The Visitor - my first love

The Visitor – My one true love

I was seventeen when Daddy was posted to Cyprus on a short tour and thought it would be fun to take the family and it was there, I fell in love.

The first-time l met him he was just lying on a deck chair on the veranda. Who had brought him to our house I had no idea, but there he was, so l sat down and at first, he was a bit aloof, very literary, was clearly well travelled if not a little down at heal, but oh what style he had and what understanding. And so, l spent my first afternoon with him, it was the first of many.

I don’t think mother approved, she would say things like, “don’t you think he’s a little old for you sweetheart, or father knew him years ago, and don’t get carried away by these heroic types they are all self, self, self.”

How could I tell mother how I felt, he was worldly, sophisticated, but knew all about how it felt to be on an island so far home and friends, the loneliness of seventeen.

It wasn’t long of course, before we had clandestine evenings spent alone in my room with him, in my bed till dawn. I of course would keep it secret from mother, though I think she suspected, “you’re looking tired’ she would say” what were you up to last night?” looking right at Giles, leaning on the sideboard. Yes, he was my Giles; Giles Gormant, Adventurer, Soldier, Master Sailor. Oh, how I wanted to sail away with him.

Fathers posting to Cyprus was soon over and back to rainy Berkshire we all trod, and in all the rush, and packing I realised he had gone, quietly without any fuss. I looked for him everywhere but he had just stolen away and he took my heart with him.

How or where he went, I had no idea, there was no goodbye, which was so typical of his opportunistic spirit, for he would say “Never say goodbye my dear, for I’m sure we will meet again”.

I never stopped looking for him, not really. I never stopped loving him. Other men just didn’t match up to Giles. But a girl cannot live alone and Richard did have nice ears, so the years rolled by with marriage, children, weddings and I had almost forgotten about Giles.

Then one day in Oxford, l walked into a second-hand bookshop and there he was, just leaning on a bookcase; My heart stopped, after all these years, he looked just the same, sadly a little more worn with age, but in a way that said his travels had continued.

I remember that moment, that movement when I just reached out to touch him.

Gently lifting him from the shelf I felt again the silky smoothness of his pages, his musky smell again. I held him to my breast; Me, Giles Gormant and “A thousand journeys” where together again at last.