Matty - Part 8

Matty Part 8 – A Date

At two o’clock Rev. Tillman and his fellow judges, Philippa Lord and Stuart Fowler, took almost an hour over their deliberations, before awarding prizes to the winners. The first prize for the painting competition, a twenty-pound voucher donated by Scarford’s Art and Crafts Centre, went to a retired schoolteacher. While other winners were awarded a variety of donated prizes ranging from a bottle of wine to free fish and chips at Scarford’s fish-and -hip shop, and three child entrants were awarded book tokens, much to their disappointment.

At three-thirty a troop of Morris Dancers arrived, their faces painted black and their costumes hung with bells and tassels. They formed up in two rows of five and danced to the beat of drum and tambourine, while the crowd of onlookers surrounded them and clapped in time with the drum.

By four-thirty people had begun to drift away and Matthew and Dylan walked Philippa over to her car, which was parked in the middle of the field.

‘Can we go with Flipper, Daddy?’ asked Matthew.

‘No,’ replied Matthew, admiring Philippa’s Porsche and fingering something in his pocket. ‘We have to help Uncle John take down the stalls. And it’s Philippa, not Flipper.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Philippa, smiling. ‘I like my new name.’ She bent down to Dylan and gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘I hope we meet again soon, Dylan.’

As she stood up and looked at Matthew there was an awkward silence for a moment.

‘I meant to bring you your ring, but I’ve left it at the house,’ Matthew lied. ‘But I'm planning to go for a drink at The Bull this evening… If you’ve no plans, I could bring it with me, and see you there.’

‘I…’ Philippa hesitated. Then she smiled. ‘Yes, why not. What time?’

‘Seven-thirty?’ Matthew asked.

***

By seven-thirty the barroom at The Bull Hotel was still quiet, but most of the tables in the beer garden were taken. Matthew sat alone at one of the tables, sipping at his pint of bitter and keeping an eye on the car park. By seven-forty he began to wonder if Philippa would turn up. But then movement on the road caught his eye and he saw Philippa walking towards him. She wore the same blue denim jeans that she worn that day in Leeds, but with a sparkly maroon top, and on her arm was a denim jacket. The octagonal silver broach pinned to the lapel caught Matthew’s eye. Matthew stood to greet her.

‘Hi!’

‘Hi, replied Philippa. ‘It’s such a beautiful evening, I thought I’d walk down.’

‘I don’t blame you. I walked too. What would you like to drink?’ Matthew asked.

‘A dry white wine please,’ replied Philippa.

Matthew walked off to the bar while Philippa looked around, a little relieved to see no one that she knew. Matthew returned with her wine, set it on the table, and sat down.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘So, is Dylan tucked up in bed?’

‘Hopefully, though he has strange ideas about when to be asleep and when to be awake. Thanks for helping me with him today.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ said Philippa, before sipping her wine.

Matthew reached into his left-hand pocket for the gold ring.

‘This ring is definitely an antique,’ he said, holding it up in its small plastic envelope. ‘Hard to be sure of the date though. My friend guesses early eighteenth century. He recommends that you have it valued, and maybe get it insured.’

He handed the envelope to Philippa. She took it and tipped the ring out onto her left hand. It sparkled, in the late evening sunlight.

‘I wonder who Lady Caroline was,’ she said, remembering the inscription.

‘Try it for size,’ said Matthew.

‘Should I? Asked Philippa, feeling suddenly superstitious. ‘It might be bad luck to wear someone else’s ring.’

‘It’s yours now,’ said Matthew.

Philippa slipped the ring onto her middle finger, while Matthew noticed again how long and slender her fingers were. ‘Oh… it’s too big for me,’ she said. Then she shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ Matthew asked. ‘We can go inside if you like.’

‘No, I’m fine.’ Philippa, took the ring off her finger and slipping it back into its envelope. ‘Thanks for cleaning it. I think I will have it valued.’

Philippa put the envelope into her jeans pocket, and gestured towards Matthew’s near empty beer glass. ‘Can I get you another?’

***

They sat and talked, sipping their drinks and learning a little more about each other. As the evening cooled they moved into the barroom and found a table in a corner. Occasionally their eyes met and there was an awkward silence before one of them spoke. Deep down, Philippa knew that she should not be there, but found it hard to leave.

‘I really should be going,’ she said eventually.

‘Would you like me to walk you home?’ Matthew asked.

‘Please.’

Philippa put on her jacket and they left the pub and walked through the streets of Scarford. Bunting hug across the streets and some of the houses sported Union flags. The street lighting was poor but there was still a little daylight left as the Summer Solstice was just a few days away. As they passed the last row of cottages and continued on towards the road leading to The Manor, a bat flew rapidly across their path, swinging back on itself and disappearing into nearby trees. Philippa shuddered.

‘Only a bat,’ said Matthew, taking Philippa’s right hand in his left. It was a simple and perfectly normal gesture, done without conscious thought. But they froze, looking into each other’s eyes.

Philippa began to pull her hand away but was not sorry when Matthew gripped it tighter. He moved towards her, gently bending Philippa’s arm at the elbow, taking her hand, and his, to the small of her back. Then, sliding his other hand behind her left shoulder, he pulled her towards him.

The first kiss was brief and as gentle as the closing of a butterfly’s wings. Their heads pulled apart and they searched each other’s eyes. Then their mouths opened, taking in breath as their heads tilted once more for a second kiss which lasted for several seconds and was a little more forceful. Then again they pulled apart, their eyes searching each other's until, suddenly, all doubt was gone. Philippa’s right hand freed itself and she wrapped her arm around Matthew’s back. Her left hand found the back of Matthew’s neck and his open mouth covered hers, smothering the groan that endeavoured to escape from her throat.

How long this kiss lasted neither of them would remember, but it was Philippa who broke away, her breathing audible, her pulse racing, her voice not much more than a whisper. ‘Come home with me, Matthew,’ she said. ‘Stay with me tonight.’

Matthew answered her with another kiss, even more forceful than the last, and the two of them were oblivious to all; including the figure standing at the roadside near the last of the cottages. He watched them for a moment with a startled expression on his face, before turning and striding away, swinging his walking stick.

TO BE CONTINUED