Shadow Box of Dreams Part 4 ...Pursuing a Blythe Spirit
Stella is my real estate agent and a possible paramour, to use an old fashioned word.
The term implies an illicit partner of a married person, and although Ari and I are separated and well on our way to being divorced, she and Stella are best friends.
Thus, there would be an element of betrayal I suppose, presuming I were romantically interested in Stella, which I'm not.
That's not to say I don't find the girl attractive—I do, but she's cut from the same cloth as Ari—an ambitious career woman, and frankly, that style no longer interests me.
I'm looking for enchantment.
Stella is not unaware of my feelings and seems to key into my attempts to distance myself from her, but she takes it in stride and doesn't seem to bear a grudge.
But ironically, during our morning quest for the perfect home, the weather changes and the incessant rain turns to wet snow.
Are the gods voicing approval or displeasure at the chilly atmosphere between Stella and me?
Only time will tell.
We pull up in front of a huge Arts and Crafts style house with an imposing façade. It’s an unusual design in that the front gable extends high over the roof—a device used in medieval times to prevent winds from lifting roof tiles.
I whistle softly. “This is impressive.”
“Wait until you see the gardens, Theo—the grounds back onto a ravine—it’s really lovely. I think this house has the kind of character you’ve been looking for.”
I’m thinking the same thing. I keep staring at the triple chimney stacks that tower high above the slate roof. It certainly does have character.
She takes me on a tour of the house and grounds and it’s everything I’ve been hoping for.
Inside its walls, I feel peaceful and serene. It seems time itself stands still here, locking in the ambiance of the Thirties, and shutting out the harsh world outside.
It’s magnificent.
“The house has an interesting provenance,” she remarks casually as we return to the car.
I’m so enthralled with the property that I’m barely listening. I stop to look back and admire it again. The snow showers have just ended and the slate roof tiles are shining in the sun.
“What kind of provenance?” I ask off-handedly.
“It was owned by Blythe Summers – the poet – she lived here from 1921 until her death in 1975. Have you heard of her?”
I'm taken aback by the question. I have heard of Blythe. We have a history of sorts, but I'm not telling Stella.
That’s why Stella’s casual revelation shakes me. She has no way of knowing about my passion for the beautiful deceased poetess.
“Blythe Summers? You’ve got to be kidding,” I say casually, feigning nonchalance.
I think I'm outwardly calm, but Stella doesn’t miss much and can tell I’m excited.
“What’s going on, Theo? You act as if you knew her, but surely you’re much too young for that.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It just so happens she’s one of my favourite poets. Besides, I’m interested in the house.”
Her face lights up. “You are?”
“I am,” I smile.
We put in an offer that afternoon and by evening the house is mine.
