Falling In Love Again

A woman gets a second chance in this romantic short story by Linda Lewis. We weren’t young any more, but did that mean we couldn’t be romantic?

WHEN I was six years old, I bought a Moorcroft vase at a summer fayre for fifty pence. Purely by accident, of course. I just liked the colours.

My mother put it up for auction and it paid for a family holiday. After that, I used to watch “Antiques Roadshow” and imagine myself taking part.

“Over to Sandra McAvoy, who’s about to tell a couple how much their Toby jug is really worth.”

Of course it never happened.

However hard I tried, I couldn’t remember enough of the basics, and furniture left me baffled.

I soon discovered that my skills lay on the administrative side, so when a chance came to manage a small auction house, I jumped at it.

Ten years ago, the owner retired, and thanks to a friendly bank manager and a loan from my parents, I was able to buy him out.

We specialise in general auctions, selling everything from garden ornaments to washing machines. We have a great team. They’re like the family I never had.

Paul’s our main auctioneer. He’s the one with the knack of squeezing every last penny out of bidders. Not only that, he’s a truly lovely man.

Four years ago, when my marriage ended, he would come into my office every morning and tell me stupid jokes, refusing to leave until I smiled.

He was married to Ruth for twenty-two years. When she died, eighteen months ago, he fell apart. It was work that kept him going.

After a decent interval I wanted to ask him out, but I didn’t know how long I should wait. Or even if I should ask him at all, seeing as I was technically his boss.

Then, out of the blue, Greg Carter invited me to dinner. He deals in silver and gives the auction house a lot of business.

We had a very pleasant evening, so when he asked to see me again, I said yes. That was five months ago.

We’d been ticking along ever since, until last week, when he said he had a proposition. I thought he wanted to buy a share of the auction house, but it wasn’t that at all.

“I’m on my own,” he said. “You’re on your own. We get on OK, don’t we?”

He produced a box from his pocket.

“It’s time we thought about getting married.”

I laughed – which didn’t go down well – but it was such a shock. So far he hadn’t even kissed me properly, just a quick peck on the cheek when he dropped me home.

“You’re serious?” He nodded and took my hand.

“We’re too old for romance. We’d be company for each other.”

My first instinct was to say no. I was only fifty-four; that wasn’t too old for anything, thank you.

But then I gave it a bit more thought. I was perfectly happy on my own, but it would be nice to have somebody to cook for, somebody to make me tea in the morning. So I said I would think about it.

I mentioned it to Paul the next day.

“Greg proposed last night.”

“Do you love him?” he asked.

“No, but I like him. And we get on well.”

“That’s hardly romantic, is it?”

I remembered what Greg had said.

“I’m too old for romance.” Paul looked at me then, and I thought he was going to say something, but one of the porters came over with a question. I didn’t see him again that day.

That evening, Greg asked if I’d made up my mind.

“I was thinking of a June wedding. It’s one of the quieter months, and if we go abroad for the honeymoon, it won’t

be too hot.”

He ran through everything – the church, the reception.

“We wouldn’t want a big do, not when it’s second time round for both of us.”

The first time I got married, it was all a bit of a rush. My fiancé had been offered a job in Devon, and we decided that if we got married before he left, we could move together.

“You could wear that dress I like. The one with the cap sleeves,” Greg went on, snapping me back to the present. He squeezed my hand. “So what do you say? Will you marry me?”

“I need another couple of days,” I told him. “I’ll give you my answer by the weekend.”

That night when he dropped me home, I took the initiative and kissed him properly. It was nice, but there were no fireworks.

I was a fifty-four-year-old woman. Did that really mean I was too old for romance?

Unsurprisingly, it was on my mind all the next day at work.

I could see Paul from the corner of my eye. A young woman had come in and was regaling him with some sob story.

Paul was nobody’s fool, so when he reached into his wallet and pulled out a wad of notes, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I darted over and grabbed his arm.

“Paul, I need a word. Now.”

When we were out of earshot, I put him straight.

“Be careful, Paul. She might be one of those con women who take items to sale rooms with some sob story and get gullible men to pay over the odds for them.”

His face darkened.

“You’re a cynic, Sandra McAvoy.” Then he marched back to the woman and carried on as if nothing had happened.

She smiled when she pocketed the money, and there wasn’t much I could do. But it did worry me.

Now that I came to think about it, Paul had been behaving oddly for a while: on edge, making unfunny jokes, constantly checking his phone.

A thought struck me. What if it was my fault? What if he had feelings for me, and he was upset because Greg had proposed?

I cornered him as he was leaving for home.

“We need to talk.”

“If it’s about that girl, I’m not interested.”

“But I am. I rely on you, Paul. Everyone does. You haven’t been yourself for days. Something’s on your mind, I can tell.”

He changed the subject. “Have you decided about getting married?”

“Not yet. Greg’s talking about June.”

“So soon?”

“It’s romantic when you think about it,” I said.

Paul raised an eyebrow. “I’ll tell you about romance. Ruth loved word games. We were playing Scrabble one evening. I didn’t know, but she’d pocketed some of the letters. As soon as she could, she spelled out ILOVEYOU.

“‘You can’t have that,’ I told her. Then the penny dropped.

“That’s when I asked her to marry me.” He looked into my eyes. “Now that’s romantic. That’s what love does to people.”

His mood suddenly changed.

“I see what you’re hinting at. You think I paid over the odds for a piece of Beswick because I’m upset about you and Greg?” I swallowed.

“No, of course not.

Forget I said anything.”

I was saved from any further embarrassment when the phone rang.

After that, I kept thinking about Greg and me.

I went to his house that night.

“I can’t marry you, Greg. I like you very much, but I don’t love you. And I don’t think you love me, either.”

“I do,” he said. “Of course I do.”

“Then prove it,” I said. “Kiss me as though you mean it.”

He didn’t move.

As I turned away, I knew I’d done the right thing.

The next day, Paul came into the office with a bunch of flowers.

“I’m sorry I was rude. You were right. I was upset about you and Greg getting married.”

“Well, you can stop that because I ended it last night.”

He looked surprised. “What happened?”

“You did. You should never have told me that romantic story about proposing to your wife. I guess I still want the fairy tale.”

At that precise moment, the young woman Paul had given all his money to came in. When he saw her, his face broke into a big smile.

“Sorry, Sandra. I have to go.”

That’s when I realised something. I was the one who was bothered: about Paul and a very pretty, much younger woman.

He was out for two and a half hours. When he came back, he looked as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Go well?” I asked.

“Very well,” he said, then he steered me into the office and closed the door. “That con woman you saw me with – her name’s Kathy. She’s my stepdaughter.

“My wife fell pregnant when she was fifteen. When the father did a runner, her parents persuaded her to have the baby adopted. Three years later, after we met and got married, Ruth tried to find her daughter, but there were rules.

“Ruth didn’t know, but when Kathy turned eighteen, she started searching for her mother. By the time she found us, Ruth had passed away.

“The day she came to the auction house was the first time we’d actually met. She’d just left her boyfriend, a nasty type by the sound of it, and needed a deposit for a new flat.

She showed me an ornament, hoping it was worth something.

“Like you, I was a bit suspicious. I wondered if I’d ever see her again.” He smiled. “But she’s found a lovely flat and invited me round for supper.”

I felt like such a fool. “I had no idea. I thought you were upset about me and Greg.”

“I was,” he admitted. “I wondered if we’d make a good couple. I was about to ask you out when you and Greg started dating.”

I waited for him to go on, but he just looked into my eyes.

“Aren’t you going to say anything else?” I asked.

“Actions speak louder than words,” he said.

He took me in his arms and kissed me. It was over in a moment, but it still made me go weak at the knees.

“Let’s have dinner tonight,” he whispered.

“I’d love to,” I said.

The End.