Susan looked up from stitching the veil as her tenant entered. All men were out of place in a bridal shop, she thought sympathetically, and this one more than most. Stooping under the ceiling beams, red hair and lean features glowing in the June sunlight, Michael was hopelessly conspicuous. Quite unlike David had been. Steady David, who had taken on the old house she was now subletting to Michael.
Putting the veil down, Susan rose to her feet behind the counter of tiaras and ballet slippers. After David had died, people wondered how she could bear to keep working in a bridal shop. It was only part-time, because of the children, but it took her out each day, made her face the future in each bride's happy plans. Taking trouble for them, making their day special, was something. David would have understood, thought Susan, comforted by this reflection.
And now here was Michael, striding into the shop with that hunted air men reserve for boutiques. Steering a desperately careful course round the racks of shimmering white gowns, he stopped a metre short of the counter. Susan smiled up at him to set him at ease, her heart jolting as Michael smiled back. His artlessness always startled her, as did his sinewy body, which seemed incongruous in a university librarian, too physical.
'Is the maypole up yet?' she asked.
'Finally, yes - and the main refreshment tent.'
Today was midsummer's day and on the village green that evening there would be a mock pageant: dances round the maypole, spit-roast suckling pig and for more modern tastes, barbecued spare ribs. Stephen and Jane, her twins, were dressing up with the rest of their class as little Jack-in-the-Greens. For the adults fancy dress was not compulsory.
Michael certainly wouldn't be going in doublet and hose, reflected Susan, and the thought struck her that the jeans and checked shirt he was wearing now suited him very well. Roped in as historical researcher and general strong-arm, Michael had taken the day off work and was busy helping to erect the tents and position the stalls.
'I don't want to lose you sales, but if you're not busy right now - Join me for a goblet of mead?' A quirk of humour tugged at Michael's mouth. 'Or perhaps just a cup of tea?'
Susan glanced at the veil she was stitching, the empty shop. Then liberation took hold and for a moment she was a little alarmed, because she was glad no one was there and she could steal this time with Michael. 'I'd love to,' she said, stepping nimbly out from behind her counter of silver crowns.
The bell jangled behind Michael. Stephen and Jane stampeded in, little faces wild with glee.
'We've got the afternoon off!' bawled Stephen.
'Today in class Miss Taplin said our house is really old -' Spotting Michael, Jane stopped short. Ever since Michael had appeared on the scene to take up the tenancy, nine-year-old Jane had been smitten by him. 'Oh! Hello.'
'Mike!' Stephen cannoned against Michael, who swung the boy up towards the rafters. 'And which do you want, Stephen, tea or lemonade? I'm taking your Mum for a drink.'
'Lemonade!'
'Lemonade, please,' put in Susan.
'Can we play football afterwards on the green?' Losing her initial shyness, Jane claimed her share of attention.
'Sure - if your Mum can play too.'
'Mum? But she's -' A gleam of calculation entered Jane's dark blue eyes. Glancing at Michael, then her mother, she announced: 'Mike's got a smut on his chin - aren't you going to wipe it off for him?'
'I believe Michael can do that himself,' remarked Susan, frowning at her daughter as Michael rubbed his square jawline. Every now and then, Jane tried to speed things up between her and Michael: this was another ploy. Susan sighed, wishing she could be so blatant. For the last few weeks, she and Michael had been hovering somewhere between friendship and attraction. She looked at Michael.
'Tea?' he asked her again, setting Stephen down. 'I'd like to be sure.'
Susan nodded.
As they strolled out of the shop, Michael remarked, 'Their teacher's right about the house: I've been doing some checking. By rights we should really be holding our medieval fete in your garden. The place is mentioned in a fourteenth century covenant, when it passed from the old knightly family of Montford to one Alice of Godman, for a sum of money and a rose at midsummer.'
'A rose?' Susan was intrigued. Stephen and Jane were scrambling over the green towards the big white refreshment tent: she and Michael had a few moments. She paused on the newly mown grass and looked closely at her tenant.
'A rose of midsummer,' said Michael. 'It was more than a courtesy for Alice. It was a way of agreeing to keep faith between the former owner and the new tenant, a way of showing loyalty.'
Unaccountably, Susan found herself wishing...
'May I come for you and the twins this evening?' Michael interrupted her thoughts.
'Of course!'
Michael grinned. 'I like to be sure,' he said again, and seemed on the point of saying more when Stephen and Jane shouted to them from the maypole, demanding that they look.
Later, after work, Susan dressed with some care in cream sandals and a cool cotton sundress: shell-pink to show off her tan. No jewellery except her wedding ring - David would have understood. She brushed the twins' silky black hair and sent them out of the small, two-storey cottage to play in their tree-house. Then she opened the door and stood watching for Michael, inhaling the scent of honeysuckle wafting down from the gardens.
He came with the sun at his back and a white and pink rose, half open, in his hand: Rosa Mundi, sweetly fragranced. A badge of loyalty and faith. A rose of midsummer, for her.
Smiling, Susan went out to meet him.
Happy Midsummer! Lindsay Townsend
http://lindsaysbookchat.blogspot.com
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