The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (17 page)

By order of M A B Soloman.

   Below the typing was an unreadable ink signature. Gringo read the message twice. What was this all about? He couldn’t imagine. He didn’t want to imagine. He had met Michael Soloman once before when Mike had visited them. The man was about fifty and came with a fearsome reputation for ruthlessness, and no matter what Gringo thought of it, he couldn’t believe that this was good news, unless perhaps he had landed a big promotion, but that would inevitably mean him moving to Reading; and for several reasons he did not want to do that.

   He eased the paper back in the envelope and sighed, slipped it inside his wallet and didn’t look at it again that day.

Some years before Gringo had been ordered to buy six new vehicles and the motor trade took notice of that. Anyone with such buying power was always courted and feted beyond belief. That probably accounted for his invitation to the Hamilton Hotel to witness the unveiling of the new Cayton Cerisa model.

   The Hamilton Hotel was a rambling mid-range place that could have done with a refurbishment programme, and that meant that it was not the car manufacturer who had arranged the party, but a local main dealer, and in due course they would be required to foot the bill. Car manufacturers only used the very best places, and the Hamilton Hotel certainly wasn’t that.

   The cars were scattered around outside on the lawns, three different colours of the same model, surrounded by marquees and pretty girls in sashes and yaddering people. Gringo took a quick gander at the vehicles and the girls and the food on offer, and promptly retreated to the American Bar inside.

   The place was empty, other than the barman and one woman sitting on a high stool at the far end. He thought she glanced over the top of her evening paper, though he might have been mistaken. She was middle-aged, maybe around forty-eight, but smart enough. Her tight beige skirt was a little short, but who cared. She’d recently had her collar-length straight blonde hair cut and styled in the modern way, kind of a haystack mess, sticking out every which way, a style that sometimes looked appalling, but when it worked, it appeared sophisticated. With her, it worked well. She was clearly trying to impress someone, but was that someone she already knew, or was she on the lookout to hook a stranger? The barman approached Gringo.

   ‘A G & T please.’

   The guy nodded and poured the drink.

   ‘What did you think of it?’ said the woman.

   Gringo imagined she was talking to the barman.

   She turned toward Gringo and said, slightly louder, ‘I saw you outside before, what did you think of it?’

   ‘Oh sorry, I didn’t think you were talking to me. Do you mean the car?’

   ‘Course I mean the car, it’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’

   Gringo bobbed his head.

   ‘Not much. They seem to think that by changing the colour of the gear stick, and whacking on more chrome looking plastic, they are being revolutionary. You?’

   ‘Jap crap!’ she said with an air of finality, as she set the newspaper down on the bar.

   ‘Design and style is not one of the Japanese motor industry’s strengths,’ said Gringo, immediately aware that it came out pompously.

   ‘It was designed in Italy,’ she corrected him, demonstrating her knowledge of the automotive industry, ‘no doubt at astronomical cost.’

   ‘Well if it was, it must have been a Friday night muck-up job. The Italians must have been only too keen to throw it away.’

   The woman laughed. ‘Too true.’

   ‘I won’t be buying one,’ said Gringo.

   ‘Nor me. No way.’

   He swooped on his drink and was soon ready for another. He pointed to the glass and nodded to the barman who came running. Gringo turned to the woman and said: ‘Would you care to join me?’

   She turned and inspected him again. There was a slight pause, as if she was considering his offer.

   ‘Yeah… all right. George, you can stick another one in there. Why don’t you come down here and join me?’

   Gringo nodded and sauntered to the end of the bar.

   ‘I’m Sarah Swift,’ she said, holding out her hand.

   Gringo took it and squeezed it, hard but not too hard.

   ‘Gringo Greene, pleased to meet you.’

   ‘Likewise.’

   She wasn’t bad looking for a woman in her mid forties, strangely better looking close up. Gringo might have been slightly unkind to her with his earlier assessment of her age, and anyway, age didn’t really matter, leastways not at that level. He’d been out with older women countless times before and had invariably enjoyed himself. What counted was style and beauty and attention to detail, so far as he was concerned, and judging by her appearance, she clearly believed the same thing.

   They began talking about the stories on the front page of the newspaper and soon became relaxed in each other’s company. She bought the next round, the same drink as him, and he bought the one after that, and as is so often the case when relaxing in a bar, time raced by. She flicked her wrist and glanced at her gold watch.

   ‘Is that the time already? I really must dash. I haven’t eaten since breakfast,’ and she eased herself down from the stool and smoothed down her skirt.

   Ever the trier, without a moment’s hesitation, Gringo said: ‘I thought we might go for something to eat.’

   There always comes a moment when you must make a move. Miss the opportunity and you regret it forever, for it rarely reappears, and it never matters for one second if your suggestion is flatly dismissed. Forget about it. Seek out the next one.

   ‘Oh did you?’ she said. ‘But I don’t really know you.’

   ‘Well I don’t know you either, but I’m willing to take a chance.’

   That brought a smile to her fair face. The old lines are still the best lines, for they often work. She was clearly considering his idea.

   ‘I like your hair,’ he said.

   She smirked and let out a gentle
huff.

   ‘Well all right, just so long as it isn’t foreign muck, I can’t be doing with foreign muck.’

   ‘I thought we’d go to the steak bar down the road, steak and chips and apple pie, that’s what I like.’

   She nodded her approval.

   ‘Well in that case,’ she said, glancing at George, who raised and lowered his eyebrows, as if denoting his approval, ‘I accept.’

   ‘Great, let’s go.’

   Though the steak bar was only a quarter of a mile down the road Gringo drove there, and Sarah appreciated that for she wasn’t much of a street walking woman, leastways not in the city. Weller’s Steakbar had been trendy once with each table set inside a white boulder-like cave, like something out of a prehistoric town, each pod lit with multicoloured lights as if it were Christmas, and in truth the whole place could have done with being gutted and modernised. The food though was decent and well priced, and they did boast a comprehensive wine cellar that Sarah studied thoroughly, before settling on a bottle of decent burgundy, a wine that didn’t sting the wallet too much. 

   ‘So,’ she said, settling into their cream coloured cave. ‘What do you do?’

   Gringo told her in thirty seconds flat and turned the question back on her.

   ‘I have my own business. Antiques.’

   ‘That must be interesting.’

   ‘It’s a bloody nightmare. You just can’t get the staff. I’m looking for a good man right now.’

   Gringo couldn’t resist the thought.

   ‘And what do you need a good man for?’

   Sarah giggled and sipped the wine.

   ‘What do you think?’

   ‘The mind boggles.’

   ‘If you must know, I need a foreman type guy, someone to keep the others in line. You wouldn’t happen to know of anyone suitable, would you?’

   ‘Can’t say as I do.’

   ‘That’s a pity. The problem is that half the time people come looking for work and they can’t even speak the Queen’s English, and I don’t know why men find it so hard to move furniture without bashing it. And why is it they always crack it on the front in the most conspicuous place, never round the back where no one can see? I am sick and tired of buying stock only to have it ruined by careless men.’ It was clearly a bugbear with her. Perhaps she’d had a bad day.

   ‘Whereabouts are you based?’ asked Gringo, keen to move the conversation along.

    ‘At the top of the hill, Rosefield Antiques,’ and she took a card from her handbag and set it on the table.

   Gringo knew the place. He’d been there once himself some years before, when he was younger and looking for cheap furniture. It was a rundown shop with a scruffy two-story warehouse above, where on dry days much of the stock was moved out onto the pavement in an effort to entice passers-by. He recalled the gear clearly; most of it ten times used dusty and dirty brown furniture that no one wanted any more.

   ‘How’s business?’ he asked, already guessing the answer.

   ‘Bloody awful! Let’s talk about something else.’

   ‘Where do you live?’

   ‘I have a flat in Willerby.’

   That was a mid price range suburb where Gringo had once known a pair of nurses.

   ‘But I also have a holiday cottage a couple of hours drive from here, it’s quite isolated, set down by the river, but on a hot summer day, it can be tranquil, beautiful even.’

   ‘Sounds fabulous.’

   ‘I wouldn’t go so far as that; it doesn’t have any mains services for a start. My nephews and nieces love the place to bits. They’re fascinated by living by candlelight with an open fire in the evenings, and no TV. They love it to bits. In this day and age you wouldn’t think that, would you?’

   Gringo smiled gently. He could imagine her there, surrounded by kids, the life and soul of the party. She boasted purple fingernails, whether real or fake he had no idea, but he thought they looked pretty cool. She wore a fair bit of gold jewellery too, decoration he wasn’t sure she needed.

   ‘Are you married?’ he asked.

   ‘No, not any more, and before you ask, no kids either.’

   ‘Anyone special?’

   ‘I have a bloke; he’s a contractor working in Dubai. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to come home, so I’m beginning to wonder about him. And you, Gringo, you must have a steady girlfriend?’

   ‘Yeah, on and off I suppose; nothing special.’

   Half way through the meal the bottle of wine was empty and he knew he hadn’t drunk much. She could certainly sink the booze, could old Sarah, with no apparent slurring of speech, or any other signs of inebriation.

   ‘Another?’ he said, pointing at the bottle.

   ‘Oh no,’ she said, grinning at her own appetite. ‘But I wouldn’t mind another G & T.’

   He happily ordered her a gin as they talked and talked, content in each other’s company. Then the meal was over and Gringo paid the bill, though she opened her bag and made some token effort to contribute, but he would have none of it, and Sarah secretly was happy to see that.

   Outside in the car she said: ‘Well thanks very much for the meal, and the conversation. I’ve really enjoyed it.’

   ‘Me too, you’re great company,’ he said, without a hint of flattery.

   ‘I’ll have to be going, I promised to pop in on my mother. She lives alone. I usually make her a sandwich for her supper, and check she’s all right.’

   ‘That’s a pity.’

   ‘What do you mean?’

   ‘I thought we could have enjoyed a more exciting evening than you visiting your mother.’

   There was a short silence as if she was pondering the matter and then she said: ‘Oh did you now, and if I didn’t have to be somewhere else, Gringo, what exciting things would you have had in store for me?’

   He turned towards her. She had asked.

   ‘If I had my way?’

   Sarah nodded.

   ‘If I had my way,’ and he paused as if thinking carefully of his lines, ‘I’d take you back to my place, we’d open a bottle of good wine, play some music, cuddle up on the sofa, maybe a kiss or two, and a little later I’d take you upstairs and slowly remove all your clothes.’ He glanced at her face. Her mouth had slightly opened and her ample lips were glistening. ‘I’d kiss you all over, and I mean
all
over, and for the remainder of the evening and long into the night, I’d make long and gentle love to you.’

   He smiled at her without displaying his teeth and refocused his wide open eyes on her face. There was a heavy silence and then she said: ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’