Charis by Mary Francis

with
several chairs. It backed onto a sectional sofa which was facing the back wall
where the television was placed between two sets of french windows that opened
onto a small back garden. A large stone fireplace with a wood burning stove was
on the wall opposite to the staircase. Between the chimney breast and the
kitchen was an oak Welsh dresser and on the other side of the fireplace, floor
to ceiling shelves which housed Charis' DVDs, and few photos and lots of books
– next to her passion for music came her love of reading - with a comfortable
armchair diagonally in front, facing into the room.
    The floor was fieldstone in shades of dark cream and light browns
and a carpet in different tones of beige lay in the sitting area. There was an
oak coffee table in front of the curved sectional sofa; a soft beige with
turquoise, green and blue cushions scattered on it. The walls were painted cream.
The whole room looked restful, warm and inviting. Beyond the staircase he saw
her desk and computer and next to it a door leading into a utility area. From there
a door led out to the back garden, another door into the garage at the front of
the house. Ben saw a wall of laundry appliances, a downstairs WC and a walk-in
storage room complete with a large upright and well stocked freezer and lots of
shelves. He opened the door that led into the garage that was as good as empty
and large enough for the car he wanted to buy. He suggested to her that they buy
one when they’d returned to London. He rather fancied a Jaguar XF, a luxury
sports car. He liked its understated elegance. Ben asked her what she thought.
Charis didn't mind what they had, but she preferred it in dark blue or green. 
    He climbed the stairs, covered in soft beige carpet, and stood in
awe of the incredible room he was in. Open to the stairway was the room Charis
called her sitting and music room. It was divided into two sections. He stood
facing an elegant open fireplace. On the back wall another pair of french
windows opened onto a small black wrought iron juliet balcony. A large sofa
faced the fireplace with a comfortable arm chair either side and ivory display
cabinets each side of the chimney breast. The whole room was done in shades of
cream, splashes of colour coming from lovely accessories placed tastefully
around the room and the burgundy and dusty rose coloured curtains and cushions
on the sofa and chairs.
    But what took his breath away was the picture above the mantelpiece.
It was a painting of a little girl, maybe two or three years old. She was
sitting in a field of grass engrossed in making a daisy chain. There was already
a daisy chain in her deep golden curls and a look of concentration on her
sweet, pretty face. Charis! Charis when she was a little girl in her
happy times with her father. He thought it was the most charming and sweetest
picture he had ever seen.
    “Are you still there?” he heard her ask.
    “That picture – is it you?” he eventually managed to ask.
    “Yes,” she said. “Do you like it?”
    “I love it.” He was quiet for a moment and then added, “If we have
children they must all be girls and look just like their mother.”
    “And some boys who are just like their father,” she replied.
    He laughed and it broke the spell the picture had cast on him.
    The front third of the room was dominated by the impressive grand
piano. One wall was covered entirely with shelves, filled with books, sheet
music and photos. He saw a full set of her father's books, a photograph of her
parents at their wedding, one of her mother, and he could see the likeness to
Charis. Her mother's hair was lighter than Charis', her eyes not quite such a
deep blue.  She was undoubtedly beautiful but not as lovely as Charis. In the
middle of the wall was another large picture. About half way up the wall a few
shelves were missing, in their place this photograph of a wonderful house
nestled in its surroundings and looking as though it had been there