by Robert Ward
“No, I don’t actually think there is a hunt. Proper hunts have been banned anyway. I don’t think the namers of pubs pay attention to authenticity. But if there was, I thought you’d like the thrill of the chase and then the sight of a creature, with heart beating in terror, being torn to pieces by the pack.”
“Well, yes, I would of course, but again, to be politically correct, you know?”
They smiled at each other and asked Arthur for more drinks, this time buying one for him, which he gratefully accepted.
“You two hungry?” Arthur asked. “There’s a couple of roast beef nudgers left under the glass and they’ll only go to waste otherwise. You might as well have them on the house.”
“Mmn, yes please,” Miranda said. “I’m quite hungry.”
“They are fresh,” Arthur said as he gave them one each, wrapped in a paper napkin. “My daughter made them today. She’s home for a few days from college,” he added proudly. “She’s doing media studies. Beats me how they have so much time off though. This isn’t holiday time you know. I know it’s only just down the road and that, but still, she seems to have a few days off every week. Not that I’m complaining mind. She’s a big help. You won’t see her tonight though. She’s off out with her friends. God knows what they get up to, but what can you do? She’s over eighteen.”
Arthur, a big man in width if not especially in height, didn’t wait for an answer but started to wipe washed glasses with a cloth and gave his domain a survey with a seemingly discerning eye. His red face and bald head shone in the glaring lights above the bar and his whole being seemed to beam the essence of the friendly host.
Richard and Miranda ate their nudgers, which had generous amounts of thickly sliced beef on them with lots of pickle and tomato and cucumber and lettuce as well, between about a half of a full length French loaf.
“We’ll have to come here more often, for a free meal,” Miranda said when they had finished eating.
“Hmn, that was rather nice,” Richard said. “I didn’t realise how hungry I was.”
“I like this place. You know, the house and the pub and the whole little village. I just like it all.”
“I like it too,” he said, gently taking hold of a clump of her lovely long red-gold hair in his hand. “It feels like home.”
“Arthur, the same again please,” Miranda said, raising her voice so he could hear at the far end of the bar where he had just served one of the other locals.
“You can’t have the same my dear, but you can have similar,” he said.
“Similar then,” she said, “And I’m sure you’ve used that line a thousand times.”
“Yes, you’re right,” he said, laughing.
They drank into the late evening and noticed that no one entered or left the pub during the whole time they were there. As the bar clock ticked past one and then approached two, they wondered when Arthur would call time, and intrigued, when they asked for yet more drinks, they asked him.
“No such thing as time here,” he said. “Not till I decide. No point here. When everyone’s had enough, that’s time. You’ll soon get used to it.”
“It sounds like an admirable arrangement to me,” Richard said. “I once knew a pub that never seemed to close, but it was quite a bit different to this one.”
“Arthur, you shouldn’t have told him that. He’ll be here every night,” Miranda said. “It’s hard enough to keep him out of pubs that do close.”
“Listen whose talking,” Richard said. “It’s her, not me, you’ll be sick of the sight of.”
“Ssh, you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about my little problem.”
“It must be all over the village by now, the bin men will have noticed all the gin bottles.”
“Swine. It’s you that drives me to drink with all those unnatural things you make me do. God, Arthur, if only you knew.”
Arthur laughed.
“You come and tell me girl, when he gets out of hand,” he said.
“I will. Thank God. I’ve found someone who can save me from him.”
“That’s quite enough of telling all and sundry our intimate secrets,” Richard said. “Come chattel. It’s time you performed your wifely duties. If we don’t leave now you’ll pass out.”
“That’s never stopped you before, beast. And have you heard what he calls me, Arthur?”
“You are my chattel” Richard said. “Along with my ox and my ass.”
“Don’t let him take me, Arthur. Can’t I stay here? For safety?”
“Take care on the way home,” Arthur said, smiling.
“I knew you men would stick together,” she said, climbing down unsteadily from the bar stool. “If you hear any terrible screams in the night you’ll know where they’re coming from, and I hope it’ll torment your conscience forever, knowing that you sent me out to meet my horrible fate.”
“Miranda,” Richard said.
“Yes, Master? Please don’t beat me any more.”
“You’re gibbering.”
“Look what you’ve done to me.”
“Come on. We’ll see you again soon, Arthur.”
“Yes, take care now.”
Richard took hold of Miranda’s arm and guided her to the door and she turned back to say something to Arthur but found herself outside not having said it.
“It’s pitch black down towards our house,” she said, peering into the darkness.
“Our eyes will get used to it, I hope,” he said. “Next time we’ll bring a torch.”
They walked across the main road pretending not to stagger, and started down the side road that led them to the lane. They both had the giggles and tripped on several occasions without actually falling.
“Old Arthur’s all right,” Miranda said.
“A jolly host. He probably thinks we’re a right pair or weirdos.”
“Well, aren’t we?”
“If only we were.”
“I think we’re rather interesting.”
“You’re biased.”
“True,” she said.
Miranda wrapped her scarf around her neck a second time.
“I bet you’re cold now, aren’t you? I said you would be.”
“No, not at all. I can’t feel a thing.”
“Damn.”
“I think my roasted liver is acting as an internal furnace.”
“What did someone once say? About livers? That theirs was to be buried separately with full honours or something. Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, wading through a pile of sodden leaves.
The Moon suddenly appeared in a gap in the clouds and they were surprised by how much light it cast. It made the tall trees on either side of the road look eerie and mysterious and beautiful, with their almost bare twisted branches reaching out like the limbs of ancient trolls, watching them as they walked.
Miranda leaned against him with her arm around his back as they turned into the lane leading to the house and he put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her even closer to him, feeling the need to reciprocate.
“Nearly there,” he said.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No, not at all. Not after our nudgers. Why? Are you?”
“Yes, I am a bit. You know I’m always hungry after drinking.”
“You must have worms,” he said.
“Well, it’s not that I’m actually hungry. I just need to taste something. You know, it’s like when you have the munchies when you’re stoned on dope.”
“What would you like?”
“Something cheesy, I think. Chewy cheese. Strong hot melted cheese.”
“We have several tons of pizza.”
“That’ll do. Cheese and tomato with more cheese sprinkled on top. You want some?”
“You’ve persuaded me.”
They had left the front spot lamps on and so about half way down the lane didn’t only have to rely on the Moon for light and they could walk less gingerly for fear of falling
over fallen branches or heaps of leaves. Miranda felt in her pockets for the keys and found the lock at only the second attempt. They stumbled in through the front door and closed it behind them.
“I’ll do the pizza,” Richard said. “You’ll probably burn the house down.”
“Ha,” she said. “He says as he staggers off bumping into the walls.”
“We’ve got two types,” he shouted to her from the kitchen, as he peered into the freezer. “There’s deep pan or thin and crispy. Which do you want?”
“Thin and crispy,” she shouted back. “The other type is too heavy for this late. We’d have nightmares.”
They sat next to each other on the settee with the draw curtains over the French windows open so they could see out into the garden leading down to the woods. They ate their pizza, half of the whole each, concentrating on it in the almost silence.
When they had finished eating they lay back close to each other.
“God, I’m happy, Richard. And it isn’t just the drink talking. I’m actually incredibly happy.”
“Me too,” he said, feeling warm and satisfied and not afraid. “You’ve made me happy. Everything else as well. The house, having work I like. But you, more than anything. I can no longer imagine life without you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re beautiful and clever and you make me feel joy for life because you’re there.”
She raised herself up and turned to look into his eyes.
“Richard. That was beautiful. You must be drunk,” she said, and then lay back down beside him, smiling to herself and feeling wonderful.
At some stage during the night they must have gone to bed, but Richard couldn’t remember doing so when he woke in the late morning and inadvertently hit Miranda in the back with his elbow. She moaned but didn’t wake.
He was bleary eyed and sticky mouthed and he could still taste the lingering remnants of the pizza. Carefully, he eased himself up to rest his head on the pillows and let his hand fall gently onto the strands of Miranda’s hair that fanned out from her head in all directions, like the result of a fiery explosion. He gazed at her through his hangover and smiled to himself, feeling the overwhelming satisfaction of possession.
She was someone he felt he could never tire of sexually or emotionally. Lying with her face turned towards him he studied her as she quietly breathed and he wondered what was going on behind her eyes. He leaned across and kissed her gently on her cheek and thought about running his hands over her but decided not to disturb her. As though feeling his thought somehow, she wriggled under the covers in a spasm of movement and turned onto her back, pushing the covers down to reveal her breasts. He looked at her, thinking there might be a God after all, to have created something so beautiful.
He then couldn’t resist it and cupped her left breast in his right hand as he leaned on his elbow, resting the side of his head on the upturned palm of his hand, and gently squeezed it.
She moaned again and woke up, batting her eyelids a few times to get her eyes accustomed to the light.
“Have you been molesting me in my sleep again? God, my head’s pounding. And my mouth feels like the bottom of a budgie’s cage, or is it the inside of a Turkish wrestler’s jock-strap? Pick whichever cliché you like.”
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Of course you did.”
“Sorry.”
“I know we mere females were created solely for your pleasure, but do we have to be on call twenty four hours a day? It’s like being a doctor.”
“Sorry. I’ll make some tea.”
“Don’t think you can get round me like that,” she said, as he got up out of bed and put on his robe and slippers. “Make some toast as well. And bring it all up on a tray with some marmalade and I might forgive you.”
They ate breakfast sitting up in bed and began eventually to feel a little better, listening to the rain as it beat against the windows driven by the cold autumn wind.
“We should always drink a pint of water before going to bed when we’ve been drinking,” she said. “It replaces the fluids lost through dehydration caused by alcohol.”
“Yes, but who can remember or be bothered when you’re drunk?”
“We shall, in future. We’ll have them poured out, ready, for when we come back, or even when we stay in.”
“It won’t work,” he said.
“Yes it will.”
“But won’t it interfere with our pre-dawn feasts?”
“We can have both,” she said.
In the afternoon, Miranda drove into the city and would be out for most of the rest of the day she had told him, leaving Richard alone, who at least intended to make an attempt at doing some work.
He sat in the study looking at the books that still lay stacked on the floor and flicked the steel balls that were suspended from wires in his executive toy. He then looked out of the window which faced the woods from the side of the house and watched as a fawn coloured woodpigeon flapped into them and out of sight. It was still raining and he could sense that the air outside was cold even though, inside, in the study, it was snugly warm.
He got up and went to the window and pressed the palms of his hands against it, feeling the cold through the thickness of the glass and he pressed his forehead onto the pane. He closed his eyes and thought that there was nothing that could hurt him now, knowing as he did so, somewhere deep inside him, at the back of his mind, that it was a lie.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rich,
Sorry for not writing sooner. I don’t know what it is but I find Christmas and New Year seem to get in the way of things. Anyway, yes I’ll come! Shall I say that again? Yes, I’m coming to see you! Have you fainted?
I’d have a brandy if I were you now that you’ve come to. You can phone me and get the details straight. In the next few days would be best for me to visit. But whatever suits you.
You said that cow, Miranda would be away now. Is this true? If so, all the better. I don’t want to have to share you with her, not after all this time. How did you know I was twenty stone and bald by the way?
I’ve got heaps to tell you of course, but I’ll keep most of it for when I see you. There’s quite a juicy bit of info though that I’ll give you an advance tantalising taste of. I’ve been seeing a politician. A Tory MP. What else? He’s only a no-mark of a back-bencher and nobody would recognise him if they saw him and no one would know his name, but he’s got a wife and kids so it might be slightly scandalous if news got out about his mistress. I suppose you’re dashing to the phone to spill the beans to the tabloids at this very moment.
I met him at a party. You know how these things happen. He’s rather nice looking really, in a slightly wimpish patrician sort of way, and he’s quite young too. He hasn’t set me up in a luxury flat yet though or bought me anything flash. Anyway, I’ll tell you more about it when I see you.
When I see you! I feel so excited and apprehensive about it. How could we have left it for so long? I’ll probably blub when I see you. When a fellow sees his old pal again. Promise you won’t laugh at me?
See you soon!
Liz.
After writing it Elizabeth thought for a moment about tearing up the letter, but decided not to. A little courage was needed, but she did want to see him. And as she had said, she was excited by the prospect. She did wonder though if she had deliberately chosen a time when Richard had said Miranda would be away, or whether it had just happened that way.
She wasn’t seeing Jonathan that day, maybe not for a couple of weeks in fact. It was that kind of relationship. She didn’t expect anything of him, like leaving his wife or anything so ridiculous. She didn’t know much at all about his family life, not even if his wife would be jealous. For all she knew his wife could be having an affair of her own. Her name was Harriet and their children were called Lawrence and Abigail and that was about the extent of her knowledge of them.
She liked Jonathan because he was witty and intelligent and not at all bor
ing like most politicians seemed to be. At the party where they had met they had been friends of friends and just seemed to hit it off together. His wife hadn’t been there, and she had never bothered to ask why not. They had gone back to her flat and that was how it all started.
The arrangement was that he would contact her to see if there was a time and a place where they could meet which was mutually acceptable. It was nearly always her flat of course and they were restricted to some degree as to where they could go out, but that didn’t seem to matter to either of them. Elizabeth liked the casualness of it, and so, she thought, did he. She didn’t want anything stifling and heavy, but then, she never had.
It was perhaps most surprising of all that they hardly ever talked about politics, and when they did, it was usually Jonathan being scathingly cynical about his own party and its supporters. He was apparently a left-winger, and despised what he called the rabid right. He had once said to her that if the people knew of the contempt in which they were held by a lot of his party, no one would ever vote for them. But they had never gone into anything in any depth, and they both seemed to prefer it that way.
Elizabeth had taken two weeks of her holiday in January because she hated that time of year and hated it even more when she was working. Apart from that, she just felt like some time off in which to do nothing in particular. The weather was foul and it was a great pleasure for her to lie in bed in the mornings and think about not having to go out. Having her holiday of course was one of the reasons why she had finally decided to visit Richard, though apart from that, she felt instinctively that it was time she did. Any weekend would have done, but she didn’t like the idea of being so conventional, and she hated the restriction of only the two days, even though she knew she probably wouldn’t stay any longer than that. She needed to know that she could if she wanted to.
Elizabeth went for a walk early the next morning and posted her letter. It had snowed in the night, though only lightly and the thin white film on the ground would not last through the day. Sleet was forecast for the afternoon, as she had heard on the radio as she lay snugly in bed, and despite her normal desire to lie there she had decided to go out, probably because she didn’t have to. She would also like to watch the other people scurrying to work when she could go back home, she thought.
