Starburst by Robin Pilcher

gardening gloves. “How forgetful of me.” He cast an eye over his earth-smudged corduroys and ragged home-knit jersey. “Do you think I should change my clothes before I see him? I do look rather scruffy.”
    “I don’t think he’ll mind. He seems very nice.”
    Leonard smiled at his wife. “That sounds like Nick. He always was a charmer with the ladies.”
    Putting a hand on her elbow, he guided her back towards the house, not relinquishing his hold until she had negotiated the step back into the kitchen. “Where is he, then?”
    “In the front room,” she replied, licking her thumb and rubbing away the streak of dirt from his forehead. She caringly ran her hand either side of his straggling grey hair to make him look slightly more presentable. “You go through and see him, but take a raincoat or something from the coat stand in the hall and put it on the chair before you sit down. I’ve just had those loose covers dry-cleaned and I don’t want you making them all dirty again. I’ll bring through coffee and biscuits in a moment.”
    Using the aluminium ledge of the sliding door to pull off the rubber gardening shoes, Leonard then pushed his feet into a pair of bedroom slippers that lay in wait for him and shuffled through to the hall, unhooking a sleeveless quilted jacket off the coat stand as he passed by. He opened the door of the sitting room and entered. Nick Springer turned from the mantelpiece where he had been studying the photographs spread along its length.
    “Leonard!” he shouted out enthusiastically, approaching the elderly man with his hand outstretched. “How wonderful to see you!”
    Leonard winced a smile as he felt the grip send an arthritic jolt up his arm. “Nice to see you too, Nick. What a real surprise.” He walked over to the sofa and spread out the jacket on the pale blue loose cover. “You’ll have to forgive my appearance. I’m afraid it had completely slipped my mind that you were coming, hence the reason you find me in my gardening clothes.”
    “I hope this hasn’t inconvenienced you, then.”
    “Not at all,” Leonard replied, waving a hand towards an armchair as an indication for Nick to take a seat before he lowered himself slowly onto the sofa. “It’s very rare that I see anyone from the old days in the film industry.”
    Nick gave a sharp pull at the creases of his navy blue suit trousers before sitting down in the armchair. “It’s been a long time. I was just working it out while I was driving down here, and I reckon it’s all of twenty-eight years.”
    “Really? That long?” Leonard shook his head slowly. “Oh, well, time stops for no man, as they say.” He observed the younger man as he brushed a hand across his thick dark hair, noticing now that there were traces of grey showing above each ear. His recollection of Nick was that he had been one of his better camera assistants, a quick learner with a good sense of humour, an essential when one had to spend so much time in each other’s company, both traveling and on location. However, he had always felt that Nick had an arrogant streak in him, and it seemed to show now more with age in the narrow set of his eyes, the determined jaw and the slide of his mouth when he talked. Whatever he had done with his life, Leonard could tell that he had accomplished it with some success. “So, are you still behind the camera?” he asked.
    Nick shook his head. “No, I run my own production company now. I did operate camera for a time with Gerry Mansell. You’ll remember him, of course?”
    “Most certainly I do. We joined Pathé News together many moons ago. Gerry became a particularly gifted lighting cameraman and he and the director Doug Standing formed a most successful partnership. I remember on the film The Man From Syracuse, he shot a number of scenes with very little use of a key light. It was both a brave and brilliant concept and the effect was quite staggering.” Leonard chuckled. “I tried it out