Secret Of The Manor (4 page)

The vicar shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Warren. You’re not intruding, my dear. We don’t often get visitors here. And it’s Carol—or, depending on who you speak to, Chrissie.”

“Uh....” Warren was confused.

The vicar scrunched her nose and smiled. “Some of the youngsters in these parts call me Chrissie, after Christmas Carol.” She leaned in and whispered, “I tend to go a touch over the top at Yuletide. Not here, as next to no people come here, but I assist the reverend in Stow, a few miles away.”

Warren relaxed a little. “My apologies again, though, for intruding. You have an intriguing church. How come there’re no roads to it?”

“There is a road, at least a relatively close one. The path from it to here is a gnat’s knacker wide. Before my time, there used to be a track to the church for carriages, too, but it’s not been used for years. Besides, my luv, Little Walmsley here is attached to the manor. I look after him and keep him out a trouble. Only manor people come here now, and they walk.”

“You speak as though the church were a person.”

The vicar studied him for a few seconds and tilted her head. “Technically, I know it isn’t. Our church is a place of worship, a place where our holy father is spoken to. But we imagine many inanimate objects to have personalities. This place has a personality, and since most believe God is a man, I call Little Walmsley ‘him’.”

“You haven’t given him a full name, then?” Warren’s curiosity showed in his voice.

The vicar looked around before answering, “No. Not yet. I’ve thought of several over the years, but none of them seemed right. If I gave Little Walmsley a man’s name, it would be like calling God ‘Walter’. And being on a first-name basis with God, for me, isn’t right. Does that make sense?”

Warren smiled at the quirky lady. “In a weird sort of way, yes.”

Despite Vicar Carol’s amiable nature, Warren felt the need to escape. He wasn’t against religion. He wasn’t for it, either. He was merely uncomfortable with it. He was also rattled by earlier events and didn’t have the mindset to partake in a full-fledged conversation with a member of the clergy. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Vicar, but I must get Argo back. I promised Carl I’d be back for lunch.”

“Is that your boyfriend?”

“What? Sorry, pardon?” Warren’s pitch raised several notches.

“Carl. You said you needed to be back for lunch. Only the way you spoke, I thought Carl might be your boyfriend.” Seeing the shock on Warren’s face, Vicar Carol gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my silly tongue. My apologies; it could be short for Carla, too. You never know in today’s society, what with boys having girls’ names and vice versa, and
alternative
relationships becoming more popular.”

To stop the vicar’s rambling, Warren interjected, “Carl’s a man at the stables where my horse, Argo, lives.”

“Oh, that Carl! Well, you get going then, young man—he can be a bit grumpy when given cause. And feel free to visit whenever you want. The gate’s always open, even if the church isn’t. Years ago the church used to be open all the time. But since some misguided souls broke in, it’s locked unless I’m here. Anyhow, I’m rambling. Next time I’ll show you around.”

“Thank you, Vicar. Pleased to meet you.” Warren shook the vicar’s hand, mounted quickly, and headed down the path. Almost out of sight, he briefly looked back. He saw Vicar Carol emerge from behind the holly tree where the blank headstone was and walk towards the church. He thought that if he visited again he’d prefer to do it at the time of day when she was least likely to be around.

Well into his journey back, Warren fished the phone out of his pocket and called Carl, who eventually picked up. “Hack-It Stables,” he answered tersely.

“Kids sending you ‘round the bend already?” Warren mused. At weekends, there were often hordes of children around the stables.

“What do you think? Bloody ankle-biters.”

“I take it you’re in the house, then?”

“I am now. Look, have you got somewhere you can tie up Argo instead of coming back here? With the way this lot are runnin’ about, he’ll kick one of the little bleeders. I might just tickle his stomach a bit to encourage him to do it, too.”

Warren smiled. Neither he nor Carl was child-friendly. Both preferred horses, and Carl, whenever possible, left the children to his wife. “Sounds like you need some time out.” Warren checked his watch. “I can be at my place in half an hour. Why don’t I do you a sandwich for lunch, instead of the other way around?”

“I’m in. I’ll bring a bucket for Argo.” Warren heard desperation for escape in Carl’s voice. “See you soon.” The phone clicked dead before Warren could say goodbye. Warren laughed and enjoyed some peace and quiet before what was sure to be a lunch of Carl letting off steam.

His prediction was correct. The moment Carl’s battered Land Rover rolled to a halt on the gravel driveway Warren could hear the man’s grumbles through the open window. Carl hobbled out and continued complaining while he retrieved Argo’s feed and was led to the head-collared beast, who was happily sucking in long gulps of water from a bucket.

“Bloody kids! Left ’em with a flea in the ear, I have. And I’ve told the girls, if any of ’em hurts my horses, there’ll be hell to pay.” Carl mumbled and fussed as he removed his boots. He didn’t begin to settle until seated at the table with a mug of tea and a ham sandwich.

Warren left him to simmer down before he asked, “Are the children always like that?”

After stuffing the remains of his crust into his mouth, chewing it well, and swallowing it with a gulp of tea, Carl answered. “Nah. Just got a bad bunch. Saturdays are usually busy, but there’s an own-a-pony party going on. Unfortunately, there’s a couple of Veronica-Josephines amongst ’em who seem to think the stable’s an extension of the playground and that horses are bigger teddy bears that should do as they’re told. An ‘orse isn’t a bloody toy. Oh, and shit is something other people shovel, not them. After the talkin’-to I gave em, we’ll see what they’re like when I get back. No one’s going to mollycoddle and wipe their arses at my place, even if it is a party. If they haven’t improved, I’ll be calling their parents to come pick ’em up. The rules were laid down when they booked.”

Another cuppa later, Warren gave Carl a tour of his home. He’d not been there before. The man was suitably impressed and gave Warren food for thought, too. Carl suggested there was enough room in his barn for a couple of stalls and a small paddock outside. That way Warren could have Argo over for the odd holiday.

Conversation halted for a while as Warren mulled over ideas for a barn reorganisation. Then, Carl surprised Warren by asking, “How come you haven’t got a missus, then?”

Warren countered the direct line with evasion. “I could be divorced.”

“By the look of this place, you’ve got too much money for a divorced man, and there’s nowt here left from a woman.”

“I’ve been big on career—too busy for a relationship.”

A look of horror graced Carl’s face. “You ain’t no middle-aged virgin, are ye?”

“Excuse me?”

“The wife got me watching that film
40-Year-Old Virgin
. Just got me thinkin’, is all.”

It was Warren’s turn to look horrified. “No, not a virgin. I’ve had relationships, but none of them have fit in with work, so they didn’t last, and none has been significant enough to adjust my professional life for.”

Carl studied him for a while. “You said relationships, not girlfriends. You into blokes by any chance?” Before Warren could reply, Carl held up a finger. “And just so we’re clear, it doesn’t bother me. In my time, I’ve seen as many blokes rolling around in the hay together as anything else. In my youth, when I did the competition circuit, stable liaisons were rife, particularly at international riding events. Sometimes the hayloft saw more action than the competition ring. Oh my God, the stories I could tell you.” Carl chuckled.

“You mean there’s more than fables and village gossip?”

“Oh, hell, yes! Are you going to give me an answer or not?” Carl’s directness wrong-footed Warren, along with his sharpness of mind. “And I don’t talk about everybody’s business unless it’s already common knowledge. So, if you’re worried about it getting out, don’t be—although I’ve got to tell you, there’s already speculation.”

Warren buried his head in his hands. “Oh, Christ.”

“Christ ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. It’s more like the combination of you and Argo out there making a good-lookin’ pair that got their attention. If you believe the women, you’ve got a good arse they wouldn’t mind seeing in the flesh. They’ve spied you swinging your hips to the music in the tack room, too. Personally, I don’t want to see your arse. But it’s got the women wondering whether you’ve got someone stashed away, and they ain’t fussed if it’s a bloke or a bird—but they’s curious.” Carl’s face screwed up a little. “My missus reckons some of them would prefer it if you did have a bloke here.”

Warren felt the colour drain from his face, and his teeth chattered. As he held his mug of tea, the remains of his brew quivered.

Carl’s hand wrapped around Warren’s wrist. “Bloody hell, man. How far in the closet are you?”

Warren took a few deep breaths while he organised the thoughts that had been raging since Carl broached his sexuality. He didn’t see the point in hiding from Carl, not that he ever had, intentionally. All the same, he trembled. “It depends on the circles you move in, my friend.”

As if purging his soul, Warren told Carl of the differences between his work and private life. He also divulged the incident that made him separate the two.

YEARS AGO, when promoted to his first management post, Warren fell afoul—due to his social inexperience—of a colleague, Tim, whom he thought to be a friend. The two had joined the company at the same time, but Warren climbed the ladder first owing to his accuracy, speed, and focus on the job. The men continued to socialise, but everything changed after one particular night out.

They were propping up the bar, and Tim was on his third beer. Warren was halfway down his second when two women walked in. Tim immediately homed in on their belt-length skirts and bulging breasts.

Gulping down his mouthful, Tim spluttered, “Warren,” and hit his arm. “We’ve gotta get us some of that.”

Confused, Warren swallowed before asking, “Some of what?”

Tim turned Warren towards the barely-out-of-their-teens women. Warren took one look at the over-shiny pink lipstick that made them look like they’d just slurped oil-laden pasta and shuddered. “No, thanks.”

Tim whispered, “You have got to be kidding me,” and disappeared towards the women. Having turned on the charm, he returned with the girls. “This is my friend Warren.” Then he leaned in to the brunette. “He’s a little socially awkward, but a good man. Give him a chance. Warren, this is Tanya and Suzie.”

Warren gave a polite smile while Tim bought a round of drinks. After an hour of plying the ladies with more alcohol and doing most of the talking, Tim had his arm around Tanya. Suzie hovered close to Warren. Tim whispered into Tanya’s ear, and soon after she took Suzie by the arm and headed for the powder room. Like a gorilla about to beat his chest in victory, Tim announced, “I hope you got condoms, Warren, cos we’re getting laid tonight.”

“What?” Warren’s pitch raised several notches. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you kidding me? They’re a sure thing.”

Warren, albeit socially awkward, was sure of his sexuality—he’d experimented enough at university to know women did nothing for him. He’d never advertised it due to his family’s reaction when he came out to them, which was not good. “Tim, I’m not interested in either of them.”

“But it’s pussy, man. What’s not to be interested in? You don’t have to look at the mantel while you’re stoking the fire.”

“Tim,” Warren said more forcefully, “I’m not interested.”

“What is it with you? You’d have to be gay not to want to poke that.”

Warren stayed quiet.

Tim’s eyes went large. He grabbed Warren’s arm painfully and held him close. “Oh my God, you’re a fag, aren’t you.”

Again, Warren stayed quiet.

Tim let go of Warren with a disgusted shove and headed to intercept the girls across the room. Warren turned away, gulped down the remains of his drink, and headed out to the bus.

The next day Tim didn’t speak to Warren. Nor did he any time that week. It wasn’t long before Warren heard whispers regarding his orientation, many of which were not polite. When Tim had the gall to suggest he could silence the crowd as long as Warren put in a good word with management, Warren started scouring the classifieds for another job. He wasn’t about to have his sexuality used as a tool for blackmail.

That was the second time Warren’s orientation had caused him anguish. He wasn’t going to let it happen a third. Within two months, Warren had moved to a new job a hundred miles away. His focus was to be good at his job, become socially able, and
never
let anyone in the workplace know his real self.

Since then, even not knowing his sexuality, more than one person had tried to befriend him to use him in some way. In recent years, it was his position in a company that made him a target. As far as Warren was aware, he treated everyone with equality and respect. It was that single-minded focus and fairness that gained him his admirable reputation and standing with employers.

BY THE time he finished recounting—and revisiting—the memories, Warren was emotionally drained.

Carl’s eyebrows were raised, and his mouth was slightly agape. “Jeez, that’s gotta be a bit lonely, i’nt it? I know I complain, but I’m lost without the missus, me babies, and the kids running about—even if they are somebody else’s and a bloody nuisance at times.”

Warren smiled at Carl’s admission before adding his two-penn’orth. “Work tends to keep me occupied to the point where I’m thankful for the peace when I get home. I guess it’s something I’ve gotten used to. Not that I’m set in my ways, considering I’m in the process of changing my life around, but I... I dunno. I’ve never thought about it in depth.”

By the time the dregs of Warren’s tea were visible, he had deemed his private life spoken about enough and changed the subject. After that, the men swapped chitchat for a while.