Reading time: a short story part 1
He was watching the park gates from his usual bench by the pond. The girl would soon be joining him for her mid-day break.For several days now they had sat at the same bench and exchanged pleasantries after she had laughed at the way the ducks fought over the crusts he had thrown to them.She was twenty-ish, attractive, with a pulse-quickening figure, but he did not flatter himself that her interest was in any way sexual. He subscribed to the adage “No fool like an old fool”. Besides, he was more than twice her age.
To him it was a harmless flirtation —a fillip to his middle-aged man's morale —and he had found himself looking forward to their lunchtime “assignations”.
Earlier that morning, however, events had taken amore serious turn. The girl had paid a visit to the Vehicle Registration Department in the Town Hall.
His secretary had come into his office. “There's a young lady here, Mr Smythe, asking if we keep records of car ownership... MG sports cars in particular. I said I thought not.”He had felt a twinge of unease at the mention of the car type.“Quite so,” he had replied. Tell her registrations are all on the national computer now. In any case, we couldn't give out that kind of information.”
He had peered at the reception desk through his offices glass partition. The enquirer was the girl from the park bench. An odd coincidence, he had thought. Or was it something more? Now, as she entered the park gates with that long stride and purposeful expression, his unease returned.
"Hello —we meet again," she said, sitting beside him.
"Ah, yes... sky looks a bit overcast. Hope we aren’t in for some rain."
He gestured at the apple she was peeling with a penknife. "Lunch?"
"Yes, worse luck. I’m on a diet.
"He smiled. "You seem to be here most days. Do you work hereabouts?"
"Oh no. In fact, I don’t live here. I’m just staying in town while I’m doing some research. I’m from Elmston, actually."
"Really? I know Elmston..." he began. The words were out before the warning bell rang. "Well, I don’t exactly know it...pal of mine... knew him years ago... used to live there. Is this your first visit here?"
"Yes."
"Nice place," he said. "Bit dull, though."
"Not at all. It’s charming."
"What are you researching? Our town’s chequered history, perhaps? Parts date from the Roman occupation."
"How interesting. But no —I’m trying to trace someone."
"Ah! Bit of detective work?"
She smiled. "In a way, I’m beginning to find out what a job it is tracing someone who may not want to be traced. No wonder the police have to spend so much time on investigations."
"And the “trail” has led from Elmston to here?"
"Indirectly, yes, But I’ve had to spend time in several places first. I’m hoping this will be the last."
"Sounds very intriguing," he said, hoping to entice her to reveal more without seeming to be prying into her private life.
"I suppose it is, in a way. I’m going back more than twenty years, though." She made a wry face. Which is setting myself a difficult task."
"I don’t suppose you were even born then?" he said.
"I was—just! Anyway, I’ve managed to unearth a few clues. The person I’m looking for had an MG sports car then and got married during the same period. I know it’s a bit of a long shot, but it might just pay off.
"His unease became a shiver which set him on edge even more. He was like the rabbit hypnotized by the snake, wanting to get away but unable to move. "But I mustn’t bore you with my personal affairs," she went on. What about you? What line of business are you in?"
"Oh, nothing much. Civil servant, actually. Quite dull, I’m afraid. I wish I could be an 007 like you but... I’m just a nine-to-five chap."
"Don’t be so modest. There’s nothing wrong with being a civil servant."
He made a deprecating gesture but inwardly he was thrilled that a pretty girl was finding him interesting enough to want to flirt with him."Married, of course?"He was on the point of saying no when he noticed her glance at the ring on his left hand. He nodded.
"The dishy men always are! Lived here long, have you?"
He did not like the turn the conversation was taking. "Oh, quite some time." He made a show of checking his wristwatch. "Well, I must be getting back. The grindstone waits for no man! I, er... that is, perhaps we might see each other again tomorrow?"
"Yes, let’s. About one o’clock?"He said that would be fine.
As he walked back to the Town Hall doubts and fears scurried around his head like cornered rats. It was just too damned close to be coincidence any more. For he used to run an MG. And he had married twenty years ago.
To him it was a harmless flirtation —a fillip to his middle-aged man's morale —and he had found himself looking forward to their lunchtime “assignations”.
Earlier that morning, however, events had taken amore serious turn. The girl had paid a visit to the Vehicle Registration Department in the Town Hall.
His secretary had come into his office. “There's a young lady here, Mr Smythe, asking if we keep records of car ownership... MG sports cars in particular. I said I thought not.”He had felt a twinge of unease at the mention of the car type.“Quite so,” he had replied. Tell her registrations are all on the national computer now. In any case, we couldn't give out that kind of information.”
He had peered at the reception desk through his offices glass partition. The enquirer was the girl from the park bench. An odd coincidence, he had thought. Or was it something more? Now, as she entered the park gates with that long stride and purposeful expression, his unease returned.
"Hello —we meet again," she said, sitting beside him.
"Ah, yes... sky looks a bit overcast. Hope we aren’t in for some rain."
He gestured at the apple she was peeling with a penknife. "Lunch?"
"Yes, worse luck. I’m on a diet.
"He smiled. "You seem to be here most days. Do you work hereabouts?"
"Oh no. In fact, I don’t live here. I’m just staying in town while I’m doing some research. I’m from Elmston, actually."
"Really? I know Elmston..." he began. The words were out before the warning bell rang. "Well, I don’t exactly know it...pal of mine... knew him years ago... used to live there. Is this your first visit here?"
"Yes."
"Nice place," he said. "Bit dull, though."
"Not at all. It’s charming."
"What are you researching? Our town’s chequered history, perhaps? Parts date from the Roman occupation."
"How interesting. But no —I’m trying to trace someone."
"Ah! Bit of detective work?"
She smiled. "In a way, I’m beginning to find out what a job it is tracing someone who may not want to be traced. No wonder the police have to spend so much time on investigations."
"And the “trail” has led from Elmston to here?"
"Indirectly, yes, But I’ve had to spend time in several places first. I’m hoping this will be the last."
"Sounds very intriguing," he said, hoping to entice her to reveal more without seeming to be prying into her private life.
"I suppose it is, in a way. I’m going back more than twenty years, though." She made a wry face. Which is setting myself a difficult task."
"I don’t suppose you were even born then?" he said.
"I was—just! Anyway, I’ve managed to unearth a few clues. The person I’m looking for had an MG sports car then and got married during the same period. I know it’s a bit of a long shot, but it might just pay off.
"His unease became a shiver which set him on edge even more. He was like the rabbit hypnotized by the snake, wanting to get away but unable to move. "But I mustn’t bore you with my personal affairs," she went on. What about you? What line of business are you in?"
"Oh, nothing much. Civil servant, actually. Quite dull, I’m afraid. I wish I could be an 007 like you but... I’m just a nine-to-five chap."
"Don’t be so modest. There’s nothing wrong with being a civil servant."
He made a deprecating gesture but inwardly he was thrilled that a pretty girl was finding him interesting enough to want to flirt with him."Married, of course?"He was on the point of saying no when he noticed her glance at the ring on his left hand. He nodded.
"The dishy men always are! Lived here long, have you?"
He did not like the turn the conversation was taking. "Oh, quite some time." He made a show of checking his wristwatch. "Well, I must be getting back. The grindstone waits for no man! I, er... that is, perhaps we might see each other again tomorrow?"
"Yes, let’s. About one o’clock?"He said that would be fine.
As he walked back to the Town Hall doubts and fears scurried around his head like cornered rats. It was just too damned close to be coincidence any more. For he used to run an MG. And he had married twenty years ago.
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