continuing Friday's W4W story:

 

We slowed our pace a bit to accommodate Cynthia’s shoes, which were certainly stylish and fashionable, but far too tight for walking. I could see her feet swelling and knew her toes must be in agony. A huge sigh of relief burst from her as we neared our cottage. “At last! I can’t wait to get these shoes off!” I asked had she brought another pair with her and where was their luggage? “We left our cases at the bus station,” said Aiden. “We weren’t sure how far we might have to carry them, there doesn’t appear to be a car service.”

“Most people around here prefer to walk,” said Terry, “but we do have a car and I can take you back to collect your luggage after we have had some refreshment. Are you planning to stay at the Bed&Breakfast? I don’t think we received a booking from you. Unless Molly forgot to tell me?” “No," I said, "they haven’t made a booking, but we have room.” “We heard about the houseboat,” said Cynthia, “and hoped we could stay on that for a week or so.” “The previous tenant has only just left and we haven’t done the cleaning and restocking yet,” I said. “We don’t mind,” said Cynthia, very quickly. I had the feeling she might become insistent and quarrelsome, so agreed they could have the houseboat for a week as long as they signed the registry book first and made a booking payment. “Of course,” agreed Aiden as we entered the cottage.

We drank cups of tea and ate slices of the applecake I had purchased at the bakery, Gail had tried adding cinnamon as Khoral suggested, as his mother had done. The added spice made a nice difference. As Terry fired up the car and drove off with Aiden, I took Cynthia down to the houseboat. I warned her to take care and only follow the direct path as the ground to the left had a deep fissure left long ago by an earthquake. There had been a fence, which became too weathered to be safe, so Terry had removed it and a new, sturdier one was going up next week. I suggested Cynthia take off her shoes and walk barefoot, something she declared she had never done in her life.

The houseboat was pulled in tight against the shore so getting aboard was easy enough, although I noticed even the slightest of waves was making Cynthia look a little green. I wondered at her insistence at staying on the houseboat instead of the cottage, but said nothing apart from giving directions on daily management, including taking waste to the onshore bins, not just tossing leftovers into the river. Cynthia nodded without really listening, then asked about the previous tenant. Had he stayed long? Did he go to and from the village often?  Odd questions I thought, wondering why it should concern her.

 As we stepped back ashore to wait for Terry and Aiden, I told Cynthia of the nightly murmuration of swallows that happened at this time of year. She had never heard of such a thing. “What is that exactly?” “Just before dusk,” I said, “the swallows swoop and swirl and glide all together in a group, for as much as half an hour, like a choreographed air dance.” “Hmm,” was all she replied to that. “What about all those trees behind the marketplace?” she asked. “It’s our small forest,” I replied, “fairly dense, but not so dense you could get lost in it, and there is a stream with big mossy rocks, the mosses dry up in summer so one can cross the stream on the rocks instead of the bridge, but in autumn and winter it is too slippery and the bridge must be used. The forest itself was planted many years ago as a windbreak against the prevailing northerly winds.”

Terry and Aiden arrived back just as Cynthia and I reached the cottage again and they wasted no time getting back to the houseboat as soon as Aiden had signed the book and swiped his credit card for the payment. Terry raised his eyebrows at their rush, most holiday visitors were much more relaxed and chatty. 

to be continued (again)