The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (20 page)

   ‘What do you think?’

   ‘I think it’s fab.’

   ‘I’m glad you approve,’ and she came and stood in front of him.

   He reached out and clasped his hands around her cheeks and drew her up toward him. She closed her eyes; content to let him do whatever he wanted. A moment later they were in each other’s arms, kissing passionately, whispering weird words as if they had been apart for months.

   He began undressing her, but she was quicker. She had him naked in seconds. In the next moment they were beneath the duck feathers rolling about, biting and whispering and nibbling anything that came within range. As before, she needed minimal preparation, but whether she needed it or not, she groaned and grasped his head, and thrust it firmly south. The eiderdown was promptly discarded, and would remain so for some time. 

  
Wash it before you put it in.

   Her words came back to him. Not tonight, Josephine, there aint no running water.

Gringo woke at half past nine, though he didn’t know that until he reached over and took a peek at her wristwatch parked by the dormant candle. He could hear birds singing, though they hadn’t woken him. Today, nothing would have woken him. Sarah was close by, naked and fast asleep. He slipped from the bed and went searching for the bathroom; the only downer being the loo didn’t flush. She would show him later how that was done by hand flushing using water drawn from the big urn he had almost ricked his back lugging in. He wiped his hands on an old towel and went back to bed.

   She was still asleep.

   He slipped in beside her and began caressing her tummy. She promptly woke up, though pretended to remain sleeping, the pleasure too good to miss.

   A few minutes later she whispered, her eyes still closed, ‘What are you doing now?’

   ‘What does it feel like I’m doing?’

   ‘I don’t know, but I like it. You’re a very naughty man,’ and soon after that, without any further conversation, they slipped into the routine of what they’d been doing for most of the night.

It was half past eleven when they finally rolled out of bed. Sarah went hunting in one of her cases and retrieved a white-towelled gown, before hanging her things in the wardrobe in the other bedroom. She went through to the kitchen and struck a match and fired up a gas camping stove, filled the kettle, set it on the rickety stove, before going to the curtains and drawing them open.

   Gringo wandered into the room, yawning, wearing black Armani underpants and nothing else. He went and stood in front of the window admiring the view. Outside was an area of rough wooden planking with cheap plastic chairs perched at one end that no one would ever steal, and he guessed it would make a decent suntrap.

   ‘All right?’ he said, admiring the view of the river rolling gently by, and the meadows on the far bank.

   ‘I’ll make some coffee and boil the kettle for your shave.’

   ‘Sounds good to me.’

   Two canoeists floated by, staring into the chalet, seeing Gringo standing there half naked. They yelled good humoured abuse, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying, and the current soon swept them away. Gringo and Sarah drank two cups of instant coffee and in the next moment he was in the bathroom, peering in the old mirror, shaving carefully, for he didn’t want bloody leaking wounds on display over lunch.

   He threw on a check shirt and black jeans, as Sarah washed and dressed and did her makeup in the bedroom.

   ‘Will I do?’ she said, stepping into the living area.

   She’d donned a beige pleated dress that zipped up the front, the zip slightly open. The dress was probably aimed at a slightly older woman, something his mother might have worn, but Sarah carried it off well, and Gringo surprised himself because he liked it.

   ‘You look great.’

   ‘Thanks.’

   She unlocked the door and they went outside and jumped in the car. The small plot of land around the shack, for in reality that was what it was, was laid to rough grass, and it needed cutting.

   ‘The grass needs attention. Is there a mower?’

   ‘There is, locked in the shed at the far end. When we come back, you can do it if you like.’

   ‘Maybe I will.’ 

   The gate to the field was open this time and they were soon back on the tarmacked road.

   ‘Where are we going?’

   ‘Turn left at the junction. There’s a carvery I know, not far from here, thought we’d try there.’      

   They drove through two small country villages on roads that Gringo had never travelled before, then came to a third larger hamlet, where on the right side they found a large pink faced pub. Over the door was a flapping canvas sign that read:
Carvery Open All Day. As Much As You Can Eat - £8.95

  
The promotion was drawing in the punters for the car park was rapidly filling. He found a space and pulled the car to a stop. Sarah checked her peach lipstick in the vanity mirror and turned to him and said: ‘Do I look all right?’

   He checked her face, unable to hide a smile.

   ‘What’s the matter?’

   ‘There’s a smudge at the end of your mouth, as if you’ve been kissing.’

   ‘Well, I haven’t.’

   ‘I know,’ and he reached over and wiped it away with his thumb. ‘All done.’

   She checked her face again, happy enough. ‘Ta.’

   Inside, the atmosphere was bustling.

   ‘It’s always busy on a Saturday, locals and day-trippers alike,’ she said.

   They joined the queue and were soon served, the young chef returning with a huge loin of sizzling beef, as he bellowed:
Ham, Turkey or Beef!
as if he was a trader in the market
. All you can eat; the very best meat!

   They were hungry and both opted for the beef with Yorkshire pudding and a mountain of roast potatoes, and this time Gringo let Sarah fish in her purse and settle the bill. A small table in the corner had become vacant and they grabbed it before another couple had a chance.

   ‘Do you want a drink?’

   ‘Love one. Chardonnay. Bottle.’

   Gringo peered around for a waitress but they were busy so he went to the bar.

   ‘Don’t leave your meal,’ she said, ‘get it later,’ but he was already on his way.

   He wasn’t away long and in the next minute they were eating lunch, two glasses of icy wine before them, their knees once more interlocked beneath the table.

   They took ages over the meal, and afterwards moved into the rear lounge, sitting close together, Gringo sipping the last of the wine, as she dispatched two large gins. They left at three and sat quietly in the car. He knew she wanted him to kiss her, she usually did, but he would keep her waiting, if only for a minute or two, and when it came, he gave her a night time kiss in the middle of the afternoon.

   Afterwards she whispered: ‘What do you want to do now? Do you want to go on somewhere?’

   ‘Not really.’

   ‘Me neither.’

   ‘There’s only one place I’d like to go,’ he said.

   ‘Where, Gringo?’

   ‘Back to the bungalow.’

   ‘Me too,’ she whispered, hardly believing her own words, and then Gringo kissed her again, and started the car and they headed home.

   Back in the cottage they went straight for the bedroom, lay on the bed fully clothed, and promptly fell asleep.

It had gone five o’ clock when he woke, Sarah to his left, still snoozing. The zip on the front of her dress had fallen slightly. He could see her sky blue bra. He slipped his hand inside and cupped her breast. A moment later her eyes fell open and a smirk came over her face.

   ‘I didn’t put you down as the kind of man who’d take advantage of a sleeping women,’ she said, mockingly.

   ‘I’m not. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.’

   ‘What are we going to do between now and dinner?’

   It was a stupid question and they both knew it. He withdrew his hand and grasped the zipper and tugged it all the way down.

   ‘I know exactly what we’re going to do.’

   ‘What, Mister Greene?’

   ‘I’m going to take your clothes off.’

   ‘And then?’

   ‘I’m going to take my clothes off.’

   ‘And then?’

   ‘You’ll see.’

It was almost seven by the time they stirred. Sarah threw on some old jeans and began cleaning out the fireplace.

   ‘The key for the shed is on the hooks,’ she said, pointing to the wall just inside the door. ‘It’s the smallest key if you fancy mowing the grass.’

   ‘Okay,’ he said, ambling toward the key and heading outside while there was still sufficient daylight. In the next moment she heard the old petrol mower spluttering into life. She grinned and began setting the fire.

   When he came back she was missing, fixing herself up in the bathroom for the evening. Gringo admired her handiwork in the grate. Twisted and rolled up newspaper cigars, small and neat kindling, twigs and trimmed branches, topped off with chunky logs. He had no doubt it would catch light with a single match. Someone had been well trained in the Brownies or Girl Guides or whatever. The whole thing looked like a work of art.

   ‘Boil the kettle!’ she shouted through, ‘for your wash!’

   ‘You got it!’

   He made himself ready; brushed his teeth, combed his hair and moustache, applied deodorant, and an aftershave that Glen had given him a year before, then went and sat and waited.

   He didn’t have to wait long. She came into the room, her perfume preceding her, and stood in the open space and said: ‘Well, what do you think?’

   Gringo stood up and duly inspected. She’d changed into a figure hugging royal blue dress. It was made of an expensive material like silk, a fact Sarah later confirmed, telling him that she had treated herself two years before when Rosefield Antiques was far more profitable than today.

   She’d changed her lipstick too, a darker shade that more suited the evening, and she’d touched up her spiky haircut that had miraculously survived his onslaught pretty much intact.

   ‘You look great!’

   And she did, for her age she looked fantastic. He didn’t have to resort to flattery with this woman. It was the truth.

   ‘Really?’

   ‘Fabulous,’ and he offered his arm which she willingly took. She grabbed her cream leather handbag that matched her shoes, and they went outside. If she noticed he was wearing the same check shirt and black jeans she never mentioned it, but she did notice the huge improvement outside where he’d cut the grass.

   He started the car and headed across the field. The gate was locked as she fished out the key. He grabbed it for he couldn’t contemplate her mucking about in a muddy field in cream shoes. She was happy to let him, most men didn’t.

   ‘So where are we going?’

   ‘Would you mind awfully if we went to the carvery again?’

   ‘Course not, fine by me.’

   The same chef was there, bleating his message to all comers. This time they opted for the turkey with a lighter selection of vegetables, though the roast potatoes still took a hammering. Gringo paid and was happy to do so, and they found the same table vacant.

   ‘Wine?’ he asked.

   ‘What do you think? she answered, smirking.

   ‘Chardonnay?’

   ‘No, not this time. Sometimes I prefer a red in the evening. You choose.’

   Gringo went to the bar and bought a decent Chilean Merlot and returned.

   ‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten two meals in the same hostelry on the same day,’ said Gringo.

   ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been on two dinner dates on the same day with the same man,’ she added, though Gringo didn’t believe that.

   The conversation never dragged, as they chatted away like young lovers. It was as if they had known each other for years. They spoke of intimate things without any hint of embarrassment or reserve. Nothing seemed taboo.

   The evening flew by, more so than before; and in seemingly no time at all, it was time to leave. They visited the cloakrooms, making the most of the hot running water. Living in the shack you never knew when you might see running water again, other than by gawping through the window. Long ago Sarah had learned to carry a travelling toothbrush, and a small tube of paste, and she set about brushing her good forty-six year old teeth.

   Minutes later they were back in the car, embracing, Gringo keener than ever to muck up her lipstick, noticing the minty mouth, thinking nothing of it. The moment they came apart he whispered: ‘Let’s get you back to the bungalow.’

   ‘You can’t want me again?’

   ‘We’ll see about that. Do up your belt!’

   He drove her home quicker than he should and was in for a fright. They both were. On the twisty country lanes as he exited a sharp bend, a police car appeared out of nowhere.

   ‘Trouble,’ said Gringo.

   ‘What’s the matter?’

   ‘Cops… behind… don’t look round… do you think I’d fail a breath test?’

   She didn’t like to say because she knew he would.

   ‘You should be all right,’ she said, hopefully, when inside her head she was worrying about how she might get home if he was slung in the cells.

   The police hadn’t yet stopped them and that encouraged Gringo to think they might get away with it. As they came out of a section of closely packed bends and hit a short straight, the cop car pulled out in a hurry and swept by as if Gringo was standing still, and disappeared up on ahead.

   ‘That was lucky,’ said Gringo.

   ‘Girl driving,’ said Sarah. ‘They must have had bigger fish to fry.’

   ‘Maybe she was on lessons,’ said Gringo, a comment she thought sexist, as if there wasn’t a qualified female driver in the force, though she let it pass.