The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (22 page)

   Young William, whose task it was to peel the potatoes and wash the vegetables when he wasn’t washing plates, and who’d recently taken a comfort break himself, but had really gone front of house to see who the hell they were gossiping about, said: ‘I don’t know, I think it’s him who’s the lucky one. She’s one fit woman if you ask me, very nice indeed, smart, well dressed, lovely makeup, sexy, I’d give her my meat and two veg any day of the week, any time she likes. Where did you say she lives?’

   ‘Shut up, William, you’re only nineteen!’ said the manageress.

   ‘Don’t care!’

   ‘And she must be fifty if she’s a day,’ said the waitress.

   ‘No, I think you might be a little unkind there, Tracey,’ said the manageress, ‘Forty-five maybe,’ and she should have known because she was the same age, and people of the same age are always better at guessing other people’s ages.

   Back in the restaurant Sarah said: ‘I’m paying this time, it’s my turn, my treat, please don’t argue.’

   ‘No! Don’t even think about it. I’m paying and that’s final.’

   ‘You’ve had a very expensive weekend,’ she said, emptying the bottle of white wine that Gringo hadn’t yet touched.

   ‘I’ve had a superb weekend.’

   ‘Really?’

   Gringo nodded a tiny nod and then added: ‘And it’s not over yet.’

   ‘You can’t want to… not again, surely… don’t you ever get tired of… don’t you ever… you’re amazing…you amaze me… ’

   ‘No, I don’t,’ he said. ‘Get tired of you, that is,’ taking her hand and kissing it again, and then adding cheekily, ‘Does that mean I can have you again later?’

   The couple next to them couldn’t help but hear. If either Gringo or Sarah had glanced that way they would have seen the old guy muttering to himself, and scratching his white moustache in disapproval, while the old dear smiled at them gracefully, and recalled days of long ago when she’d been in demand like that. But Sarah and Gringo didn’t see the old folks at all for they only had eyes for each other.

   ‘Oh Gringo,’ she said. ‘You know you can have me any time you like,’ and in her excitement it came out louder than she intended. 

   ‘Oh really!’ scoffed the old man. ‘It’s enough to put you off your bloody meal! Why don’t you get on the table and fornicate in front of us! I’m going to the bar for a drink!’ and he stamped off through the restaurant, as Gringo and Sarah first became aware of the old couple sitting not three feet away.

   ‘Pay no attention to him, dear,’ said the woman to Sarah, smiling at Gringo in turn. ‘Sorry about that, he can’t remember what it was like to be in love, bitter you see, forgotten what it’s all about. You enjoy yourselves while you can.’

   They nodded pleasantly at the old girl, but quickly returned to each other, and a minute later Gringo said, quieter this time, ‘Did you mean it?’

   ‘Mean what?’

   ‘That I can have you whenever I like?’

   ‘Course I did, you know that.’

   ‘You don’t want to go making rash promises.’

   ‘Why not? And it’s not a rash promise.’

   ‘I might take you up on it.’

   ‘You must do what you must do.’

   Tracey actually ran back to the kitchen with an update.

   ‘They’re talking about sex again!’

   ‘What did they say?’

   ‘She said:
He could have her whenever he liked
. You don’t think she’s a pro, do you? You don’t think he’s paying?’

   ‘Course not, Tracey, don’t be so absurd,’ though even as the manageress uttered the words, she began wondering of the truth of it. You hear such strange stories these days; and read of similar things in the papers every week. Perhaps Tracey was right. Funnier things have happened, especially in the countryside. Who knows what goes on?

   ‘What did the bloke say?’

   ‘He said:
He’d
take her up on it
.’

   ‘Course he would,’ said William. ‘I could have told you that.’

   ‘No surprise there, then,’ said the manageress.

   ‘True as I’m standing here.’

   ‘Get away with you, Tracey; take out their tiramisus… and while you’re out there, find out what’s happening now,’ and everyone in the kitchen laughed.

   The girl grabbed the puddings and swept out through the doors and set them down, a little heavily, Gringo thought.

   ‘Do you want coffee?’ she asked coldly.

   She’d gone right off the fella for consorting during the middle of the day with a woman of ill repute, while Gringo wondered what had brought on the complete change of attitude. He glanced at Sarah. She rolled her eyes and looked away.

   ‘We’ll leave the coffee, thanks.’

   ‘Very well, here’s the bill,’ and she totted the final figure and tossed it on the table, before scampering off toward the bar.

   ‘I wonder what’s got into her,’ said Gringo.

   ‘Lords knows,’ said Sarah, as she started on the pudding. When she’d finished she wiped her mouth and stood up and bent over Gringo and whispered: ‘I’m going to the cloakroom to make myself beautiful, I might be some time.’

   ‘You won’t need much time for that,’ he said, but she was already on her way, happy enough with two gins and a complete bottle of wine swilling around inside her.

   Gringo went to the bar and the manageress came to serve him.

   ‘Was everything all right with the meal?’

   ‘Yeah, thanks, the food was fine, though the young lady seemed a little stressed.’

   ‘Who, Tracey?’

   ‘The pretty little thing.’

   ‘Yes, that’s her. I’m sorry about that; I hope she didn’t spoil anything.’

   ‘No, not at all, perhaps I’m imagining things.’

   ‘And the lady, she’s fine?’

   ‘The lady is fine indeed,’ smirked Gringo, unable to stop himself winking at the woman, as he dropped some notes on the bar and said: ‘Keep the change, and tell Tracey, thanks from me,’ and then he headed toward the small Gents that was labelled
Colts,
just
in case anyone hadn’t noticed they were now in horseracing country.

Afterwards, Gringo and Sarah sat in the car facing one another, holding hands, neither in any rush to move away.

   ‘The manageress was asking about you.’

   ‘Was she now?’

   ‘Have you two met before?’

   ‘Yes, a couple of times, and I don’t trust her.’

   ‘Why not?’

   ‘
It was
n
othing to do with me.’

   ‘What was?’

   Sarah took a deep breath and gazed back at the garden and then said: ‘I brought Ronnie here once. For some godforsaken reason he took a shine to her. She encouraged him, mind, and the next day I found her telephone number in Ronnie’s jacket pocket.’

   ‘Did he ring her?’

   ‘Not as far as I know. I told him there and then he had to make a choice: her or me.’

   ‘And he chose you?’

   ‘I believe so; I’ve no reason to think otherwise. Are you surprised?’

   ‘Not at all. It’s a no brainer so far as I’m concerned.’

   ‘How do you mean?’

   ‘Easy-peasy. Prettiness, attractiveness, personality, style and class on the one hand, dull and plain and stupid and past it, on the other.’

   ‘Oh, Gringo, that’s a lovely thing to say. Do you mean it?’

   ‘Course I mean it, now come here.’

   She leant across the car.

   ‘I’m putty in your hands,’ she whispered, ‘that’s my trouble.’  

   ‘I’ve always liked the smell of putty; and the feel of it, now shut up and do as you’re told.’

   She held his hand and tugged him through the graveyard, some beauty spot; he couldn’t help thinking, and round to the rear of the church, where an incredible view unfolded before them.

   The ground fell sharply away and at the foot of the bank a large lake stretched out like a magic mirror. To the right, ancient looking chocolate and cream curly-horned cattle had come down to drink, while further across the tranquil water, autumn mist was eddying skywards as the temperature dropped.

   ‘I see what you mean.’

   ‘Worth seeing?’

   ‘Sure. Thanks for bringing me.’

   ‘My pleasure,’ and she smiled up at him.

   ‘Come here,’ he said, and he reached out and tugged her toward him, hugging her, kissing her again.

   ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a man quite like you,’ she said, as they eased apart.

   ‘How do you mean?’

   ‘I’ve never met a man who wants to kiss so much.’

   ‘Don’t you approve? Don’t you like it?’

   ‘Oh yes, I do, that’s my problem.’

   ‘I told you the first time we met I’d like to kiss you all over; and nothing’s changed since. I’ll always feel the same.’

   She didn’t answer. She knew well enough that in time he would change, that was inevitable, but while he was stuck in this mind frame she was more than happy to go along for the ride. Back on the village green an ice-cream van had appeared. It was serving a gaggle of well behaved politely spoken kids.

   ‘Do you want an ice-cream?’ she asked.

   ‘Sure,’ he said, and she joined the queue and bought soft ices that they licked to death on the way back to the car.

   Before he started the engine he kissed her again, a long, slow and deep kiss, and as they were driving back to the bungalow she said: ‘I don’t think we should go out tonight. I can fix something for supper.’

   ‘I’m cool with that.’

   ‘And I think we should have an early night, seeing as we have to be up early.’

   ‘That’s what I had in mind.’

   ‘Not that,’ she said, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

Later, she produced ham sandwiches, scones and jam, and hot tea which they ate before the refitted fire, and after that they went to bed at half past nine.

   She was wearing black lacy underwear, and he took great pleasure in removing it.

   ‘There’s just one little problem,’ she said. ‘My back’s a little worse. I couldn’t possibly lie on my back.’

   ‘I can live with girl’s on top once in a while,’ grinned Gringo, and that was cool too, for his knees were playing up terribly.

   ‘How did I know you’d say that?’

   ‘We are two of a kind, you and I; two of a kind.’

   ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

   ‘I am right, now come here.’

In the morning he dropped her home at twenty past eight. They had travelled back in near silence, not that there was any bad atmosphere between them, her hand and arm on his thigh all the way home, as they both relived in their minds the weekend they had spent together. She knew he was short of time, though there were so many things she wanted to say.

   ‘I’ll call you,’ he said.

   ‘Promise me?’

   ‘Scout’s honour.’

   They kissed once more and parted, tired but happy, and wondering, wondering, all the while about the future.       

Monday was invariably the worst day in the office. How is it that at the weekend when the world is closed and nothing happens, all the problems turn up first thing on a Monday morning? Rebecca tapped on his office door and came in without waiting and sat on his desk. Gringo glanced up. The pink cords were back.

   ‘These are for you,’ she said cheerily, and handed him a huge pile of papers that would all need to be processed that day.

   ‘Ta,’ he said, unable to stop himself checking her out.

   ‘Christ, you look knackered, Gringo.’

   ‘Heavy weekend, you know how it is.’