September 15th, 2003


Most people are not enigmatic. Certainly most men are not enigmatic. They may be difficult to understand, but this is due to a difference in communication styles--or, to be precise, the fact that so many men choose not to communicate at all. Not about the important things.

Peter Fox is an enigma to me.

Not that he isn't an effective communicator--or at least, an entertaining one--but it's harder to read between his lines.

I will say it was a great relief to me that he seemed to take it for granted that we would not be living together during this...well, whatever it is. Trial period? At least I think it was a relief. I've occasionally wondered during the past week or so if he recollects why exactly I've chosen to extend my stay. Anyway, he has arranged it so that I spent the last few days moving into the Gardener's Cottage at Renfrew Hall on the outskirts of the village.

The hall used to be a vicarge. It's owned by Sally Smithwick, a lovely woman in her sixties, recently widowed, and raising her two grandchildren. There seems to be some mystery about the children's parents. The kids are adorable and remind me of Faith and Emily. (I'm already missing them.) During the tourist season Sally runs the hall as a bed and breakfast, but no one is staying with her at the moment.

The cottage is set in the back of the very large garden. It's small but charming. Pink stone with red and white trim around the windows and a carved wooden heart on the rounded front door. It somehow reminds me of an old-fashioned valentine. It has one large main room and a small kitchen annex with an excellent Aga stove. (Perhaps I'll finally have the opportunity to do some real cooking.) The bath is about what you would expect of English plumbing, and I have a feeling I'm going to be wearing a great deal of silk and wool this winter. But it is charming. A wonderful old apple tree shades the roof, and the scent of apple-blossoms is like wine in the autumn air. A pair of doves seem to live beneath the eaves.

It didn't take me long to settle in. I was fixing myself tea when Sally came by with an armload of paisley quilts and a basket of newly baked cheese and apple tartlets. They were delicious--unlike anything I'd had before. I asked for the recipe, of course! If nothing else, I'll have quite a collection of recipes (and possibly an expanded waistline) to show for my stay.

CHEESE AND APPLE TARTLETS


2 cups All-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup unsalted butter (cut in small pieces)
5 tablespoons ice water

Filling:
1 & 1/4 pounds of peeled, cored and chopped apples
8 teaspoons of sugar
1/2 cup of shredded cheddar cheese

Combine flour and salt in large bowl. With a pastry blender
or 2 knives cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse meal.
Gradually sprinkle with ice water, tossing with a fork until all is
moistened. Gather dough into a ball. Divide dough in half. Form
each ball into a square. Wrap and refrigerate 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Cut each dough square in
quarters. On lightly floured surface, roll out each pastry piece to a
5-inch circle. Press pastry rounds into 4-inch tartlet pans. Trim
edge. Set pans on baking sheet. Spoon chopped apples evenly in
pastry shells. Sprinkle each with 1 ts sugar. Bake at 425 degrees F
for 20 minutes until pastry is lightly browned and apple is tender.
Remove from oven. Sprinkle each tartlet with 2 ts cheese. Bake at
425 degrees F for 5 minutes until cheese is golden brown. Serve hot
or cold.


When Sally left the cottage seemed very quiet. The breeze drifting in the windows was suddenly cool, and there was the faintest scent of woodsmoke in the air. I examined the quilts--they're really lovely. Faded print linings--but they're filled with wool, I think. I pictured myself cozily wrapped in one reading beside my new little fireplace. They smell very faintly of lavender and summer.

Comfort me with cottage quilts and apples!