The 'Cousins'

Part Thirty-One: Enter the Principal.

Timeline:  Thursday, 19th April 2007, 9.00pm

Chuck Armstrong sat in an overstuffed armchair in his study at home reviewing a lengthy report from the American Association for Higher Education and Accreditation.  He was totally absorbed in the report and it was only the musical tones of the grandmother clock hanging on the far wall as it began chiming the ninth hour that distracted him.  He pulled out a large, gold, pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket, checked the clock and replaced the watch marvelling to himself how quickly the evening had passed.

  On the eighth chime the study door opened after a faint knock. An elderly lady dressed in a long, ankle length dress with her grey hair brushed severely back from her forehead into a bun and fastened with a large, old fashioned,  tortoiseshell comb entered the room carrying a silver salver.

  She smiled at him as she laid the tray on his desk with his supper. It was a respectful smile. He watched her as she worked,  returning her smile. This was a nightly performance and  a long established ritual in the house.

  ‘Will there be anything else Dr. Armstrong? If not I’ll be off to bed.’ Her voice was soft and familiar, but retained a respectful aloofness. 

  Armstrong dropped the report to the floor and stood up rubbing his hands expectantly as he contemplated the delights that lay ahead. ‘No thanks, Mrs Witterer. Good night to you.’

  ‘Good night Sir,’ She closed the door behind her and Armstrong stood over the silver tray savouring the rich aroma rising from the china cocoa pot.  Armstrong was a creature of habit and looked forward to this moment every night with childish expectation. It meant the next hour was his own before he retired to bed. He gazed lovingly at his supper of two digestive biscuits and pot of cocoa, which marked the end of his working day. He had developed a taste for cocoa, made with milk and sugar as a bedtime beverage in his postgraduate days at Merton College, Oxford in England. It had been his nightly routine ever since. His mind ran over the events of the years in-between as he picked up the china pot to pour a cup of the delicious concoction.  

  This had been the habit he and his wife Ellie had begun after they moved into the big rambling house they had built for themselves in the rather select area of Parkway; roughly a mile and a half from the centre of Bamptonville. They had been lucky to buy the lot at a good price and it offered genteel, private living away from the hubbub of the town, although near enough to be close, should he need to return to the College at short notice.

  He paused in pouring the silky brown beverage to recall those precious memories of their life together in this house. They were both fond of the house. They had spent hours designing its spaces and features; with even more hours spent in arguing the final form of just about every square foot of the place until they had arrived at a mutually acceptable compromise.  They had packed up their home in Missouri and come to Bamptonville almost as soon as he received the letter advising him of his appointment to  the post of Principal at the Community College. 

  They had rented a small ranch house on the edge of town while this house was being built; it was to be their home for always.  

  He carried the cup of cocoa across to his desk, munching a biscuit and sat down. He smiled ruefully as he recalled how his wife would bring his supper with exaggerated apologies for disturbing him. It was their thing. He would chuckle with glee when she followed the silver tray through his study door into the room, for it also marked the moment he would start the one hour of the day he kept for himself and his other passion – stamp collecting. 

  During this last hour of the day he would indulge himself in his hobby. He would lose himself perusing catalogues or reading magazines on the subject. Often, as the mood took him, he would bring out a volume of his own collection and be lost in the delights of their exquisite beauty and of his possession of them. This hour was sacred to him.