(Another Sunday piece from PB)
SOMETHING OF AN EXPLANATION FROM MR STRUAN COURTALD
He made a show of looking her over. Just as he had at the start, when it was all new to her and his approval was sought then every morning. Her skirt was the right length and freshly pressed. Her blouse was white and smelled of fabric softener. Her hair was brushed back from her face and a plain black band held it in place. She was not wearing eye make-up or blusher, and her ears were hung with simple silver and pearl stud earrings, something she had bought with her first pay packet. No other jewellery except for the watch he had given for her birthday.
‘Perfect,’said Mr Struan Courtald.
‘Thank you,’ said Sharon, and she dipped her knees a little so that she almost curtsied.
Then there was an awkwardness between them. Sharon was not sure if she was dismissed, and Mr Struan Courtald was stuck on how he should continue, for there was something he wanted to say to her.
‘Is that all, Mr Courtald?’ she said.
He looked at her and considered sending her back to the kitchen without any further word. But then he recalled the discussion he had had with Sharon’s mother the day before and he steeled himself.
‘Mr Courtald?’
‘There is something, Sharon. If you have a minute.’
They were interrupted by the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Mr Struan Courtald checked his watch against the clock behind the desk. It was early for a guest to be about. The lights were not yet on in the breakfast room. And it was a Sunday. Mrs Moira Fairlie said them a quick good morning and hurried on out of the hotel before Mr Struan Courtald found the wits enough to hold open the front door for her.
The quiet it was when Mrs Moira Fairlie had gone felt heavier and Mr Struan Courtald did not quite know where he was and what he had said and not said.
‘I do have a minute, Mr Courtald,’ Sharon prompted.
He took up his position behind the desk again. He fiddled with his pen and looked down at the book on the desk.
‘It was something you said, Sharon. Yesterday. I wanted to make sure that you understood. That you had not got the wrong end of how things are.’
Sharon had been expecting this.
‘About the watch,’ said Mr Courtald. ‘About your mother and my visits to her. And what you must be thinking, I do not know.’
‘I think you are a very kind man, Mr Courtald. It is not for me to think more or less than that.’
He looked up briefly to see if she was mocking him. She was in earnest.
‘There was a time,’ he went on. ‘For she was always a bonnie lass, your mother. And I did think that one day… a long time ago now… long before you were in the world…only that day passed. And then there was your father. I knew him, you know. And his early going was an unexpected sadness for everyone. And because I loved your mother, I just wanted to help. And you were the spit of her and she asked if I could see my way…and you picked things up so well. Look at you. You make her proud, and me proud, too. Then I took to visiting. More than is proper, perhaps. But it is not what you think. Not what others think. We are not… well, we are friends. And I wanted, we wanted, that you should know. And the watch was what it was, something I wanted to give you. I am sorry.’
Sharon felt again the weight of the silence that came between them, and she saw in it a signal that he had done.
‘I think you are a very kind man, Mr Courtald. There is no need for you to make apology to me. I think myself very lucky and my mother lucky, too. She asked that I tell you she has a Battenberg in for your morning tea and she hopes that you will call.’
Then Sharon made to go before adding in a voice that was all smiles, 'I think it proper that you do call, Mr Struan Courtald.'
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