The vist pt2
In spite of, or perhaps
because of these differences we had hit it off almost from the very beginning.
I waited, anxiously watching the arrivals board. It showed her plane had landed
at that her luggage was on the carousel. I kept looking for what seemed like an
age. And then there she was. I couldn't have
missed her from a mile away. She was wearing a red blouse and a charcoal
grey skirt that came to
just above her knees. She also had shimmery sheer
tights, or pantyhose as she would call them, and
was wearing dark flats on her feet. Her earrings
were small hoops that set her look off perfectly. I
was suddenly crucially aware of my rather casual
knee length red and white floral print summer dress
and bare legs. At least I had some heels on. I
wondered how she looked so fresh after an eight
hour flight.
I could see her scanning the people waiting at the
barrier, and I waved. She caught my eye and her
face lit up. "Fiona!" She shouted and ran over,
pulling her wheeled case with her, a clutch handbag
in her other hand. She rushed over to me, let go of
the handle of her case and wrapped her arms
around me in a huge hug.
Even though I was in my heels she was a little taller
than me and I was quite stunned when, as I
wrapped my arms around her and said, "Claire,"
she kissed me full on the lips. Not for long, but it
messed with my perception for a moment. 'Just an
American affectation,' I thought to myself.
I stood back and couldn't help the huge grin
spreading over my face. "It is so good to meet you
at last," I said.
"And you Fi, and you." She used the diminutive of
my name which only a very small group of people
are given permission to do. I'd already told her to
use it, and was so glad that she felt she could,
"Come on, let's get you to the car. I'll take your
case." I pulled on the handle and I led her to the
lifts, up two floors and headed towards where I had
parked.
When we got to the car I opened the boot, or trunk
as she'd say, and put her large, and rather heavy
case in. We both climbed in. I started the engine
and said, "Right. Off on our big adventure. Welcome
to the United Kingdom."
She smiled as I drove out, "Thank you so much for
organising all this. I couldn't have done it without
you, and it's so lovely of you to take a week out to
act as my guide."
Her soft, educated American accent was sending
shivers down my spine. I really had to concentrate
to negotiate the traffic around Heathrow, which is
always a little more than insane.
Once we were on the open road heading west, I
said, "How do you do it? An 8 hour flight and you
look less dishevelled than I do after a 90 minute
drive."
She chuckled, a lovely sound, and said, "I cheated. I
slept most of the flight, and changed just before we
started our descent into London."
We carried on in a similar chatty vain all the way to
Burworth, the delightful little town in the Cotswolds
that I had picked out for her visit. I couldn't help
noticing that quite often when she went to say
something, Claire would lay her fingers gently on my
arm. I thrilled at her touch, my skin tingling and I
kept having to remind myself to get a grip and
concentrate on driving safely.
As we entered the outskirts, with its quaint houses,
preserved beautifully, Claire breathed out and said,
"Oh my god, Fi. This is like some picture postcard."
She was right. It was a beautifully warm, sunny day
with clear blue skies. The trees were perfectly
outlined against the azure and the predominantly
white houses had crisp edges.
My sat nav beeped for me to take a left into a small
lane, and about 100 yards later there was the
cottage, isolated at the end of the lane. A tall hedge
surrounded it with wide gates and a driveway in
front. I drove through the gates and pulled up and
we both took a moment to take it in.
"Oh Fi. It's a chocolate box cottage. How beautiful."
I smiled. I was very happy with the location.
Secluded and private but within easy reach of the
town. We got out of the car and got our bags out of
In spite of, or perhaps
because of these differences we had hit it off
almost from the very beginning.
I waited, anxiously watching the arrivals board. It
showed her plane had landed at that her luggage
was on the carousel. I kept looking for what seemed
like an age. And then there she was. I couldn't have
missed her from a mile away. She was wearing a
red blouse and a charcoal grey skirt that came to
just above her knees. She also had shimmery sheer
tights, or pantyhose as she would call them, and
was wearing dark flats on her feet. Her earrings
were small hoops that set her look off perfectly. I
was suddenly crucially aware of my rather casual
knee length red and white floral print summer dress
and bare legs. At least I had some heels on. I
wondered how she looked so fresh after an eight
hour flight.
I could see her scanning the people waiting at the
barrier, and I waved. She caught my eye and her
face lit up. "Fiona!" She shouted and ran over,
pulling her wheeled case with her, a clutch handbag
in her other hand. She rushed over to me, let go of
the handle of her case and wrapped her arms
around me in a huge hug.
Even though I was in my heels she was a little taller
than me and I was quite stunned when, as I
wrapped my arms around her and said, "Claire,"
she kissed me full on the lips. Not for long, but it
messed with my perception for a moment. 'Just an
American affectation,' I thought to myself.
I stood back and couldn't help the huge grin
spreading over my face. "It is so good to meet you
at last," I said.
"And you Fi, and you." She used the diminutive of
my name which only a very small group of people
are given permission to do. I'd already told her to
use it, and was so glad that she felt she could,
"Come on, let's get you to the car. I'll take your
case." I pulled on the handle and I led her to the
lifts, up two floors and headed towards where I had
parked.
When we got to the car I opened the boot, or trunk
as she'd say, and put her large, and rather heavy
case in. We both climbed in. I started the engine
and said, "Right. Off on our big adventure. Welcome
to the United Kingdom."
She smiled as I drove out, "Thank you so much for
organising all this. I couldn't have done it without
you, and it's so lovely of you to take a week out to
act as my guide."
Her soft, educated American accent was sending
shivers down my spine. I really had to concentrate
to negotiate the traffic around Heathrow, which is
always a little more than insane.
Once we were on the open road heading west, I
said, "How do you do it? An 8 hour flight and you
look less dishevelled than I do after a 90 minute
drive."
She chuckled, a lovely sound, and said, "I cheated. I
slept most of the flight, and changed just before we
started our descent into London."
We carried on in a similar chatty vain all the way to
Burworth, the delightful little town in the Cotswolds
that I had picked out for her visit. I couldn't help
noticing that quite often when she went to say
something, Claire would lay her fingers gently on my
arm. I thrilled at her touch, my skin tingling and I
kept having to remind myself to get a grip and
concentrate on driving safely.
As we entered the outskirts, with its quaint houses,
preserved beautifully, Claire breathed out and said,
"Oh my god, Fi. This is like some picture postcard."
She was right. It was a beautifully warm, sunny day
with clear blue skies. The trees were perfectly
outlined against the azure and the predominantly
white houses had crisp edges.
My sat nav beeped for me to take a left into a small
lane, and about 100 yards later there was the
cottage, isolated at the end of the lane. A tall hedge
surrounded it with wide gates and a driveway in
front. I drove through the gates and pulled up and
we both took a moment to take it in.
"Oh Fi. It's a chocolate box cottage. How beautiful."
I smiled. I was very happy with the location.
Secluded and private but within easy reach of the
town. We got out of the car and got our bags out of
In spite of, or perhaps
because of these differences we had hit it off almost from the very beginning.
I waited, anxiously watching the arrivals board. It showed her plane had landed
at that her luggage was on the carousel. I kept looking for what seemed like an
age. And then there she was. I couldn't have
missed her from a mile away. She was wearing a red blouse and a charcoal
grey skirt that came to
just above her knees. She also had shimmery sheer
tights, or pantyhose as she would call them, and
was wearing dark flats on her feet. Her earrings
were small hoops that set her look off perfectly. I
was suddenly crucially aware of my rather casual
knee length red and white floral print summer dress
and bare legs. At least I had some heels on. I
wondered how she looked so fresh after an eight
hour flight.
I could see her scanning the people waiting at the
barrier, and I waved. She caught my eye and her
face lit up. "Fiona!" She shouted and ran over,
pulling her wheeled case with her, a clutch handbag
in her other hand. She rushed over to me, let go of
the handle of her case and wrapped her arms
around me in a huge hug.
Even though I was in my heels she was a little taller
than me and I was quite stunned when, as I
wrapped my arms around her and said, "Claire,"
she kissed me full on the lips. Not for long, but it
messed with my perception for a moment. 'Just an
American affectation,' I thought to myself.
I stood back and couldn't help the huge grin
spreading over my face. "It is so good to meet you
at last," I said.
"And you Fi, and you." She used the diminutive of
my name which only a very small group of people
are given permission to do. I'd already told her to
use it, and was so glad that she felt she could,
"Come on, let's get you to the car. I'll take your
case." I pulled on the handle and I led her to the
lifts, up two floors and headed towards where I had
parked.
When we got to the car I opened the boot, or trunk
as she'd say, and put her large, and rather heavy
case in. We both climbed in. I started the engine
and said, "Right. Off on our big adventure. Welcome
to the United Kingdom."
She smiled as I drove out, "Thank you so much for
organising all this. I couldn't have done it without
you, and it's so lovely of you to take a week out to
act as my guide."
Her soft, educated American accent was sending
shivers down my spine. I really had to concentrate
to negotiate the traffic around Heathrow, which is
always a little more than insane.
Once we were on the open road heading west, I
said, "How do you do it? An 8 hour flight and you
look less dishevelled than I do after a 90 minute
drive."
She chuckled, a lovely sound, and said, "I cheated. I
slept most of the flight, and changed just before we
started our descent into London."
We carried on in a similar chatty vain all the way to
Burworth, the delightful little town in the Cotswolds
that I had picked out for her visit. I couldn't help
noticing that quite often when she went to say
something, Claire would lay her fingers gently on my
arm. I thrilled at her touch, my skin tingling and I
kept having to remind myself to get a grip and
concentrate on driving safely.
As we entered the outskirts, with its quaint houses,
preserved beautifully, Claire breathed out and said,
"Oh my god, Fi. This is like some picture postcard."
She was right. It was a beautifully warm, sunny day
with clear blue skies. The trees were perfectly
outlined against the azure and the predominantly
white houses had crisp edges.
My sat nav beeped for me to take a left into a small
lane, and about 100 yards later there was the
cottage, isolated at the end of the lane. A tall hedge
surrounded it with wide gates and a driveway in
front. I drove through the gates and pulled up and
we both took a moment to take it in.
"Oh Fi. It's a chocolate box cottage. How beautiful."
I smiled. I was very happy with the location.
Secluded and private but within easy reach of the
town. We got out of the car and got our bags out of
In spite of, or perhaps
because of these differences we had hit it off
almost from the very beginning.
I waited, anxiously watching the arrivals board. It
showed her plane had landed at that her luggage
was on the carousel. I kept looking for what seemed
like an age. And then there she was. I couldn't have
missed her from a mile away. She was wearing a
red blouse and a charcoal grey skirt that came to
just above her knees. She also had shimmery sheer
tights, or pantyhose as she would call them, and
was wearing dark flats on her feet. Her earrings
were small hoops that set her look off perfectly. I
was suddenly crucially aware of my rather casual
knee length red and white floral print summer dress
and bare legs. At least I had some heels on. I
wondered how she looked so fresh after an eight
hour flight.
I could see her scanning the people waiting at the
barrier, and I waved. She caught my eye and her
face lit up. "Fiona!" She shouted and ran over,
pulling her wheeled case with her, a clutch handbag
in her other hand. She rushed over to me, let go of
the handle of her case and wrapped her arms
around me in a huge hug.
Even though I was in my heels she was a little taller
than me and I was quite stunned when, as I
wrapped my arms around her and said, "Claire,"
she kissed me full on the lips. Not for long, but it
messed with my perception for a moment. 'Just an
American affectation,' I thought to myself.
I stood back and couldn't help the huge grin
spreading over my face. "It is so good to meet you
at last," I said.
"And you Fi, and you." She used the diminutive of
my name which only a very small group of people
are given permission to do. I'd already told her to
use it, and was so glad that she felt she could,
"Come on, let's get you to the car. I'll take your
case." I pulled on the handle and I led her to the
lifts, up two floors and headed towards where I had
parked.
When we got to the car I opened the boot, or trunk
as she'd say, and put her large, and rather heavy
case in. We both climbed in. I started the engine
and said, "Right. Off on our big adventure. Welcome
to the United Kingdom."
She smiled as I drove out, "Thank you so much for
organising all this. I couldn't have done it without
you, and it's so lovely of you to take a week out to
act as my guide."
Her soft, educated American accent was sending
shivers down my spine. I really had to concentrate
to negotiate the traffic around Heathrow, which is
always a little more than insane.
Once we were on the open road heading west, I
said, "How do you do it? An 8 hour flight and you
look less dishevelled than I do after a 90 minute
drive."
She chuckled, a lovely sound, and said, "I cheated. I
slept most of the flight, and changed just before we
started our descent into London."
We carried on in a similar chatty vain all the way to
Burworth, the delightful little town in the Cotswolds
that I had picked out for her visit. I couldn't help
noticing that quite often when she went to say
something, Claire would lay her fingers gently on my
arm. I thrilled at her touch, my skin tingling and I
kept having to remind myself to get a grip and
concentrate on driving safely.
As we entered the outskirts, with its quaint houses,
preserved beautifully, Claire breathed out and said,
"Oh my god, Fi. This is like some picture postcard."
She was right. It was a beautifully warm, sunny day
with clear blue skies. The trees were perfectly
outlined against the azure and the predominantly
white houses had crisp edges.
My sat nav beeped for me to take a left into a small
lane, and about 100 yards later there was the
cottage, isolated at the end of the lane. A tall hedge
surrounded it with wide gates and a driveway in
front. I drove through the gates and pulled up and
we both took a moment to take it in.
"Oh Fi. It's a chocolate box cottage. How beautiful."
I smiled. I was very happy with the location.
Secluded and private but within easy reach of the
town. We got out of the car and got our bags out of
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