One of my private clients found me at the graveyard on the day I was wandering about looking at the different headstones. I had come to visit my Mom, on a break in work, and was in uniform. I was malingering, somewhat, as Mom had a newish neighbour or three. Possibly the grave had always been there and only the very noticeable headstone was new. Mom is closer to the peerage than ever - her new neighbours are Lord White and Lady Dora. Whomsoever they were. As I pondered on this, a chug from a powerful V* motor caught my attention. Someone was idling! (gasp!)
As I looked around for the source of the idler, a power window lowered and a little lady called me over to her car. Madame was clutching the steering wheel proudly. Her hair was that tint of blue once so popular in the over 80 set. She was extremely well dressed and had even applied lipstick, although it was rather more orange than pink and extended a tad beyond the natural lipline. The entire effect was charming. Her car, an aging Cadillac of immaculate condition, was glistening in the sun light. Not only was the paint unblemished, but the leather upholstery was gleaming, the chrome sparkling and the wheels scrubbed clean beyond even collector club standards.
" Can you tell me if you see a headstone marked: "Smithright?", she asked me politely. We conversed a few minutes before I went off on my mission. As she watched from the car, I zipped about reading the markers until I found him.
When I went back and pointed the location out to her, I asked her if she wanted me to escort her over as it was in a middle row. The ground was squishy and she looked to be in vintage heels.
"No No dear, can you just go back and tell him that Doreen is taking good care of the car? Tell him it looks good and say hello for me."
I did that. As I stood over that grave she waved at me, or him, or both and chugged slowly away.
It was a few weeks later that I found out my new 96 year old sparkler of a friend, does not have a driver's license.
"What you risk reveals what you value."