Day 5. Friday.
I had never discussed a work contract with Vera. Day one had been a Monday, which hadn’t really been a working day. Tuesday I’d moonlighted in the café so maybe Vera wouldn’t pay me for that either. And I don’t know if I am working weekends or not. She said I would be paid monthly and that would be a nightmare.
As I walked up the wide gravel path to the huge oak door, I decided I would have to talk dirty with Vera - at least she would consider talking about money to be talking dirty, but it had to be done. I would have to ask Vera for a sub.
I found her in her apartment, with her head in the cupboard under the newly fitted sink. She was whispering something to herself and it ended with a ladylike ‘drat’. Did she only swear to impress me?
'Anything the matter, Vera?'
She jerked her head upwards and caught it on the sink with a mighty crack, slumped back on her buttocks, holding her head.
'Sorry, Vera. I didn’t mean to startle you.'
'That’s the least of my problems. I realised that sinks need waste-pipes and they are bigger in diameter than the little copper things David was getting so excited about. Take a look.'
She pointed me at the cupboard. I stuck my head inside and waited for the gloom to subside.
'Oh drat indeed,' I exclaimed once my eyes had adjusted. A huge, ragged hole surrounded the plastic waste-pipe and, as Uncle Wilf hadn’t bothered to use compression fittings under the sink, the listed wallpaper was scorched around every soldered joint.
'What can we do, Vera? I’m so sorry.'
'Do, Millicent? Do? We’ll glue the ruddy doors up when English Heritage come to inspect.'
Her face was covered in a mischievous grin.
'It’s not just E H is it? Wilf shouldn’t have been such an arsehole!'
'Can you tell me why he did it? Is he really that stupid? Before you answer that, remember, he was your recommendation.'
'The fact that he used non-soldered compression fittings next door where there is no grade 1 listed wallpaper, and drilled very neat holes through the wall as well, tells you he is not stupid and knows what he should have done under the sink. Why he didn’t do it? You can probably answer that one Vera.'
She sighed deeply.
'Jealousy. He’s cross I have so much when he has so little, payback-time for all the jobs he didn’t get because he is so unreliable? You choose.'
'All of those and some more, and he doesn’t realise what a big deal it is for you to look after unique and precious 18th century Chinese wallpaper. That’s hardly an excuse though, is it? If you already knew what he was like, why did you let me give him the job?'
'He’s family, Millicent. I’ve done similar things in order to help feckless family members out. One always regrets it, but I appreciate why you tried. What did he say when you gave him the three hundred?'
'Hasn’t happened yet. I had a date last night.'
'Quite so, Millicent, and I have to say, you can do better than Charles.'
'How do you know about that, Vera?'
She laughed at no one in particular and studied the stucco on the ceiling for a moment.
'Come with me,' she ordered in her no-nonsense voice.
She led me to the most westerly end of her apartment and through a door, more modern than any of the others I’d seen. We entered a hidden steep circular wooden staircase, which the creaked as we ascended. Light came through small slits set at an angle. One couldn’t see the window. Despite the daylight, Vera operated a large lever switch, which turned on a trail of harsh bulbs strung along the white painted bricks.
'Don’t touch the walls,' she warned. ‘The whitewash brushes onto your clothes.'
The stairs and wall looked like Victorian mock-gothic. After a long and silent climb, we emerged into sunlight at the top of a turret, overlooking the twirls of the leaded roof and of course, the surrounding countryside. The formal gardens and maze first caught my attention. In the distance, beyond them, I could make out the block of converted stables, which housed Charley’s tiny one-room apartment. No way could she have recognised Charley and me from this distance – unless?
'Did you use binoculars to spy on me?'
'Not directly. I hadn’t expected to see you walk hand in hand with Charles to his apartment. That was a chance observation. But it did stir my curiosity. And you stayed three hours, which was too long for a cup of tea and chat about the Suffolk Village League cricket scores.'
'How often do you come up here to spy on the serfs?'
'Most evenings if the weather is nice.'
'Why was this tower built? It’s obviously much later than the rest of the house.'
'Well spotted, Millicent. Mid-19th century - third duke - wanted to see who was slacking in the outlying fields.'
I gasped in disbelief.
'You mean spying on the serfs has a history.'
'Never mind the serfs. Why are you screwing Charles?'
'We didn’t screw.'
'Why not?'
'Nothing to do with you Vera. Absolutely nothing so MYOFB.'
'Sultan, Millicent, Sultan. Now you have to tell me.'
'The Sultan rule is not for situations like this, Vera, not to pry into my private life.'
She clenched the railing so hard that her hands whitened.
'I know, Millicent. I know. You are so right, but don’t you see? These are the things I so want to know about my serfs - as you call them. I am searching for a different life, a carefree life, not free of conventions, but certainly outside them.'
'Voyeur, Vera! It was not nice of you, even if you now claim it was all part of a massive yelhux.'
'I am a voyeur and not ashamed of it, Millicent! If I find a path that prevents alcoholism or insanity, I’ll put my hand up to snooping. But we’re friends. You will tell me one day about you and Charles, so you may as well tell me now - tell me tell me tell me, now.'
She was pleading like a little girl. Time to bargain.
'What’s it worth?'
'I’m sure you can think of something.'
I lost the battle yesterday, but now I could sell a story from my sex life to win the war.
'Sid gets to ride a horse.'
Again, that sudden breath in. Had I gone too far?
'OK. You win, you little scrubber. Lord knows how I’ll explain Sidonie to the Gormley-Stuarts. Now dish the goods about last evening.'
I’d struck a hard bargain so the tale of yesterday evening spent with Charley had to be good. The truth was an irrelevancy. I just had to be sure I wouldn’t blush. That would spoil the effect. Steely resolve was called for.
'We didn’t have intimate discourse, because the idiot hadn’t bothered to get some condoms before soliciting my favours. You may or may not know or realise Vera that villagers in villages with no entertainment value, have to make their own. In Lower Butts, we screw. Young people, old people, everyone is at it. So, if one person gets an STD, we’ll all have it, unless someone breaks the chain. I do that. I’m like the rest of the village except, no condom or no recent STD clinic visit - no sex.'
'What did you do for three hours?'
I stopped and thought. I wanted to make this as titillating as possible. Poor Vera. She needed something to be horrified by. It makes the world go round and it would serve her right if she got a real shock.
'Curiosity killed the cat, Vera! We sat either end of the bed and watched each other masturbate.'
The gasp was awesome. I thought it had to be followed by a heart attack.
'You never!' She paused and let my story sink into the folds of her aristocratic brain. 'You naughty little tinkers.'
I noticed she had gone as red as a beetroot and was holding her chest bone with one hand, as if fighting a severe indigestion bout. With the other she was steadying herself on the railing at the top of the staircase. ‘I’ll teach her’ I thought. ‘She’ll need more than a Rennies before bedtime’.
'Yep, three times. The first he built up such a head it hit me on the left tit.'
She ran too quickly for safety, down the spiral stairs. I stayed and admired the view.
Sid had to sit down at the bus shelter on the way home. She was convulsed, with tears streaming down her face.
'You never told her that!'
'To get my old chum Sid a ride on a horse? Of course I did - no problem.'
'Did you and Charley really - you know - do it?'
'MYOFB, Sid.'
'You canny tart. Never mind. I’ll wheedle it out of Charley. Changing the subject - when will it happen - the horse riding thing?'
'No idea. Knowing Vera, she will send you a gilded invitation card.'
'Tell her, if she doesn’t take the piss out of me, I’ll sleep with her.'
Now it was my turn to look as if I were having a heartburn attack.
'Are you really lesbian, Sid?'
'MYOFB, Millie!'
'And how do you know she wants to sleep with you?' I squeaked.
'MYOFB, Millie!'
'It’s not me who’s the canny tart. Never mind. I’ll wheedle it out of Vera.'
That earned me a dead arm - the first I’d had off Sid for many years.
We walked on from the bus stop in silence, each considering what the events, lies and unanswered questions of this day would mean to us long-term. Someone would blab about some aspect of what had happened and the whole village would gossip at our expense. What had happened? Nothing really, apart from me spending time with Charley, Sid having a bout of equestrianism and Vera coming out over her hobby as a peeper. If someone, other than Vera, noticed my nocturnal visit, or when Vera tells her stable staff that Sid will be riding out, the gossip mill will begin to turn for sure. Truth wouldn’t really play a major role. My gran would be the first to hear some version or other, probably at the village stores and post office, and she never spoilt a good yarn for the sake of a few white lies. On the gossip mill, Sid, or would it be me, were as good as in bed with Vera. Why did my gran think we are all lusting after lesbian relationships? Does it say more about her than me?
Note to me: tackle Gran over her obsession with fictional lesbian relationships. I must sneak a look at what she is reading these days.
At my house Sid just kept walking, no goodbye, no kiss - in a daydream.
As she walked into the distance, with her slight waddle, I said to myself, 'She’s in love.'
Bedtime - still haven’t seen the house or paid Uncle Wilf.
I wonder if one can be sacked for lewd acts in an aristocratic let?
Day 6. Saturday.Vera’s unpleasant reaction to Sid wanting to ride left Friday with an incongruous end and made me forget to ask her for a sub. More immediately important - was I was supposed to work Saturdays and Sundays. I had forgotten to clarify that as well. I’m as bad as the rest of the village. Give me a bit of gossip to chew on and I forget the world beyond Lower Butts. We are so parochial!There was no other option, but at 7.43, to drag my lazy butt down the garden path and head for the House. I didn’t get further than the gate, for there was Sid with tears streaming down her face, quivering bottom lip, looking imploringly at me. I took her arm and started walking her towards the church yard. At least that would rule out a lover’s tiff if we were seen arm in arm, for there were sure to be nosey neighbours peering between net curtains. I’d have
We spent the afternoon sorting out a couple of riding habits. I learnt that what is worn nowadays are called jodhpurs. The boots were awesome and would have made kinky bedroom attire. During the afternoon we had to go to a friend’s house. I was driven by Vera to the next village in her BMW. Vera’s friend had two daughters and hence a collection of ball-gowns. The girls were away at boarding school, so would not be needing gowns.By the time I met Sid for our walk home, I was fully equipped – mentally and physically – for the execution of Vera’s scheme. The physical bit I would like to have saved myself. The bag with riding outfits, including boots, and the two ball-gowns were more than I could carry, so I was pleased to palm the gowns off on Sid.She looked mistrustfully at the packet and then asked, 'What actually is in this bin-liner?''Two ball-gowns. We are going to do it.''We are so not going to go to either the hunt or
Day 7.Sunday.I’ve got myself in a corner of my own making. Should I go to the House as though nothing had happened? Was I expected there on a Sunday? Should I go to the café? It was another beautiful day. There would be enough work, but maybe Sid and I had burned our bridges there, too. Should I stay in bed and say, ‘Sod the lot of them?’Then I had a genial idea. Go to church!I hadn’t been to church since being chucked out of Brownies for swearing, and when Brown Owl chastised me, I blasphemed, which was obviously much worse than the F-word. I knew enough about Vera’s habits to know she always went to church when she was ‘at home’.I imagined asking Sid.'Is it tactically better to be early or late for church?''You never go to church. What’s got into you? But late is better.''It’s an opportunit
Vera should have called ‘Sultan.’ I had just lied to her for the second time in our friendship. Of course, I had been taken in by her offer, was flattered by the opportunity to play at the big table, had found her logic, that one shouldn’t turn an experience down without having tried it, convincing and conscience calming. So, I kept quiet about my unprincipled slide into ‘Vera’s Way’, and continued. 'Sid put me right. What we want and need is not a seat at the posh table. It’s a job with proper living wage that allows us a functioning family life, without overtime, but with children-time instead. Do you know that Mrs Gormley-Stuart cancelled an order for a thousand lobelia - worth perhaps two hundred quid - and it is a big deal for my father? That can’t be the world we want to live in.' 'I know. She told us, last coffee morning.' 'She told you what?' I shrieked. 'Why would my father’s nursery business be of interest to you or your ladies, at a snobby bun-figh
We drove in silence the leafy way to Sid’s cottage. How odd life is? Sid was the girl I’d called a friend since we were eleven, and I was about to visit her house for the first time. I should have asked her questions earlier, but that may have ruined more than it solved. Perhaps her flee into butch dress was to prevent any lads getting the idea to call on her. The recent kiss on the lips, the offer to sleep with Vera, the claimed knowledge that Vera was lesbian? Could it all be to maintain her defences and keep people from her private sphere? Then again, she may be trying to come out to me. I figured I could solve some of the riddle by asking Vera. 'Do you bat for both sides, Vera?' My timing was awful. We were following the old road, which was a tiny, single tree-lined track, through the outskirts of the village. We arrived at the cottage seconds after I spoke and Vera ignored my question. 'Well, do you?' I tried again as she swung from the car. 'Wha
Day 8. Monday.Not even out of bed yet and a text from Vera. I always put my phone on quiet, but my sister, Sonya, nosey as ever, opened an eye.'Who’s that?''Vera.''Why?''Can I pick up her Financial Times? Seems they forgot to include it this morning.'How can such an irrelevancy spark off the imagination of an eleven-year-old?'Have you seen the heap of papers poor Georgie has to lug up to the House every morning?''She’s a big strapping lass. I’m sure she can cope.''Aren’t we related to her somehow?''Our mums share the same great grandmother.'There was a pause while Sonya let that filter through her sleepy brain. I found I was dressing rather slowly.'And the girl in the stores is related to Georgie somehow, so she must be related to us.''Too complicated. Sonya.''Shouldn’t you be hurrying or something?
Vera insisted on playing in her new tea-kitchen. She served Darjeeling. I was feeling very wicked and very on form.'As a tea-snob, I think Darjeeling is an afternoon drink, but you’ve made it for mid-morning. What did they teach you at finishing school, Vera?'This time she stood up, came round the table and gave me a hug.'That was brilliant, Millicent!' she squealed. 'Larissa Gormley-Stuart couldn’t have said it better. I’ll make a lady of you yet.''Karl Vera. That was beautiful too. I try a put down on you and your class and you counter with a declaration that there is hope for me in the world of snob.'She stood back a little, still holding me. She stared into my eyes. It was a real moment of friendship and expression that told me I was worthy of being in her confidence. Then she spoiled it.'Millicent, you are wearing so much make-up today. Why is that? You really do and have such lovely skin.'I blushed.
'By the way, I have to go to the solicitor tomorrow, early. Hopefully, there is something that prevents me interfering with the planning process. Then the farmer gets his blasted windmills and I don’t have to annoy the county set.''Is that likely?''No idea? The family has been farming that patch for generations. Who knows what was agreed in seventeen fifty something and how easily it can be applied to wind farms?''Why can’t you lie about the legal position and tell your posh chums you can’t block it?''Because Larissa insists on accompanying me.'I looked blank, then the penny dropped.'Larissa Gormley-Stuart intends to stake out the solicitor’s office, to make sure you don’t try to deceive the county set. She suspects you of some fifth column activity.''And with good reason. I’d love to let Giles Ferguson have his windmills.'A plan formed in my mind. I was willing to form a Vera-support