The Artist's Impression. Julia Schulz

wondered if he engaged in affairs outside of their marriage, in order to gain some semblance of stability and peace of mind.

      Chapter 3

      Georgina continued in her usual pattern of reclusive autodidact for some years further until her Aunt Jemima passed away suddenly with a heart attack. She was 73 years old. With no other living relatives, the old Victorian house was immediately passed to her, and with the bond from the sale of her parent’s home still accruing due to interest, she remained in a reasonable financial position with no need of paid occupation. Georgina, unclear as to how the rest of her life would unfold, was naively hoping for a pathway to appear from between the pages of a good book. At any rate, at least she took some pleasure in the constancy of these abstract companions. She reasoned away her loneliness through the realization that reading novels is like having a conversation, because when you read to know yourself, like minded characters provide the solace one can find in a companion. After a good soak in the bath, she climbed out and wrapped herself in her white hotel style, toweling bathrobe and put on her pink fur slippers. Feeling rejuvenated, she made her way to the kitchen to prepare a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows. Sitting down at the oak kitchen table with its Brodiere Englaise tablecloth, she heard the telephone ringing from the hall. Upon answering, it was Mr Brady from Balzac’s Bookshop telephoning to offer a position with Balzac’s. Thanking him profusely, and grateful for the fact that he would like her to start tomorrow morning, she put the phone back onto the receiver and shuffled back to the kitchen table to her hot chocolate. A firm believer in one’s fate and destiny; she began to reflect on her inward instincts and belief that providence steps in at such times as these to provide milestones in one’s life. Without the artist’s impression of events happening as they ought, well, one may not wish to continue living if one’s life was purely of one’s own making. For, she had always been too timid force her own hand in such affairs. There must be a hidden reason behind her commencement with this establishment, besides the obvious. Perhaps a man may present himself. Although she enjoyed solitude and had no friends, nor the desire to make any; her lifelong dream had been to find herself a man. Georgina had spent thousands of pounds on fortune tellers, although this was a fact she kept to herself. And, she did afford herself a romantic dalliance in her mind to add a little spice to an otherwise somber existence. Not that she sought a man for material comfort. She was more than capable of supporting herself in this manner. No, her romantic fantasies lay in the realm of her imagination, where her man and she lived a life of blissful seclusion with little argument, complete with in depth philosophical discussions surrounding the meaning of life. She would cook casseroles for him and clean the house with classical music serenading them all the while. Despite his feminine, artistic and conversational nature, he would envelope her in his subliminal masculinity, with the expectation that she would play the role of deserving housewife. Surprisingly, for a woman, she did not need for him to provide for her in any such way in the normal sense of the word. She straightforwardly imagined them either chatting away together like two songbirds, or revelling in beautiful silence, happily acquainted with one another’s energy, so as not to intrude on each other’s space. Georgina did not think this fantasy excessively romantic. After all, if you cannot enjoy sitting together as silent companions, then what do you do when the conversation runs dry, as it invariably does. The only inhibitor to the fruition of her desires, as far as she could see, was the increasingly shallow and image conscious world she inhabited. Not excessively eccentric by nature, her own eccentricities had developed as a by-product of having lived on one’s own, in one’s own company for too long. What would a man make of her? She concluded her current reflections and raised herself up from the table to move into the bedroom to dress. She selected a white short sleeved, collared blouse; a coral pink Marks and Spencer’s sweater imprinted with black leaves; a long pencil lined black skirt and a simple pair of flats. She had not inherited her mother’s sense of style; for her mother adorned the expensive labels reserved for the classical elite. The main reason she shunned such attire was for the fact that Georgina had a lazy soul, and disliked hand washing delicate garments. The second was that she took upper class, classical attire, to belie occupation and high caliber pastimes in which she did not indulge, and was not in the habit of wishing to fool anyone. Devouring classical literature was one thing; evenings spent at the opera another. She decided on a side parting for her thick and lustrous, golden brown hair, and pulled it back into a classic chignon: gathered at the neck. As she scanned her appearance in a long mirror framed in bronze with miniature gargoyles, she heard the doorbell ring. It was Mrs Bannister calling with a fruit, cheese and wine hamper. “I have brought a little something to cheer you up, my dear. Goodness knows, you are wasting away and could do with a few extra pounds on you.” Georgina gracefully accepted the hamper and welcomed Mrs Bannister into the main sitting room. Mrs Bannister surveyed the room with a raised eyebrow as nothing appeared to have altered since the passing of her great friend, Jemima. Surely she would have put her own style about the place by now, she thought to herself, and it isn’t as if she is short of money. Heaven knows plenty people would envy Georgina her financial abundance. But no, the same Victorian cream colored lamp sits on the side table beside what was Jemima’s favorite floral patterned fabric armchair. The mantle piece above the fire houses the same leather backed books which Jemima had placed there from beginning to end; and the royal purple long pile carpet, which Mrs Bannister always considered vile, could easily have been pulled up and replaced with something modern. But no, this also remained in its vulgar, bawdy fashion. As Mrs Bannister took all of this in, and while removing her gloves, she casually opened the cover of a hard backed Concise Oxford English Dictionary, which was placed on the side table beside the armchair. Inside she read two inscriptions: “To dearest Georgina, for the occasion of your 21st birthday, Love Mother.” Then underneath: “To our dearest Georgina, on the occasion of your 21st birthday, Lots of love from Father.” After reading this, Mrs Bannister received an insight as to why Georgina had perhaps become what one would call self-absorbed, as it were. Georgina cut in on these reflections. “May I offer you a cup of tea, Mrs Bannister?” “Well, I am in rather a hurry, Georgina, however, since you have been as kind as to offer, I would be most grateful to accept. When you return with the tea tray there is something I would like to discuss with you.”

      Chapter 4

      As Georgina returned to the sitting room from the kitchen, wheeling a steel tea tray consisting of a pot of tea served in a Royal Albert Fine Bone China teapot, with a very pretty pink and blue floral pattern, some jam, cream and scones; Mrs Bannister is contemplating that which she is about to propose to Georgina. As she pours herself a cup of tea and helps herself to a scone with a generous dollop of jam and cream, she begins, “I have come here in fact to speak my mind once and for all, Georgina. Your pottering about by yourself in this Victorian Mansion is not healthy, will not do, and, must come to an end. You are a very attractive woman, although no longer young in years, you still have some redeeming qualities. Lord knows why your Aunt Jemima could not see her way clear to ensure that you find your way to some companionship. However, I see it now as my responsibility as a charitable citizen of this neighborhood and great friend of your Aunt’s to see to it that you come out into society. As the saying goes, charity begins at home, and it is my intention for you to come out of hiding and join the real world, as it were.” Georgina, trying to absorb all that Mrs Bannister has said, and finding the conversation rather audacious, eyes her with raised eyebrows in wonder and amazement over the brim of her tea cup. Sensing that Mrs Bannister has more to add, she is hesitant of contributing to the conversation at this point, for fear that she may inspire her to an even greater level of audaciousness. And, picking up on the energy in the room, she was fearful of receiving a barrage of criticism should she find the confidence to speak her own mind on the matter; in which she is of the solid opinion, and always has been, that to offer advice to one is not only superfluous, in her experience, but also can be quite dangerous. Firstly, because it is human nature, as she has discovered following the path of her favorite characters in novels, for advice to fall on deaf ears, and generally, people continue to reside with familiar patterns of operation. And secondly, even if one is successful in bringing about change to other’s lives, well, in this circumstance, the consequences of releasing a creature from pre-conditioned solitude can have disastrous consequences. Such as the potential for moral denigration should the company one finds to be vastly different from the qualities of one’s own soul. Loneliness, when turned