Carefully the kindling was sorted then arranged to supply the best fire, then fresh water delivered to the blacken kettle. You will take tea, won’t you Micheal. It would be my pleasure Marfa. Then a special blend of fragrant black tea’s was mixed, and lemons sliced.
Whilst Marfa carefully prepared our tea, my eyes wandered around the familiar room. Only the two golden Russian jardinieres by Karl Faberge remained on display to illustrate her true identity. As usual the tea was fragrance itself. Once I did know the secret of its blend, but time dulls the memory.
Word count 100.
The name used is fictional to hide the true identity of a lovely individual, sadly no longer alive. At the time that I met this lady she was in her late nineties, whilst I was a young community nurse.