The Widower

John woke up early, the dawn light creeping into the living room. He'd forgotten to close the curtains. Not that he slept all that well right now.

Yawning, he stumbled into the kitchen. Where would the coffee be? It was wryly amusing. It had been years since he had bumbled around a strangers place, looking for mugs and coffee. He found both, then successfully managed to get the kettle working.

He looked out of the window above the sink, seeing the path leading down the well kept garden, hemmed in on all sides by a dry stone wall. There was a shed half way down, which bore all the hallmarks of it containing all the necessary equipment to maintain the garden. At the far end, a larger building, garage sized. He could see the lock on the door. The path carried on to the wall at the far end, a small gate granting access to a continuation of the path, out onto the moor.

The kettle whistling interrupted his gazing, and he went at making the coffee. Once done, he went back to the living room, grabbing both his phone and the laptop bag, before he settled again at the table in the kitchen.

There was a message on his phone, from the estate agents. 'Please call at your earliest convenience' He checked the time. 7am, a little early even for a small country estate agent. He'd call in a couple of hours.

He reached instead for the laptop bag, opening it up and pulling out the legal envelope that Lesley had given him. He paused. This was a place she had wanted to bring him to, but never managed, a place all of her own. But she had given him the keys, told him to spend some time living here.

He opened the envelope, pulling out a sheet of paper covered in her spidery handwriting, and two other envelopes. One of the envelopes felt like it contained a key. He put the two envelopes aside, and started reading

'My Dearest Love,

If you are reading this letter, I already know that you're sat in my cottage on Dartmoor. You're far too honest and straight to have cheated and disobeyed my instructions. It's one reason I loved you and married you.

As you know, Cornwall is where I grew up, and where I learned to run...'

John smiled at this. Running was Lesley's one obsession. She ran six days a week, running half marathon distances on both Saturday and Sunday. He could tell when she had had a good run, as she'd come straight into the bedroom, exhausted and dripping sweat, and they'd fuck, Lesley soaking the sheets with her sweat and the copious amounts of her juices that such a session would release.

'... When I started running, I had raw ability. It's at a facility around here that I learned discipline in running. The facility... has unusual training methods, but for a teenager, and then as a University student, it gave me what I needed. When I left Uni, I knew that I couldn't train the same way in London, so I bought this place, and would come down here when I needed to, when I needed the discipline again. I also loved running the moors, and as this area is so quiet and isolated, I often ran them in less athletic gear than Hampstead Heath would accept...

'The envelope with the key is for the building by the gate out back. I set this up as my personal 'pain cave', where I could run on a treadmill if the weather was foul, and where I would prep myself for runs across the moors. Once you're ready, open it up, and take a look. It's certainly going to create more questions, but only after you've seen the pain cave should you open up the final envelope.

I'm sorry my love, I always wanted to bring you here and show you this, but I could never find the courage to do so. Forgive me, John, and remember, that so much of what you loved about me sprang from here.

Lesley.'

John sat back, uncertain what to make of the letter. An athletic training facility with unorthodox methods? He didn't really follow athletics, but he was pretty certain that athletes would do what ever they could to get an edge. Lesley made no secret that she had run for her University team. Hell, the athlete's body is what he noticed about her first, the thin build, small high breasts, the way the muscles moved beneath her skin. He thought about what she had said about running the moors, and his mind conjured up an image of her, naked as the day she was born, striding along paths across the granite. An image that pulled at his heart, but also made him smile.

He picked up the envelope with the key. He could go take a look now, could see what was hidden in there,... No. He needed to get himself situated in her. He needed to unpack, shower, eat... There'd be time later in the day.