My Aunt writes a fabulous letter. I came home this afternoon to find one from her in the mail box. When this happens I like to put work things aside, serve myself scented tea in fine china and- finally- slice the envelope and savour the contents.
There are some qualities of communication, such as the ritual of correspondence,  that can not yet be replicated online.  Today's letter from Darwin is a model exemplar. The stationery is of a satisfying weight; the decorative border is both pleasing and restful. The script depicts the character of the writer - generous and expansive, but restrained by life experience and consideration for others. Today her letter is reflective, the paragraphs are measured prose interlaced with memories of incidents now past - touchstones of connection between us.
Her closing wish for blessings on the recipient is both familiar and fresh - a formulaic framework for the deep affection which, for her generation, could not be otherwise expressed.

As I sit down to compose my reply this evening I am considering the wider role of rituals in life. What I once saw as stale, rote activity seems now to hold great creative opportunities. Setting the table for dinner, preparing for bed I wonder- could those humble routines find new grace?  Is it the "present in the moment" loving quality of Aunt's letters that elevates her regular news into a prose poem I shall keep? Or is it intent?


More of Chapter 5

Why Bill asked to see Rhona a few days later, he could not say.  He was amazed at himself for bothering over her. She made a show of decent reluctance, of course, but she went along with it, meeting him at the little cafe beside Philip’s gallery.

They were wary of each other at first. After the refills of coffee came to the table she told him that her husband had left after last Saturday night. Bill nodded. He preferred not to be involved. It would complicate things anyway. She declined another evening out. The husband had turned up at home several times without warning. Bill said it was a bullying tactic and suggested she change the locks and get on to a solicitor. At any rate she refused to get a sitter in to stay with Gracie, or leave the girl on her own.

At the start of the following week there was better news.  Paul Witherspoon had offered Rhona regular work one day a week. She offered to bring a picnic up to the Museum to share with Bill in the Domain. He turned up to find she had made friends with the wino who slept on the bench in the Sensory Garden.

Bill disapproved of the way she talked to anyone regardless of her personal safety. The next thing he knew they were knee deep in a ridiculous quarrel with the homeless person blearily watching the sideshow.

When he pointed out she might get robbed or assaulted hanging out with that sort of company she had just laughed. Her flippant remark that robbery was more likely in the corporate world than in a rose garden just made him livid. He made it plain she was completely devoid of common sense-after which she got to her feet and left him to it.

At least Rhona rang the next day and apologised. She mentioned, rather too casually Bill noticed, that now the school holidays were over she had just one last free Thursday left. He offered to take a long lunch hour for that day. It was the best he could do. He considered it a truce.

They met by the Domain tennis courts at midday. When he came around the corner Rhona was there before him. She was facing away from him, wearing a denim dress that was fairly fitting. When he called out to her and she turned around, Bill saw it was a button through dress with top-stitching down the front and around the pockets.

It was only a few paces to his place from there. When they were almost at his door, he collected her in a fireman lift before she could do anything about it. She was shrieking with laughter as he went around the back way and unlocked the French doors. He had to put her down to take off his jacket. She just dissolved giggling on the sofa in the lounge where he threw her.

As he stood over her taking his tie off and looking down at her Bill decided to reschedule the lunch plans. He dropped to kneel beside the sofa. There was no sign of discouragement as, starting at the top most button, he steadily undid his way down the dress. He found, as he made progress, that Rhona had invested in a chocolate brown satin and lace corselet. He let out a low whistle. She was watching his face with a little smile on her lips but uncertainty wavered in her eyes. “Do you like it?”

He had his mouth on her throat and didn’t answer. Working his way to her ear he asked quietly “Were you planning seduction Rhona?” She gasped as his fingers found the domes on her lingerie. He stood up and began to deliberately unbutton his cuffs.

 “Couldn’t I be doing that?” she asked languorously.

“No woman”, his voice was getting harsh. “I haven’t got all day.”

It seemed only a little while later that he felt her stir. They were tangled together on the rug in the lounge. She kissed his eyelids. “Wake up Bill its 1.30. When do you have to be back at work?”

He stretched and groaned without opening his eyes. “Oh, two o’clock or something.”

He heard her laughing softly as she said “Come on sailor it’s time to go.”

 “Where did you learn that expression?” Lazily he watched her perfectly contoured form as she scouted about for clothing. Suddenly he reached out and dragged her back towards him, laughing at her surprise. “Shall I phone work and cry off?”

“Certainly not, I have to go home.” Rhona pummeled him on the chest. “Shift. You have twenty minutes to get to work. Shall I lock up for you?”

“All right all right.” He rolled into a crouch, leaning over to kiss her playfully. “Just pull the front door closed when you leave. I’ll lock the French doors on my way out.”

Offering a hand, he pulled her up to stand with him. Before he could speak Rhona’s glance at the clock made him check the time again. “Blast.Fifteen minutes. Excuse me, I have to dash.” She grinned at his panic and shooed him off.

Over the weekend Bill found himself thinking about Rhona whenever his mind was idle. He knew she had family responsibilities and other calls on her time but it chaffed with him, being unable to see her whenever he felt like it. When he met Philip for a drink on Saturday afternoon Bill told him how he hated being “fitted in”. “Makes me feel like a blimmin’ gigolo Phil’- what can she possibly have to do that’s more important than being with me?”

Philip could usually be relied on for good counsel in these matters but in this case he was irritatingly philosophical about it. It was obvious from his tone that Phil had something on his mind. Bill knew him better than to ask what it was. So it surprised him that the subject of Rhona was raised again as they were parting outside the Exchange. Just as he was leaving Philip said “By the way, Paul tells me Rhona’s having a rough time at home right now. You might want to bear that in mind.”

Bill shrugged and said casually “She never mentioned it to me.”

Philip just looked at him a moment before saying “I see” in an odd sort of way. Afterwards Bill wondered what he meant by it.