The note under the windscreen wiper of the VW campervan gave Ruarc’s valuation. Mandy looked at it, tried not to pull a face and passed it to Tom Hutchinson without comment.
“It appears that your boss is successful at least partly because he doesn’t give any money away,” Tom Hutchinson said wryly. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mandy. “Perhaps we could shave a bit off the asking price for the Adria Twin campervan.”
They both looked back at the Adria Twin.
Mandy had to admit to herself that Tom Hutchinson’s VW campervan did look rather old and forlorn in comparison with the newer Adria Twin. Perhaps Ruarc’s assessment of its value, she thought privately, had not been so far from the mark.
Mandy noticed a young couple walking amongst the motor homes, obviously looking for somebody to help them.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, with a sigh. “Customers waiting.”
She laid her hand on his arm. It felt strong and full of muscle – not at all like a writer’s. She wanted to tell him that she wanted him to came back but could think of no words that would be appropriate. They hardly knew each other. He was just a customer.
“Mandy,” Tom Hutchinson said said. “I’ve really enjoyed our lunch together, not only because it was a chance to try out the Adria Twin camper van, but also because I feel I might have found a kindred spirit in you. Perhaps we could get together again some time, maybe for a walk and perhaps another picnic. My VW campervan might not be as impressive as the Adria Twin camper-van but it does have an awning and I’m sure I can dig up some more caviar vol-au-vents, if I try hard.”
“Tom,” said Mandy, gazing into his brown eyes. “I’m not sure if I have understood you correctly so I want to make sure. I have been hurt too much in recent years and am very fragile. I’m also very poor. Do you see that motorhome over there, the scruffy one. That is where I live and it comes with my job. I have almost nothing at all except the clothes I stand in, a few personal belongings stored in a rented garage in town and the small hope that there might be people out there that think I am worth something just for myself. If you are one of those, I would love to see you again – anytime you suggest – irrespective of selling you a motorhome.”
They stood facing each other. The bond that had quickly been growing between them suddenly seemed overpowering, yet their relationship was still bounded by the proprieties of customer and sales.
A plaintive voice of complaint came from across the grass where the young couple that needed service.
“Excuse me,” said Mandy, hurriedly. “I have to go.”
“I’ll telephone you,” Tom Hutchinson promised.
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze and turned on her heel.
As Mandy crossed the grass to help the young couple, she could see Ruarc’s son, Ralph, glaring at her from where he was standing in the shade of a motorhome. The glare spelt trouble.
