Ruth's Father's Visit

By way of diversion in our comparatively quiet life... a banging from below on the door which led into the flats from the street. Went finally to the front room, opened the window, looked carefully down, more than surprised to see Ruth's father. She was still in bed, never hit the deck until I had lunch ready, or gave her coffee trying to tempt her up, suggesting it being a good day for getting out and about. If raining, forget it, she could not be persuaded. Not such a bad life.

Unsure about the motive for Mr. Lascel's visit, walked back across the huge, completely bare, front room with its four Georgian windows. The two smaller, either side of the fireplace, were exceptional, being leaded and coloured.

Up here in the flat Ruth and I could both hide, each having a different reason.

From the back windows on a clear day the Post Office Tower was easily visible, the beacon on top flashing red day and night.

Unfortunately, the owner of the property had sold what had been the garden. It had been "developed" into a garage. The flat, all in all, was ideal, reasonably inaccessible ... not possible to simply knock on the street door and get an answer. Anyone could be surveyed from above, then I would trek down the magnificent oak staircase, still in perfect condition after a hundred years. The other three flats remained empty for some reason. Knew the property was on the market for eight thousand ... but who had that kind of money?


"Ruth" I said, shaking her ... "Your father is downstairs." She had not seen him or her mother since the "wedding" fiasco which had been a long time ago.

"Who?"
"Your father."
She threw the bed clothes off, momentarily the yellow Sun streamed obliquely across her white, bare body.
"What's the time?"
"Gone two."
She stood up looking round for her clothes, scattered anywhere, muttering to herself.
"Where's the bloody hair brush?"
She was fully wound up. Reaching under the bed, coming up with the brush and started tearing at her thick hair.
"Go down and let him in then!" Without much in the way of please or thank you.
Trotted obediently down, wondering what the outcome of this little visit would be, only, imagined, he wanted her to return ... all would be forgiven. Pulled the huge street door open. He stood there, hesitant. Could he speak with Ruth for a moment?

"Yes. Come in ... she is in the bath." We went up the stairs, his hard leather shoes echoing on the oak. The flat, although more or less bare, was set off by my efforts at sanding and polishing the acres of flooring, the expanse of reflecting timber gave the flat a very "Arty, Crafty" atmosphere.


Mr. Lascel appeared taken back by this. No doubt he expected us to be living in a flea bitten hovel... plenty of those about.
In his book, Ruth had committed the unforgivable.
Unfortunately, forgiveness, although not costing anything, is a very hard commodity to come by.

Left them both in the "dining room". Well, we did have four "Ercol" chairs and a matching table. Went into the front bedroom where I had a real desk, dove-tailed, rebated, a chair, which more or less went with it ... nothing else in the room. Took my "map" out, put the radio on. For a while, stared aimlessly at the configuration of roads, streets, avenues, places, gardens, squares, terraces.