Thank You & Goodnight

To my six readers….

Thank you for your concerned emails and for worrying about me I’ve been away in America for the last several weeks visiting family and old friends. Oh yes, and drinking. A LOT. Hence, no blogging for all the hangovers and mornings after and wishing I were dead.

I’m back in my own little cottage now with Lucy the cat and all is well.

Well, almost well.

I came home to find something shoved under the door on a red envelope which looked as if it had been trampled by not only the postman but a passing lorry as well. I only noticed the red envelope, which was suspiciously card shaped, because I had to pick up the load of newspapers (never retrieved by my supposed house sitter) so I could get over the threshold.

Also very odd were the flowers on my table which could not have been there for longer than a day or two considering the water level in the vase. A vase, by the way, which was given to me by the Tattooed Man on an occasion in France when I spied it in a lovely shoppe and complained how overpriced it was. Secretly he purchased the vase for me the next day and quietly stowed in my luggage. When we returned home, I was so pleased to find it. It was the sweetest thing any man had ever done for me and I was surprised by him. So few people surprise me anymore.

Back to the flowers.

The vase was put away someplace where I would not have to see it so how it was retrieved from it’s secret hiding place of which only I knew, is a mystery.

I opened the card. It was from the Tattooed Man. He wanted to wish me a Happy Crimbo and hoped I would enjoy the posies but especially the tiger lillies left by the bed.

After ringing a locksmith to immediately have the  locks changed and the windows further secured, I couldn’t imagine how he found out where I moved to. I’ve been very careful not to leave tracks of any sort for him to sniff out. Even more so, I can’t figure out how he got into my house. After thinking about this  for some time I am partial to think that he must have been parked outside waiting for me when instead, the house sitter turned up. Since I’ve not been able to get the house sitter on the phone since my return, I am left to think that either T.M. was let into the house or he gave house sitter the flowers to place on my table and bedside. The card must have been an afterthought. He was always forgetful.

So the task set before me now is to sit myself down and write him a letter asking to stop contacting me or shall I have to pursue legal recourse. It would be one thing to just shove a note under my door but the possibility that he has been in my house, my safe haven of which I was driven to move into due to him, is too much to ignore.

The locksmith arrived the next day and all locks have been changed and additional security measures procured.

Meanwhile, I spotted his car passing on the lane just this morning.