However, to return to addressing that dismal bit of poetry – I cannot and will not be depressed and sad that he is no longer here. There will be times I will be unhappy because I can’t come to Arabeque and have a cup of tea with him, and there will be times the opportunities I missed to see him will make me furious with myself.

“However, all I need to do is sit with a quiet cuppa and remember – and he will be there for me. That infectious laugh, the propensity for causing trouble, the supremely skilled pilot – all are in my memory and will never leave.

“I will not be sad – I refuse to. He is here, and always will be for me – and for all of us.”

Al shuffled his papers. “To counteract that wretched bit of doggerel I made the Reverend read, let me close with this, written by Canon Henry Scott-Holland.”

Al read the words of the poem, his conviction in the essential rightness ringing out in every word to the people in the church.

No one moved, no one stirred, and yet Al could feel their spirits lift as he read the words of a man gone (yet never gone) for over a century.

“Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we are still!

“Call me by my own familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
Put no difference into your tone
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
Without the ghost of a shadow in it
Life means all that it ever was
There is absolute unbroken continuity.

What is death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you for an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner.

All is well. Nothing is past; nothing is lost
One brief moment and all will be as it was before
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

“Thank you all for coming.”

With that Al stepped away from the podium and the Reverend returned, to continue the service.

As Al sat he heard thunderous applause and whistling in his mind’s ear. BRILLIANT! You MAGNIFICENT bastard!

I hope you were paying attention – I expect you to read that at MY funeral service, you miserable mage. It’s nowt but my beliefs made words – there is no separation – there is just the Veil.

You can just shut RIGHT the fuck up about that. I do not want to hear that from you again…ever.

Fine. Yell at me later – pay attention now.


The Reverend had returned to Michael’s urn, to perform the sprinkling and censing again. As this was completed, the Reverend returned to the podium.

“Thank you all for coming – Michael would have been pleased to see you all again.

“The Sergeant-Major would like me to remind you all that there is a reception at the Ancient Shepherd, just down the street. Lunch begins at noon, and there will be refreshments beforehand. Thank you, and see you there.”

The mourners began to file out, most discussing the eulogy and the odd turns it took.

Al waited till all of them were moving along, then went up to the Reverend. “Do you have the box the urn came in? I’d like to take it back to Arabesque before the reception if I may.”

“Certainly.” Nodding to one of the acolytes who left to fetch the container, the Reverend turned back to Al.

“Unusual eulogy. I can honestly say I have never heard one where the shouted word BOLLOCKS was used.”

Al chuckled. “There is a very good reason for that Reverend – I’m not a Christian, or of any Judaic faith. I’m a Wiccan. We simply do not acknowledge that death in any way negates the life of the individual – we will simply meet again behind the Veil.”

The Revered nodded. “Not at all a foreign philosophy to me, Sergeant-Major. We do it a bit differently…but any road up, as we say. I hope the congregation takes it to heart.”

“As do I. Michael would not want to be grieved – he was too powerful and kind a person for that. Remember him laughing and laugh yourself.”

The acolyte returned, and the Reverend gently deposited the urn in the box, closing it.

“Thank you.” Al said, picked up his burden, and left the church.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Wed Nov 06, 2019 2:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 9:

A short, brisk walk down the street and back again saw the urn safely locked in the boot of the Bentley and Al back at the Ancient Shepherd.

As he entered the room reserved for them he was shocked – and pleased.

Most of the people who had attended the service joined them at the luncheon. There was a queue at the bar, and the landlord was doing a brisk business in pints. Trays of appetizers (bless you Rosalynd!) were making the rounds, and the noise level of conversations was absolutely wonderful.

Al wandered over to the table where Rosalynd sat with her entourage. Two of the small tables had been pulled together, and at them sat Rosalynd, his friends, Tirion and her daughter. As he arrived Tirion stood as did her daughter.

“Sergeant-Major, I would like you to meet my daughter, Gwennan. Gwennan, meet Al. He and Lady Alexander are the new masters of Arabesque – and the reason I’m not moving in with you.”

Gwennan curtsied, much as her mother had previously and just as gracefully. “Sergeant-Major, many, MANY thanks for preventing my mother from moving in with me! God knows what would have happened had that come to pass!”

“Ahhhh, g’wan with ye!” Tirion said, reaching over to cuff her daughter in the back of the head – a move that Gwennan ducked with long familiarity.

Al laughed. I like her – she’s cheeky! he said to Sterling.

You like cheeky women – it gives you mental exercise. Let’s not even mention the fact that she’s cute.

Behave yourself!
Al was scandalized. In case you hadn’t noticed this is a luncheon for a wake – and you speculating on the local pulchritude!

Warhorse, there is never a bad time for vive la difference. Think of it as a celebration of life – or was all that you said at the church platitudes?


Al looked over at her, only to be rewarded with a dazzling smile.

You know better. In any case, to work for me. Need to work a crowd once I check in with ‘Lady Alexander’. She is never going to live this down…

Laughing hard, Al returned to his conversation with Tirion. “Ahhh….you missed. You need to swing before they realize they’ve annoyed you.”

“I’ve given up trying – she’s too fast for me.”

Al turned to Gwennan. “In any case, it is truly an honour to meet you, young lady. It’s always true that the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree – and you are as lovely as your mother.” With that he bent to her hand and bestowed a light peck on the back.

The guffaw that sounded in his mind’s ear was nearly deafening, and he knew the exact source of it. Shut UP you noisy git! The guffaw subsided but the look of merriment on Sterling’s face was priceless.

Firmly back on track Al released Gwennan’s hand and walked over behind his wife, bestowing a hug on her seated form. Holding his arm, she asked, “Did you deal with the urn?”

“Yes, dear. At present to avoid misadventure it’s locked in the boot of the Bentley. We will extract it before we head to the airport.”

“Airport?” Greg asked.

Rosalynd answered before Al could muster a response. “Yes, airport. Al arranged for Michael’s ashes to be released from an airplane – a final flight as it were. It’s a lovely way to spread his ashes, given his chosen career.”

Greg nodded, appreciating the gesture. “True ‘nough. Good one, Al. Who’d you get to do it?”

“There is a local company that specializes in such things. They have an item like a flare chute attached to the landing gear on a Cessna 172, and can do the job with a minimum of fuss. It just seemed right, given that in the air was where Michael was happiest.”

Rosalynd looked up and spoke – a thought occurring to her. “Oh – Al. That reminds me – there was a gentleman looking for you a bit ago – the gent who bought Michael’s business. Wanted to talk to you specifically about something.”

“Very good, dear. I’ll look him up if he doesn’t find me first.”

With that Al released his wife and began to make the rounds of the groups standing about, beverages and canapés in hand. Stopping for a ginger ale he made his way around the room, introducing himself, commiserating with the attendees, and as always stimulating discussions and memories of Michael.

Soon lunch was set out, and the queue from the bar shifted to the laden tables. Grabbing a plate Al served himself, then returned to the table where his wife had been holding court.

Seating himself he waited, seeing his dam and friends still enqueued. As they sorted themselves out (his wife returning with the lasagna and a huge plate of salad) he began to eat, chatting with his friends old and new.

“So, Al – when you were talking about the urn did I hear you mention the magic word Bentley?” Greg asked, hands full with knife and fork as he enjoyed the chicken and the lasagna.

“Yes, Greg – a 1953 Model R in truly stunning condition. Michael as Tirion will testify had true breeding and panache, and this car is a manifestation of it.”

“How many seats?”

Al pondered, then nodded as he finished a bit of chicken (this really was delicious!) “Six. Three front, three back. Why?”

“Need a ride to the airport to see your friend’s flight off, then a ride back here. Can do?”

“You don’t need to come all the way-“

“Al, we’re coming along. Just accept it.” Greg’s tone brooked no nonsense, his little used Command Voice coming to the fore.

Al pondered the implicit statements behind that declaration of purpose, and accepted them. “Very well. I have no difficulty with this as long as Tirion doesn’t. Tirion, ducks?”

Tirion concurred, a forkful of chicken held in the air during it. “Your friends are welcome, Al. Michael deserves an honour guard.”

“True enough.”

As lunch was completed the stories began. Singly and in groups, folks drifted to their table to share stories both about Michael and to hear others.

“Sergeant-Major?”

A sandy-haired older gentleman in a well-fitted suit stood by his chair. “Yes. Al Richer.” Holding out his hand, they shook and Al looked at him, expecting him to speak.

“I have some news about Wing Commander Rutherford’s flight this afternoon – can I speak to you privately?”

“Certainly.” Al rose and the two went to a slightly less noisy corner of the room.

“What’s the problem? We will be able to fly, won’t we?”

“First, let me introduce myself – I’m Charles Evensham – I bought FO’s business when he decided to retire.”

“Mr. Evensham – it IS good to meet you. I assume you were the gentleman that Lady Alexander said was looking for me?”

“Yes, I am. Now, on to the flight.”

“I’m all ears. What’s the difficulty?”

Evensham looked a trifle embarrassed. “There’s no problem, really. Instead of the spreading flight being done by the commercial firm that you contacted, we’re going to do it.”

Al, a bit surprised, answered. “I certainly have no objection – I would much rather see it done by someone who cared about him. I assume we’re going to use one of FO’s old aircraft if you still have one?”

“Well….not really. We have a better idea for the job – and I doubt you’ll be disappointed.” The pleasant smile turned wolfish, and Al had a thought that he’d be much happier not knowing.

After exchanging contact information they parted, and Al returned to the table.

Tirion, Rosalynd and Gwennan had moved to another table, and were surrounded by a majority of the local women. Al had amusingly thought of ‘Lady Alexander’ holding court, but it seemed that this is what was happening.

Sitting down, he looked at his friends across the table – and a resolution formed in his mind. I need to talk to someone and these two will do he thought to himself.

“How you doin’, old man?” Greg asked, the rumble of his voice reassuring after a few tumultuous days.

“Good question. I have a problem.”

Both his friends leaned forward to listen, and Al had a thought.

“Let’s hold on this for a minute, and let me see Rosalynd.” Al left the table, then returned. “Let’s go get the car – this will be wrapping up soon, and we can just put Victoria in the car park and hopefully no Honda will be foolish enough to attack.”

The three walked out of the building and headed down the street to Arabesque. As they walked, Al spoke to his friends.

“Michael passing away makes me realize just how little Rosalynd knows about me. Much the same for you lot, actually – none of you knew anything of me more than five or six years ago, which is nothing, really.”

“What is there to know? You are you, no more and no less. Stubborn, grumpy, a Sir Galahad complex that won’t quit and a gentleman through and through. I say again, what’s to know?” Greg was being blunt – he knew his friend and that was all that mattered.

“A gentleman. You know me as an elderly engineer who drives an Aston, has a love affair with old machinery of any type and a fondness for biscuits. You know me.”

Suddenly Al’s accent changed. It became clipped, musical, and the words were nearly incomprehensible. “Thee dasn’t know nowt. Tha dasn’t know t’ bairn what laiked in t’ alleys.”
Sterling and Greg looked at each other. What was this? A moment later Sterling's visage cleared.

"Yorkshire. Deep Yorkshire. Why does it matter that you're from Yorkshire, Al?"

“I do apologize for that, but it made a point, by the looks on your faces. Yes, Sterling - Yorkshire indeed.” He chuckled a bit sourly. “This is what I meant. You know what you see, the older gent with manners and polish. You do not know the me that was – no one does.”

“Does it matter? I have never heard you talk about yourself like this, Al. Why does the past matter?” Sterling was confused.

“It does. You, Rosalynd, the Alexanders…you know this façade. No one knows…me.”

“What in the hell are you goin’ on about, Warhorse?” Greg asked with some heat.

“Warhorse, eh? You’ve been spending too much time with this reprobate mage. However, the question is a legitimate one.

“None of you – especially that redheaded goddess to whom I am married – has any idea who I am. None of you know me for what I am, and where I started out. Trust me, it was not in the drawing room of a mansion in the wilds of Dartmoor, no matter what accent you hear.

“This needs to change – and Michael’s passing has brought this out to me. Seeing your reactions to that sentence…yes.”

Sterling grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. Her normally fair skin was suffused with crimson.

“You STUPID fucker. What the flying FUCK does your background or ANYTHING like that matter? You KNOW my background, screwed up as it is. You know about-“

“If we are going to continue this conversation let us do it in the car. Your background is not for sensitive ears.” Al said, pointing to the Bentley.

Once in the car Sterling started up again. “LOOK, you dumb son-of-a-bitch! What does your background matter to anyone?”

“It matters to me. Rosalynd deserves to know what she’s saddled herself with – and centaur jokes are not on at present, thank you.”

Greg asked the question both had on their minds. “Al…is there something wrong? Why does this matter now?”

Al chucked sadly. “No, there is nothing wrong. However, the suddenness of my friend’s passing reminds me of what an old friend of ours – Glytch – reminded me of, long ago. One can never count on a tomorrow, as today may well be all we have.”

Al started the Bentley and pulled it onto the street. Time was wasting, and Michael had one more flight to make.

Motoring the short distance to the Shepherd Al parked the Bentley in the lot well away from any other cars or the drive. Shutting the car off, he turned to his two passengers and said “I owe you more of an explanation than I am giving you.”

Sterling and Greg sat quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“As you know, Greg, I had an issue with rejection not too long after I joined the Alexander clan - during the ADMC-1 build. I felt, quite unjustifiably, that I was simply a substitute for Rock, and that I could be sent off or discarded at any time.”

“Yeah, I remember it. Not one of yer happier times if I remember it right. But you and Daisy worked that through, as I recall - and shipping the ADMC-1 put paid to it.” Greg was not letting Al off the hook on this - reminding him that this was the dead past and it had been resolved.

“Yes, it was. I’ve never felt more secure in the love of anyone than I have with Rosalynd since then. That is no small thanks to you, mage - the crystals you gifted us with when I went off on my wanderjahr with Ialin showed me the truth in a way that it was impossible to prevaricate or falsify. I desperately love her, and she, miracle of miracles, does me.”

“Then what is the fucking problem, Warhorse? I just don’t understand.” Sterling was giving Al no quarter here, or sparing his feelings.

“Our whole relationship is based on a lie is the fucking problem, you foul-mouthed Marine. Rosalynd is in love with the genteel, tea-sipping old codger who once served in Her Majesty’s Forces and now owns a successful engineering firm. She doesn’t know…me. The me that is long buried.”

Greg and Sterling looked at each other - neither knew where to go with this.

“This has been on my mind for a very long time - since that time as a matter of fact. Michael’s death has brought forcefully to my attention that my time is not limitless. There will be a time when I can no longer reconcile this…and I cannot permit it.

“Rosalynd comes from a society where class and status are paramount - one needs to remember ones station and live to it. This is not a focus in her life, thank the Gods, but it is there as well. I need her to know what she’s married.”

“Honest to fuck Warhorse, why..oh WHY does this matter? She will not care. She will NEVER care, if you tell her or not. If you avoid telling her…she will neither know nor ever feel a loss for not knowing.” Sterling was beyond anything but blunt words now. Greg sat back, not participating but approving.

Al shook his head savagely. “No, but I will know. I will know that I am a liar and a coward, and that I refused to face the possibility that the ‘me’ the love of my life loves…is not me.”

“You know she won’t care, old man. You know, deep in your heart, that she won’t care. Why are you torturing yourself like this?” Greg asked gently.

Al chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Call it the truth-tropism of an engineer. If there is a test to run, it must be run or you simply don’t know.”

Greg and Sterling just looked at each other. The silence stretched for endless seconds, then Al looked at his watch, and said “We have places to go and things to do. Michael needs to be sent off, and you two need to get home.“ He opened the door and stepped from the car, and his two companions followed. There was nothing else to say.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 10:

Re-entering the Ancient Shepherd, Al was unsurprised to see that most of the crowd had cleared out back to their pursuits. Rosalynd and her retinue still sat at the table, enjoying cups of tea while the staff of the Shepherd packed up.

“So, my love, have you reconciled the damage with the landlord?” Al asked breezily. Obviously, the previous conversation was now tabu - this was no longer the time.

“That I have, and you are not going to like the total. However, they came through for us so a large tip was added to be spread among the staff.” She handed him the invoice, which he scanned.

“Outrageous! However, as you say…they came through. I defer to your judgement, ‘Lady Alexander’. as he kneeled, head bowed. She took the opportunity to cuff him sharply on the back of the head and said “Rise oh stupid, er brave knight! Fetch your charger - we have places to be.” Tirion and Gwennan laughed, and Gwennan rose, hugged her mother and with a few quiet words excused herself.

“Sorry, My Lady, but I do not have a Charger. Would a Bentley do?”

“Oh, if we must. Does it have a proper driver’s compartment?”

“No, My Lady. It does have a partition, though.”

“We will make do. Let us be off, then.”

With a nod to the landlord the party left. Upon exiting to the car park Rosalynd purred. “Oh, my….she is just lovely! I couldn’t get a good ‘feel’ for her in the entryway - here…she’s just gorgeous!” She ran a gloved hand up the sleek wing.

Al moved ahead, opening the rear door. “Your car, my Lady!” He said, taking her hand as she stepped in. Looking at Sterling, he said “Oi! You! In the back!”

Face neutral, Sterling stepped into the voluminous back seat and took her place at the center. Al then helped Tirion in as he had done for Rosalynd, then closed the door.

“Greg, up front with me, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.” With that, Al stepped around, unlocked the boot, and reverently removed the box from the carpeted interior. Sliding into the driver’s seat the box was placed on the seat, and snugged back against the upholstery.

“Greg, please keep a hand on the box, please. If I have to stop quickly it would not go well, I suspect, and I would rather not be using a HEPA vacuum to remove Michael’s remains from the interior.”

“I hear you. No problem.” Greg smiled, and held his hand on the box gently.

Starting the Bentley, Al maneuvered out of the car park and onto the road to the airport. On the ride the car was relatively silent - everyone in the car well aware of the passenger in the centre of the front seat.

Soon they were at the airport. Al pulled out his mobile and dialed Evensham, and was instructed to come to the hangar area.

Passing through the security perimeter Al drove slowly to the hangar area, where they greeted with a stunning sight.

On the ramp outside Evensham’s hangar stood an RAF Dakota in full wartime livery down to the roundels on the fuselage and the black and white invasion stripes on her wings and fuselage.

“That’s…ZA947.” Al was stunned….was this possible?

“OOOOooooshiny! Al, isn’t that a DC-3?” Sterling leaned forward, kneeling on the floor to be able to see.

“Technically, no. She’s an RAF Dakota - the UK nomenclature for the military DC-3 - the C-47. I do wonder what she’s doing here.”

They parked the car in the lot and walked toward the building. Charles Evensham, clad in a flight coverall, came out to meet them. He escorted them all into the departure lounge in the building, then turned to speak to them.

“Welcome, all of you. It’s good to see you. Sergeant-Major, if you could come with me please, and bring the Wing Commander along.”

“Certainly.” However, instead of following Evensham Al turned to Tirion.

“Care to say goodbye?” he said, gently holding out the box.

“Yes, but not goodbye. Merely ’see you soon’. You were right Sergeant-Major.” She gently kissed her fingertips and rested her hand on the box, and Al wondered again what their relationship had been. As she lifted her hand away Al turned and followed the patiently waiting Evensham into the hangar.

“Sergeant-Major, I am going to trade burdens with you. Here, take this flight suit and put it on - you can change in my office over there. There’s a few pairs of boots in my closet – something there will hopefully fit you as those oxfords are not going to do well. I will relieve you of the Wing Commander’s ashes - he needs to ‘suit up’ as well. I’m sure he’s none too comfortable in that silly box.”

“Flight suits? Why do I need a flight suit?” Al was confused. “I was expecting that you would make the drop.”

“Hardly.” Evensham grinned that feral grin again and suddenly the presence of the Dakota made all-too-perfect sense.

“Let…me guess. The aircraft we are using for this duty is the one sitting on the ramp oh-so-casually sunning itself.”

Evensham nodded, and was suddenly all business. “Yes. Kwicherbichen is ‘running in a new engine’ at present and is also conducting ‘crew training’ for taildragger pilots. The fact is - Officially she is not here, we are NOT loading the Wing Commander on board for a static jump, and absolutely none of this happened. The unofficial version of that is that I made a phone call or three, and the Historic Flight saw fit to assist in this worthy endeavour.”

“So, how is it being done?”

“Our late friend and colleague is going to make a static line jump. The Dak is rigged with a jump wire, so we’re going to put a breakaway cloth container on the end of a static line. At the proper time and in the proper place the container goes out the door, hits the end of the line travel and Bob’s yer uncle - the Wing Commander flies free.”

”Ingenious. How many laws are we breaking?”

“None, surprisingly. The cloth container will be undyed and natural fabric, nothing leaving the airplane will be non-biodegradable. We already have permission for a bereavement flight courtesy of the gentleman who you booked with, and we are as legal as church on Sunday.”

“Very well, then. Let me go and change and I will allow you to prepare the Wing Commander for his jump. Back in a trice.”

Al handed off the container to the pilot, took the flight suit and went to change. As he did it occurred to him that simply walking aboard was just not on - there had to be some acknowledgment of Michael’s departure. Then it came to him…perfect.

Coming out of the office he stood in the hangar, inhaling the scent of avgas, oil, fabric dope and rubber that is the hallmark of aviation. His hands itched to get into a pilot’s seat again and take the controls - which would NOT be happening on this trip.

Walking across the hangar he was met by the pilot, who handed him a cloth bundle with a shackle attached. “Do be careful – we’ve had to guesstimate a few of the stress factors to get the package to pop, and I’d hate to see it happen early.”

“Oh – how are we going to get him out of the door? Near as I remember the cargo doors on a Dak open out, not in.”

“Not a problem. They do open out, but our old friend out there has a jump door – which opens IN and is pulled by unlatching it and removing it from the opening. When we get on board the copilot will come back and brief you on the procedure.”

“Me?” Al was incredulous.

“You, as you reminded us at the church, were Wing Commander Rutherford’s oldest friend. Seems right to me.”

Al sighed. “You are quite right. Can the people who came with me come out to the airplane?”

“Yes. I thought of that as well – they’re on my ramp so that’s fine.”

“Good. Michael deserves an honour guard.” Al thought quickly Sterling, you there?

Of course I’m here you git. Surprised I am that I am after the utter bollocks you were spouting-

Oh, DO shut up. We are coming out, and it turns out that that magnificent Dakota out there is going to be Michael’s vehicle for his flight into the Great Wide Open. Brief Greg – when we go out to the aircraft I want you two by the door. Perform honours, please.

Al, we are not in uniform. It is just not right.

It is right if I say it is right. You are both impeccably dressed, and if I had known about this change of plans I would have had you both in your Class As – and I would have been in mine. However, we will make do. As you are senior please call attention and honours when appropriate.

Done.


Sterling pulled Greg to one side. “Al wants us to render honours to the Wing Commander as he boards the airplane. I know, we are not in uniform, but he wants it and I am not going to be the one to tell the Army.”

Greg chuckled. “Sterling, dear – there was a bill passed through Congress back in the early 2000s that allows veterans like us to render honors to the flag whether in or out of uniform. I can be stark-ass naked and still render honors legally – though standing at attention might take some time.”

The eye-roll Sterling greeted that statement with was absolutely epic. Greg laughed as quietly as he could, an action that got him attention from both Rosalynd and Tirion.

He waved his hand in a placatory gesture, saying “Never mind – I’ll explain later. Al asked us to do something.”

Hurried mental conversation completed, Al handed the cloth parcel back to Evensham and they went out to the waiting room. Daisy looked surprised, and asked “Al, where are you going?”

“It turns out I am going along for the ride. Our friend here pulled some very large strings, and that splendid Dakota outside is going to be the vehicle taking Michael on his last flight.”

“Oh, he would have liked that. Michael always had a fondness for the Dakota – he told me a few stories about them.” Tirion, it seemed, thoroughly approved.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Daisy asked, a bit unsure of the change of plans.

“Rosalynd my love, this is a splendid send off. I had not planned to be personally involved, but as the opportunity has been presented to me I can hardly turn it down. In any case, I am being given the privilege of sending Michael on his journey myself – and that honour I cannot turn away.”

Rosalynd came over and hugged her husband, then released him. “I completely agree. Go and be with your friend the last time – we’ll wait.” She turned to the other three and received nods in return.

“Once we are aboard, please come back inside. The engine run-up and start up will make a mess of your clothes, and airborne dust is not pleasant. We will be a few minutes – the pilots need to brief me on handling the door.”

“Yes, Sergeant-Major – we will.” Tirion it seemed was back to herding her charges – and that now included Greg and Sterling.

With that, the five went through the security door and into the hangar, then from there to the ramp.

Up close, the Dakota was a magnificent airplane. In her wartime livery and invasion stripes she was a formidable presence, dwarfing the civilian aircraft on the ramp. Her huge tyres, complex landing gear and rough military finish on her metalwork marked her as what she was – a combat aircraft built in a difficult time.

Sterling and Greg moved to the airplane and positioned themselves at the open door, one each side. As Al approached with the bundle, Sterling said “At-Ten-TION!” as she came to a perfect brace. Greg was scarcely a second behind as the two warriors, one old and one young, prepared to give honours.

Al approached and their eyes tracked him. He walked slowly, stiff-legged, the bundle cradled reverently in his two hands. Eyes straight ahead and in his black suit he was the perfect picture of dignity. As he came abreast of them Sterling commanded “Pre-Sent ARMS!” and two perfect salutes flashed – one British as Greg knew the form. Al walked between them, heart full from the respect his friends were showing the late Wing Commander.

After Al and his burden were fully aboard, Sterling ordered “Order...ARMS!” and the salutes came down. Seconds passed, and the final order of “DE-TAIL Diss-MISSESD!” was given. Greg and Sterling turned on their heels and walked smartly away as the ground crew removed the stair and closed the cargo door.

A large container had been strapped to the deck just inboard of the door, with a rope coiled next to it. Al gently set the bundle in the basket and turned, to be greeted by two older men in flight suits.

“Sar-Major, I’m Mike Rathmell and this is Jared Smith – we’ll be flying you and the Wing Commander today. Until we get in the air why don’t you come forward – I’m sure you’ll enjoy the view. Have you got a spot picked out for the release?”

“No. I was hoping you might be able to suggest something rural but not too far – I know how expensive running these engines is.”

“Fine – leave that to us. I know just the spot.”

Jared turned to him and said, “Help me get this door closed, then I’ll show you how the jump door works.” As they pulled the door shut and latched it, Jared pointed to a pair of red-painted handles on the upper end of the jump door, and two grips also red-painted on the door’s centre.

“To open it you pull these, then the two handles – pull in on it to get it out of the recess. We’ll give the Wing Commander his ride, then close it up again. That work for you?”

“Entirely. My sincere thanks for all of the trouble you are going to – and the trouble you may get into if this leaks out.”

“No problem. When Charlie Evensham talked to..well, maybe names are not a good idea…when he made that call we arranged this. This is nominally a training flight, so some variation is expected. We landed here for familiarization – then we’ll take off, do some navigation work, then return here, then home.”

“In any case, gentlemen, it is appreciated both by me and the Wing Commander’s friends.”

“Let’s be off, then.”

Al followed them up the slanting floor to where seats were bolted to the side walls. Mike pointed to one, and a headset on a hook next to it. “Belt down and put on the headset – the old girl is noisy.”

With that he went forward. Al put on the headset, and head the conversation as the pilots started the venerable old engines.

“Battery on…boost pump on…seven, eight blades ignition on…” At that point there was a CHUFF and clanks as one, then two, then all of the cylinders caught and the engine settled down to its deep rumble.

The second engine was much like the first, and with oil pressure checks and checklist items spoken back and forth between the pilots. The engines were run up, magneto checks done and passed.

The throttles were opened, and the Dakota moved out, taxiing in a weave to the active runway. Once there, the brakes were applied, the engines run up to power and last checks made, and with a release of the brakes and a rush the Dakota waddled down the runway back toward its element. Tail up, the scenery flew by faster and faster till almost imperceptibly the plane left the chains of the earth behind and soared again into its element.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 11:

Despite the gravity of his mission Al was having a marvelous time. The sights, sounds and smells of the old aircraft stirred his blood, reminding him of many hours spent in the more cavernous bellies of Hercules aircraft during his time in service.

The scenery flowed by outside the windows, almost near enough to touch. One of the joys of an old airplane is that you don’t lose contact with the world – you can still enjoy it!

“Sar-Major – how are you and the Wing Commander doing back there?” Mike called through the intercom system.

“Absolutely no problem. Lovely ride, and I am sure that the Wing Commander is enjoying it as well. Where are we headed?”

“One of the loveliest places on God’s green earth – the Dales National Park. Beautiful, quiet land with every type of terrain you might want. The Wing Commander will rest well there, never fear.”

Al thought for a moment, then spoke, choosing his words carefully. “While I appreciate your choice, isn’t that a bit out of your way for this? I don’t want to get you in trouble for straying over the bounds of your exercise.”

Mike laughed delightedly. “Sar-Major, we are straying NOWHERE. After our appointment with the Dales we are going to do a few touch-and-goes at an old RAF base – Dishforth. It’s been deeded to the Army now for helicopter use, but they keep the runways open – and we’re going to use it for plausible deniability. With one of the runways there being nearly 2 kilometers long touch-and-goes are trivial – and good ‘training’.” He chuckled, and then continued.

“Other than that we’re VFR all the way. All of this was worked out in advance. I didn’t know if you had any plans for a place to go given the firm you’d contracted with, but I hoped the Dales would suit you if you didn’t.”

Al knew the Dales well – and the Pennines further north. “I have no problem whatsoever with your choices. While we’re on our way, can you brief me in detail on our procedure?”

Mike turned to his copilot and said, “You have the airplane.” The copilot placed his hands and feet on the controls, tested them slightly, and said “I have the airplane.” That done, Mike got up from the left seat and moved back into the passenger compartment, unplugging his headset as he went.

Gesturing to Al he pointed toward the back, and they went. Plugging back into a junction at the back, both had their headsets for communication – a good thing, as the interior of the plane was original to its RAF role and VERY loud.

“I know Jared briefed you on the door procedure, so I won’t go into that.”

Al nodded, and asked “What is the procedure we are using for the spreading? I have been told that the container is going out the door on a static line, and that it will open and deploy itself when it hits the end of the line.”

“Essentially correct. We’re using a D-bag to hold the container, and when the line goes taut the shock will detach the container from the bag. The container will open when it leaves the protection of the D-bag and spread the Wing Commander’s ashes.”

“After that we reel the line and bag in?”

“Correct. What branch were you, Sar-Major?”

“1 Para. We didn’t muck about with static lines, though, so please brief me.”

Mike took the end of the static line and clipped it to a wire running down the centre of the cabin roof. He then secured the clip with an attached safety wire. “Don’t want to lose it out the hatch – that would be bad.

“The rig is now set. We need to clip the package to the D-bag, and he’s ready for his trip.”

“What do I need to do? Been many years since I jumped, and I never had the pleasure of jumping from a Dak.”

“We need to get you into a safety harness, but the actual preparation is simple. You’ll need a helmet with a visor, and a hookup to the intercom system. Other than that all you need to do is follow instructions – open the door, stow the panel aft, and prepare to put out the package. Once the deployment happens, reel in the D-bag and the line, close the hatch and we’re done.”

And once that happens my responsibilities to the body of my old comrade are done. I will raise a brandy to him tonight.

“Any questions, Sar-Major?”

“None. I don’t see any problems – thank you.”

“Fine. Why don’t you grab a bottle of water and relax, then – I’ll come back before we drop and get you harnessed, but that will be another 40 minutes or so.”

“Thank you.”

Al returned to his seat, snagging a bottle of water from the crew cooler as he did. Seated and strapped in, his mind wandered to the man all of this was for. Visions of flights together both for training and more serious purposes, the brief, merry reunions when they ran across each other, and his joy when Michael married and settled down.

His mind turned to other paths. The long, quiet years when he was too busy, then too tired and old to go visiting. The return of life and his wonderful family, shared with Michael only through too-brief notes and photographs.

The email, and the grief.

I was not a good friend, FO – I should have made time to come and see you. I am sorry.

With that he dozed a bit despite the lack of creature comforts. It seemed minutes before Mike came back and shook him.

“Party Time, Sar-Major. Are you all right?”

“Perfectly so. Let’s get me rigged and you can get back to your controls.”

They went back to the rear of the aircraft, and Mike helped Al into a full harness, attaching a safety line to the harness and to the frame of the aircraft. He then handed Al a helmet with visor, and Al removed his headset and donned the helmet, plugging it into the intercom system.

“Sar-Major to Pilot. Can you hear me?”

Mike answered, the voice tinny in the heavy helmet. “Five by, Sar-Major. Oh, one last thing. When you release the Wing Commander’s D-bag, be…vigorous.”

“So, heave his arse out the hatch right smartly?” Al laughed heartily. “Least the old bugger deserves for putting me to all this trouble.”

Mike spoke again, all trace of humour gone from his voice. “Also – and I am serious – release him DOWNWARD. I do NOT need that static line back in the tailplanes – it shouldn’t reach, but I prefer not to find out, am I understood?”

“Roger Wilco.” Al understood, and he was not at all prone to argue with the pilot in command.

A few minutes later Al heard a voice in his helmet. “We are circling the Park. It’s time. Open the hatch, please, and stow it aft of the opening.”

“Roger. Complying.” Al unlocked the dogs holding the hatch in place, and pulled on the handles, the panel swung inward and Al lifted it from the bottom brackets, setting it on the floor. The noise redoubled, and dust and random bits of debris began to swirl in the air blast from the hatch.

Al’s eyes began to tear up, and it was not from the dust. He picked up the deployment bag containing the remains of his friend and positioned himself at the hatch.

“In position and awaiting orders.”

“Coming around on a turn over the center of the park – 30 seconds.”

“Give me a countdown.”

“Affirmative. Will do.” The voice began to count down, the seconds spiraling away.

“Five..Four…Three…Two…One…DROP!”

Fly free, old friend. We will see each other soon.

Al heaved the bag out of the door and downward. The wind blast took the bag and snapped the line taut, and the container came free of the bag and disintegrated, the ash appearing as a white cloud in the bright sunshine. The cloth of the container, shredded by the release, floated downward.

After a moment Al reeled in the static line, then refitted the panel, leaning against it to get it in place and dogged.

“Drop accomplished.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 12:

With his task done, Al felt…light. Duty done, he released the safety line and divested himself of the harness, wincing where it had chafed a bit. Been a long day. Long hot soak in the tub tonight, I think. Stowing the gear in the locker neatly he coiled the static line and stowed it in the container strapped to the deck, then moved forward.

Removing the helmet and redonning his headset he made his way forward. Plugging in the headset he said “Gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for your help today.”

“All part of the RAF service, sir. We are pleased to be able to help. The Wing Commander was one of our own, after all. You army lot….Bah!”

“I will remind you of that when you need an airfield retaken, some time.” Al laughed – it felt good.

“No need to do that, Sar-Major…we are well aware of it. We’re headed over to Dishforth now – a few touch and goes and we’ll head South.

Al had a panicked thought. The time! Oh, BUGGER….

Sterling, lass…I am at least another 90 minutes out. We ended up over the Dales to inter Michael. You might want to tell Rosalynd and have her ‘ask’ where we are.

Ye worry too much, dear Sassenach. When you left your mate Evensham came out and said you’d be at least two hours gone. He will be returning you to Arabesque.

And where are you lot?
Al asked, with a certainty that the Bentley was not where he left it.

We are at the tea room up the street from the pub we were at. The Bentley is back in the court at Arabesque, and from what I could gather your wife enjoyed herself greatly behind the wheel of that great beast. I do think your wife has taken a lover – and it’s a Bentley.

Where’s Greg?

Sitting here with us, and sharing his favourite clean stories of your and his adventures.

Oh, no.

Oh, yes. He has just finished telling Tirion of the Great Paintball War.

Would you not-too-gently remind him that SHE IS NOT IN THE LOOP?

He knows. I have stepped on his toes several times.
The connection went silent for a moment, then resumed with a hesitant feel.

How was the…not sure what word to use here…release?

Sterling, luv…it was beautiful. Brought tears to my eyes it did. Michael is at rest over one of the most beautiful places in the world. Cried, I did.

As you should. Losing friends is never a happy time.

Will I have the pleasure of seeing you before you leave?

Yes. Tirion has invited us to sup at Arabesque, so provided you do not lollygag yes, you will.

Thank you. Thank you for being here, as well. I know you did not have a reason to.

Stick it, old man. I had a reason and so did Greg. That reason was YOU and Rosalynd. You would do no less, and I am going to continue to thump you on this until you LISTEN.

Still…thank you.

Where are you? Let me see!


Al allowed the linkage, feeling Sterling coming in to visit.

MARVELOUS! Reminds me of the transports the marines used. Can you go up forward? I want to see!

Let me ask.


Al asked into his microphone, “Would you object to me coming forward for a look out the windscreen?”

“Come ahead, Sar-Major – more than welcome.”

Al walked forward, looking out the windscreen. The panorama of northern England was spread before him past the airplane’s bulbous nose.

BEAUTIFUL! Al head clapping in his mind as he looked out over the panorama.

After a bit, a city appeared on the horizon. Larger it grew, till the grimy streets and buildings were below. The city centre was magnificent, with its regal buildings, but the living areas were dingy, everything being the grey of pavement and the red of brick. Green spaces there were, but few and far apart.

Al, your emotions just went into the tank. What is going on?

My past…has come to visit. This…is my home.

Oh, shit.
the voice said, then fell silent.

Sterling spoke again. Al, this is NOT your home. Your home has trees and flowers and centaurs. You have a dryad sister named Ialin, two half-elves that call you brother and more mystery and magic than a normal MAGE – remember, mage? – can handle in ten lifetimes.

Al sighed, his emotions a tangle.

I understand that. However, down there is…my home. Where I was born, where I grew up, and what I ran away from. I have never stopped running from it, in a way. I’ve never been back.

Why are you doing this to yourself, damnit? THAT IS NOT YOU.

Oh, but it is. The me I have never acknowledged, but it is me. It is a me I need to reconcile.


Below, the city slowly rolled out of sight.

Al, listen to me, Please. That is not you, any more than that two-legged shitstain of a biological donor of mine is me.

Al sighed. The city was gone now, and the busy midlands of the UK approached. Al went back and sat down, and closed his eyes.

I need to deal with this. Serendipity being what it is, I still need to deal with this.

Warhorse, do not do anything stupid. This sounds a helluva lot like goodbye – and I am NOT going to tolerate that from you.


Her voice went on, more urgent given the distance from her friend in the ancient transport.

Allan – Ailean. Please, listen to me. I do not like the sound of what you just told me – the ‘reconciliation’ and ‘dealing with this’. This sounds very final – please don’t talk to me like this.

Al’s voice resumed, sounding tired, He sighed, an ethereal sound. No, this is nothing like that. Rosalynd and I have places to go, and she has things I need her to see. What comes of it only the Gods know – and of that I will not hazard a guess.


Tired now – if you don’t mind I’m going to have a kip. I will see you back at Arabesque.


The silence from the other end sounded almost dubious. I will see you then. Remember all the people who love you, old man, and never forget it.

With that, Al willed himself to rest, and slowly dropped off.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 13:

The next morning at Arabesque was quiet. Al had warned Tirion that he was going to pass on his usual habit and that she should sleep in if she so desired. However, his body had other ideas, and as dawn broke he slipped from the warmth of his bed and dressed in his gi.

Slipping quietly through the back door and into the garden he removed his slippers and again began to perform his katas. This time, though, peace would not come. His balance was off, as was his grounding.

As he performed another set he thought of the reasons.

Dinner last night had been fantastic – Tirion had gone to the shops and procured a brace of gamecocks and done them roasted, with vegetables and a jam roly-poly for dessert. Rosalynd had enthused at the vegetable curry that had been laid on for her, and Al marveled aloud at the dinner (and reminded himself to set her up a drawing account for household expenses).

After dinner had been…strained. Tirion and Rosalynd had excused themselves – Tirion to deal with dinner’s aftermath and Rosalynd to send a few messages home to ensure things were going well.

“Al, can we talk?” Sterling asked. Jacket and fascinator over a chair in the lounge, she settled bonelessly in one of the armchairs. Tie, jacket and hat also decorating a chair Sarge sat as well, looking much as comfortable.

“We can.“ Al said, suspicious of the approach.

“When you and I were talking this afternoon-“ and she stopped as Al held up a hand.

“If we are going to converse freely let’s go up to the office.” Nodding, the other two followed Al up the stairs to the office. As they stepped in Al flicked on the light and settled in the wooden swivel desk chair, as Greg and Sterling took positions on the couch opposite.

“All right – flat out I did not like the way you were talking to me this afternoon. Greg knows – I told him about it. Al, this has to stop. You are doing nothing but torturing yourself, here.

“Rosalynd is not going to give a rotten damn about where you grew up or how you got out of there. You know it. I know it.”

“Damnit you old fool how thuh hayull d’ya think we feel? Y’all’re beatin’ yerself up over thangs that stopped matterin’ a LONG time ago – but y’all’re still actin’ like it matters.”

Al spoke, a bit distant. Sterling could see the rigid control that allowed this external calm and could sense the roiling anger beneath it.

“While I appreciate your concern that does not change the truth – that I – I need to do this. I need Rosalynd to see the *real* me, and not this polished façade.

“I need to do this for myself as well.”

“Lay it out for me, Warhorse.” Sterling asked.

“I have never been back here. I have been in the area, but I have never gone home again. Odd, I still think of it as such after all these decades. I have lived in many places on this sad old planet and found my true home at Alexander House – but I have never returned…home.”

“I need to go. Rosalynd needs to know the truth – MY truth. I need to go back there and face what I was and put it to rest permanently. Too many unanswered questions.”

“Al, you have more than any man can want. A loving wife, family that adores you, friends you call brothers and sisters, other friends who you call employees but are much more.

“You are turning your back on that to churn around in the muck of half a century ago? No. Do not do this to yourself. Please.”

As Sterling had spoken Greg nodded – he was in complete agreement.

“Sadly, I must. Now that I am here it draws me. I have to see this clear or it will continue to haunt me.”

Both nodded. They may not understand the reasoning, but they’d both seen Al this way before – and knew he was not to be swayed.

Sterling stood, and walked to the man in the swivel chair, arms out. He embraced her deeply, feeling her pulse as much as his own, and feeling her emotional strife.

“Sterling, I-“

“Shhhh.. I understand. If you need us we are here – right, Greg?”

“Damn straight.” he stood, and with a bit of hesitancy hugged the pair, all three rocking together slightly.

Greg released Sterling and Al, and then they parted as well. Sterling turned to Greg and said, "I think this is an auspicious time to be elsewhere. Are you all right with getting home from Alexander if I drop you there?"
"Sure 'nuff." Greg replied.

Sterling reached over, touched Al’s face with her hand and kissed him on the cheek, gently. “You need us, we are here.” She then turned to the office door, opened it and the three left the room and trooped down the stairs. A minute saw Sterling and Greg collect their things, and they left. Al felt the magical energy as Sterling opened a portal, and they were gone.

Mulling all of this over produced no real answers. He continued to do his forms, drawing and releasing from his lands until, finally, he stopped from exhaustion, still unsettled.

Gathering his slippers and putting them on he quietly let himself into the kitchen. A quick search turned up the ground coffee and he prepared a pot, starting the brewer going.

While sitting and waiting for the coffee to brew he thought further. This is not going to be a pleasant discussion, and is likely to get a bit loud. Best to have it upstairs, then, and spare Tirion the drama. Thinking of Tirion made him think of Rosalita, and then of the drama that worthy had seen over the years even with just he and Rosalynd.

He chuckled to himself quietly, thinking of some of the times Rosalynd had caught him at some stupidity and lambasted him soundly for it. From what he’d heard indirectly, the blow-up when she’d discovered he’d been involved in a drug raid in Nova Scotia was monumental – and he was glad he’d not been home for it.

The coffeemaker beeped, its job done. Al poured a cup, adulterating it and sipped quietly, determining his strategy.

If I approach this thing truthfully, Rosalynd will be very upset. While I am thankful she does not have the Walther handy, dealing with ‘Lady Alexander’ in a snit is not on my list of things to do voluntarily.

I think an oblique approach to this is best…and safest.


While he was sitting there Tirion came out, sniffing and surprised at the smell of fresh coffee.

“You made coffee?” she asked, somewhat incredulous.

“I assure you I am a dab hand in a kitchen, ducks. Cared for myself long years before I met and married Rosalynd.”

“Never heard of such a thing. You needed a good woman in your life…and you found one I see. May a poor kitchen servant join the Master for a cup of coffee?” she asked, smiling archly.

“Oh, very well…if you must.” Al said loftily.

Pouring and adulterating her cup Tirion sat at the table. “And how are you this morning, Milord?” she said, catching him perfectly as he sipped from his cup.

Spluttering, Al replied “Milord, indeed! Roguish churl!”

Tirion laughed, delighted, then said more seriously, “I mean it, how are you doing, Al?” She observed him over the rim of her cup.

Well, what’s this? Al answered cautiously but truthfully, “I am…conflicted. Sad about Michael, happy to be home for a while, but…a bit haunted by being here as well.”

“I could tell – there’s a shadow around you. The tension between you and your friends was a wee hint, as well.”

Well indeed! “Are you a sorceress, or is this just Welsh fey manifesting?”

“Oh, drink your coffee. It’s neither – just a knowledge of human nature. One doesn’t care for folks without learning to tell when one is having a bad day.” She sipped at her mug, sighed appreciatively, and casually asked “Can I help?”

“Actually, you can. I am going to try and persuade Lady Alexander to stay in-country for a bit longer. If you don’t object I am going to want to take the Bentley on a tour of the country. I want to show her…my world.”

Tirion looked at him again over the rim of her cup, a sharp expression in her eyes. “The way you said that makes me think there is a story there – but not one you’d tell.”

“There is only one person who will hear that story from me – and I need to get her to come with me and let me share it. I need her to know.”

“Understood. I think a holiday here will be marvelous for the both of you – and if it encompasses some personal history, then so be it.”

Al stood and walked over to the kitchen counter, fetching down a fresh mug from the shelf. Filling both he took them up and headed for the stairs. Stopping, he turned back and said, “Thank you.”

“All part of the service. Breakfast as usual?”

“Yes, please.” 
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 14:

Feeling uncertain Al walked up the stairs with the coffees. Silently elbowing the door open he entered, setting Rosalynd’s mug on the table next to her sleeping form.

This was the favorite part of Al’s morning when permitted – watching his lovely wife awake. First, the slight head motions as the smell of the coffee penetrated, then the long, languid stretch under the covers. Finally, the flickering open of the eyes and their filling with the razor-sharp intelligence he loved so dearly.

Her arm snaked out from under the covers and claimed the mug, drawing it near her face. She inhaled deeply of the scent, sighing happily. Setting it back down she sat up against the headboard, carefully claiming the cup given her scanty dress.

“Good morning, love.” Al fell in love with his wife every morning – and this morning was no exception as she sat and sipped her coffee.

“Good morning. Have I ever mentioned that I love that you take the time to bring me coffee in the morning?”

“I am but your humble servant, Lady Alexander.” Al knelt at her side of the bed, claimed one of her hands and gently kissed the back. Goosebumps rose on her arm, and Al took the time to enjoy the sight.

With caffeine beginning to wend its way into her bloodstream she looked at Al, who had come around and sat on his side of the bed. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“Why does something need to be wrong? Can’t I just appreciate the sight of a beautiful centaur dam first thing in the morning?”

“You want to see that, you’ll have to wait till we get home. This is hardly the spot for it. I say again, what the hell is wrong?”

Al sighed. The life-bond that had started with the crystals was sometimes a little TOO empathic. “Well…I have a problem.”

“Obviously. Tirion run out of biscuits?”

Al growled, set his mug down and launched himself at his wife. A happy tussle ensued, with the end being Al cuddled to his wife, arms wrapped around her and head resting on her shoulder.

“What’s the matter, love?” she asked after regaining her breath.

“Would you overly mind if we spent a few more days here in England?” he asked, diffidently and a bit afraid.

“Why?” Her tone was not challenging or negative, just curious.

“I have not been entirely forthcoming about myself to you.” He began to speak again after that first, so difficult sentence and she sat bolt upright and said “OH MY GOD YOU’RE A GIRL!”

Al stared at her incredulously, then fell back onto the pillow laughing. Rosalynd brayed laughter – that utterly unrestrained horselaugh he so loved. It was a positive feedback loop – when one would slow, the other would glance at them and it would start again.

Finally both of them fell back onto the pillows, spent with laughter. Rosalynd ran her finger up Al’s arm and asked again, “why?”

“Did I tell you how old I was when I joined the Army, dear?”

“No. After college?”

“I was 15. I lied to the recruiting officer about my age and forged the letter from my parents I needed to join. I…ran away.”

Rosalynd looked at him, shocked into silence. “15?”

“Yes. It was easier to fake things like that then, and I did. It was not unusual then for a runaway to join the Army – it was a place to go where they didn’t look too closely unless there was an overwhelming reason to.”

She rolled back to him and held him close. “What do you want to do, love?”

“I need to go back and face…what I was. I need you to see it as well – I need you to know what you’ve encumbered yourself with.” He faced away from her when he said that, ashamed of his background, and of the lie he’d perpetuated.

“Al…I don’t understand. Encumbered?”

“You know the old man who is a retired Sergeant-Major. He drives an Aston your son gave him, and has a healthy appreciation of women but the grace to keep it at that and no more – because he’s head-over-heels in love with you.”

“All of that is a fabrication. It’s a façade I carefully assembled over the decades.”

Her voice carefully neutral, Rosalynd asked “Have you done something wrong? Are you hiding?”

“Hades, NO! I am hiding from no one but myself, love. I need to go back and face that which I discarded – and you need to see it so you know…me.”

Rosalynd grabbed him, and turned him to face her. She was angry, something a blind man never mind a mage empath could have seen.

“All right. I have had JUST about enough of this self-loathing bullshit from you, asshole.”

“The self I loathe is long gone and likely does not deserve it – but I need to go and see for myself. I remember a certain Sergeant ripping me a new orifice or two for sanitizing the parts of my life I shared with you. This is the logical conclusion of that.

“While you have shared your life with me I have miserly only allowed you to have the few years we’ve known each other.”

He held her hand over his heart and asked the hardest question he had ever asked. “Rosalynd, would you come with me, please? I need to conquer my dragons, and I need you at my side. Even if it means you no longer love me after seeing them, I need you there.”

Preparing another stinging retort, she felt the pain and vulnerability in that question and stopped the rejoinder before it left her lips.

“Of course I will.”

Al kissed her tenderly on the forehead and leaned into her embrace. They lay that way for several long, healing minutes, till the smells from the kitchen downstairs began to penetrate the room.

“Care for a bit of breakfast, ducks? I do believe our kitchen goddess has prepared scones for you again.”

Rosalynd raised herself on an elbow and looked at him. “Al, to be honest you’re scaring me. I don’t like the sound of this at all, and less the seriousness you’re wrapping around things that to be perfectly honest will never matter to me. Do you really need to do this?”

Al sighed and looked into her eyes. “Love, this is something that has been on my mind since just after the war. You married me knowing nothing of me – just what you saw. You with your position, and the importance of that position married me – and you knew nothing of me.

“You need to know.”

With no warning she slapped him. Al recoiled with shock – what…?

Rosalynd began to speak – her words loud in the confines of the bedroom. “FUCK YOU Two-Legs. Fuck position and FUCK the twisted class sense you have. NOT A FUCKING BIT OF THIS MATTERS TO ME - OR EVER WILL.” Her voice rose along with her ire, and Al had to hastily dial back his empath sense or be overwhelmed.

Oh, Gods – I’ve put my foot in it now. Al thought, and braced himself for the expected onslaught. In this he was not disappointed, as Rosalynd was truly angry.

“I have put up with all of this that I am going to, you stupid son-of-a-bitch. If you think that ANYTHING you could show me of your background would make me think ONE FUCKING IOTA less of you you’re STUPIDER THAN YOU’RE BEHAVING! DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“But dear, your station – “

“FUCK MY STATION AND THE GIANT LIZARD IT RODE IN ON!” Rosalynd glared down at him, standing now as it made it easier to shout at him.

“LOOK. I DID NOT BRING THIS UP TO BE SHOUTED AT YOU STUPID BITCH!” Al took a deep breath and tried to calm down – an exercise doomed to failure. “Your station – the station of the Alexanders – is important to you and MUST be preserved for the sake of you and your children. If what you see is a problem then so be it. I do NOT say this lightly.”

Rosalynd took a deep breath, then another. Al thought she was calming down.

He was wrong.

She walked slowly forward until he was staring upward into her face. As she moved forward he slid backward on the bed, sitting as far back as he could.

She then leaned forward, but rather than speaking she shoved him – hard – backwards onto the bed with a loud THUMP.

Climbing into his lap and then onto his chest she leaned down to him and began to speak.

“My position and the importance I place on it is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS! This twisted Sir Galahad honour-at-all-costs bullshit has finally gotten on my last nerve.”

She continued, voice deadly serious.

“I am going to go with you, and no matter what I see or feel about it IT WILL MAKE NO MORE THAN EXACTLY NO FUCKING DIFFERENCE IN HOW I FEEL ABOUT YOU, ASSHOLE!”

Quieter, she continued.

“Get it through your fucking thick skull that I will NEVER give you the order to go. No matter what we are life-bonded – life, death and beyond.” This reference to when they first met was not lost on Al – it was the worst of times, and he had stood by her and she him though life itself was on the line.

She stared down at him, breathing hard both from the emotion and from the exercise – yelling is hard work after all. Reaching down, she grabbed the hem of her sleep shirt and with a twist took it off and threw it to the corner.

“You’ve gotten me all upset, and now you’re going to make me feel better.”

Gods, I love this woman. Al thought as she bent and kissed him.

Down in the kitchen Tirion had heard much and put together a few thoughts of her own. With the THUMP on the bed and the subsequent noises she smiled a quiet, secret smile and covered the pan of scones with a towel. “They’ll be down a little late, I suspect.” she said to herself and laughed.
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 15:

Rosalynd and Al walked downstairs close together, then held hands as they walked to the kitchen. There was an ineffably-smug aura about them, which Trion took great pains not to notice except to herself.

Reaching over she clicked the switch on the coffeemaker, and began to move scones from the covered tray to a towel-lined basket.

“Good morning my Lady, Al. Sleep well?” she asked, innocently. The sheepish expression on his face and the shoulder-deep blush on his redheaded companion demonstrated amply she was not going to get a truthful answer to that. Smiling slightly to herself she continued.

“Just started coffee, so hand me those mugs and I’ll get them filled for you. Al, the usual?”

“Yes, please – and hearty. I feel the need for a big breakfast this morning.” The smug air ratcheted up a notch, and Tirion snickered quietly under her breath. At that Rosalynd’s blush if anything got deeper.

The pair settled themselves at the table and unbidden their hands joined again.

Whatever that tiff was about – and I know well – it seems to have been settled amicably Tiron thought. As thinking about the ‘amicable settlement’ made her want to giggle she turned away to the refrigerator, fetching out packets of meat and eggs.

Starting bacon and sausages was the work of a moment, and fetching the pots of cream, jam and scones to the table the work of a minute more.

Talk was inconsequential and light till Tirion sat with them and her own plate.

“So, what is on the agenda this morning for Master and Milady? A bit of exercise about the village, perhaps?” Tirion asked teasingly. “Any more visits to the solicitor, Al, or is all that in hand?”

Al replied after a moment. “No, that is all in hand and I should be able to handle the rest of it remotely. Actually, we’re going to be leaving your gentle care for a while.”

Tirion’s face slipped a bit, though this was not unexpected. “Oh – headed home? When is your flight, and from where? Going to have Evensham run you down to Heathrow in one of his planes?”

“Actually, no. I have talked Lady Alexander here into letting me show her the charms of our glorious island. Whenever she’s been here she’s been stuck in The Smoke and thereabouts and knows really nothing of us.”

“Oh, Bravo! Lady Alexander, if you are going to live up to that title then you really need to see more of England than the City. Where are you going?”

Al mused for a moment, and Tirion could tell he was debating the level to reveal. Rosalynd saw this as well, and her earlier level of ire rekindled slightly.

“I plan on showing her the good bits, never fear. I think a run to Halifax to start, and then wander about from there. There used to be a lovely B&B there just outside of town – old stone farmhouse that a gent named Geoff ran. Wonder if it’s still there?”

“One way to find out – use Michael’s computer.”

“You mean the miserable old git actually owned one?” Al was incredulous.

Tirion nodded. “He did because he had to – bills and such. That reminds me – I’ll need to transfer all of that to either me or you.” A shadow appeared on her face, wiped away a moment later. “It’s in the secretary. Login RAF, password RAF”

Al nodded. “I’ll look in on it before we leave, ring them up and make a reservation. Lovely old pile that dates to the 12th century in spots but had all the mod cons as I remember.”

***

A few hours later the Bentley was parked in the court, engine idling quietly. Tirion loaded their bags in the boot, to Al and Rosalynd’s vigorous objections.

“Ah, pack it in, then. T’but a bit o’ hard work – never done anyone harm.”

“And that, dear is a classic example of Welsh dialect. Would that your children were here to hear this.”

Rosalynd laughed. “If they were they’d be asking ‘huh?’ same as I am. Are we ready to go, old man?”

Al touched the brim of his fedora and nodded. “Aye, Lady Alexander – that we are.”

“ENOUGH OF THAT FROM YOU! From now on and unless we’re here I’m Rosalynd Richer – and the name Alexander need not be uttered. Tirion, hun, you’ve given him bad habits.”

“No fault of mine he’s developed manners, my Lady.” She curtsied and Rosalynd laughed.

“Enough out of both of you!”

Tirion asked, “What’s your schedule, if ye have one?”

“First night as I said will be Halifax. I’ve made a reservation there. From there on, no idea. I suspect we’ll be staying North rather than heading too far south. Rosalynd’s seen The Smoke.”

“Good enough. I will expect you when I see you, then. Have a good time, you two!” She re-entered the house.

Rosalynd made to enter the passenger’s seat and Al stopped her. “Milady, you simply cannot ride up front with the chauffeur – it’s simply not done. Please, have a seat in the rear.” Al opened the back door and helped her in.

Rosalynd stepped in and settled into the luxurious leather upholstery. “Pity you have to drive…it’s Very comfortable back here.” she purred, and unbuttoned another button on her blouse.

Stiffening his resolve to match everything else, Al put the Bentley in gear and pulled out of the drive.

They proceeded through the village, up the high street and toward Cambridge. As they did people pointed to the car and waved. Rosalynd, falling altogether too comfortably into her role, waved back with the side to side hand motion that was least tiring.

Finally they climbed onto the road to Cambridge, and Al gave the Bentley its head. Smoothly and silently the car rolled along, eating up the miles. Finally they reached the A1 and entered, heading North.

Al stayed to the left and kept the car to a stately 65 miles an hour, being well aware of its lack of use over the past few years and mindful of what happens with even the best of machines. Reaching to the dashboard he turned on the radio, tuning to longwave and finding a classical station – music that suited the old car well.

As he drove, Al felt a tickle at the back of his mind. Oi, Warhorse – how goes it?

Just fine. Just fine indeed.
As he answered he adjusted the rearview mirror for a full view of Rosalynd – a fact that did not go unnoticed as another button came undone on her blouse.

Care to have a look? We’re traveling up the A1 at the moment – headed North to send a bit of time poking about the Cotswolds.

Sure!
As Sterling answered Al fixed his gaze directly on Rosalynd in the rear-view mirror as she sat comfortably in the back of the Bentley – looking smokily at him.

There was a thick silence as Sterling took advantage of the invitation.

Warhorse….I will have revenge for this.

Revenge for what? As far as I am concerned that is the most beautiful scenery in all of England.

I WILL get even for this. Two can play at that game.

Luv, while I care for you dearly you have neither the décolletage nor the Titian hair to pull off that look.


Sterling spluttered then recovered as Al turned his attention back to the road.

How is Victoria running?

Absolutely stellar. Michael’s mechanics did a bang-up job on the old girl. I’m not pushing her, though – it’s too easy to break something this old. When I get somewhere where the scenery is worth the effort I will call.

Do that. While I can understand your fascination with Rosalynd…well, not my style.

Spoilsport.

Hardly. Do enjoy your flirtation – it seems a glorious day for it.
The contact wavered, then picked up again.

How is your quest?

Going not quite as planned but going. Rosalynd and I had a monumental row this morning when I asked her to travel with me. I have never heard her curse quite so fluently as she did.

And what was the nature of the result?

I have been told…that I will never be given my marching orders. She will not now and never will release me, no matter the result of our travels. The words I heard were ‘we are life bonded – for life, till death and after’.

I TOLD you that, but Nooooo, listen to the Marine? FAR too simple a solution. I warned you, I said –

Oh, shut it. We shall see what we shall see. Talk later – I need to pay attention to the road.

Kiss kiss. More later
and Al felt the contact fade out.

Looking back into the mirror Al noticed Rosalynd had settled back in the luxurious couch-like seat and that the smoldering look was intensifying.

“Sterling just dropped in, by the way, She wanted a view of the scenery and…I confess I gave her one.”

Rosalynd laughed loud. “Hell, I wish you’d have told me you did that. I have PLENTY of buttons left to embarrass her with!”

They both laughed, and the car rolled up the motorway.

Up the A1 to the M62 they traveled, then west on the M62. As they did the character of the countryside changed – farmland with scattered villages and towns rather than large cities like Cambridge.

“So, where are we going?”

“Halifax, up in the Pennines. Beautiful countryside, lovely shopping and within reaching distance of a lot of places like the Peak District. Depending on how we feel this might be our base for a day or two.”

“Where are we in reference to…home?”

Al hesitated and Rosalynd started to get angry. “Al, just tell me. This is no longer a secret, and it’s a little Goddamned late now to play this game.”

“Home is…Leeds. We are passing to the south of it as we speak. It’s just north of us here and will be east of us in Halifax. I had planned on spending a day or two showing you the beauties of the area before we went there.”

“Fine by me. And stop hiding on me – it’s way past time for that.”

“Yes, dear.”

They continued on. Leaving the M62 they now traveled on local roads toward their destination. Rosalynd looked out with interest at the scenes passing by, laughing with delight at the place names such as Wyke, Hipperholme and Lightcliffe.

“Wyke. Interesting name.”

“You’ve said it wrong. The E is very definitely not silent in ‘proper English’ and folks do get touchy if you mispronounce the name of their town. Pronounce it Whyk-Uh and you’ll not be far off.”

“Got it.”

“One thing I do think we’ll need to do is get hold of Rosalita – you’ll need some outdoor gear if we’re going to be traipsing the hills.”

Nodding, Rosalynd thought a moment. “Better idea. What about getting me some proper gear here?”

Al pondered the question. “What gear did you have in mind?”

“All the outdoor clothes I have at home are western. Jeans, Olathe boots, plaids. Seems to me that having outdoor wear for the conditions here would be a loads better idea than lookin’ like a damn tourist.

“Honestly, and this is a thought from you and Tirion teasing me – I have the title but I’ve been kind of an absentee landlord – and that needs to stop. Starting with dressing like I might have a clue isn’t a bad start.”

“Good point. You’re in the right place for it – Halifax is the home of the wool trade and there is still a lot of it about, last I knew. We can go to the Piece Hall for some of that.”

“Peace Hall? Some kind of a war memorial?”

“No, dear. P-I-E-C-E as in item as opposed to the opposite to conflict. It’s the old building where the weavers used to sell their pieces of cloth – and that’s where the name’s come from.

“The Piece Hall has been repurposed into shops and restaurants, and is the middle of the city – a wonderful place to shop.”

“And how do you know about a place you haven’t been in…how long?”

“Oh, you wound me! I did my research – I spent a bit of time in the office communing with Michael’s computer and did some nosing about. I somewhat anticipated you wanting to shop, dear…”

“Oh, predictable, am I? We’ll see about that.”

“I never said you were predictable dear…consistent perhaps.” Al grinned and changed the subject. “Button up, dear, we’re nearly at our destination.”

With that, Al directed the Bentley up a narrow winding road, turning in at a gateway framed by two stone pillars. Driving slowly, Al pulled up in a graveled car park next to a house whose antiquity was evident, both in its construction and the air of age that surrounded it.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 16:

Stopping the car, he exited and opened the back door, handing Rosalynd out. She for her part had resumed the buttons saucily undone in the car, and looked every bit the proper matron despite being in casual dress.

Fetching the bags from the boot Al and Rosalynd headed for the door and knocked for entry. The door opened and “Welcome, welcome! Come in, please!” boomed out from the entryway.

A tall smiling man in white shirt and trousers greeted them. “Mister and Mrs. Richer, I presume? I’m Geoff. Welcome to Field House!”

“Thank you, Geoff. Yes, we are the Richers – I’m Al and this is Rosalynd. Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice.”

“No problem at all. Happy to have you. June is still a bit early for the ramblers and holidaymakers, so we can easily put you up. Come on along, and I’ll show you your room.”

He led them up the stairs and to a room, bright with both natural sunlight and colourful furnishings. “This is our best room – has an en-suite bath with a shower and a nice comfortable double bed. Does this suit?”

“Perfectly. This is wonderful!” Rosalynd was enthused.

“Geoff, a few questions if I may. Both Rosalynd and I need to get some outdoor gear – boots and clothing. We packed suddenly for our trip here, and didn’t think to pack suitable clothes. Where’s a good shop to go to for this?”

Geoff looked pensive. “Depends on your tastes, I’d say. Do you want the latest and greatest synthetic clothing, or more traditional? If you want the latest and greatest synthetic fabrics and the like then there are two or three trekkers’ shops on the high street that would supply for both of you.”

“More traditional, please. I don’t really look good in Gore-Tex and neon fabrics.” Rosalynd was emphatic.

Geoff nodded – evidently his tastes ran the same way. “Well, then your choices are more limited, I’m afraid. You can go to the high street shops here, but the more conservative clothing is going to be scant.

“Or, you do yourself a favor and go where I go.”

“Where’s that. then?”

“About 20 miles from here there’s a shop called Naylor’s. It’s where to go if you’re a member of the horsey set – which so many are, and so many others want to look the part.”

“Horsey set?” If Al didn’t know better he’d have sworn Rosalynd’s ears swiveled forward. Al suddenly smelled a shopping spree in the offing, and was glad the boot of the Bentley was reasonably large.

“Equestrian supply. They also carry proper outdoor gear, boots and the like for those of us who spend time out and about but don’t want to look like a cross between a speed skater and an Everest attempt. Go there, you’ll find what you like – but be aware that it comes at a cost.”

From looking at the avaricious look on Rosalynd’s face Al had no doubt as to the reception of this news. So, shopping is the name of the game for today, it seems.

“It seems Rosalynd has made up her mind. So when does this mart of trade close?”

“You’ve plenty of time yet. Just go on out…”

A half-hour later found them in the car park of a massive building painted in bright yellow. Parking the Bentley RIGHT at the back of the lot Al handed Rosalynd out of the back seat, locked the car and they entered.

“Strewth I’ve seen smaller football pitches. This place is HUGE. SO, dear, where do you, er we start?”

“Boots. I am not going to go wandering around in the fields in these flats – and I didn’t pack anything else. I expect we’ll be getting you some as well, right?”

“As I packed for the city as well…yes, I expect so. This is not going to be an inexpensive stop.”

Rosalynd turned to Al. “Look, Two-legs. I for one am going to treat this as a vacation, no matter the purpose of it. Does it occur to your tiny little ape brain that this is the first time in years that I have been able to pry you away from your damned office for more than a weekend?

“BOTH of us can use this – and neither of us has taken a damn vacation in far too long. I understand we have business here – or you do – but Goddamnit I am going to enjoy you showing me where you come from. Understand?”

Rosalynd gestured to his breast pocket. “Turn off your phone.”

“What?”

“I said turn off your Goddamned phone. You can turn it on tonight when you call Ari and tell her that you’re going to be here longer than expected – and that she’s to tell your friends in suits the same thing. You will check in once a day in the evening – no more – and if she or anyone ELSE bothers you there is going to be Hell to pay unless it’s a real emergency.

“Got it?”

“I love it when you’re forceful.” Al said with a grin. “You…are absolutely right. Other than my business as you call it this is an ideal time to poke about the countryside – the tourists haven’t started quite yet, though the weather is a bit cool.”

She wrapped her arms around him, pulled him close and whispered in his ear “Perfect weather for cuddling in a hotel bed with a fire in the fireplace. Play your cards right – play any of them at all, as a matter of fact – and I will let you ply me with brandy till I am putty in your hands.”

“Your wish is my command, milady.”

She pulled him close and purred in his ear again. “Next time say that like you mean it…and we may not even make it back to the B&B.”

Oh, my. This is…an interesting development. “That being said, Lady Alexander, shall we go shopping?”

“Yes. Boots first.”

They wandered to the back of the store, and a young clerk greeted them. “Hello. Welcome to Naylor’s. What are sir and ma’am looking for today?”

“Hi. Boots are what we need. We’re going to be doing some walking while we’re here on vacation and we need proper footwear.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sadly we do not have an extensive range in hiking or walking boots as such, but we do have country boots. They’re made for all day wear and fit stirrups and such – they don’t have the wide soles of hiking boots. I’ve a pair of the tall ones myself I wear around the paddock and when out dog-walking or shopping around town.”

“Are they all right for long distances? I can’t see that we’ll be going a block or two when we walk.”

“Yes, ma’am. I wear mine all the time and all day. Trust me, my dogs aren’t parlour pets – they demand long walks.”

“Interesting. Show me.”

After measuring her feet and a quick consultation on colour preferences the clerk returned with a few boxes. Setting the first one down he pulled it from the box, undid the buckle and held it out for Rosalynd to try.
“Ooooo…chunky. Not sure I’m thrilled with the knee high boot but it’s a thought.”

“Ma’am, if you’re going to walk the Pennines it’s not all cleared paths. There’s low growth and the tramplers, er, ramblers aren’t always tidy about breaking shrubbery and leaving it across a path. The protection no matter what you’re wearing is a good thing.”

Donning the other one Rosalynd took a stroll around the area, testing the fit. “Nice, but I’m sliding in the heel. Can we try another style?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Helping her off with the boots the clerk readied another pair. “These I am sure will do it. However, they’re a good bit more than the others.”

“That will not be an issue. Please let me try them on.”

Preparing them the clerk unlaced them and Rosalynd slid her feet in. Lacing them again Rosalynd took another tour of the shoe area, then a walk up and down the aisle of the store at a brisk pace.

“These…are amazing. Sold. What do you think, dear?” she said coquettishly, pulling up her pant leg to expose a length of shapely leather-clad calf.

“Quite fetching. A pair of jodhpurs and a riding crop and you’re set for a ride across the moors.” Al realized that he’d created a monster – and he was happily going to bear the brunt of it.

“Very good then, ma’am. Let me have those and I’ll repack them for you. Anything else?”

“Yes, my husband needs boots as well. What do you have?”


Two hours and many pounds later a carriage was wheeled from the store and packages began to disappear into the boot of the Bentley.

“Did we get everything we needed, Al?” Rosalynd asked.

“I think we did. Waxed jackets, hats, boots, trousers and shirts along with a few sets of base layers for comfort. Thankfully baggage charges won’t be an issue on the way home.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’ll be taking these clothes home. I think leaving them at Arabesque will be in order – call it a promise to return. Opinion?”

“I can see that. You’ll want other items as well – these really are for hiking and traipsing about in the gorse more than shopping on the high street. However, I agree.”

“Good. Back to the B&B then, and some dinner?”

“Yes, my Lady.” Al touched the brim of his fedora and he saw a light began to smoulder in Rosalynd’s eyes. This is going to be an interesting time. I’m not sure if I could love her any more – my heart may burst trying – but I am open to the experiment.

With that Al handed Rosalynd back into the Bentley and took his place behind the wheel.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Wed Sep 13, 2023 11:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Full Disclosure

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Chapter 17:
Returning to the B&B Al secured the assistance of the proprietor in hauling the packages up to their room.

“Oh, my! Is there anything left on the shelves at Naylor’s?”

“Yes, there is. Not much in her size, however. Lady Alexander went a bit mad-“ And Al cursed himself for slipping up.

Geoff looked a bit dazed. “Lady…Alexander? You’re not having me on are you, sir? Not some joke on the American lady?”

Al tried rapidly to repair the situation. “No, it is not humour. Her late husband gone these ten years and more was granted a lordship for services to the government and the crown by their company – AHI. She inherited the title when he passed on and has held it since.”

“Rather odd that – shouldn’t it have passed to the eldest son?”

“Rather odd indeed – but her husband insisted that the letter of patent allow the title to pass to her as while he did have a male heir, his wife had been instrumental in the services to the Crown. When her husband passed suddenly the title fell into abeyance and from what I heard there was a short sharp argument as to who got handed the sack. Rosalynd didn’t duck fast enough, and ended up Lady Alexander.

“Her son will assume the title when hopefully a very long time from now she passes on.”

“Oh, dear…I was entirely too informal with Lady Alexander.” Geoff looked decidedly unhappy with himself, and Al stepped into the breach.

“Please, PLEASE do not let on you know! She will never forgive me. The housekeeper at our place in Cambridge got her used to her title – and I began to call her that as well…and I slipped. Please don’t let on.”

“I won’t, but it will be difficult. A member of the nobility staying under my roof, even in mufti, is an event.”

“You want to honour her, treat her well. She’s a dear soul and not pretentious at all, and treating her properly will endear you to her to no end.

“And to that – meant to mention something. The Lady is vegetarian – so eggs and bacon and all that is right out. If you’ve scones you will endear yourself to her eternally – or at least till breakfast is over.”

“Aye, that I can do. I have a proper recipe for them and the trimmings. What about you?”
“I, mate, am a proper Englishman. Eggs, bacon, sausage, ham…bring on the whole barnyard, with beans and good strong coffee and I’ll be a happy man.”

“Duly noted. I assure you, this will not be an issue.”

As they traipsed up the stairs with the packages Al asked a question near and dear to his heart. “Where’s good for dinner, then?”

“Depends. For fish and chips or pub food there’s the pub where you turned in. Place is a bit shabby but the pub grub is tolerable. Might be able to get in on Quiz Night if you’ve a mind to – it runs later this evening.”

Al shuddered – quiz night was NOT the type of game he had in mind for later. “I do think we’ll pass on quiz night. From the sound of things my dear wife will not be able to find anything to eat there. In any case, I’d prefer something a bit more proper sit-down.”

“If you’re in the mood for a bit of a walk, I can make a recommendation but I’ll need to make a phone call for you. There’s an inn about ¾ mile from here up the valley - Shibden Mill Inn. There’s two ways to get there – one is up the road and they have a car park, but I don’t recommend it with that great beast of yours. Anyway, where’s the fun in it?

“I recommend you walk up the valley. Out the back, cross the field, through the cattle gate and down the path. Take you right there and it’s a lovely stroll across the fields – old wagon path it is. It’s setted and you can see the wagon tracks worn into the stone. Do be careful where it’s been wet – the setts will be slippery.

Al nodded – this was not news to him. “Worth the walk?”

Geoff nodded. “Menu’s a bit precious and trendy, but the food is well worth it. For a starter I recommend for you a plate of their fat chips – cooked in dripping from the roasts. Lovely stuff but if you’ve a heart condition I think it would probably kill you.”

“I’ll take me chances, then.” Al laughed, falling into the vernacular. “Question is, though – do they have options for Rosalynd? She is a vegetarian, as I mentioned.”

“No problem. Chef there has modern training and even if there’s nothing on the menu to suit he can certainly craft her a fine meal.”

“Good, then. Sounds like a wonderful place to eat, and the walk makes it a bonus.”

Geoff dug out his phone. “Take my number down.” He recited a string of digits, and Al noted them in his address book. “If it gets too late and you don’t fancy the walk back call me and I’ll come and fetch you. My Shogun may not be as posh as your Bentley, but it will certainly get you home.”

“Stellar. This sounds a magnificent plan.”

Geoff turned to exit. “Shall I call, then, and for when?”

“Seven? That will give us time for a proper dinner and time to get back here before dark. I don’t want to put you out hauling drunken tourists around the countryside.”

“Good choice – I’ll do that.” With that, Geoff took his leave, and Al heard Rosalynd’s footsteps coming up the stairs a few minutes later, as he was sorting his own purchases into a bag.

“My, you got the packages up here quickly. Did I just hear Geoff?”

“Yes, I volunteered him as pack mule and we got your haul up the stairs. Remind me to do him a favour and sort the recycling from the trash in this mess – this way it’s easy to shift and won’t need sorting.”

“Good point. Might as well get this stuff repacked – no need to leave it in the packages.”

“More the point, you’ll need to change for dinner. We’re going for a walk to the restaurant – up the valley. You are going to get a good look at what I see here – a good dose of English history and the history of the area before dinner. Up for it?”

Rosalynd purred. “Sounds wonderful. Where are we going?”

“There’s a place up the valley. Bit tony and precious, but the food is I am told quite good and they have options for you. Feel up to it?”

“Certainly. When do we need to be there?”

“Seven is our reservation. Let’s leave here about six-thirty – if we arrive early we have time for you to have the first of a few brandies in the bar before dinner.”

She walked to him and pulled him close. “What did you call me?”

“Apologies, my Lady…”

“That’s better.” She giggled, and Al remembered.

“Oh, speaking of that…I’m afraid I outed you to Geoff. Completely accidental.”

“Oh, crap. Now what?”

“Nothing. I’ve sworn him to secrecy and the only downside to it is that you’re going to end up with scones for breakfast.”

“OOOOOooo…you wonderful man. If you need to screw up, do it that way again. So, what’s on the agenda till dinner?”

“Nowt, meduck. I thought a kip might be in order. It’s been a long day so far, and lunch a bit ago. Motorway food does little for me.”

“Good thought. A nap, then, eh?”

*~*~*~*~*

Later, Rosalynd asked, “So, what kind of a place is this?”

“Supposedly an inn and pub, but that covers a lot of ground. Why?”

“Wondering how I should dress. Don’t want to look like some stupid tourist.”

“Stupid you could never look my dear. I am not going to worry about my appearance – khakis, boots, my outdoor jacket and fedora will do nicely. What did you have in mind?”

“Go get cleaned up and I’ll try it on – then you can give me your opinion.”

Al did as bidden, and when emerging from the shower Rosalynd greeted him with “Well?” She did a small pirouette in place and Al was to put it mildly impressed.

She wore khaki chinos, tucked into the tops of her boots. This was topped with a soft white shirt, and restrained jewelry crowned with her centaur pendant. Little makeup adorned her face – just a red lipstick to offset the green of her chinos.

“Oh, my. You, my dear, look every bit the part of a lady adventurer, ready for anything. Add a pistol belt to that and my Webley and you would win any adventuress’ competition.”

She blushed, but her words showed little of it. “Jackass. That’s not what I was after. Am I overdressed or underdressed for dinner?”

Al took her hand and raised it to his lips. “You, my dear, are perfect. Obviously dressed for a walk but yet elegant. Add your Barbour to that and you’ll be perfect – and you’ll look like you just stepped off the local high street except for the newness of your coat and boots. A few days’ wear and you will look the part, Lady Alexander.” With that he kissed her hand again, slowly, and watched the hairs rise on her arm.

“Remember what I said about playing your cards right?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Don’t bother – you won. Now let’s go – I hear a brandy or two calling my name and I’m sure they have that ginger beer you like, or something like it.”

“As you wish…Lady.”

They donned their coats and left, waving to Geoff as they did.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 18:

In the late day mottled sunshine the heather glowed, and the bright sun still shone up the valley. They walked across the tidy field toward the path, and then Rosalynd laughed at the stile set in the field wall..

“Al, whatthehell is that? Looks like a ladder built into the wall!”

“That, my dear, is just what it is. Most of these fields and their walls date to when the fields were grazed. You can’t have an opening as the stock will get through, and metal gates till recently are too expensive. Wooden ones are too hard to maintain and take fittings that are pricy. This is a way to let humans pass with the stock being none the wiser.”

Al demonstrated. Starting on his left foot, he walked up the narrow steps, then stepped to the top the wall and walked down the other side.

Rosalynd applauded. “Bravo!” Following his example she walked up and Al reached over, taking her hand to help her over. Daintily she stepped over, the soles of her boots giving her good traction on the damp rock.

Now, hand in hand they walked the path. The path was set with slabs of stone, and these had grooves worn in them about five feet apart. Pointing to them, Rosalynd asked, “What are the grooves for, Al – gutters?”

“Silly American. You all think 200 years is a long time. Those, my dear lady, are the grooves worn – WORN mind you, by the wheels of carts. This area shipped a lot of heavy goods – quarry and mine products – from up in the hills down to Stump Cross. The grooves you see are from the carts’ wheels – starting in the medieval period.”

“Medieval as in…when?”

“As in quite long ago. Quarrying hereabouts dates to the 1300s for the earliest mention in records – likely started earlier than that. Halifax itself was heavily involved with the wool trade by1400 or so, all based around the Piece Hall. I’ll have to take you in there tomorrow and let you do some shopping – the woolens there are I am told very good.”

“So, you’re telling me this road has been here for 700 years? Seven hundred years?”

“Yes, dear. One of the places we’re going to go is York – Eboracum as it was called under Roman rule. There you can walk everything from modern pavements to a Roman way – and all within a few miles. Call that 2,000 years instead of a measly 700.”

Rosalynd stopped and huddled a bit. Al asked, “What’s wrong, love?”

“So much time. Such history. You rattle off periods like medieval, and time frames like 700 years or 2,000 years like they’re nothing. The house we’re staying in has parts that go back to the 1100s from what you said.”

“Quite true.”

“Come over here and hold me, old man. You’re scaring the tourist with all this time talk.”

Al obliged, and they stood, deep in each other’s embrace for a minute or two, then Al raised his head and said “I could stand here all evening, but dinner calls.”

“Good point.” Rosalynd disengaged and they began to walk again, hand in hand. Al, relishing his role as tour guide, pointed back over his shoulder. “Back that way about a mile of path is Shibden Hall – the manor that owned most of this area at one time. It’s medieval as well – about 600 years old, so late Medieval but medieval indeed.

“However, its notoriety dates much later. One of its owners was a woman named Anne Lister – who is described as one of the earliest modern lesbians and lived there with a female partner in her later years.

“The locals called her ‘Gentleman Jack’ because she wore masculine clothing and carried herself as such. Caused her no end of grief but her wealth and position let her get away with it. Her diaries were quite explicit on her seductions – and there’s four million words of them.”

“Quite the place you’ve brought me. From medieval roads to lesbian diaries in two paragraphs. I am thoroughly impressed.”

“I’m sorry, dear. It’s just so hard not to sound like some idiotic tour guide, yet share the depth of history here. People have inhabited this land since prehistoric times, and that history is all round us today.

“This is why I brought us here – it’s got history, continuity with the Earth, and so much natural beauty that I just had to show it to you.”

“Speaking of the earth – are you going to be able to draw and balance here?”

“I think so. Perhaps not at our lodgings, but when we go onto public lands I’ll be able to do short forms and balance up.”

“Good. I don’t need this cut short by you having issues.” Rosalynd stopped, pointed and laughed. “Whatthehell is that?”

A stone sign labeled ‘The Dicken’ was alongside the path. “That, ribald though it seems, is the name of the path. Let us proceed.”

They continued on, and a bit later emerged into the car park of a white painted building.

“Ah, Dinner. Let’s go, then.” Walking in the front door they stood, inhaling the splendors of wine, food, baking meats and a wonderful smell of breads in the air. As they looked around they saw tables filled with laughing, happy people around the large, low room, most dressed as they were. Al subliminally breathed a sigh of relief – he and Rosalynd would fit right in, though in his opinion she was the most beautiful one there by any standard.

A young, pretty girl smiled at them from behind the desk and greeted them.

“Good evening, and welcome to the Shibden Mill Inn. I’m Tanya. Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, Tanya, we do. Name is Al Richer – for two for seven o’clock?”

“Oh, yes. Mr. Richer and Lady Alexander?” The young lady curtsied, and Al felt an overwhelming urge to strangle Geoff. From the look Rosalynd directed at him the same urge was rising, unfortunately including him.

“Right this way, please, we have a special table for you.” They followed the young lady down a hall and through a door, where a table sat, elegantly dressed with china, crystal and spotless napery. A few meters from the table a fire crackled in a stone fireplace, and the entire private dining room exuded rustic charm with its half-timbered construction, exposed wood and low ceilings.

Seating them and handing each a menu Tanya said “Tim will be right in. Enjoy your dinner!” She left with their coats and Al’s fedora and Al reached for his pocket, extracting his phone. A button or two swiped and the familiar double-ring sounded in his ear. A moment later the click sounded and a booming voice said “Geoff here!”

“Do you have ANY idea what the words ‘keep mum’ mean? I have an irate Lady on my hands here who is giving serious consideration to strangling you with her own hands if I don’t do it for her.”

“Let me guess, you two are ensconced in the back by the fireplace in the private room while she is fuming?”

“You are correct.”

Geoff laughed, with the amusement of a man whose plans have succeeded perfectly. “I KNEW it. That miserable prat gave me no end of grief when I called him – ‘we’re full up’ and ‘maybe I can find a table’ and this and that. The moment I dropped Lady Alexander’s title on him, however, he became much more tractable.

“I assure you that you’ll have a dinner to be remembered – knowing the chef there he’s pulled out all the stops for you and the Lady. Enjoy it, and make sure to tell me all about it over breakfast.”

Al hung up the phone and briefed Rosalynd on Geoff’s machinations. “So, bottom line we have no reason to kill him and should be thanking him. I do apologize for this, but it did work out in our favour.”

Rosalynd laughed, all ire spent. “I guess I’ll forgive him – but dinner better be good!”

As she spoke the door to the room opened again and a young man walked in. “Good evening Mr. Richer, Lady Alexander. I’m Timothy. Welcome to the Inn. What can I start you off with for drinks? Lady Alexander?”

“Courvoisier VSOP please – and warm the glass before it’s poured.”

“Very good, ma’am. And you, sir?”

“Ginger beer, please.”

The young man looked quite scandalized at his request, but soon returned with their requests. Rosalynd took her snifter, rolled it between her hands and breathed deeply, the aromatic scent of the cognac filling her nostrils.

“This is fantastic. The trip here, the shopping and now a cozy dinner in a quiet country inn. You’re gonna play hell topping yourself after this, old man.” She sipped at the warmed brandy and sighed, deeply content.

“Dear, you deserve everything I can do for you and more. Trust me, this is merely a foretaste. I am going to so enjoy showing you parts of my world. York is a beautiful place, and the Pennine Way. If I can rent a Landy-”

She scowled at him. “And other parts?”

“If I could spare you those, dear, I would. But their existence is a part of the Al package, so to speak. However, we’ll be able to go to so many other places-“

“Stop. Just fucking stop. You are not going to downplay or throw this part of you away like this. It’s all you, but not the important parts.

“Honestly, after all of your dodging and weaving on this I’m curious – what the hell could be so Goddamned horrible that you’d spend most of your life trying to forget it?”

“You will see.”

With that Tim returned, setting a full bread basket and a dish of olive oil on the table. “What may I ask the chef to prepare for you for dinner sir, Lady?”

Rosalynd spoke. “I’m a vegetarian, but to be honest the risotto just doesn’t tempt me as a main.” Rosalynd, having studied the menu, used the terms it contained. “A starter to suit would be lovely, and suggestions for wine, please.

“Please ask the chef to make me vegetarian dishes. I am not strict vegan, but large quantities of cream and cheese aren’t a good idea – I leave it to his wisdom as to what that will be.”

Without batting an eye Tim said “Challenge accepted. I’m sure the chef will enjoy this – he tires of fixed menus. Does the Lady have any allergies?”

“None. I am partial to spice but it’s not essential.”

“And sir?”

“Sir will have the roast beef, with sides of what the chef thinks will suit. Starter of a prawn cocktail served American style and don’t stint on either the prawns or the sauce.”

“Wine, sir?”

“No. I don’t imbibe. Within that constraint I will enjoy whatever the chef might suggest.”

“Very good, sir. I will be back with your starters in a few minutes.”

Tim left, and Al reached to the basket for a chunk of bread. Setting it on his plate he tore a bit off it and dipped it in the oil, then popped it in his mouth. “Still warm – I suspect this is what we smelled baking when we came in.”

Rosalynd, nodding, agreed.

By unspoken agreement the previous topic was avoided, as Rosalynd questioned Al on what they’d seen and done that day. Soon their starters arrived, and Rosalynd OOOhed in delight with her plate.

Artfully arranged on a dish were halved miniature peppers in red and yellow, grilled with a bit of the char still on the outside. Each of the halves had been filled with a mixture of couscous, pine nuts, feta and olives, and the whole dusted with parmesan and breadcrumb and broiled to lightly caramelize the topping and yield a bit of crunch. The whole had then been drizzled with olive oil for shine and a bit of extra flavour. Around them the plate had been decorated with a drizzle of balsamic vinegar, not as a flavour but merely to decorate.

This had been served with a glass of white wine, crisp and a bit sweet to offset the saltiness of the cheeses.

Rosalynd spooned one up and tasted it, and her eyes closed with delight. “This is amazing. Not too much feta, but enough to hold it together and give the taste. How are your shrimp?”

“Perfect. Chilled, and the sauce has enough horseradish to set the prawns off.”

With a will they turned to, and soon the plates were clean. Tim, ever attentive, returned to check on them and asked “Was Lady Alexander’s starter acceptable?”

“Very much so. If that is what the chef can do for a starter I am looking forward to my main course.”

Tim smiled, her pleasure in the food a source of pleasure to him as well.

“Yes my Lady. I will make sure the chef knows of your pleasure. I expect he’ll come out some time during dinner to make your acquaintance, if you don’t mind.”

“No, that would not be a problem at all. Please do ask him to come out if it suits him.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

Soon their main courses came out, and the exclamations of pleasure were evident at both sides of the table.

Al’s plate was s sight to make any true Englishman glad. A hearty portion of roast beef, served with a proper Yorkshire pudding and steamed asparagus and a side of creamy horseradish sauce and a boat of gravy.

Rosalynd’s dish was a masterpiece. Artfully arranged rounds of vegetables simmered in a red sauce peeked from a cast-iron dish – a traditional French ratatouille. This was sent to the table with a basket of rounds of French baguette and more olive oil if desired for drizzling. The smell of the garlic, onions and the roast vegetables permeated the room as Tim brought it in, eliciting a sigh of pleasure from Rosalynd.

“Compliments to Lady Alexander, and the chef hopes that you will find this more acceptable than the risotto. He also agrees that the menu items for vegetarians need to be addressed, and he thanks you for bringing it to his attention.”

With the meal Tim also set out beverages – a bubble of white wine for Rosalynd, and a stein of a dark-brown liquid for Al, topped with a lemon slice on the rim.

“Not that I don’t trust you, lad, but what is this?”

“That is something the chef personally despises but suggests will work well with your dinner – it’s iced black tea. If you feel the need for the lemon it’s there but he suggests it as-is – the astringency will work against the horseradish well.

“To be honest Lady, sir, this is the first time I’ve seen the chef smile this broadly. Normally he is unhappy with folks who demand deletions and substitutions, but your trusting him to do his best has made his whole evening. He’ll be out to tell you this himself over dessert – and if you think that’s a veiled suggestion to have dessert – it is.” Tim smiled and vanished again.

Over dinner the subject of travel came up again, carefully skirting the contentious aspects.

“Why is England so different, Al? We’re a few hundred miles if that from London and Cambridge but it’s a different world up here – the topography, the accents, the architecture…just about everything. It’s like it’s a different country in half the distance from Minneapolis to Chicago.”

Al finished chewing, and sipped his tea, trying to form his thoughts. “It’s what you remarked on when we were walking here – the age.

“The States are a bit over 200 years old, and parts of that like New England more like 400. Within a mile of us here there are buildings that are nearly double that, and in England there are those much older that are still in daily use. Let’s not even discuss ruins – those are everywhere.”

“But why the changes in culture?”

“Another facet of the same gem. When people lived and died within 20 miles of where they were born and entire populations were that way there was very little cross-pollination. Brickmakers in London had nothing to do with farmers in the Dales – and the environment shaped them both.”

“That makes sense. The States have never had isolated populations – even when it was being settled there was communications – and everyone came from somewhere else.”

“Quite true. The speech up here contains as much Norse as it does Anglo-Saxon. England is a place influenced by its conquerors – which explains much.”

As they talked they enjoyed their meals. Finally settling back with a happy sigh Rosalynd said “I need to remember this – Rosalita needs to do a bit of research. The bread with the sauce…divine. How was your beef?”

“Amazing, and a local product unless I miss my guess. The tea was inspired – not a proper pint but a great addition.”

Tim, who had been checking on them as they ate, returned and bussed the table, brushing away crumbs and clearing plates and glasses.

“Dessert? Please do say yes – the chef has been busy.”

“Then yes, indeed! Dear?”

“Yes, please. I take it we’re not allowed to select?”

“No. The chef’s gone a bit mad and taken you two on as a charge – he’s doing things himself and enjoying himself greatly. The kitchen staff is taking bets on whether he explodes from joy before the evening is out – they’ve never seen him like this.”

Rosalynd laughed. “Wonderful. Is he planning anything that wouldn’t go with a good strong coffee?”

“I will find out. If that is compatible would you like one or two?”

“Two, please. Another Courvoisier for me, and don’t forget to warm the glass.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Completely aside from the dinner – and it was stunning, no doubt – Al was watching the flowering of his bride in this environment. Confident, assured, utterly beautiful…and Al was falling in love again.

What in the world she sees in me I just do not know. She is amazing…any man’s dream if he has any sense at all and a spine. The spine is quite necessary – it would be too easy to be subsumed by all that passion. Oh, yes…but what a way to go.

As Tim left Al just sat and stared at his wife. One minute went to two, then

“What? Have I got something on my blouse?”

“No, dear. Just remarking to myself how incredibly lucky I am to have you.”

Her answer to this was to hold out her hand along the table. With that, he took her hand…and it all felt right.

A minute or two after the door opened and a short, portly man bustled into the room pushing a covered cart, followed closely by Tim. “Good evening Mr. Richer, Lady Alexander. I’m Philip, and I’ve had the pleasure of preparing your means tonight. Thank you for a challenge – I so appreciated it.

“Lady Alexander, your request made me realize that I really needed to revisit the vegetarian and vegan options on our menu – the choices there are just too limited. Thank you for making me realize it.”

“Philip, we need to thank you. This has been bar none the best meal we’ve had in our time in England, and the best I’ve had in years. I’m afraid I am going to tell my cook at home about the ratatouille – I know it won’t be as good as yours, but it’s worth a try. Thank you SO much for caring for us as you have – I know it’s difficult dealing with folks with food issues.”

“Lady Alexander, the pleasure has been all mine. And to top it off I have dessert.” He uncovered the cart, and Al and Rosalynd both OOOhed with delight.

A French apple tart adorned the pastry server, the crust fluted and delightful. Accompanying it on the cart was a jug of double crème, and coffee cups with a carafe.

With flourishes of motion generous portions of the tart were served, and Philip held up the crème jug, a question in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t…but yes, please!” That being said an artful pattern of crème was drawn over the tart and the plate, and Rosalynd was served. Al remarked, “Don’t even ask – yes, please!” The chef, smiling broadly, did the same.

Rosalynd and Al sampled their desserts, and their eyes closed in pleasure.

“Philip, I’ve made many apple tarts before, but this has an extraordinary concentration of flavour. What did you do to get that?” Al wanted to know – the chef in him needed an answer.

“Mr Richer – it’s simple. This is not the time for fresh apples here, as you know, so rather than go for the cold-storage apples this was done with dried apples. Drying concentrates the flavour, and they’re restored with a poach in simple syrup and a bit of cognac.”

“Marvelous. An amazing dish. Bravo!” Al set his fork down and applauded politely, as did Rosalynd.

While they were speaking to Philip, Tim had set out and filled their coffee cups and set out Rosalynd’s brandy. Standing back unobtrusively, Al noted the smile on his face was as large as the chef’s, and Al applauded him mentally.

Philip preened at the attention, and then said, “Lady Alexander, Mr. Richer, please do enjoy your dessert.” With a bow he was gone, back to his domain.

“This is amazing…though I wish I’d known about the cognac.” Al grimaced.

“I know – thought of that when he said it. The alcohol’s cooked off, though. You’ve had a drink on occasion, though, so obviously not a major problem.”

“No, not a major problem anymore – and I plan to keep it that way.”

Rosalynd’s hand slid across the table and Al took it. So restricted they tried to eat dessert – till a few slips convinced them that holding hands could wait till later.

Soon they were done, and sighing happily Al paid the check. Tim fetched their coats and handed them a small white box. “Chef’s compliments – that’s the rest of the tart, with a container of the sweetened double cream. Fantastic breakfast if it suits you.” Tim grinned, and with that they left for their walk back to the B&B.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 19:

As they had dined the skies had turned grey, and a cool breeze had picked up. Al took the fedora from his head and set it on his wife’s, saying “I will NOT have you catching cold!” She laughed, and pulled it down, enjoying the warmth.

Al, for one, was in paradise despite the conditions. A sumptuous dinner, a beautiful companion, true love and a brisk walk back to a cozy feather bed left him in a fine mood indeed. Combine that with the very slight inebriation of his companion and he was decidedly enjoying the show.

“Now, dear – take my arm. This is a bit slippery and while you’re wearing those fine boots I would hate to see you slip. Hang on to me, then…” as he took her arm.

She, for her part, took his arm and held it tightly against her side. “Oh, dear – I do seem to have gotten lost. Would kind sir help me back to my lodgings?” she said, coquettishly batting her eyebrows at him.

“Oh, yes, my dear. I will certainly help you, Hold on to my arm, now, and we’ll be there in a trice.” With that, Al held his wife’s arm as they walked the path in the lowering twilight.

“But sir, how can I know if you are trustworthy? You might take me into the woods and do unspeakable things to me! What would poor, defenseless me do against a big, strong man like you!”

Al nearly laughed out loud. The LAST thing Rosalynd was was helpless, in either form. However, in the spirit of the thing he muttered words of reassurance about “Big strong man” and “defending the helpless” and words to that effect.

They were most of the way back to the B&B when Rosalynd stopped and looked at him. “You just can’t take a hint, can you?” she said, and laughed. Turning to him she kissed him, her fervor multiplied by the wildness of the night and the increasing dark. Tasting he brandy on her tongue he responded to her fervor, and the kiss became passionate.

As they parted he quipped, “Oh, I can certainly – but it’s getting a bit dark out here.”

“So much the better, Two-Legs – so much the better.” Her mouth found his, and they kissed again.

*~*~*~*~*

Jeering, dirty faces. A ring of jeering, dirty faces, most taller than him. A ring in the middle of the schoolyard, on the cracked tarmac – with him inside.

He was roughly shoved from one to the other, punched and knocked to the ground, then dragged to his feet and shoved about again. His nose was bleeding, but so were the noses of a few of the boys in the circle. Problem was, there were too many of them.

Swinging wildly where he could, he finally broke through the ring of tormentors and ran from the schoolyard. He’d get in trouble for that tomorrow, but for now he just wanted to get away from the bullies.

He ran, and hid, and ran again. Staying put meant some adult would see him and question why he wasn’t in school. Keeping moving and hiding in the alleyways was the easiest thing to do.

Finally, stumbling down an alleyway, clothes torn, and the copper taste of blood in his mouth from the bloody nose he sat on an old box. Anger filled his breast - he was small enough, and a loner, which made him fair game for the bullies at the council school.

His father, when sober enough to notice, had told him to "Buck up and fight back like a man!" not understanding or caring that odds of six or eight to one were a little difficult to deal with.

He sat on a crate, and wiped his sleeve across his nose. At least the bleeding had stopped, though Mum would scream at him for the bloody shirt.

The more he thought, the worse the anger became, until he made an angry throwing-away gesture in the air. When he did, he felt - something - and the trash cans across the alley rattled.

He did it again - and the something flared, and the cans rattled.

Again, again, until he became exhausted, the anger dying away in his breast. Now, nothing happened, nor would it happen again though he tried again and again.


Waking in a sweat, he sat up in bed, quietly sliding out. Stepping to the bathroom he washed his face, studiously avoiding the mirror. Drying off, he went back to the room but not the bed, finding the wing chair with ottoman in the corner.

There, he sat, a quiet figure on a quiet night. Immersed in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the passage of time till a change in the back of his mind roused him.

“Are you awake, love? I can feel it.” he said to the figure lying quietly in the bed. In turn she turned and sat up, bedclothes falling away as she slid back against the headboard.

“Yes, I am. Why are you?”

“Just couldn’t sleep. I suspect that dinner was a bit too rich for me, though it was glorious.” he lied, even as he knew the attempt was futile. She’d caught him out.

“Bullshit, old man. Nightmares again unless I miss my guess…and I don’t, right?”

“True enough, dear. Not unusual, and nothing to worry about. I’ll be back to bed in a bit. Go back to sleep.”

She sighed, then patiently said “You can’t lie to me and you know it. Why do you bother to try? Get back here.”

“In a bit dear. Go back to sleep.”

Sighing again, she slid back down and rolled over away from him. He knew she was still awake though, and that gnawed at him as well.

Decisions, decisions….

He woke, stiff and sore, as the windows began to grey with the dawn. Hobbling to his suitcase he put on a set of frowsy old exercise clothes, the worn, soft material comforting under his hands. Tiptoeing out of the door of the room he headed out the door of the building, ensuring it was unlocked as he did.

Off to a grassy section he began his forms, hoping that the exercise would calm his mind. Step, turn, push, withdraw…the routine soothed his mind but didn’t help the disquiet underneath.

Giving up after a while he quietly back into the house and back to their room, stripping off the exercise clothes and returning to the bed. Even then he lay awake, mulling things over in his mind.

When he woke again the sun was well up, and his wife was stirring next to him. Looking to the clock it was after seven, and well past his usual active time.

“What time is it?” a grumpy voice said.

“Just seven, love. Breakfast soon, and coffee likely available. Let me get dressed and go fetch us some.”

“Good idea…” said the grumpy voice, and the hand on the outside of the covers flopped spastically for a second which might have been a wave of dismissal to one familiar with the hand’s owner – as Al was.

Dressing, he walked down to the dining room, to find Geoff tending a sideboard. Cold breads and pastries competed with pots of coffee and condiments on its surface.

“Good morning, Geoff. What time is breakfast?”

“Was planning on 8. The business types prefer it a bit late, and then they head out from there. Is that acceptable?”

“Certainly. Rosalynd is not an early riser, though coffee would be welcome.”

Geoff stepped aside and waved Al forward. Al drew two mugs of coffee, adulterated them and headed back for their room.

As he entered the figure in bed stirred. “Tha’ you?”

“You’d best hope so. If not then there is something decidedly askance here. Sit up and drink your coffee.”

Rosalynd took the mug gratefully and sat up, snugging back to the headboard for support.

“All right – drink your coffee and get your lazy backside out of bed. We’ve places to go today – I was planning a drive into York, considering you’d been so interested in history last night on our walk-“

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“I said no. Goddamnit Al you spent half the night sitting up, and you’re still troubled. This is putting you through hell, and by God we’re dealing with it today.”

Al sighed – this was NOT a discussion he wanted pre-breakfast. “We’ll talk about it. In any case, get yourself out of-“

“No. Get your sorry ape butt back in this bed and we’re going to talk.”

Two feelings warred in Al – a mulish desire to balk at a direct order and the sense of the discussion and the love and kindness behind it.

“You do realize that I don’t take kindly to orders, I expect?”

“Look, Two-legs-“

“No. YOU look. I love you dearly, but I will not capitulate to orders.” Al was not giving quarter at present, and was certainly going to regret it later. However, at this moment the future was not the point.

Rosalynd sighed, and looked at the cup in her hand, and realized how often she was in that position due to the kindness of the old man in front of her. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again and finally gave up trying to talk. She got out of bed and padded across the floor to where Al stood.

Walking around him she pressed herself to his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders. In turn he reached up and held her arms with his hands, acknowledging the affection.

“Please, love. We need to talk. Come back to bed?”

Al squeezed her arms and she squeezed him. Letting go she padded back to bed and climbed in, re-acquiring her coffee.

Al undressed and slid back into bed, sitting as well with his cup. While still a bit miffed and decidedly unprepared for this discussion he sat, quietly prepared to listen.

“Al, I think we’ve danced around this enough. We need to go and strike at your dragons, as you put it. I will happily take the vacation you’re offering me here, but it’s time to deal with the business before we do. Then we’ll be free to do what we want.”

Rosalynd watched his face as he listened, and reacted.

“Stop that – I can hear you thinking from here. This is becoming the gorilla in the room – you need to do this – for what reason I don’t know but you do – and you’re trying as hard as you can to put it off and dance around it.

“Love, it’s time to pull the pin on this and let what happens happen. I know you’re scared of what I’ll think, and I’ve done everything I can to assure you it won’t matter – but it’s not enough.

“Please…trust me. Trust me to know what is right, no matter what you think.

“I love you. Trust me.”

Al slid down in the bed, laying down with his head pillowed on Rosalynd’s thigh.

“It’s hard, love. Every fiber of my being agrees with you, and logically, rationally knows that you will still love me – but the feeling is still there. I am still afraid that we will do this, and then you will turn away.

“That would – break me. I don’t know what I would do after that – and losing all of this – losing you – would kill me. I couldn’t continue after that.

“Can you see why I’m frightened?”

She stroked his arm gently, as if calming a frightened animal. “I know, love. I’ve given you every assurance I can that it won’t happen that way – the only thing here in the way of your happiness is you, right now.”

They lay together for a time, saying nothing but absorbing strength from each other.

“When you’re right, you’re right love. This is down to me, isn’t it?” Al said, looking up into her beautiful brown eyes.

“Love, it always was. We can walk away from this, but you’ll always be asking these questions. Know what I think?”

“What, dear?”

“I think it’s time to go kick some dragon ass. Fuck this grief.”

“When you are right, dear, you’re right.”
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Full Disclosure

Post by Just Old Al »

Chapter 20:

AN: This chapter and tomorrow's are...dark. Just a word to the wise.


They sat at breakfast, Rosalynd with a plate of scones, cream and jam and Al with a cooked breakfast. Conversation was little – the strain of the earlier discussion was still between them.

Finishing, Al sought the proprietor. He found Geoff tending the coffee supply and greeted him.

“Geoff, mate – got a question. Where can I rent a car?”

“Why do you need a car, Al – something wrong with the Bentley?”

“Oh, no, it’s brilliant – and I plan to keep it that way. Where I need to go today I would not take the Bentley.”

“Where are you going?”

Al hesitated, as this was still a bit tender a subject. “I need to go into Leeds for the day – and risking the Bentley’s bodywork and safety in a city centre car park is just not on my list of things to do.”

Geoff nodded, tacitly agreeing. “You coming back here tonight?”

“Plan to, yes. Staying tonight as well as we arranged – was also planning on leaving the Bentley here while I do my business in Leeds.”

“Don’t bother renting a car. Did you see the old Pug out in the carpark?”

“Yes. Thought it belonged to one of your guests.”

“I wouldn’t have a guest with taste that poor. That old 106 belongs to my daughter. She uses it when she’s in town, which is not at present. You would be doing me a favour if you managed to wreck that thing or get it stolen, but that much luck I don’t have.”

“Then I will happily attempt to remove it from your life, though I won’t guarantee success. What would you like for a deposit?”

“None needed. I am quite serious – that thing is worth a few hundred quid at most, so if anything happens to it we’ll discuss it. I’m not concerned – there isn’t a car thief in Leeds desperate enough to touch that filthy thing.” Geoff stopped, and thought a moment. “Do be careful putting things in the boot if you do.”

“Why?”

“You’ll likely take a turn and lose whatever it is – the thing’s got tinworm. This is one of the reasons I wouldn’t cry if it disappeared – its MOT is up in a few months and it needs to go off for some extensive welding.”

“AH, yes. Peugeot quality at its finest. Will do. I doubt we’ll be doing any shopping there, but I will take it under advisement.”

“Help yourself when you wish. Keys are on the board by the back door – straight out there and help yourself.”

Al held out his hand. “Thanks, Geoff. Much appreciated.”

As they drove to Leeds, Al pontificated on the city and its beginnings.

“It was first recorded as Leiodis – in 841 or thereabouts by Bede. The area didn’t have a lot of strategic value, so languished for that use and was primarily agricultural. This went on until the area became one of the linchpins in the wool trade – and its power.

“The wool trade started here in the 12th century, as there are records of a fulling mill here by 1400.”

“Al, what’s a fulling mill?”

“Details – details she asks. A fulling mill pounds cloth in water with fuller’s earth and some sort of soap – this felts and cleans the cloth and makes it more wearable and thicker. As I was saying, though, Leeds developed into a powerful trading city, trading with Europe via the Humber estuary.

“Leeds was powerful. The Industrial Revolution made it more so, as along with steam power in the mills Leeds became a foundry and manufacturing centre. This continued and grew through the World Wars, with Leeds having manufactories for uniforms, gear, cast iron everything and let’s not forget bombs and shells.”

“What happened?”

“Peace happened, and the hard costs of paying for a World War. Even then after the wars the foundries did well – they supplied castings and parts to all the major manufacturers up into the 1970s.

“After 1955 or so things started to head downhill on the manufacturing front. The collieries were beginning to shut down, and the foundries as well. Trade was off, and the slide downhill began. The area took a major hit in the 1960s as textile manufactory headed overseas – no one wanted good British woolens anymore.”

Al swung the Peugeot off the A621 onto the A58, and they headed into the city centre. As they drove Rosalynd looked around, amazed at the architecture. Al carefully guided the car off the A58 in a few miles onto city streets in Leeds Centre.

Around them was the hustle and bustle of a major city. Professional people strode along the sidewalks, each intent on their business. A few lounged on benches, usually with telephones pressed to ears. All was noise and motion – the typical street of a typical city.

Finding a carpark they left the Peugeot and started walking.

“First, some of the glories.” Al almost seemed to be enjoying himself as he led Rosalynd through the streets. As they walked Rosalynd laughed.

“Al, this could be Minneapolis!” she said, remarking on a Subway restaurant on one side of the street and Starbucks diagonally across from it. Surrounding those were phone shops, takeaways, restaurants and the ubiquitous small shops that any city needs to supply incidentals.

While right on the shop names, the buildings they were in could not be more different from those in an American city. Instead of being in low purpose-built buildings these shops were in the fronts of magnificent Victorian multi story buildings, with carved arches and decorations in stone on the upper windows, jarring oddly with the glass and aluminium of the shopfronts below.

Where buildings were obviously new the architecture differed dramatically. Flat faced buildings with rows of glass windows abounded, with architecture expressed in form and function rather than crenellation.

They walked on, Rosalynd enjoying the bustling feel of the city, Al moving along with the ease of a seasoned traveler in a not-unfamiliar place.

On the right appeared a huge Victorian building done in a light stone. A large plaza fronted on it, and there was a sign to the Leeds Art Gallery.

“Leeds Central Library and the art gallery.” Strangely for one who normally adored art galleries and even more libraries, Al seemed disinclined to stop, or acknowledge them more than he had. Mystified, Rosalynd followed.

They continued down The Headway, and found themselves staring at a magnificent municipal building that occupied an entire city block. The front of it was a massive row of columns, stone plinths and more columns to each side framing the colonnade like artwork. The structure was crowned with a magnificent tower containing a clock, the pedestal of which was a perimeter of columns supporting the intricate stonework of the domed clock enclosure.

“Let’s go in – this is worth seeing.”

They walked up the worn stairs, taking several steps to each. At this distance the scale of the building was evident, as the intricate wood and gilt doors were at least 15 feet tall. Even here, the decoration was ornate, with the entrance having a vaulted ceiling and a frieze of classical statuary over the main doors. Passing through an open portal they were presented with the main entrance of the building, a truly ornate space. Rosalynd OOOhed at the intricate tile mosaic of the floor, and the ornate walls with their fluted plinth columns, done in blue, white and the glint of much gilding.

The main hall was dominated by busts of the Prince and Princess of Wales, and large stone statues of Albert, Prince Consort and Queen Victoria. Done in a pseudo-Grecian style these statues seemed anachronistic for such an obviously Victorian building, but their style suited the architecture well.

Moving through the main hall and wandering down the corridor, they were greeted with more prosaic furnishings.

A red carpet covered the floor, and the walls were adorned with carved wood mouldings and signs bearing incomprehensible legends such as “To The Stalls” and a “Roll Of Honour” of the Kirkstall Brewery.

“What’s that all about, Al?” Rosalynd said, pointing to the honour roll plaque.

“Members of the brewery staff killed during the unpleasantness from 1939 to 1945, it seems.”

“Why a plaque here?”

“Because everyone that enters the door will see it – and remember. We English are quite insistent on remembering those who pass before us, especially if someone unfriendly is responsible.”

Exploring further they found an open door to the main hall – a magnificent space rigged out as a theater. Rows of anachronistic looking modern seating in dark blue competed with the Victorian gingerbread adorning the walks, and yet more columns and gilding supporting the vaulted ceiling. Everything was decorated, everything gloriously over the top but magnificent in a way that could not be matched outside its age.

“Al, this is truly beautiful. Why don’t we have things like this in the States?”

Al pondered, then answered slowly as he was puzzling it out himself. “Things like this do exist. However, when this was being built the United States had barely gotten from sea to sea and was busy creating itself as a world class power.

“This is a manifestation of the Victorian era and all that it entailed. England as a world power, with extensive colonies and protectorates – small places like the Indian Subcontient, ye know.”

“That power was represented in buildings like this – tangible symbols of the might of the Empire.”

Rosalynd nodded. “I get it. This was England at its height – and they weren’t afraid to show it.”

“Exactly.” Al waved to the statues in the main hall. ”Here is a prime example – statues of the original ‘power couple’ – Victoria and her consort Albert. They sat on the throne over an empire encompassing half the world. Amazing, and beautiful in its way, though the abuses of power were legion, both abroad in the colonies and here by the landowners and industrialists - but I digress.”

Al took Rosalynd’s hand and they left the building. They continued to wander, enjoying Leeds at work around them.

“This place is beautiful, Al. The library, the Town Hall, the museums, the shops…seems like a fine place to live.”

“It is – now. T’were not the case when I were a lad.” Al’s voice had changed – instead of the clipped, precise diction he usually favoured the tone was more singsong, and the words clipped in odd ways.

Al shook his head and apologized. ”Do forgive my diction – it’s slipped a bit.” He looked around and said “Let’s go have a seat there – a few things I want to explain.”

They walked back to the plaza in front of the museum and occupied a bench.

“My dear, I am sure you are familiar with the term renaissance.”

“Yes. Classical meaning from the French Re Naissance – rebirth.”

“Correct. What you see here is exactly that. Leeds has reinvented and re-gentrified itself to become what you see – a rebirth of a glorious, powerful city, and one which its people can take great pride in.”

“However, little of what you see here is unaffected by that renaissance. Much of what was here was pulled down and these modern buildings replaced it. The older buildings have been extensively refitted and repurposed, so while the facades may be the same, little else is.

“It is a beautiful place – but this is not my home as it were.

“Now that you have seen a bit of Leeds at its best – I want to show you the Leeds I knew. Much of it is no longer there – torn down and built over – but some of it is – and that I wish to show you.”

Walking back to the car Al pulled out his phone and made a call.

“What was that about?” Rosalynd asked after he’d finished.

“Context. Simply context, and access. Before we go, I want you to remember something. What you are going to see is not exactly what I remember – they tore down the worst of it and what remains is the posher bits.”

Nodding, Rosalynd noted what he said. “I take it this will be significant?”

“Yes, it will. As I said – context.”

Back in the car Al headed northwest up out of the city centre again along the A58. As he did the tour guide began again, but on a note that would not be approved of by the local council.

“A city is like any other organism – it waxes and wanes, it grows, it develops illnesses that must be healed, and eventually dies. However, the growth and healing don’t always take place evenly – and this is part of it.”

Turning off to Harehillls Lane, Al drove slowly. The character of the area had changed – instead of the business pace of the city centre here it was residential. Women with carriages, bags of groceries on their shoulders walked the streets. Nowhere was there any green – the streets were brick and pavement in all directions.

Occasionally the tops of trees would be seen, but always far away. Choosing a lane at random Al turned in between the rows of parked cars.

“This – this is the neighborhood where I was born and raised.”

Rosalynd looked and looked hard. The houses were attached, one to the other, in a row from one main street to the next. Each had a small patch of dirt or pavement at the front door, usually barren though a few had sickly shrubs or plantings. On occasion one house or another had a flower box, but these were a shock when seen against the dull red sameness of the brick walls.

Turning left at the end of a street, Al cruised along, pointing to the backs of the houses. The house backs faced onto an alley, and across from them the backs of the houses in the next street – no green was to be seen there either. Most if not all of the houses had shedlike additions that reached nearly to the alley, leaving little room for anything but a few dustbins. Children played in the alleys, paying no attention to their environment as children do.

As they passed one house the door on the addition was open. Rosalynd glanced in, curious and somewhat guiltily peeping and was shocked to realize that she saw a cooker and counter top – this was the house’s kitchen. A housewife moved to the stove with a pan and set it on the burner, then the vision was lost behind them.

“Al – was that-“

“If you saw a kitchen, yes. Those extensions often originally contained the sanitary facilities for the house – and often those were shared between two and early on more houses. I knew of houses on my street that were shared like that.”

“Shared plumbing?”

“Yes. Later on as houses were remodeled and where possible the toilets came indoors – usually into the basement. The empty room out back could then be used for other things – Kitchens are often the bit to move, as the ground floor would have been a kitchen and living space combined. The drains already being there just makes it simple – and the requirements for plumbing are mild here in England compared to Minnesota.” He pointed to the outside of a building, and at the cast-iron drain pipes running on the outside of the building.

“That’s drainpipe?”

“Yes. Remember, most of these houses were built without indoor plumbing – so the pipes had to go somewhere. Here, they can be on the outside.”

Further down Al turned into a street and parked. “Just a minute, dear – I’ll be back.” He got out and walked into an estate agent’s shop in a storefront and was gone.

Holy Christ this is a horror show. I thought Louisville was a horrible place to be from but this is a fucking horror show. No green, nothing growing…just pavement and houses.

No small wonder Al didn’t want to talk about this. I wonder why he ran away, though? If his family cared for him they’d have insulated him from a lot of this, right?


Running to the end of that unprofitable train of thought she just sat, watching the people. Mothers and children, most looking like recent emigrants, out and about. Neighbors gossiped over walls, and a toddler rode a rusty, battered tricycle much older than him up and down the sidewalk in front of one house.

Rosalynd was startled as Al opened her door.

“Where are we going?”

“Few streets over. I want to show you something there.”

Rosalynd exited the car and they began to walk. The noise and the fumes from the traffic on the main street were intolerable, and Rosalynd began to cough. Al looked to her and said “This is stupid. Let’s get back to the car-“

“No. Goddamnit I want to see what you have to show me. Actually, no, I don’t want to see it, but you need to show it to me, so I’m in. Let’s keep moving.”

Down the main street two streets, then they turned in. Here the houses were packed tighter to the sidewalk. Obviously older construction than elsewhere these only had a foot or two of walk between the street and the door, and were even smaller. Small stone barriers between the sidewalk and the house were the only demarcation, and most lacked that

Al walked up to one that had a ‘FOR SALE’ sign on it and took a key from his pocket. Opening the door he pushed it back, then indicated to Rosalynd that she should enter.

She hesitated – an irrational fear of what she might see. Al, sensing this through their bond, reached for the door to pull it closed, but Rosalynd stopped him.

“Al, just…give me a minute. Not sure why but this is scaring the hell out of me. Boogeymen under the bed or something, I know. Just…give me a second.”

She felt his support, then, through their bond. Calm, humor, love all flowed to her and through her, and she steadied. Holding her chin up she walked through the door and Al followed.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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