Free The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper by Phaedra Patrick

Miriam died was to the post office. He was seriously out of condition.
    There was a gap in the hedge and he stood and watched a bumblebee. Cows stood, placid and chewing. He admired a red tractor plowing the field. He set off again but there was a pile of bricks and a wire shopping basket in his way. This was the last straw. He couldn’t stand tugging the suitcase any longer. He picked it up and pushed it into the gap in the hedge, then rearranged the foliage back around it.
    Looking around he made a mental note of his location. He was opposite a road sign for a car trunk sale this Sunday and there was another sign that said Longsdale Farm 1 Mile. He would carry out his visit to Graystock and then pick up his case on the way back. It was made from sturdy nylon so a stay in the hedge should see it just fine.
    He was lighter and quicker now. It was usually Miriam who planned what to take on their trips. The house would become overrun with small piles of things—underwear, his shaving stuff, cookie two-packs and sun cream in every conceivable SPF. He doubted very much if she would be impressed by his stashing of his suitcase in a bush. However, he felt rather pleased with himself. He was being resourceful, making decisions and pushing on.
    Graystock was still a way away and he pressed onward, not stopping to admire the bursts of shepherd’s purse that sprung from beneath the hedges or the fields of yellow rapeseed. He refused a lift from a couple of attractive blonde girls who pulled up alongside him in their silver convertible, and also informed a tractor driver that, thanks for asking, but he wasn’t lost. People really were rather pleasant around here and he could forgive the bum-baring incident by the boys in the red car. The sun must have brought out their hijinks.
    When he finally got to the gates of Graystock Manor he was met with a peeling wooden sign. Most of the letters had fallen off. It said Welcome to Gray Man.
    They must have known I was coming , Arthur thought. Then he stared with dismay at the lengthy driveway that curved its way to the manor. He could see the building through the trees.
    Graystock had once been magnificent. It now had a decayed glamour like it should feature in a moody 1980s pop video. The Doric pillars flanking its huge front doors were crumbling. The stone was the color of the fluff picked up in Arthur’s Dyson vacuum. A few of the upstairs windows were broken.
    He stood with his hands on his hips for a while, aware that he was going to uncover another chapter of Miriam’s life. He didn’t know whether to feel excited or afraid.
    By now he really needed to use the loo. He looked around in the vague fantasy that a toilet block might suddenly sprout up from nowhere. His only option was to find a bush. Hoping that no tourists were around to see him, he headed into the undergrowth and did a wee. A gray squirrel bounded over, took a quick glance at him and then ran up a tree. It sat on a branch, its whiskers twitching as he finished up. Thankfully he had a handy packet of wet wipes in his pocket and he cleaned his hands before carrying on his journey.
    His breath came in short wheezes as he trekked toward the hall. Why hadn’t he accepted Bernadette’s offer of a lift? He could be a stubborn old git at times.
    The manor was surrounded by tall black iron railings. The double gates were secured by a heavy brass padlock. Arthur pressed his face to the railings and peered through. The doors to the hall were shut. Why he had imagined he could simply stroll up to the manor and ring a doorbell he didn’t know. His feet were sore and the wet wipe had made his hands sticky.
    He stood there for at least ten minutes, feeling useless and not sure what his next move might be. But then he saw movement—a flash of blue behind the rosebushes in the gardens. Lord Graystock. Arthur stood on his tiptoes. The shape moved out of the bushes. The lord wore electric blue slacks