Never Too Old for Love Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Recent Titles by Rosie Harris from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Acknowledgements

  A Selection of Recent Titles by Rosie Harris from Severn House

  CHANCE ENCOUNTERS

  GUARDED PASSIONS

  HEARTBREAK AND HAPPINESS

  THE MIXTURE AS BEFORE

  MOVING ON

  STOLEN MOMENTS

  LOVE OR DUTY

  ONLY LOVE CAN HEAL

  NEVER TOO OLD FOR LOVE

  NEVER TOO OLD FOR LOVE

  Rosie Harris

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2018 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY

  This eBook edition first published in 2018 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2018 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD

  Copyright © 2018 by Marion Harris.

  The right of Marion Harris to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8777-1 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-893-4 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-956-5 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  For all my Family and Friends

  ONE

  Mary Wilson stopped and put down her heavy shopping bags. When she’d left home it had been dull and grey and she’d thought it might rain, so she’d put on her raincoat. Now the sky was blue, the sun was shining and she was far too warm. She would have liked to take her coat off but that not only meant something else to carry, but also she hated to be seen outdoors only half dressed. Women of her generation never went out in simply a dress, or a blouse and skirt. The addition of a jacket, even on a summer day, was imperative.

  She really must invest in a shopping trolley, Mary decided. Carrying heavy weights like this not only made her arms ache but also her shoulders. She was getting old, she told herself as she picked up the bags again. At one time carrying home the shopping was no problem at all, now it left her with aching shoulders for the rest of the day.

  ‘Can I help?’

  At the sound of a man’s voice she looked over her shoulder and saw a tall thin man of about her own age, dressed in grey trousers, an open-necked shirt and a lightweight jacket coming up the road behind her. For a moment she stiffened then, with a sigh, she smiled gratefully and put the two heavy bags down on the pavement by her feet.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she murmured.

  ‘Not at all. It’s quite a walk from the shops,’ he said gallantly. ‘Have you very far to go?’ he asked eyeing the two bags.

  ‘No, it’s only the next road, Silver Street, but I seem to have run out of steam! I think it must be a case of getting old.’

  ‘Old! You’re not old,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Well, getting older, or something like that. At one time carrying the shopping home didn’t bother me, but I was just thinking I must get one of these shopping trolleys, so that I can put everything into it and simply push it along.’

  He bent down and picked up the two bags she had placed on the pavement at her side and started walking. Mary studied the stranger as they walked along. He was grey-haired, about her own age and broad-shouldered. Even though he was thin, he looked very fit.

  ‘We go down here,’ she said as they reached the corner.

  Halfway down the road she stopped, turned in through a small iron gate and up a neatly paved path with well-tended flower borders on either side to a green front door.

  ‘Here we are! I am most grateful for your help Mr …’ she hesitated and looked at him enquiringly. Then to cover any embarrassment said quickly, ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be very nice,’ he said with a smile. ‘My name by the way is Bill, Bill Thompson. I live only a couple of roads away in Coburn Road.’

  ‘Mine is Mary Wilson,’ she said as she put her key in the lock and opened the front door, which led into the hallway of the semi-detached house.

  ‘Right, Mary, and where would you like me to put these?’ he said nodding towards the two bags of shopping.

  ‘Would you bring them through to the kitchen?’ she said leading the way.

  Bill followed her and placed the bags on one of the worktops. Mary filled the kettle, reached for the teapot and popped in three teabags from a canister on an opposite worktop.

  ‘I’ll put away the perishable stuff while we wait for the tea to brew,’ she murmured as she began unpacking the two bags. Bill leaned against the kitchen door and watched her. Mary quickly transferred packages from the shopping bags to the freezer and fridge while the kettle boiled. She poured the boiling water into the teapot, then reached down for two pretty pink and green teacups with matching saucers from a glass fronted cupboard. She placed them on a tray together with a milk jug, the teapot and a matching plate on which she arranged some biscuits.

  ‘I’ll carry that,’ Bill said quickly as she went to pick up the tray. �
�You lead the way,’ he told her.

  He followed Mary through into the sitting room. It was a pleasant room, prettily decorated with chintz curtains and shaggy rugs on a well-polished parquet floor. The three-piece suite was in dark red, the settee strewn with plump cushions. Bill placed the tray down on the low table Mary indicated, which stood between the two armchairs.

  ‘Do sit down, Bill, and make yourself comfortable,’ Mary murmured gesturing towards one of the armchairs.

  Settling back in the armchair Bill looked around the room appreciatively. It was exactly the same size and shape as his own, but so very different in appearance. It was full of feminine touches, from the flowers on the windowsill to the cushions scattered on the settee.

  After Lydia had died, he had stuffed all the cushions in his home into a cupboard out of the way, neglected the pot plants until they were past recovery and he could throw them away, and he had put away all the ornaments, because he regarded them as mere dust collectors. For the first time, he regretted having done so. This room, with all its feminine touches, was so much friendlier than his sitting room.

  ‘Milk? Sugar?’ Mary asked as she poured out the tea.

  ‘Milk but no sugar please,’ he said.

  When she passed him his cup of tea he sipped it appreciatively. It tasted good but slightly different from the thick mug he drank from when he was at home. Cautiously, he set the china cup and saucer down on the table, before accepting a chocolate biscuit from the plate she held out to him. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Bill picked up his cup and finished his tea.

  ‘Would you like a refill?’ Mary asked as he carefully placed the cup back on the saucer.

  ‘If there is one left in the pot.’

  Mary poured him a second cup and one for herself.

  ‘Tell me something about yourself,’ she invited.

  Bill looked so startled that she almost laughed. She found herself warming towards him. She studied him while she waited for him to gather his thoughts. He was quite broad shouldered but not in any way overweight. He was clean-shaven and his grey hair was well cut. His features were good, his mouth well defined, his chin strong and his blue eyes clear and sharp.

  ‘I imagine you are retired,’ she murmured in an effort to put him at his ease and end the awkward silence.

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve been officially retired for almost twenty years now.’

  ‘What did you do for a living?’ Mary asked.

  ‘I was in the army,’ Bill told her.

  ‘A professional soldier!’ she said admiringly.

  ‘That’s right. We moved around a lot, not only in this country but abroad as well. I intended to do so much when I retired. Even thought about carving out a new career for myself, but I never got round to it. Too busy working part time and helping the boys. You think that once you’ve educated them they would be able to stand on their own two feet, but there’s always something happening that takes either your money or your time. I’ve three sons and they all needed help to get started in life: help with further education, then to set up their own home and then their young families came along and our money seemed to go on helping to buy prams and cots and things like that.

  ‘They’re all past that stage now, thank goodness. The eldest grandson will be ten next month and his father has a good job, so he can buy him all the gadgets and sports things he needs.’ He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘It’s amazing what they do need these days. When mine were small all they expected was a pair of football boots or a tennis racket, but today they all have to have the right clothes with the right labels in them. Even their sports shoes, trainers they call them, have to have the right label.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ smiled Mary.

  ‘You have children?’

  ‘One son, Richard.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ She stood up and went across to a bookcase and took up a picture of a man and child in a heavily embossed silver frame and held it out to Bill. ‘That’s Richard and his little boy George.’ Bill studied the photograph for a couple of minutes before handing it back to Mary. As she took it from him, she told Bill, ‘Richard’s a schoolteacher the same as my husband was.’

  They sat in silence for a few minutes reflecting about their respective lives.

  ‘When I finally retired we came here to live, that would be about twenty years ago,’ Bill told her. ‘The boys were all about to start work and we thought there would be plenty of opportunity for them to find good jobs in this area.’

  ‘Your boys didn’t want to follow their father into the army?’

  ‘Heavens no! They’d had enough of that way of living. They wanted to put down roots.’

  ‘Do you like it around here?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Yes, it suits me fine and Lydia liked it here. She said it was good to feel settled after a lifetime of constantly moving from one place to another. She found there were plenty of interesting places to visit without having to travel away from home and that it was ideal for shopping. What she appreciated most, of course, was having the boys at home. While we were abroad we’d sent all three of them back to England to boarding school. She found that hard. I suppose they did as well, but that was the way of life for most of the other children as well as them.

  ‘When we first moved here we used to get up to London occasionally for family outings or to see a show. Lydia liked that sort of thing and she’d missed being able to go to places like that when I was in the army. We used to have concerts put on at the barracks from time to time but it’s not the same, a different atmosphere altogether.’

  Mary smiled and nodded understandingly.

  ‘Do you get up to London?’

  Mary made a face. ‘Not very often,’ she murmured. ‘I find it is so crowded and so noisy. I grew up in a very quiet part of Dorset and I sometimes long to be back there. We lived in a little stone cottage surrounded by fields and there was a stream at the bottom of the garden.’

  ‘Sounds idyllic!’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘It was.’

  ‘So why not go back there?’

  ‘My son and grandson live here, it’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded understandingly. ‘We like to be near them don’t we? Even though we don’t see a lot of them, they all have such busy lives.’

  ‘Yes, very true,’ Mary agreed, ‘but then so do we,’ she added.

  ‘And I’m keeping you from getting on with yours,’ Bill said quickly. ‘Thank you for the tea,’ he added as he stood up and straightened his jacket. He moved towards the door, then suddenly stopped and walked over to look at an oil painting hanging on the adjacent wall.

  ‘Lovely isn’t it?’ Mary said with a sigh. ‘Whenever I feel homesick I imagine myself back there.’

  He stood staring at it intently studying every detail, even the signature in the bottom right hand corner. Then he turned towards Mary, ‘Is this where you used to live?’

  ‘No, not really. But it is so similar to the countryside where I lived that I absolutely love it. It brings back so many memories.’ They stood together looking at the picture of gently rolling green hills, with a cart track running between them, meandering through the trees to where a five-bar gate led up to a stone cottage.

  ‘I must be on my way,’ Bill reflected, buttoning his jacket. As they reached the front door, he paused and looked back at Mary. ‘I’ve really enjoyed this morning I … I.’ He hesitated, unsure of himself, then said quickly, ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come to the pictures with me. Sometime next week perhaps?’

  Mary looked surprised then with a quick smile said, ‘Yes that would be very nice.’

  ‘Tuesday? I’ll pick you up.’

  ‘What are we going to see?’

  He looked slightly taken aback, ‘I don’t really know what’s on. I’ll find out and let you know.’ Without another word, he strode down the path and through the little gate, shutting it carefully behind him.<
br />
  Mary watched him walk off up the road, noting the squared shoulders and brisk stride that reflected his years in the army. Then she closed the front door and went back into the living room to gather up their cups and saucers, and took them through to the kitchen to wash them up.

  TWO

  As he walked home, there was a spring in Bill Thompson’s step as he went over the events of the day. Lydia had died four years ago and, since then, he had practically had no social life at all outside his family. The boys either came to see him or phoned once a week to check he was OK, but he rarely saw their families. One of his daughter-in-laws popped in occasionally to make sure he was keeping the house in order and that he hadn’t starved to death. Now and again she brought a homemade cake, or a pot of jam, or even some cooked ham or chicken left over from their own meal the night before.

  Lydia had not had many friends and he hadn’t really got on with any of them. Whenever they came to visit, he usually made himself scarce by either going outside and pottering in the garden or going for a walk. In fact, even when Lydia was alive, they hadn’t socialised very much at all. They were both content with each other’s company, especially since he had retired.

  He wished Lydia could have known Mary Wilson. She was so charming, so refreshing to talk to that he was sure they would have been good friends. Still, it was no good thinking like that. Now Lydia was gone, he’d been on his own for the past four years, and although he had never considered himself to be lonely, he suddenly realised that to some extent he was.

  He had cut himself off from the rest of the world apart from his boys and, as long as he was self-sufficient and made no demands on them, they didn’t offer any help. In some ways, he was glad that things were like that. He didn’t want them to be bothering about him all the time. They had their own lives to live and, from what he could see of things, they all had very full lives and he was glad about that.

  Yet, he had thoroughly enjoyed Mary Wilson’s company and he hoped they could go on seeing each other. It would be nice to occasionally go to the pictures or even to go out for a meal together. Not too often of course; he didn’t want her taking over his life, but somehow he didn’t think that would happen. She seemed to be a very independent lady with intelligent forthcoming views on most subjects. Of course, there was her family to be considered. He didn’t know just how involved she was with bringing up her grandchild, or how much her son depended on her. He was quite sure she didn’t depend on him. She was self-sufficient. That was proven by the fact she was struggling to carry home two heavy bags of shopping instead of asking him or her daughter-in-law to do it for her.