There's No Accounting For Love

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

BRISTOL, ENGLAND - 1995

It was lunch time and raining. With her green umbrella held high, Clare darted between the traffic across Park Street and hurried towards Gerald's Book Store. This was her favourite place, selling new and second-hand books and she went there most Fridays, often picking up a bargain. She liked the owner Gerald and his wife, Sue, who sometimes came in to help. There was always a happy banter between the two of them when Sue was in the shop.

On the way, Clare passed a newly opened photographer's studio. She stopped at the window to view the display. One group in particular caught her eye. It was of an attractive young couple with two small boys and lying in the mother's arms was a tiny, cute baby wearing pink. They all looked so happy together it brought a lump to her throat.

At twenty-seven years of age, life seemed to be passing her by. The last of her single friends had just married and several of them had produced their first baby. Her mother said there was still plenty of time, but that wasn't how it felt.

For some inexplicable reason, Alan Harding sprang to mind. She imagined he was also married by now, with a family of his own. Surely some girl would have snapped him up. He'd always been a handsome boy, with a matching personality. She sighed deeply, feeling somewhat unsettled and continued on to the Book Store.

Back at the office, day dreaming about brides and babies, she found it hard to concentrate. For two years now she had worked for Prendergast Accountants since moving back to Bristol with her mother. Unfortunately, most of her colleagues were dour and nearing retirement and the fact that they called each other by their surnames added to her irritation. As she was the youngest, they tried to call her Clare, but she made them call her 'Miss Wilson'. If that was their game, she was determined to play along.

The job was getting her down, it was very boring and the Partners seemed reluctant to give her any responsibility. The salary and conditions weren't up to much either. Having no one of her age to share a joke or talk about everyday things was disappointing and not what she was used to. At Spendlove and Partners, in Cheltenham, she'd had plenty of friends, but after the move it had proved too far to travel and she'd been forced to take the first job she was offered.

The following Friday lunch-time at the Book Store, Clare bought a book recounting Scott's Expedition to Mount Everest. As Gerald dropped it into a bag he remarked, "That's a good one, you'll enjoy it." Turning to leave, she tripped over the leg of the chair, which was always placed at the counter and fell at the feet of a tall, bear-like man who was walking in through the door. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and gently pulled her up.

"It's not every day a young lady falls at your feet" said Gerald in his usual comedic fashion. Clare blushed and smiled. With a "thank you" to the man she returned to the office, thinking no more of it, except how oddly he dressed and how sullen he looked.

Each Friday afterwards she saw the 'mystery man', as she now called him, scrutinising books in the same section. Not once did he raise his eyes from the page. Clare was always in the shop at least twenty minutes herself, so she wondered how he could stand still for so long. What was so fascinating?

One day, purely out of nosiness, she found herself examining him more closely. He stood well over six feet tall with very broad shoulders, a wide chest and strong legs. Although his light brown hair was long and curly, the hair on his forehead was receding. His unruly beard and moustache were in desperate need of a trim and large black glasses, propped half way down his nose, did nothing for him. He was wearing khaki green cargo trousers, a bright blue jacket, a crumpled red shirt, green patterned tie and brown suede shoes. Never before had she seen anyone wearing such odd colours. He was however, clean.

Curious to know what he was reading, she sidled up to the section where he stood, as still as a statue. Economics. Perhaps he was a lecturer at the University? He looked the type.

He glanced up and looked at her for a second. She felt awkward, knowing he thought she was looking at him, so to make herself look less surreptitious she pulled out a thick, heavy book from the shelf. As she opened it, it slipped from her grasp and fell with a heavy thud to the floor catching the edge of his foot. "Ow" he cried as he hobbled about. Clare blurted out "I'm so sorry, I..." They both bent forward to pick up the book and cracked their heads sharply, causing his glasses to fall off. As Clare glanced down she saw him step sideways onto them and crunch them into the carpet. It was impossible not to laugh!

In an obvious panic, he fell to his knees and picked up the pieces. One lens had come loose from the bent frames and the other had splintered on the floor. As he stood up, with the fragments in his hand, a look of horror distorted his face. This made Clare laugh even louder. "My dear lady, it's not that funny," he said "I'm as blind as a bat without those!"

With difficulty, Clare pulled herself together. "Don't you have a spare pair?" she spluttered.

"I don't think I have." he replied. "But I can't really remember."

The vague reply brought another smile to her face.

"I need an Optician!" he cried, still in panic mode.

"There's an Opticians around the corner, but they may not be able to test your eyes at such short notice" she replied.

"Not a problem." He reached into his wallet and brought out a tatty piece of paper.

"My 'eye' prescription." he said "But I can't see without my glasses. I'll need someone to take me to there. I don't suppose you could help...could you? To compensate for the little accident?"

His words stirred memories and she sighed inwardly.  

'My life is one big accident', she thought.

He offered his hand for her to shake. His grip was like iron.

"I'm Hal Porter, pleased to meet you."

"Clare Wilson." she replied, wincing.

"That's a very pretty name." he said. "It suits you."

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

They left the book-store together, much to Gerald's amusement, Clare holding onto Hal's arm. It was only too evident that he couldn't see without his glasses and she had trouble steering him in a straight line. She giggled several times and he gave a snort of laughter.

At the Opticians, she led him to a stand of modern frames. She took a pair and he tried them on.

"What about these?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so." she replied, taking another pair and handing them to him.

He put them on leaning close up to the mirror, squinting at his reflection.

"Um, yes I think you're right. Trouble is, I still can't see!"

Together with the optical assistant, she helped him choose a modern pair of frames, which suited him well and he seemed pleased.

"I'm sorry, but I have to get back to work." said Clare "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, my dear...um... Clare. Thank you, you're very kind."

Back at the office, Mrs Felton said to her "What, two books today Miss Wilson?"

The economics book which she had dropped, was so battered she'd felt obliged to buy it, although Gerald hadn't insisted.

"I know," said Mrs Felton, "You could give it to the mystery man!"

"Perhaps I could," said Clare "I certainly don't want it!" Economics, it was worse than politics and that was bad enough!