ANTICIPATION CAN manifest itself in various ways, the most pleasant being the gleeful rubbing of hands, for this usually signalled the anticipation of some agreeable event. Such as a generous repast of cheese and crackers washed down with a rich and satisfying tea.
Madam Wishful had laid her best cloth upon the hexagonal table, in spite of the fact it draped unkindly for the form of the one lent no consideration to the function of the other. Even the pattern tended to create conflict. Yet this was the nature of things and a blessed lesson not to be ignored.
Upon this clean and bright surface of half-seen and half-hidden floral sprays, plates of matching crockery now gleamed in the window light and soft brown crackers were laid in floral sprays of their own, crunchy petals open to the sun of anticipated hunger. A tray of even softer mellow cheeses were arrayed in the centre, the pride of place for the display of the glory that was Poldorama. Milk made solid and fragrant.
Next to this grand spread a silver tea table stood, upon which a simmering pot and delicate cups and saucers clustered in happy company and a jug of milk lent a coolness to the steaming atmosphere.
Madam Wishful rubbed her hands gleefully as she awaited the return of her sole tenant and smiled inwardly at the pleasure he would have at seeing such a welcome repast.
Toil Hannen had been renting rooms at the Comfy Haven for only five years but already Madam Wishful felt he was like one of the family. This was partly due to the fact she was a widow of too long standing and in possession of no known relatives that she could bring to mind. Remarrying was in her blood as much as refinancing among those curious folks in the mortgaging business. She felt akin to those people in a slightly vague but pleasing way and she rubbed her hands together again, for the sound of the bell in the hallway told her the solitary gentleman at the Haven had returned from his pilgrimage to the Blessed Hub.
Her pleasant anticipation was marred for he seemed out of sorts as he entered the parlour and almost upset the tea trolley in his haste to be rid of whatever demon pursued him just then.
Madam Wishful had often noted her guest seemed possessed of some inner turmoil and felt it her life's work to soothe his troubles and rest his soul.
'Madam, forgive me,' he said in a gruff voice. 'I have no time for thirst for a matter of numerical perplexity has assailed me.'
He stood there, gazing at the display of six different cheeses, the soft brown crackers, and Madam Wishful in her most colourful and clinging frock with hands gesturing towards the consumables before her. Eyes glistened and curls quivered and Toil Hannen sought within himself to make time to solve perplexities. The brain needed food for calculations. A chair scraped upon wooden tiles and a body slumped heavily upon strangely stuffed cushions that creaked in response.
'We are at leisure, even in the most trying of times,' the lady of the house opined supinely and without awaiting a response, poured two cups of tea in quick succession as a cheese knife with its curving end was grasped by the man opposite.
'You are as ever wisdom in human form,' he said gallantly as crackers clattered onto his plate and cheese slices softly tumbled among them to create a medley of taste followed by a symphony of sound as the repast was devoured.
'One might be busy, and yet relaxed,' the widow pursued her theme as she too took a cracker and dipped it in the steaming tea before nibbling a softened corner while watching her guest consume whole wedges of dairy and wheat products with mumblings of appreciation.
When rumours abounded in some circles that time was running out for the world as a whole, keeping the shadows at bay was a tricky business. It was all about how you appeased the fates. A good feed was essential. Along with a generous sacrifice.