Her eyes were bright, and emphasised by her subtle eyeliner and mascara. She had a carrier bag in her hand."Wow, Auntie -- you look -- lovely," I said...fumblingly. I knew that I was blushing.She smiled."Thanks, love. You look good in that black shirt -- if I was twenty years younger I'd say you looked hot, in fact! Anyway -- shall we go?" Yes, Auntie, fine."She picked up another bag she had filled earlier with some party snack foodstuff but only a couple of cartons of fresh fruit juice. I. That’s why I’m here.”She grinned knowingly and then began her lecture on Sylvia Plath. It all flew over Claude’s head as a flock of doves would. He could not arrest his fascination with her beauty: the beauty of her face when her cheeks flushed, or when she talked of love’s agony, love’s tender betrayals, love’s surprises, love’s enchantments, and finally love’s loss, and through it all he couldn’t find any other word than “love” to suit what he felt at the time for her. He could have listened. More

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