It was a moment of regret, an ellipsis of self-awareness. Jeremy Ford saw himself then as an ageing man with a wine gut who might as well have been wearing a Victorian morning suit and a white waistcoat, an anachronism whose absurdity was exceeded only by that of his own reflection in the glass of the French doors. He stepped onto the veranda and lit a cigarette. The garden was shrouded in mist but he could still make out the dark, tangled mass of neglected roses halfway up the lawn, all dead heads and thorns. He shuddered and took a long drag.
He had started the business thirty years ago, in 1974. He had wanted to become the biggest logistics operator in the country for no particular reason other than it seeming fun at the time. He was always pushing for more and took pride in having a competitive nature. His two sons had never been interested in the company and this had been a disappointment to him. They were both were married now with children of their own.
He was thinking. Of course they should visit more often. For their mother’s sake. Why don’t they? We have plenty of room. And a large garden for the children.
He knew the answer but in his mind he was defending himself. Time was always passing.
The guests would be arriving soon. Another dinner party. Recycled anecdotes and hard-baked opinions pouring freely like sour wine. His wife was a good cook. He could hear her voice now, she was calling from the kitchen.
“Darling, they’ll be here any minute. Could you be in charge of the drinks?”
He finished smoking, painstakingly stubbing out the cigarette end in the ashtray before turning to go inside. His reflection followed him, like a spectre. After all these years he still kept working; it was his way of life. People in the same industry liked him and he considered them his friends. They would parrot the same opinions to each other over dinner. And he played golf with some of them, often enjoying a few drinks in the bar afterwards.
He was thinking about the drinks now. We should have cocktails first. We’ll make it an evening to remember.
But as he picked up the first bottle he knew. There was nothing behind him but words.