New Horizons

John had got used to living in his little cottage down the lane. He had taken on the look of a country recluse: long hair and a bushy beard, cord trousers and an old tweed jacket.

In the seven years since he had lost his job and most of his money he had had time to reflect on his bad behaviour. It was one thing to take risks with his own investments, and he had made a lot of money by what was in effect gambling. But it was another matter, as a financial adviser, to advise his clients to do the same sort of thing.

So he had been sued by a group of his clients for malpractice, lost the case, had had to compensate them for their loss and also had to pay all the considerable legal fees.

Apart from the small amount of money he had used to buy the cottage, he had
managed to hang on to some of his self-employed pension fund, but the pension he was able to draw from it was small. He looked forward to being able to draw the state pension.

So he had to lead a very simple life, doing the things which didn’t cost money. His days consisted of watching television, walking up and down the narrow lanes around his house and reading books borrowed from the local public library after he had finished doing his weekly shopping in his ancient and unreliable car. He regretted that he had not been able to afford to replace his computer when it broke down a year ago, as he had spent most of his spare time on Google.

He saw no way of altering his way of life. He had been barred from practising as a financial adviser. At heart, although he had fought the case against him, he knew he had—and he had always used the word, but only to himself—“sinned”. But in spite of that he dreamed that somehow he could resume his former lifestyle, or at least something better than a little cottage down a muddy lane. He reckoned his only hope was to win the lottery, but he knew as he laid out £2 each week at the Indian newsagents next door to the library that his chances of winning were infinitesimal.

“But someone has to win!” he kept on saying to himself.

When the news came one day that he had won £5 million he could hardly believe it. He felt guilty. Why him, and why so much? He did not deserve it. He sat in his small sitting room looking at the daffodils he had just picked from his garden. They looked very golden in the sunlight. Well, £5 million these days would not buy the sort of penthouse he used to own in Mayfair, but it certainly opened up new horizons.

His thoughts were still jumbled, but he could certainly buy himself a new car and a better house. And of course he could travel a bit—or maybe a lot. Now that he didn’t have to worry any more about the cost of petrol, the next day he drove into the town and spoke to the travel agents there. He thought a short trip of a few days would be right to start with: business-class flight and a four-star hotel. He settled on Vienna, departing in a week’s time. He had been there once ages ago with a rather nice blonde girl who worked in his office. The relationship had never developed, but he still had happy memories. Those were the days! And his passport had not run out yet; he had been expecting not to renew it.

He became rather excited about the prospect of the trip and how wonderful it would be to board a plane again and stay in a hotel. He bought two new shirts, a tie, new trousers, a casual jacket and a smart anorak. His old business shoes were still presentable, as he never wore them.

But then as he walked down the lanes two days before he was due to leave he realised there would be a gap in the nature diary he was keeping. He had started it after he’d been at the cottage for about two years and had come across a book in the public library by Gilbert White called The Natural History of Selborne, which had given him the idea of keeping a diary of what was happening to the plants, trees and wildlife day by day and year by year. And as time went on he had begun to compare the dates on which the first primrose had come out and when the first hazel catkins had appeared and the difference between the first leaves on the oak and the ash trees. “Oak before ash and you’ll get just a splash. Ash before oak and you’ll get a soak”—he remembered the old rhyme. Or had he got it wrong—because somehow it often didn’t seem to be correct.

He had had little time to think about the natural world while he was trying hard for all those years to become rich. But now he became fascinated by it all and often discussed his findings with his only near neighbour, Jim Hedges, who had the farm down the way and always seemed to have time to stop and have a chat. Jim kept a few sheep, but was mainly an arable farmer. Three years ago John had remarked that the lambs were earlier than usual and was it because of the mild weather? Jim had looked at him unbelievingly and replied with typical rural directness:

“No, you fool, it’s when you put the ram in with the ewes.”

And John had gone away and thought, oh dear, how ignorant he really was. He had always thought he was so very clever.

The day he was due to leave for Vienna he walked round his garden and looked at the daffodils and hoped that some of them would still be out when he came back. He wanted to take a photo of them, but he had sold his expensive camera. He must buy a new mobile phone; one that took pictures. His mobile was out of date and he only used it for emergencies. Then there was a hooting in the lane and he realised his taxi had arrived to take him to the airport. He picked up his new case and almost had a pang of regret as he locked the front door and put the key in his pocket.

He suddenly felt anxious. He hadn’t been away from home for such a long time! It was quite a long ride to the airport. But it was nice to look at the early spring countryside.

The airport seemed much busier than when he’d last flown. He supposed it must be because of all the cheap budget airlines he’d read about. He made his way to the business-class lounge and had another read through the guide book to Vienna. There was so much to see and do. The girl he’d gone with the last time was not very interested in the art galleries or the churches. She just wanted to see the famous prancing horses and go for rides in the horse-drawn carriages.

He ordered a large gin and tonic, something he’d not been able to afford for ages, and began to feel really quite happy. It would be wonderful to have a hotel breakfast every morning and eat out at restaurants. Those wiener schnitzels he remembered were delicious!

He felt elated at boarding a plane again.

He put his case in the overhead locker and settled himself in the aisle seat he had booked in the second row at the front of the aircraft and started to flick through the copy of Country Life he had bought at the book stall. There were some really nice houses advertised at about £1 million.

Then he realised that the crew were about the close the doors and remembered it was always a slightly tense time. People started coughing. The man next to him turned over three pages of the Financial Times in quick succession, accompanied by wafts of his expensive aftershave. The air hostess by the door was smiling at him sweetly and he was glad that he had had his hair cut shorter and his beard trimmed. But there was a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach and his legs seemed to have gone numb.

It was no good, he had to get out of the plane!

Although his legs did not seem to belong to him, he undid his seatbelt and forced himself to stand up. He just managed to push past the smiling air hostess as she went to shut the door.

“Changed my mind!” he shouted to her over his shoulder as he ran down the boarding tunnel.

Difficulties with barriers and officials overcome, he at last stood outside the building in a cool breeze and realised he was sweating and the hand that was still holding Country Life was shaking. He must have had what people called a panic attack.

Eventually, he was unlocking his front door. Of course the daffodils were still out. He would have liked to have a hot bath, but there was no hot water. He switched on the immersion heater and lit the fire in the sitting room, as he felt cold. He sat by the fire for a little while. It was nice to be back home.

After a while he realised there was an opportunity to enter up his nature diary for the day before it got dark. So he picked it up and, putting on an old coat, he strode off down the lane. He wanted to see if the weeping willow by the pond had come into bud. It was late this year. Last year it had been in leaf by now.

Those houses in Country Life were all too big for him. Maybe for the moment he should be happy just buying a new car and making improvements to the cottage.

He was lucky to have the lanes and his nature diary.