Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Hi there! My stories are written to provide a slow but satisfying build. If you are looking for hot sex, straight out of the traps, this is probably not for you 🙂
*****
With a somewhat heavy heart, Finn took a leisurely drive back home. Following a long, hot summer on the continent, he had returned to England just as Autumn was starting to take a firm hold. Late September was capable of delivering such a variation of weather; blustery and cold one day, hot and sunny the next, as the last hurrah of summer burst forth. Recently, he had to admit to being somewhat fanatical about checking the weather forecast. But then with three strategically placed buckets beneath a leaky section of roof, a missing window and a dead tree branch hanging precariously over his garage, who wouldn’t?
As it happened, owning twenty acres of land, upon which resided a sprawling, seven bedroom farmhouse which couldn’t be much more run down if it tried, had never been part of Finn’s grand plan. When a distant relative had died the previous year, he was as surprised as anybody to discover himself named as the sole beneficiary in the will. Although, to be fair, by the time Great Uncle Charles had reached one hundred years of age, he had precious few options left to him. Acerbic, crotchety and downright rude at times, the old man had become estranged from most of his living relatives, so his wealth either had to go to Finn, or an animal charity. In the end, probably via the flip of a coin, he chose a family member.
Finn was travelling around Italy when he’d picked up the email one night, to confirm that probate had been completed and he was now the proud owner of Orchard Farm. Having never seen it, his intention had been to immediately put the property onto the market and sell as quickly as possible. What he hadn’t accounted for was to fall in love with the house, almost the first second he swung his car off the road and traversed the long, overgrown driveway. Being in the building trade himself, Finn was not ignorant of the many and varied repairs that his new property clearly required; a leaking roof to replace, brickwork that needed re-pointing and gutting the entire interior, to name but a few. But, despite all the problems, he envisaged how amazing it would look, once everything was fixed. Whether his new home turned out to be a blessing to cherish or a millstone around his neck, well, only time would tell.
Striding along the overgrown garden path, he glanced up at the incredible, centuries-old building, wondering how many generations worth of stories it held secret within its walls. The oak front door creaked nosily as Finn pushed it open and he made a mental note to add oiling the rusty hinges onto his seemingly infinite ‘To do’ list. Perhaps there was a key to the door somewhere but, so far, he hadn’t been able to find one. Besides, justified Finn, there was precious little for anybody to steal. Most of his personal belongings were still in storage, whilst he worked on renovating the house and bringing it up to a liveable standard. The house certainly wouldn’t be a target for a self-respecting burglar and if squatters were silly enough to try and take up residence, they would simply be handed a paintbrush and warmly welcomed on board.
Dumping his shopping bag in the kitchen, Finn inhaled deeply. Usually, the cool, timeless ambience of the house calmed him, but not today. He felt agitated, uncomfortable, restless and more than a little frustrated. What was worse, he knew the exact reason why… that woman. Try as he might, he was failing to push aside the memory of their kiss, so she stubbornly remained at the very forefront of his mind. When their soft lips had met and melded together, the experience had been surreal. Never, in the four decades he’d spent on the planet, had he experienced such physically overwhelming feelings. Finn remembered the sheer indulgence of her exquisite breasts pushed against his chest, savouring her soft hair between his fingers, the warmth of her body, the sound of her throaty moans… In short, the stuff fantasies were made of.
What was perhaps less tolerable, was the unexpected flood of emotions she had caused him to feel. Their lips had barely joined, before he realised he would be obliged to break their kiss, or else lose himself completely. Hell, if he hadn’t acted as he had, they’d probably still be there kissing right now. There was no question that she had been willing. Finn sighed. Had being the operative word. Now she was just pissed at him. Although it hardly mattered, given that he hadn’t the slightest idea who she was. What an utter mess!
Kicking his foot in frustration against an old central beam, Finn exhaled nosily and shook his head at his own ineptitude. He needed to distract his attention onto a task and it wasn’t like he was short of things to do. Furthermore, the task must involve physical labour, to act as a diversion for his overactive libido. Casting his eyes around the old, decaying building esc şişli that exuded so much promise, his gaze was snagged by the lounge. His brow furrowed with distaste as he grudgingly observed the well-worn carpet. Badly stained and frayed, it was a sickly orange affair, adorned with great swirling patterns, reminiscent of the nineteen seventies. Nothing short of heinous, such a sight to behold was an insult to his new home and Finn vowed he wouldn’t allow it to remain for one moment longer. Decisively, he grabbed his toolbox, marched into the room and focussed his mind on something useful.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was late afternoon before Finn had completed his task which even included burning all remnants of carpet on the bonfire outside. The exercise had turned out to be extremely therapeutic. Standing back to admire his handiwork, he couldn’t help but grin broadly. The removal of the carpet had exposed something quite unexpected; the most incredible, undoubtedly original, wide oak floorboards. Some complete spanner, Finn’s money being on his late relative, had completely bodged the job, using glue and the occasional nail to fix the hideous carpet down in the first place. Indeed, he’d physically winced upon discovering it, occasionally muttering a disbelieving “Why?” to himself. Consequently, additional effort would need to be put into their restoration but Finn was confident he could return the flooring to its former glory. Despite the relatively minor damage, the wood grain was glorious and he felt quite honoured to be the first person to directly walk on the floorboards for nearly fifty years.
Finn had worked hard and a shower, plus his microwave meal for one, were starting to call him. Before he surrendered to such mundane needs however, he wanted to know what structure lay beneath the floorboards. This knowledge would allow him to ascertain what insulation materials would need to be ordered. If he understood the situation up front, he could ponder the necessary next steps and his leisure.
During his afternoon’s work, Finn had noticed some loose floorboards in the corner of the room which abutted up against the huge inglenook fireplace. Grabbing his tools for the final time that day, he set them down in the corner and began to carefully tease up the flooring. To his surprise, a number of floorboards were very easy to raise. Exposing the cavity beneath, Finn noted it was mostly filled with dust, bent nails and discarded offcuts of wood. The debris was, no doubt, a victim of the process to install the original flooring.
With a sigh, Finn eased himself up from his aching knees, mentally assessing the purchases he would need to add to his shopping list of building materials. It was obvious that knee pads were also likely to be prudent. Suddenly, a dull glimmer of something beneath the exposed floorboards caught his eye. Dropping back to the ground, he used his strong arms to hold up his body weight as he shone a torch into the pitch black cavity. But it was hopeless; along with the darkening night and the poor lighting in the house, he simply couldn’t see. Gingerly, he stretched his arm into the hole to retrieve whatever the object was, praying it wasn’t a set mouse trap… or worse.
After a moment of tentative exploring, which whisked his mind back to the depleted shelf of biscuits and that beautiful woman, his fingers made contact with several separate items. Pulling them gently towards him, Finn was delighted to discover a small, very rusty tin with a hinged lid, alongside a package, wrapped up in ancient brown paper and tied by string. With a rapidly beating heart, he transferred the objects into the kitchen, where the light was better. Excitement consumed him as he painstakingly prised open the lid of the tin which would once, no doubt, have displayed a pattern or advertising slogan, although none existed now. Beneath a sheet of delicately folded tissue paper lay what he guessed were a girl’s cherished possessions; a small notebook, a copy of an Agatha Christie novel, a wallet of aged, sepia photographs, a few items of jewellery and a handful of old coins.
Not realising his breathing had turned very shallow, Finn turned his attention to the second item. With immense care, he willed his large fingers to untie the delicate bow of string and conscientiously unfolded the brown paper from around the thick package. The very first thing he noticed was the front page of a yellowing newspaper, declaring in enormous letters “IT’S OVER!”. Dropping down to his seat in utter astonishment, he could only stare in disbelief. In his hands, he was holding an original edition of the Daily Mail, published over a century before, rejoicing in the day World War One ended. The grainy, accompanying images showed jubilant Brits celebrating in the streets. “Joy and thanksgiving mark start of the Armistice on greatest day of our history” declared the by-line.
Dizzy with excitement, Finn very cautiously lifted the item into his şişli esc hands, only to be confronted with a stack of perhaps twenty other newspapers below. Each one carefully preserved another key moment in history, running between nineteen eighteen and the nineteen forties. The abdication of Edward VIII to marry Wallace Simpson, the outbreak of World War Two and its many subsequent atrocities, and the discovery of Pluto, to mention but a few. Finn sat there for hours, his stomach rumbling and all thoughts of a shower long forgotten, utterly submerged in the fascinating historical documents he had unearthed.
Gradually, his focus returned to the person who had trustingly secreted the items beneath the floorboards in the first place. Logic dictated that Great Uncle Charles could not have placed the items there originally, for they pre-dated his time living in the house. Neither could he have been aware of their existence, thought Finn wryly, because he would have sold them. The only clue seemed to be a recurring surname in the top right hand corner of most of the newspapers; Turner.
When Finn returned his attention to the little tin, astonishment rendered him quite speechless when he opened the cover of the delicate copy of “The Murder at the Vicarage”; Miss Marple’s first appearance in a full length novel. Not only was it a first edition, but there on the front page were scrawled the words:
Darling Harriett. The very happiest Christmas to you. All my love, Agatha x
December 1930
Closing the priceless book in awe, Finn gathered his thoughts. At last, he had a name from which to start his search; Harriett Turner. Placing both packages well out of harm’s way, he vowed to commence that search tomorrow, in order that he could return these precious items to their rightful owner.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several weeks had passed since the initial excitement of finding a time capsule hidden beneath the floor of his house. Finn, however, had not been idle. In between working hard to renovate his new home, he had been busily researching Harriett Turner. Due to an absence of both telephone and internet communications at Orchard Farm, much of his efforts had taken place at the local library. This was an unexpected blessing because it resulted in Finn crossing paths with a chap who worked there called Simon. Simon was highly experienced in genealogy and turned out to be extremely helpful in navigating various census records as well as birth, death and marriage certificates for traces of the Turner family.
As Finn parked up and strolled into the library that day, he recognised that there was an added bonus to being out and about, rather than stuck inside his dusty, dilapidated house. There was a chance, albeit extremely small, that he might run into her again. The woman from the supermarket hadn’t been far from his mind ever since they’d shared a kiss. Never was this truer than when his guard was down, in that vulnerable moment between consciousness and sleep. It was then that she appeared most clearly. Initially, she would be all fight and bluster; snapping and snarling, arousing him against his will. By the time Finn was safely ensconced inside his dreams, he was content to happily wallow in her breathy sighs and bliss-filled groans. Powered by a lustful desire, those dreams were increasingly focussed on him frenziedly driving them both out of their minds; a scenario no doubt motivated by an increasing urgency to come deep inside her.
‘Finn! I’ve got great news!’ said Simon happily, almost the very moment he set foot across the threshold of the library entrance.
‘Fantastic!’ grinned Finn, largely because the image of his dream woman, naked and fully open to him, remained emblazoned at the very forefront of his mind.
‘I’ve found Harriett!’
‘You have?’ he exclaimed, suddenly fully focused on the present. ‘That’s fantastic! Is she alive?’
‘She certainly is,’ nodded Simon, laying out a number of documents on the desk. As the two men carefully discussed and scrutinised the evidence, Finn felt a rush of gratitude towards his new acquaintance. He had seemingly done the impossible in finding Harriett Turner, who, following her marriage in the year nineteen fifty-seven, now went by the name Harriett Wilkins.
‘So, just her address to track down…’ muttered Finn to himself, as they tidied the papers away again.
‘Actually, I think I can help you with that too,’ admitted Simon, handing over a yellow post-it note. ‘I looked her up on the electoral register and Harriett lives in the next village. I’ve written her details down here,’ he said, laughing in reaction to Finn’s incredulous expression.
‘You are seriously wasted here, mate,’ he said in astonishment. ‘At the very least, the Security Services could benefit from you.’
‘Thanks,’ chuckled Simon. ‘Will you let me know how it goes? With Harriett.’
‘Of course. That feels like the very least I can do,’ replied Finn, shaking his şişli bayan escort hand warmly. ‘Well, I guess there’s no time like the present?’
*****
Finn was surprisingly nervous about calling Harriett, but in the end, she couldn’t have been nicer. Without a thought, she invited him around for a cup of tea later that same day. By the time he parked on the road outside her address, the day had turned cold, wet and overcast. Pulling his collar up around his neck, in an attempt to gain protection from the driving rain, Finn grabbed a couple of bags and ran towards the front door. Given the previous splendour of Orchard Farm, he admitted to being surprised at Harriett’s current residence. From the outside, it looked extremely small and basic. Some might even say poky.
Having rung the door bell, he remained wedged on the tiny porch, in an attempt to shield himself from the worst of the elements.
‘Just one moment!’ called a female voice from inside, as various catches and chains were unfastened. When the door eventually opened, it revealed a frail-looking, grey-haired lady. However, despite being eighty-nine years old, her eyes still managed to sparkle with amused delight. And one thing was certain; her personality was far from frail.
‘Come in, you’re getting soaked!’ she declared, standing back so a dripping Finn could squeeze his way into her home. Quickly removing his saturated jacket, he turned to face her.
‘I am so thrilled to be meeting you at last, Mrs Wilkins,’ he grinned with delight.
‘Harriett,’ she said immediately with a smile, grasping his proffered hand with a surprisingly firm grip. ‘And the pleasure is all mine, Finn. Come through.’
With heavy reliance on her walking stick, she made her laborious way into a small lounge. There, she dropped precariously into an armchair beside a single-bar electric heater, whilst Finn sat in the chair opposite. Between them was an occasional table, displaying a Scrabble board which had been abandoned mid-game.
‘Jenny will be back very shortly,’ she explained. ‘If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes for a cup of tea?’
‘Of course not. And perhaps, in the meantime, I can give you these,’ said Finn, passing across Harriett’s childhood tin, whilst placing the newspaper bundle, a packet of biscuits and a beautiful potted orchid on the table beside her.
‘Oh, my dear boy, thank you,’ she breathed. For a short while, she gazed in wonder at the tin, back in her hands for the first time in nearly seventy years. Eventually, her line of sight drifted towards the table. ‘Oh, those biscuits are my favourite!’ she exclaimed in delight.
‘Mine too,’ smiled Finn sadly. Suddenly he was reminded of the supermarket woman, who was already guilty of crossing his mind multiple times today alone. If only he could start to slowly wean himself off thinking about her. ‘I have to ask,’ he added, as Harriett thumbed carefully through the Miss Marple novel with a soft smile on her face. ‘Did you actually know Agatha Christie?’
‘I did,’ she admitted with a bright smile. ‘She was a childhood friend of my mum’s.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ breathed Finn. ‘Along with the rest of the world, I’m a huge fan of her work.’
‘She was certainly a most astonishing lady,’ agreed Harriett.
‘She mysteriously went missing herself at one point, didn’t she?’
‘Yes. In nineteen twenty-six, four years before I was born. It was the most peculiar affair, by all accounts. A thorough search of The Silent Pool, just outside Guildford in Surrey, ensued. They pulled together a large search party of various tradesmen, which included my father.’
‘Oh?’ breathed Finn.
‘Yes. The locals feared the worst. But in the end, she turned up ten days later in a hotel in Harrogate. The media were fed a story about Agatha suffering amnesia, brought on by a nervous breakdown from the death of her mother and confessed infidelity of her husband,’ explained Harriett, clearly in her element. ‘But I believe there was more to it than that…’
‘What trade was your father in?’ asked Finn, when she failed to enlarge further.
‘Carpentry’
‘I share a trait with your father then,’ he explained. ‘I was originally a carpenter when I first started out.’ Harriett nodded approvingly.
‘That must come in very handy with the renovation work?’
‘I hope it will,’ admitted Finn. ‘Although so far, all I seem to be doing is de-junking the place. It desperately needs to be brought kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century, if only in terms of communications and utilities. I really hope you might consider visiting Orchard Farm,’ said Finn softly. ‘I would be honoured if you would.’
‘I’d love that,’ nodded Harriett, tears threatening to spill from her eyes at the thought of his kind offer to see her childhood home once again.
Her hand drifted towards the brown paper parcel of newspapers and she pulled the delicately tied bow to unfasten them. Just as Finn had found them, the top headline referred to the end of the war.
‘I remember the day my father gave me this newspaper,’ she sighed. ‘I was born over a decade after this was published, so it must have been one from his own collection.’