Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-one. John's Confession.

Chapter Twenty-one 

John's Confession 

Gillian was late. The grandfather clock in the lounge had just struck six. What was keeping her? The Irish stew was simmering and the suet dumplings were waiting to be immersed in the bubbling broth. Even John's specialty, bramble cobbler, was ready. He had taken it from the oven quite some time ago, and it had cooled. No problem. Lashings of hot Bird's custard would take care of that.  

The crunch of wheels as the trusty old Hillman nosed into the narrow gravel driveway announced her arrival. He rushed to the door and watched as Gillian fought her way out of the rusty vehicle. Nothing was said. He just gazed at her. She looked every inch the teacher with her sensible medium heels, dark brown nylons, a chocolate brown great coat stretching to mid calf, and a green and gold striped college scarf, that gave her a youthful look. John hesitated, unsure of himself. What would she expect? A welcoming kiss? He gave a low wolf whistle. Gillian smiled, dropped her briefcase, jogged up to him and gave a hug. 

"It's so nice to have you back, John. It's been so lonely without you." 

"I'm glad to be back, but why are you so late?" 

"It's this darned job. Every night I have so much marking to do and lesson preparation like you wouldn't believe. I stayed at school to get it all finished so that I could spend some time with you. I'm sorry. Did you eat yet?" 

"No. I was waiting for you. Everything's ready. By the time you freshen up, I'll have supper on the table. Let's go inside." 

Gillian entered the house, turned, and John, in gentlemanly fashion, helped to remove her coat. 

"My you look smart," he said. 

"So you like my outfit," she beamed. "I've tried so hard to make a good impression." 

"I'm sure you've succeeded. Now go and get ready for supper. I'll give you fifteen minutes." 

"Yes, sir." She laughingly saluted, and then sashayed down the corridor to her room. As she turned the corner, she looked back, smiled, and in a coquettish manner asked, "Should I slip in to something more comfortable?"  

 Hopefully, she was joking. This was definitely not the time.

                                                                                   *****

 When Gillian came to the table, she certainly looked more casual. Her hair, formerly pinned up in a rather severe style, now hung loosely about her shoulders. A pair of ragged jeans had replaced her knee-length tweed skirt, and she wore a Sheffield United soccer shirt instead of her favourite green mohair twin set.  

It was twilight. They dined by candlelight. The wine flowed, as did the conversation.

Initially the talk was mundane, planning their schedules and discussing the division of chores. John poured more wine. Questions became more personal. John felt it only proper to ask. 

"How did your twenty-first birthday party go?" 

"It was great. I missed you though." 

"I meant to come. Things got out of hand at home." 

"That was such a shame. Is your Dad okay now?" 

John gave an inward sigh of relief. She had believed him.

"The operation went well and he's back to his old self. By the way, you never told me about your father."  

Gillian placed her dessert spoon on the table and patted her lips with a napkin before replying. "What about him?"