The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (19 page)

   ‘We’ll go in your car if you don’t mind. Your car is much better than mine. Come on round as soon as you are ready. There are a few things we’ll need to put in the boot.’

   ‘Whatever you think best. I’ll be there in half an hour.’

   ‘Look forward to it,’ she said, and she put the phone down.

   Gringo ran upstairs and dug his overnight bag from the top of the fitted wardrobe. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spent an entire weekend away with a woman. Next time he wouldn’t leave it so long, not if it had this effect on him. Suddenly he felt twenty-five again, really excited, and he tried to figure out why.

   When it came down to it, it was crystal clear. On the one hand he had a relationship with a pretty girl that was going nowhere, as it rapidly approached its sell-by date. One the other, the opportunity for a change of scene with a passionate woman he had just met. His relationship with Sarah was still in that over-excited-just-met-you state, and when it came down to it; that was what he was seeking in any woman.

   It seemed impossible to maintain that heightened electricity with any one partner for any amount of time, so his butterflying behaviour was only to be expected, or so he told himself. One thing was absolutely clear; he was more likely to learn something new with Sarah Swift than he ever would with Maria Almeida. That was a no brainer too. He had been right all along. It was just something of a surprise to him.

  
He took a quick wash, threw on a casual shirt and slacks; glanced at the telephone as if it might ring at any moment, but it didn’t, grabbed a jacket, and let himself out.

It seemed incredible they had parted first thing that day. It felt like an age since they had seen one another. Her flat was part of a ten-year-old brick-built block, located on the ground floor. He was able to park right outside, next to her car, though he didn’t know it was hers.

   She must have been watching because she immediately came outside, opened up the adjacent vehicle, and began moving boxes of groceries and bags from hers to his.

   ‘Here, let me,’ he said, taking a suitcase from her.

   She was content to let him, and impressed and happy he’d offered.

   ‘Be careful with this,’ she said, pointing to a large semi clear plastic urn. ‘It’s the water, there’s none at the cottage.’

   ‘No worries,’ he said, grasping the huge water-butt. It was much heavier than he imagined and he struggled to shift it.

   ‘It’s heavy,’ she said, but he’d already discovered that much, as he dropped it in the back of his car and rubbed his hands together.

   ‘That everything?’

   ‘Just one other thing,’ she said, and she stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek in full view of the windows of the flats. She knew damn well they would all be watching, she would give them a cheap thrill, it might be the highlight of their week, and she was thrilled when Gringo clasped her head between his hands and turned it and kissed her full in the lips.

   ‘What’s that for?’ she whispered, struggling to remain calm.

   ‘For asking me. Now get in the car.’

   ‘Yes sir!’ she barked, as she performed a mock salute, before jumping in beside him.

   Gringo noticed curtains twitching. Sarah did too, and afterwards they laughed about it together.  

   She had scrubbed up well. The dark pencil skirt made her appear slimmer, and the white blouse, top two buttons undone, complimented it well. Gringo pinched an occasional peek at her as they hurtled down the Friday night motorway. He liked the pearl earrings too, perfect for her fair face, and at that moment he thought her incredibly cute, mid forties or whatever it was, he didn’t care.

   She radiated happiness sitting beside him, he couldn’t help but notice, and he wondered if she would have driven all this way, dressed like that, all by herself, if he had turned her down. Perhaps she knew someone else she might have asked. Maybe there was a first reserve lurking somewhere in the background, perhaps he
was
the first reserve, though that idea didn’t bear thinking about. 

   ‘Have you eaten?’ she said.

   ‘No. Never eat early.’

   ‘Me neither. There’s a quaint pub, the Black Cat, not far from the bungalow. The food’s good and I’m happy to goes halves.’

   ‘The Black Cat it is.’

The pub was busy but they found a small vacant table in the corner. They ordered fish and ate a leisurely dinner, their knees interlocked beneath the table, as they sank another bottle of wine, Sarah drinking most of it, and a couple of shorts to follow. It made no difference to her bright eyes and steady, thoughtful voice. To both of them it seemed inconceivable they had met only yesterday. At half past ten Gringo let slip a yawn, failing to stifle it before she noticed.

   ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you a night off.’

   They shared a look, and in that moment Gringo determined that tired or not, she most definitely would not be getting a night off. Afterwards he ignored her protestations and paid the bill, though she forced him to agree that she would pay the following day.

   In the car outside they began kissing as soon as they were inside. Neither were in any hurry to move off, though eventually she said: ‘Come on, I want to show you my bungalow.’

   He clicked on his seatbelt and said: ‘Does this place of yours have a double bed?’

   She smirked at him through the side of her eyes and said: ‘Course it does, absolutely essential, but no electric light. Everything has to be done by candles.’

   Gringo rolled his eyebrows and grinned and said: ‘Candles are cool. I can do candles.’

   By then they were rolling down a B road, her right hand caressing his left thigh.

   ‘It’s not far from here,’ she said, ‘second on the left, coming up.’

   He took the turning and found himself driving between established brick-built bungalows, but at the end of the road the bungalows ended and the road became an unmade track.

   ‘Not far now,’ she said, ‘take it easy, there are big ruts in the lane,’ and she was right because the car was now lurching every which way, even at dead slow speed. The track narrowed and was bounded on either side by high country hedges. A fox dashed from the bushes yards in front of them and crossed the road, its silhouetted form picked out by the headlights.

   ‘See that!’ said Gringo, wide-eyed like a kid.

   ‘Yeah. I often see that fox round here. He’s probably hunting rabbits.’

   Gringo hadn’t seen a live fox since he was a child.

   At the end of the lane was a five-bar gate and dangling from a chain was a sturdy looking padlock. The lane was narrow and turning the vehicle round would be difficult.

   ‘Now what?’ he said, but when he glanced at her she was dangling a key from an Audi key ring, and then she made to step out of the car.

   ‘I’ll do it!’ he said, grabbing the key.

   ‘Don’t drop it.’

   He jumped out and undid the lock, leaving the key in, leapt back in the car, drove through, stopped, jumped out again, closed the gate and locked it, jumped in and passed her the key.

   There was an impressed look on her face.

   ‘Thanks for that,’ she said.

   ‘You’re welcome. Now which way?’

   In the darkness he could just see they were on the edge of a sizeable field. Before them was a fork in the track, but the grass had grown long both ways and the track couldn’t be seen, just an impression of what was beneath in the way the grass blew in the night air.

   ‘To the right, just follow the impression, can you see?’

   He squinted and drove slowly on, headlights on full beam, becoming aware of three, no four, single story buildings hidden ahead in the blackness. There was a half moon in the sky, but also sporadic cloud that occasionally blanked out the light. The buildings were maybe thirty yards apart and none of them were lit.

   ‘It’s the second one along,’ she said, for some reason whispering. ‘You can drive right up to it.’

   He pulled the car gently to a stop at the side of the building and cut the engine. The moon was back and for the first time he was aware of the river beyond, slowly passing by, a puff of mist on the far side, moonbeams bouncing from the sleepy water.

   ‘I’ll open up, put some lights on, and make the place ready. You bring in the stuff.’

   ‘No worries,’ he said, as she went to the door and opened up and disappeared inside.

   Gringo fetched the luggage from the boot, his overnight bag, and her two heavy cases. What the hell had she brought? He struggled to the door and eased it open with his foot. Inside was a kitchen, a surprisingly smart, fitted kitchen in the country style, complete with sink and taps, though as he was later to discover, the only thing that ever escaped from those taps was rusty smelling belches.

   She had lit nightlights, tiny candles on saucers set on the worktops, and after coming in from the dark; they threw out a decent light. He went back for the provisions and finally the water butt that he set down at the end of the worktop.

   There was no sign of Sarah so he took a wander round. The kitchen led through to an open plan living area with a big floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the river, not that he could see much outside, with the candles burning and the moon missing again. There were three or four easy chairs scattered about that had seen better days, especially as she owned a second-hand furniture store, he couldn’t help thinking, though maybe it wasn’t easy to deliver stuff down that narrow lane.

   There was no TV, no computer, no internet, no music, no gaming consoles, no telephone, though he did have his mobile with him, you couldn’t be entirely cut off, no electricity, no gas, no running water, no shops close by for provisions, no postal or newspaper deliveries, no callers, no nothing. It was wonderful.

   There was an old transistor radio but the batteries had long become exhausted and had turned to a foul smelling goo. It seemed inconceivable to him that in modern Britain anyone could live like this.

   The house was entirely timber built and he guessed it was around fifty years old. As in many holiday homes it came with a musty smell, but that was gradually being overwhelmed by the perfumed candles.

   At the end of the living area was a large stone fireplace and a brick chimney that went all the way up to the roof. Beside the fire a traditional basket was filled with chunky logs, while in the grate was the remains of last visit’s fire. He remembered her telling him all about it.

   In front of the fireplace was a rectangular rug, a thick turquoise affair with cream tassels at either end, the sort of thing he had seen in show houses years before when he’d first begun to look at property.

   At the side of the living area was a doorway that led to an inner hall and from there to the waterless bathroom, and two equal sized bedrooms. He could hear her in there
making ready
, whatever that meant, fussing about, but thought it best to leave her to it.

   He returned to the sitting area and sat down, alone with his thoughts, and shortly afterwards she appeared, framed in the open doorway, a dim flickering halo around her.

   ‘What do you think of the place?’

   ‘I love it. Bit of a shag palace really, isn’t it?’

   Sarah laughed and made toward him.

   ‘I’m not sure I would have described it quite like that.’

   Gringo stood up and they met in the centre of the room. He threw his arms around her and tugged her to him, then brushed her neck with his dry lips and kissed the pearl earring for good luck. Sarah shivered.

   ‘What do you want to do now?’ she whispered.

   ‘Go to bed.’

   ‘Thought you might say that. I’ll close the curtains and check the door. Won’t be a mo. Wait for me.’

   They came apart and he watched her go to the picture window and draw the curtains, the old metal curtain rings grating in protest as they closed. She went to the main door and checked the lock and drew over top and bottom bolts, blew out the candles and offered her hand, and they walked through together.

   One bedroom was lit, the other in darkness. He reached out and eased the door to the lit room open.

   He liked what he saw. There was a double bed set against the far timber wall covered by a thick maroon eiderdown. On either side of the bed were small tables on which stubby candles burned brightly, the kind of thing you might see in church, except the candles were green. Gringo’s nose told him they were scented too. To the right of the bed against the wall was an old fashioned dressing table, another glowing candle set before the mirror, doubling its output.

   On the left wall was a long window with closed Venetian blinds set against the dirty glass, though Gringo couldn’t know that, because thick maroon curtains had been drawn in front. No peeping Tom would ever steal a thrill here.