He dismissed her apologies as being unnecessary. It was just life; sometimes you win, sometimes you lose on nature's giant, cosmic roulette wheel. However Chani's little monologue had moved him and it was becoming difficult for Leo, difficult to find a point of balance, an equilibrium, between what appeared to be mutually exclusive goals, desires, needs, as difficult to find a point of clarity as anything he had ever encountered. He was torn between preserving his sanity, his reserve, his aloofness, his solitude, the very things that enabled him to indulge his one true and lasting love, that visceral need to paint, and the compassion for the person sitting opposite from him, which he felt. Would he, could he, in all conscience, let this person that he had once loved, so hard that it had hurt, even though she had returned that love with real pain, true hurt, be deprived so of what it was that she said that she so desired at this, the end of days.
His relationship with Penny had suited both alike; when Penny was not in some capital city or other in Europe. or in New York or Boston, consulting, doing whatever it was that she did, she was to be found in the study, writing reports running to hundreds of pages, poring over spreadsheets, company accounts or doing research. Even when she was at home, their mutual need to 'get the job done' allowed them only a short time together each day, in the evening; at the end of the day when they would eat supper and watch 'Casablanca', 'When Harry met Sally', 'An affair to remember' or some similar, hoary old romantic DVD or video on the now discarded TV set. However Chani did not work now. In two years, if she lived that long, she would retire. Chani would be in the house every day, potentially, all day; would his routine stand the strain? What if she required palliative care towards the end? Would she be able to afford a nurse? Or would he be expected, or feel obliged, to offer some or all of that care? Would he be able to cope with death again and at such close quarters? Would he be able to deal with Chani and his mother at the same time? He did not know the answer to any of these questions; he simply did not know what he should do.
"I fancy a drink," he said. "A large brandy!"
He moved to the 'drinks' cupboard and returned to his stool with a bottle of the Remy Martin XO Premier Cru, bought from Duty Free on his last trip to South Africa for the Verreaux's Eagles, and a giant brandy balloon, the largest Chani had ever seen. Uncorking the bottle, he poured a very generous measure into the glass and started to warm it in the palms of his hands.
"You can have a small sip of mine, to taste," he said with a smile. "I will not encourage you to drink and drive. I have made a decision, which is why I need the brandy; making decisions is always a traumatic experience for me and I need something to calm my nerves." He took a sip of the now warmer brandy and handed her the glass to taste.
"You may, as you wish, stay here, for as long as you remain alive," he said. "However one swallow does not a summer make and I think it would be best if we adopt a trial period, think of it as a month's holiday away from Wolverhampton, which, if we are not at each others throats at the end of a month, we can review and make it more permanent or you can return to Wolverhampton; whichever you wish. I should warn you that there will be many rules that you will have to abide by. I will apprise you of these over lunch. Of course, last night's stricture will remain in place. You have my word, no funny business!" He smiled.
"You may stay here another night, my jeans or cargo pants and t-shirts should fit you, I think, although you may need to roll the trouser legs up in the manner of youths thirty five years younger than us and I can wash yesterday's underwear today so that you have clean for the journey home. You can go home and pack a more capacious suitcase, suitable for a month, tomorrow and return whenever it suits you. Please, no flamboyant or extravagant gestures of thanks are required. A simple yes or no will suffice. How does that sound?" He smiled again.
"Are you being serious?" She asked. He nodded. "Then, yes, thank you so very much."
He stood up and went to fetch another brandy balloon. Pouring her the same generous measure that he had poured for himself, he handed it to her and raising his own glass, gently touched hers.
"The train, now standing at Platform Three, is the eleven thirty-five to Oblivion," he said by way of a toast. "Calling at: Tipsy, Drunk, Bladdered, Blootered, Asanewt, Legless-on-Thames, High Asakite and Oblivion. This train terminates at Oblivion. Passengers for High Sobriety, Little Boredom, Teetotal-on-the-Wold and Neveradrop should change at Tipsy'"
She laughed. She was still laughing when a beautiful, blond-haired woman of about thirty-five, with legs all the way up to her armpits, suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"Ania," he said. "This is Chani; she's going to be staying a while. Chani, this is the wonderful Ania, who I have told you about." Ania smiled at Chani and waved from the doorway; she reserved the leering grin and the raised eyebrow for Leo.
He returned her smile with an enigmatic one of his own. He smiled at the realisation that, in the end, life comes, eventually, full circle and what will be, will inevitably be. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos make strange and uncompromising bargains with the universe; only occasionally do those bargains seem to have happy outcomes and then, often, the happiness is only enjoyed for a brief time.
Fin
This is, I fear, about as close to a happy ending to a story as you are ever likely going to be able to drag from my pen; or keyboard.
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