The Keeper

Robert Pays a Visit

One beautiful day in late spring, there was a knock on the door. Dean went to it, expecting to have to show someone around the cottage.

But it wasn't a tourist, it was Robert. He was standing with a bottle of wine and asked, "Any chance of a spot of lunch?"

Dean found a couple of glass tumblers and put together a plate of cheese and crackers with some cut vegetables from the garden, whilst Robert opened the wine. He poured it, after giving the glasses a clean with his handkerchief.

"I like what you've done with the place," said Robert. "I only came here once, a long time ago, but it was a dump. To be honest, when I suggested you stay here, you were desperate, and I didn't think you'd be here that long. But now I can see that it suits you. And I see you've got back into your painting too," he said, as he surveyed the canvases around the barn. He stood up and walked over to look at them more closely. "These are fantastic. Let me sell them."

"I'm not sure about that, Robert."

"Mate, you don't want to be washing dishes all your life. It's not what you should do with your time. I can sell these paintings to all the depressed Londoners who work twelve-hour days, dreaming of living somewhere like this. We'll earn a fortune."

Dean laughed. "Well, if it makes those poor buggers happy, I guess I'll let you do that."

"Whoa... and this, this is even better," said Robert as he picked up a canvas and turned it around to reveal the painting of the garden.

"No, that's not to go to London. I want to sell it locally, to support a gallery that has art I admire."

"Okay," said Robert, as he thought things through. "Let me photograph it with the others and I'll get some cards printed, too. I'll contact a local distributor who can sell the ones of the coast to all the tourists."

"Fine. But I don't want my name on them, or on any of the paintings."

"Well, there has to be somebody's name on them. How about mine?" said Robert, smiling.

"That'll only go to your head," said Dean. "You can call me 'Barn Owl' if it makes your life easier. But I don't want to be known to anyone, anyone at all, you understand?"

"No problem. The idea of a talented recluse will add to your allure."

Robert went to the car and came back to wrap the paintings in heavy brown paper. His phone beeped.

"What do you know? I must've had reception for a second," he said, looking at the screen. "I'd better go – the city is missing me."

As Dean helped him load the paintings into his car, Robert added, "It's missing you too, buddy. Come up and have a night on the town with me, eh?"

Dean nodded, knowing full well he wouldn't. Robert slapped him on the back, got into his shiny new BMW, and drove off.

* * *

Like a substitute mother, Demelza pestered him over their Tuesday meal. "Why didn't you go to the city with your friend? He might have had more luck setting you up with a nice lady friend?"

"We've been through this a million times, Demelza. I'm happy on my own, thank you."

Demelza persisted. "Why don't you go out with anyone, Dean? It's such a waste! You're a fabulous cook and a gardener, not to mention those dreamboat looks of yours."

Dean frowned at her as he ate.

"Well, when you aren't giving me one of your withering looks."

"I have a good life, Demelza. The barn is now comfortable, and the garden is rewarding me double for any effort I put into it. It feeds me, you, guests that stay, and I still have leftover fruit and veg for the shop."

"It sells well, Dean – it's making me more money than newspapers these days. I guess fresh organic produce is something you can't get on the bloody Internet. Stan is worried you'll sell so many vegetables, you'll give up the dishwashing job. Especially since you must be selling your paintings, too." Demelza nodded towards the one remaining canvas leaning against the wall.

Dean was glad Demelza had veered away from the topic of his non-existent love life. "Yes, Robert is delighted I've pulled my finger out finally."

"It's dreadful that he has to drive all the way here and back to collect them. Why don't you take them up next time? The change would do you good. Maybe you could go on some of those Internet dates."

Dean laughed. "Demelza, are you trying to drive me insane? I love my life here, love being in nature and living a simple life. Do you think I would find a woman like that in London, via the Internet?"

"I don't know. I don't really know how the Internet works. My niece tried to show me, but I'm too old to be getting into that nonsense."

"Me too."

"You're twenty years younger than me!"

"I'm old enough to know what I like."

"And you don't like any of the single women around here?"

"Remember when you set me up on that date with Carly?"

"My other niece – she's a looker."

"Possibly. But it's hard to know, with all the make-up she was wearing. It's a good job she never came here – she'd break an ankle walking up to the barn in the heels she wears."

"She likes to look her best."

"And she was horrified to eat in the pub. She barely touched her meal."

"She's watching her weight."

"Never mind. I'm sure there are dozens of men who would love to have Carly on their arm, but she's not the type of woman I'm looking for."

"Oh! So you are looking..."

"No. No, I'm not."

"You know why that is, Dean? It's because you already found her, didn't you?"

"I did." Dean said this to stop the conversation, but it was true. Every woman he'd come across since had confirmed it. There was always something missing in them. No spark of connection. Nothing in their eyes that told him of more there if he wanted to reach for it.

Demelza continued. "Why don't you try this Internet thing, Dean? You could find her again. Make amends for whatever you did that was so wrong."

Dean sighed. She wouldn't stop unless he told her. "I was her teacher, Demelza. She was seventeen."

That cut Demelza short.

For a moment.

"Well, she's not seventeen now! What's she doing now? Have you looked?"

Dean had thought about this many times over the years. Hoping Martha had enjoyed college as much as he had, but that she'd gone on to travel and do so much more with her life. He knew he had to give a Demelza a plausible reason to stop asking more questions. "She's smart, attractive and talented. Someone like that doesn't remain single. She's probably married with kids. Hopefully painting. She's a better painter than me, Demelza."

"Are you good?"

Dean went over to the canvas and took off the dust sheet.

"Oh my," said Demelza, walking towards it to take a closer look. "She must be very good."

Demelza stopped asking questions about Dean's love life, but their routine of phone calls and dinners continued. It felt as if nothing would ever change. Before everything did.