Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

he was a man. And men couldn’t be trusted. Not with her things. And, in fact, not at all.

She’d cancel. Amy went back to the hallway and pulled the vacuum cleaner along behind her to the kitchen, where with no little effort she was able to squeeze it back into the cupboard. It had been a foolish idea to try to clean, and she was lucky the only casualty was the withered honeysuckle. Amy made her way to the front door, looking regretfully at the empty stems poking out from her bottles. She opened the door to go to tell Richard she’d changed her mind.

‘I was just about to press your bell,’ said Richard, smiling at her. ‘Let’s go memory-box hunting.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Amy. ‘Something has come up.’

‘I know it’s hard,’ said Richard. ‘Letting people in. But I can help.’

‘No,’ insisted Amy. ‘It’s . . . ’ She paused, searching the recesses of her mind for an excuse. None came.

‘I won’t come in if you don’t want me to,’ said Richard. ‘But a fresh pair of eyes could really help you find this box you’re looking for.’ He smiled at her. ‘Let me help.’

Amy took a deep breath. She did want to find that box, and she’d had no luck alone. After all, she’d even vacuumed.

‘OK,’ she said, opening the door and stepping to one side before she could change her mind. ‘Come in.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ said Richard. His eyes, pupils dilated and slightly glazed, said otherwise as he peered up the staircase. This wasn’t even the worst of it.

‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,’ said Amy. She was still feeling angry at Liam, and was trying not to take it out on Richard.

‘No, I’m here. Let’s do it.’ Richard looked again at her staircase. ‘How do you get up there?’

‘I have a technique,’ said Amy. ‘Here, let me show you.’ She plotted her special route up the stairs, making liberal use of the banisters when she had to skip a step.

Richard hesitated for a moment then followed. ‘It’s like that climbing frame in the park,’ he said. ‘Charles would like it.’

‘The boys can’t come in,’ said Amy, quickly. ‘They might break something.’ She paused at the top of the stairs, then watched Richard ascending. ‘Miss that step,’ she said, seeing him doubting his route. ‘And swing your leg over that box. That’s right.’

‘No wonder you were so quick up that tree,’ said Richard, struggling. ‘Plenty of practice. OK, I’m here.’

‘The spare room is this way.’ They edged past boxes, avoiding the mirrors that leaned on them. ‘Ouch,’ said Richard, banging his head on a protruding cookbook and almost knocking over a tower of mugs. ‘What was that?’ he exclaimed, as something crunched underfoot.

‘Be careful of the cigarette lighters,’ said Amy. ‘And the key rings.’

‘I thought it was a cockroach,’ said Richard. ‘And I didn’t know you smoked?’

‘I don’t,’ said Amy.

Richard was silent as she opened the door to the spare room.

She’d carved a path to the wardrobe, which she slid through and waved at him to follow. He stood still.

‘In there?’ he queried. ‘It looks pretty treacherous.’

‘Just be careful,’ said Amy. ‘Don’t knock into anything and you’ll be fine.’

‘OK,’ said Richard. He stepped forwards, placing his feet down tentatively as if trying to avoid hot coals. ‘If you say so.’

‘Here,’ said Amy. ‘I’ve made a clearing just here. I think it must be in one of the boxes in the wardrobe, or near it. It’s where . . . ’ She paused. ‘Where I kept stuff at the beginning.’

‘OK,’ said Richard again, his back bending in an exaggerated fashion.

‘There’s no need to stoop,’ said Amy, feeling judgement in the way he carried his shoulders. ‘You’re not in a cave.’

‘So what’s in the boxes?’ asked Richard, standing a little straighter but still looking as if he expected an avalanche.

‘I’m not getting rid of stuff,’ said Amy.

‘That’s not what I said,’ replied Richard. Amy watched him examine the pile next to him. Boxes, interspersed with stacks of mirrors that she didn’t have room to display. A few cookery books slotted in between like cement. One poked out further than the others and Amy had adorned it with a rather fetching kingfisher, proudly clutching a small fish in its beak. Probably a minnow or a sardine. ‘Is that one of the birds you were talking about?’ he asked. ‘When we first met?’

‘Of course,’ said Amy. ‘I mainly keep them in the living room, but some have fluttered up here.’

‘I thought you meant real birds,’ replied Richard, staring at the kingfisher.

‘Are you helping or not?’ said Amy. ‘Here, I’ll pass you things and you can put them out of the way.’

‘Where out of the way?’ he asked.

‘My bed is clear,’ she said. ‘It’s the next door along.’ She handed him a stack of books and opened up a box. He inched his way out.

The box mainly contained ashtrays. Amy smiled at one near the top. It featured an elephant lying on its back, holding the tray over its tummy and peering up. The next one was so different, cut crystal that even when dusty and in the dark room caught the light and reflected it back as rainbows. Gorgeous.

But no shoebox. She passed the box to Richard, warning him to take care with it. He glanced inside and then hoisted it under his arm. Amy tensed as she heard the ashtrays clink against one another. Elephant on crystal. She moved on to the next box, and resisted the urge to check the time on each clock. They’d all stopped ticking as they ran out of battery, and she liked to see at what moment each had chosen to pause indefinitely. One, a classic carriage clock set into a mahogany frame, came back to life and ticked at her, but she realised it was just a twitch from being moved.

No shoebox. Amy continued, starting to enjoy herself. Richard stood watching as she went through the boxes, waiting to carry each to the