Welcome to Rosy's Reading Room

Every Sunday I welcome you to a quiet place where you can relax and unwind

Hello and welcome.

Today I am starting Rosy’s Reading Room which is a place where we can meet for some much-needed quiet and relaxation every Sunday. A space where we feel comfortable sitting, browsing, and settling down to a good read. Which is where I come in.

Let’s get straight to the short story that I have chosen for you today. This one is not featured in my book of poetry sprinkled with some short stories, which you can buy on Amazon.

My book is available on Amazon here.

This is a short story that I wrote last year and is entitled, A Strange Affair, and tells the story of two women and the lengths that they will go to in order to find true happiness - whatever that means to them...

A Strange Affair

Photo by Zac Harris on Unsplash

I was curious about Kay. She spends a lot of time alone in that beautiful home of hers, Penderyn Cottage. The one that I had my heart set on until she and her businessman husband parachuted in from London and gazumped us. Their only saving grace is that they live there year-round and don’t rent it out as a holiday home, like dozens of other properties in Port Wenlock. The village is like a ghost town in winter, like so many others in Cornwall as a result of outsiders. Greedy folk who capitalise on the area’s outstanding natural beauty.

Tom, Kay’s husband, is always away on some business trip or other. He jets off around the world for weeks on end sometimes. Or at least it seems that way. Perhaps I have a skewed view of her life. If I’m being completely honest, I am slightly jealous. She doesn’t work. She doesn’t have to. Tom provides very adequately for her, thank you very much, and whatever Kay wants, Kay gets. At least that’s how it looks to me. I wish I could be more like her.

I hate the way she flicks her long, blonde hair and runs her hand through it seductively whenever she speaks to men. She always does it when she talks to Mike but never when she speaks to me. He noticed it too because when we were in the pub the other evening, Simon and Philippa were in the bar having a drink and she was all over Simon like a rash. I thought Philippa was going to deck her but she was terribly sweet and just sat tightly next to her husband on the leather couch as if claiming him, sending a clear signal that he belonged to her. That didn’t stop Kay from sitting on the couch opposite and flashing a portion of her beautifully bronzed and well-toned thigh. She’s funny too, a real charmer and her smokey blue eyes bore into your soul when she talks to you, her husky voice hypnotic. There’s no doubting it; she is a very attractive, dare I say it, sexy woman. She oozes the stuff like butter on a hot crumpet.

“Tom off on one of his trips again, Kay?” Simon asked, raising his pint of Doombar and taking a long draught while waiting for her reply.

“Yes,” she purred, elegantly reaching for her glass of chilled white wine, and as she leaned forward, a smidgen of red lacy bra cupping her beautiful breasts flashed before Simon’s eyes. “He’s in Geneva this week brokering a deal with the Swiss Government.” She said it so matter-of-factly as if everybody did that kind of thing every day of the week. Not so, Kay. Not here in sleepy Port Wenlock where nothing much happens at all.

Mike and I had just finished eating in the restaurant and were on our way out. Our marriage had become very pedestrian and things were not great between us. On the walk back to our cottage, Mike confided in me about his friend back at the pub.

“You’re not serious? Do you really think Kay would make a move on Simon?” I asked incredulously.

“Michelle,” Mike continued firmly. “I don’t think he realizes how attractive he is to other women. Have you never noticed how women seem to gravitate toward him whenever he’s around? He’s such an interesting and charismatic guy.” Simon was Mike’s mate.

He had a point. I had found myself eyeing Simon up when he and Phillipa had been round for supper or drinks on the terrace. He had a wicked glint in his eye and was a wonderful raconteur. I could definitely see why women were drawn to him but Phillipa guarded him like a Rottweiler.

“I know Kay is a terrible flirt,” I responded as we made our way along the long, winding grass track leading to our cottage, “but I don’t think Simon would succumb to her charms. He and Philippa are as solid as a rock. You’ve always said that.”

“I know but Simon likes to keep an eye on Kay whenever Tom’s away,” Mike continued, “he’s always checking up on her, but that’s just him being thoughtful. You know, a woman on her own and all that. I wouldn’t want her to read anything into it, he’s just being kind.”

As I tried to settle that night, sleep eluded me. Mike’s words were rattling around inside my head and I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I awoke to the sound of gulls squawking and screeching as they wheeled and arced in the clear blue sky above our cottage. It was going to be another scorcher. More tourists clogging up the car parks and side streets before they traipse off down to the beach with their stripey windshields, buckets, spades, kites, and cool boxes, usually with several children and an excitable, yappy dog in tow. Thankfully, I can avoid them, working from home as I do.

I started baking speciality celebration cakes when the family-run baker’s shop in the village couldn’t cope with their orders and they passed the overflow on to me. The bakery closed the following year when Asda opened a huge out-of-town store up on the main road outside the village, but the internet saved me and I still have a regular supply of orders. I enjoy the flexibility of running my own business and when I get really busy, which is quite often these days, Kay comes over to give me a hand. She’s very good and such good fun. Sometimes we have a glass (or two) of wine when we’re finished. A reward for all our hard work. She’s really good company and we have developed a strong bond between us.

Just as Mike and I have run out of things to talk about Kay confided in me that she and Tom seem to have run out of things to talk about too. In their case, absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder but is more a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’. She and I never run out of things to talk about and we have a good old giggle. In fact, we have become more than just good friends.

I can see Penderyn Cottage from my study, where I spend a lot of time doing my accounts and admin stuff for my thriving business. I made a note of the time when I saw somebody slip in through the side gate earlier.

The beautiful sheltered garden to the side of the house was one of the things I adored about the bigger house next door. When Mike and I viewed it with the suave young estate agent last year he kept on about the views out to sea and the wonderful aspect. All I could think about was the suntrap at the end of the garden where Mike and I both agreed that we could easily sunbathe naked there and nobody would see us. Not that we ever would, of course. But it was a great place to sit and look out to sea and on a summer’s evening, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. It really was a magical place.

We had all our ducks in a row and had even paid our solicitor the ridiculous retainer that he had insisted upon, and then the bloody Londoners swooped in and stole it from under our noses. There was no way we could match their offer. Mike didn’t seem bothered but I was gutted. I had always wanted to live there, ever since I first moved to the Cornish village twelve years ago following the death of my former husband. I met Mike soon after I moved in; he was newly divorced and, to be honest, it was a bit of a whirlwind romance and we got married a few weeks later.

I tried to concentrate on my Self-Assessment tax return but the questions and numbers just kept dancing around on the screen in front of me. I checked my watch again and smiled. I think I’ll pop across and invite Kay around for a drink later. Might as well make the most of the nice weather while it lasts.

Our terrace doesn’t have views across the bay but is fine for relaxing in with a sundowner. The only trouble is that it’s near the road and nosey tourists are always gawping in as they amble back, tired and covered in sand, their fractious children and yappy dogs in tow, carting all their paraphernalia back to their people carriers, which will be stifling hot, like ovens, after being parked up all day in the searing heat. It always makes me feel smug as I sip my gin and tonic, ice-clinking, as the weary grockles traipse past. I sometimes want to raise my glass to them and smile but that would be very churlish of me.

I made sure I entered the wooden side gate to Penderyn Cottage as quietly as I could and followed the path which led behind the potting shed, remembering the young estate agent’s excitement as he led us around to the secret place, hidden from view, but with the most glorious panoramic views of the ocean and rugged coastline beyond. Cornwall has some breathtaking coastal scenery and this was one of the best I had ever seen.

I could hear voices as I got closer and one was definitely male. I trod carefully along the old crazy paving footpath and had butterflies in my stomach. When I reached the end of the path which led out onto the small enclosed terrace, I still couldn’t see anything because a stone wall obscured my view. I could just make out Kay’s voice and the other deeper, more monotone one.

I stopped to compose myself and hovered near the gap in the wall which led onto the terrace and caught a glimpse of the bottom half of two sets of legs, one female (tanned and smooth), and the other male (hairy with knobbly knees). They were sitting very close together. I could hear Kay giggling seductively.

I cleared my throat loudly and stepped out onto the terrace, the steep grassy cliff-top falling away to the blue-green sea below. Mike didn’t know where to put himself. He leaped up and was all discombobulated. Kay calmly put her glass down on the small table between them and glanced across at me, nodding imperceptibly. I noticed an empty wine bottle on the table, and everything happened so quickly. Kay stepped forward and the next thing I knew, Mike was plummeting over the steep bank head-first. He must have hit his head on one of the rocky outcrops because when Kay and I peered over the edge, we could just see a flash of his red tee shirt as he sunk beneath the surface of the water. We waited and waited but he didn’t resurface.

Naturally, I telephoned the coastguard and emergency services and told them what had happened. I had worked myself up into quite a state and even though I say so myself, I was very convincing. I told them that Mike had lost his footing on the cliff-top after a few glasses of wine and fallen over. A full-scale search ensued and they did recover his body, eventually.

Dozens of mourners turned out for his funeral and everyone was shocked to learn of his untimely death. I played the heartbroken widow, naturally, and I hadn’t realised just how popular he was.

“I’ve always said how bloody dangerous it is up on that cliff-top,” Simon bemoaned to his wife as they walked arm-in-arm back from the church for the wake at the pub. “Poor Mike,” he said gloomily, raising a pint of Doombar to his lips after toasting his good friend. Philippa was still in shock and she sipped her vodka and tonic, staring into space.

Villagers can be very kind and supportive at times like this and a constant stream of visitors called into Dolphin Cottage before the funeral. They offered their condolences and brought homemade meals wearing sombre expressions. Some were awkward and didn’t know what to say. Others were used to dealing with sudden death. Living on the coast, it wasn’t uncommon for fishing boats to go missing out at sea or even a lifeboat once, which lost all its crew in a terrible storm one Christmas. I don’t think the villagers ever recovered.

When all the dust had settled, Kay divorced Tom, her barrister having negotiated a handsome settlement, and she and I moved into Penderyn Cottage together. It’s just what I had always wanted.

“You will stop flirting with men now, won’t you?” I asked.

“Of course I will Michelle”, Kay purred, running her hand seductively through her long blonde hair, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

We would often sit on the secluded terrace at the bottom of our garden enjoying a glass (or two) of wine, watching the evening sun bleed across the summer sky as the seagulls wheeled and arced overhead.

“Here’s to us!” we would chant as we chinked glasses. She was so beautiful and I adored her. We made a great team. Together, we were a force to be reckoned with.

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