Tell My Sorrows to the Stones
“Mrs. Pickthall—Helen—never made that mistake. As soon as December came round it was off to Ibiza on the coast of Spain. The children were grown but often visited her there with their own urchins, and she had acquired friends as she did antiques, populating the winter residence with both. James Pickthall joined his wife in Ibiza for at least two weeks of every winter month; as little as he could manage without her pique evolving into fury.
Despite the desolation of his ancestral home during ...the coldest months, Mr. Pickthall relished the days and weeks he spent there, alone save for the staff, who knew by intuition that he preferred them to be as ghosts when the Missus was away. They flitted like shades from room to room, laying a fire, setting out his meals, turning down the bed, but tried to keep clear of him at all other times.
They haunted the estate, but only as the most helpful of spirits.
Mr. Pickthall knew that he could have retired by now, passed control of the Norwich Rail Company to his son, Martin.MoreLess
Despite the desolation of his ancestral home during ...the coldest months, Mr. Pickthall relished the days and weeks he spent there, alone save for the staff, who knew by intuition that he preferred them to be as ghosts when the Missus was away. They flitted like shades from room to room, laying a fire, setting out his meals, turning down the bed, but tried to keep clear of him at all other times.
They haunted the estate, but only as the most helpful of spirits.
Mr. Pickthall knew that he could have retired by now, passed control of the Norwich Rail Company to his son, Martin.MoreLess
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