All of Us Fit in Our Places

"I'd love to show you around. I've had a lovely evening and I'd like to see you again."

Kim's face lit up and Valerie was taken aback. If she'd been beautiful before, now she looked like a goddess.

"I was hoping you would! Here's my number, text me!"

She opened her clutch and retrieved a business card. Valerie inspected it.

"Kimberley Wallace, consultant obstetrician. You said you were a doctor!" she said, accusingly.

"I only said 'sort of'," Kim smirked. "I didn't want to scare you off!"

"Relationships are built on honesty," Valerie said before realising what she was saying.

Kim beamed. "I sure hope so! I know you said no hanky-panky on a first date, but can I kiss you?"

Valerie stared at her, and Kim's face fell a little.

"I've been too much. I'm sorry, I just get carried away sometimes. I hope you'll call me anyway."

She started to turn away and Valerie caught her hand. Holding the other woman in place she leaned in and kissed Kim on the cheek.

Kim did the whole sun coming out thing again and bounced on the spot. "I'll take that!" and with that, was gone.

Valerie sat down in a nearby chair wondering what she had started. She looked up to see the barmaid waiting to finish up. She had a crooked grin on her face and Valerie blushed.

***

In London for business, Rosemary dropped into a bar for some lunch.

A small group of Australians at the next table were making some noise and she became aware that one of them was looking over at her. She turned and met his gaze.

He looked like Clint Eastwood might have done if his parents had been Scandinavian. He had thick wavy near-white hair and a short beard and moustache. His skin spoke of a life lived outdoors.

He got up and came round to her table.

"Can I sit here?" he asked.

Rosemary stared at him in amusement.

"I'm married!"

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"You look more interesting than that bunch of dags."

She laughed, this was a better pick up line than she'd heard in an age, and he must be fifteen years older than her if he was a day! She waved him to the seat.

"What brings you to London, Miss?"

"I told you, I'm married and what's a dag?"

"Every sheila's a miss until you know their name and a dag is what you Poms would call a loser."

Rosemary laughed again.

"You can call me Rosemary. And you are?"

"Wayne. Wayne Thompson," he said and rose to offer her his hand.

He was charm itself and Rosemary took an instant liking to him.

"What brings you half-way round the world, Wayne?"

"I've been working at a French winery, trying to get them to accept that not everything has to be done to traditional methods. Who knows, you might even get better results!"

"Good luck with that!"

All the French men she'd met were firmly of the conviction that France was the best country in the world and everything that was good resided there.

"You can say that again! The owner brought me in to take a look and I thought the head vintner was going to have a heart attack when I suggested fermenting in stainless steel tanks to improve consistency."

"Let me guess, something about terroir?"

His weather-beaten face unleashed a blinding array of white teeth.

"So, you know a bit of the lingo! Terroir's more about the soil but, yeah, for them it's this mystical quality that no one else could possibly understand."

Rosemary suddenly remembered Charles producing a bottle of estate wine at one of their soirées.

"How long are you in England, Wayne?"

"I'm visiting some mates in Wandsworth for a couple of days. Why?"

"My future brother-in-law has a small vineyard. I'm trying to work out if it's worth keeping. Would you take a look? I'd pay you for your time," she added hastily.

He blinked. "Sure, I guess. How big are we talking?"

Rosemary grimaced and held her hands about six inches apart. "This big?"

He laughed. "I get it. Can we do it in a week or two? I'll have some free time then."

"Brilliant! Have you got a phone?"

"Can't live without it, these days."

They swapped numbers and talked for a while longer before Rosemary had to go.

***

New perspectives

March

Monica spoke. "I've decided I'm going to go home."

Anna saw the quick flash of irritation that passed across Paul's face.

"This is your home!"

His wife ignored him. "I'll get a flight next week. Mrs Cane, would you make the necessary arrangements?"

"Of course, Mrs Stanforth."

Paul threw his napkin at the table and stormed out, leaving the rest of the family in embarrassed silence, except, of course, for Giles, who smiled as he picked at his meal.

Anna studied him. Was this his way of dealing with the awful tension that surrounded his mother? Or was he just a common or garden sociopath, taking pleasure in the chaos? He caught her eye and grinned.

"Just another day at Chateau Stanforth! Still looking forward to joining the clan, Anna?"

She looked sideways at Charles. "It has it's attractions."

There was the smallest softening of his expression.

"Yeah, you two are pretty noisy when you get going!" Giles smirked.

There were sounds of disgust from Byron and Anastacia and Valerie Cane's expression tightened.

"Perhaps I ought to check my room for spyholes." Anna said.

Stacia snorted and looked at Giles. "Anything's possible."

"I'll go and ask Jobby for a drill!" Giles laughed.

Anna thought she might be starting to understand her fiancé's attitude.

"Don't wrestle with pigs," she murmured.

"What did you say?" Giles snapped; his malign pleasure gone in an instant.

Anna spared him a brief glance before returning her attention to her food.

"What did you say?" he repeated, glaring at her.

"That's enough Giles," his mother said, unexpectedly.

Now it was Giles' turn to rise from the table and stride swiftly from the room, muttering under his breath.

"You're really getting under his skin," Byron said, appreciatively.

"Who's Jobby?" Anna asked.

"Giles has pet names for all the staff," Anastacia replied. "Jobby is Mr Forbes."

Anna shook her head in disbelief. She looked round to see if any of said staff were within earshot.

"Even Mrs Cane?"

"She's Mrs C. when he's being polite, Housey when he's not."

Anna realised that the Stanforth matriarch was inspecting her. She turned to face her, but Monica had returned to her food.

***

A couple of days later the weather had turned cold and the rain beat heavily against the panes in the morning room. Anna found being inside at Dearborn rather dull.

"What time's dinner?" she asked, looking up from the copy of Country Life that detailed the daily routine of an unfamiliar species.

Giles pounced. "That's very non-U, Anna, darling."

Anna's brow furrowed. "Non-U? That's that thing one of the Mitford sisters came up with. Probably the same one that thought Hitler had lovely blue eyes. They did like their fascists."

Giles stared at her. "What are you talking about? What fascists?"

"You should read a bit of history; broadens the mind. Anyway, U and non-U is a kind of shibboleth. Very useful when 'in Town'."

Anna made quotation marks with her fingers.

"But rather less useful when not: a bit like rackets. An obscure game that nobody cares about."

"Nobody that matters, you mean," he retorted.

"And you matter, do you, Giles?"

Anna inspected him with a quizzical eye.

Giles went very red, but his lips were two white lines.

"When I'm Master-" he gritted but she cut him off.

"Yes, when, Giles? Who knows, the horse might learn to sing after all."

Anna tossed the magazine on to the table and sauntered out. The twins looked on admiringly.

"She's got your number, Giles old boy," Byron murmured.

His brother made a strange inarticulate noise and strode from the room.

Stacia and Byron silently high-fived each other.

"What was all that stuff about a singing horse?" Anastacia whispered.

"It's a fable about a convicted thief who avoids execution by convincing the king that he'll teach the king's horse to sing within a year. The King agrees and someone asks the thief if he really thinks he can teach the horse to sing. The thief smiles and says, 'In a year, the king might die, I might die, the horse might die, and who knows, maybe the horse will learn to sing after all.'"

His twin laughed and clapped her hands. "Anything might happen!"

***

April

Rosemary picked Wayne up at the station and drove down to the estate. Parking round the side of the house she introduced him to Mrs Took.

"Hiya, Mrs T. This is Wayne, we're going to take a look at the vineyard."

"Right you are, dearie. I'll make something for you when you get back."

"Um, I hope I'm not going to put you in an awkward position, Mrs T. but this is at Charles' request, and he'd prefer it if the family didn't know about it just yet. Especially Giles."

The cook had started to frown as Rosemary spoke, but the mention of the younger scion's name smoothed the way. She nodded shortly.

"Mum's the word, then. What are you up to, anyway?"

"I don't know yet Mrs T. I'm hoping that Wayne will be able to tell me."

Edna Took eyed the Australian speculatively.

Wayne's creased face unleashed his enormous smile of white teeth and he advanced to shake the startled woman's hand.

"Many thanks, Mrs T. I'm obliged!"

Shaking her head, Rosemary pulled him away from the back door.

"Charming the ladies, Wayne?"

"Never hurts!"

***

A couple of hours later, they came to a halt at the top of the rise.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

The grizzled vet stood with his hands on his hips looking at the ground.

"What I don't understand is why they're messing around with Muller Thurgau and Seyval Blanc."

"And?"

"What I mean is that unless I'm very much mistaken, we're standing on Kimmeridge clay."

Rosemary sighed; all he'd done as they trudged about the estate was talk indecipherable gibberish.

"That's great but so what?"

He decided she needed educating.

"The Kimmeridge is a band of clay, chock full of fossils that runs under the English Channel. There are outcrops all across the place and this looks like one."

Rosemary favoured him with a long look. She was used to being patronised, but she was paying him for goodness' sake.

"And?" she repeated.

"The other end is in France."

She was on the verge of punching him in his creased face when he broke into a smile. He was ragging her, and the pay-off was here.

"In Champagne, amongst other places."

Her mouth fell open.

"Are you saying ..."

"That they should be growing Chardonnay and Pinot? Yep. Come with me."

He turned and walked to the fence.

"Who owns this lot?" He waved a hand at the fields beyond.

"I think they're part of the Johnson's estate."

"There's probably thirty acres of the same stuff over there. I won't know for sure unless I can have a walk around or hire a plane. If you could farm that, you could run a profitable business."

"Making fizz!"

"Sure." He grinned at her.

Rosemary's brain was spinning. Suddenly a lot of possibilities were opening up for someone with access to funds.

"How much?"

He shrugged. "Ten grand an acre. Then that winery will need a serious makeover."

In response to her raised eyebrows, he shrugged again. "Two hundred, two fifty, as much as you want to pay, really."

"So, half to three quarters of a mill."

He laughed. "You got that kind of money?"

She ignored him and stood seeing rows of vines in her mind's eye: Dearborn acquiring a purpose.

"C'mon!"

"Where to?"

"To find a plane."

***

A hand rested lightly on his thigh, and he knew whom it was even before he could catch the scent of Giles' cologne. He covered Giles' hand with his own and turned to kiss him.

He moaned as the other man put his hand through his hair. Giles' tongue pushed between his lips and into Perry's mouth and he surrendered himself to Giles completely.

"Fancy a quickie, Perry darling?" Giles murmured.

Perry frowned; what he wanted was a leisurely afternoon in bed, but it seemed that was not on the cards. In fact, quick fumbles was all it had been for months.

"I've brought the lube," Giles said, as he pushed Perry against the work bench.

Resignedly, Perry loosened his trousers, and turned round to bend over. He liked being a bottom, but he wanted to see his lover's face, this was no better than being some cheap street meat.

He felt Giles' cock push between the cheeks of his arse, and he relaxed as Giles penetrated him. He sighed, he loved being fucked but this was sterile.

Giles was starting to breathe harder. "We should get Claire back. I thought she was going to cream herself watching me take you up the shitter."

Perry cringed. He had a bit of a penchant for slutty talk, but Giles didn't do it to titillate. He was on the verge of saying something when a particularly hard thrust hit the sweet spot and he groaned out loud.

Eleanor was passing by in the yard and heard Perry's ecstatic sigh. She tiptoed over in time to hear Giles speak again.

"Who'd a thought little Miss Foulds liked a good hard shag? Wonder which one of you enjoyed it the most?"

Eleanor stifled a gasp. Claire Foulds? Miss golden bangs and shepherdess dresses? Claire butter-wouldn't-melt school-teacher Foulds?

"She was all over you like a rash! You had a good old go at her tits and all. Did she give you a good hand job? Better not have been better than mine!"

Eleanor had her hand to her mouth as she listened to Giles' sneer, but in amongst her shock and disgust there was the realisation that Perry might not be out of reach entirely.

There were more rhythmic animal sounds from inside the workshop and Eleanor desperately wanted to be able to look, but there was no way she'd be able to enter unseen.

"Good firm arse you've got, Pezza! All that manual labour, eh?"

"Don't call me that! You know I don't like it."

"Dearborn's coming to me, boy, I'll call you what I like."

"Don't call me boy!"

"Then you must be part of the stock! Giddy up!" and with that, he slapped Perry's backside hard.

"What the fuck!" shouted Perry.

"Ah! Do that again. Gave my todger a good squeeze, that did!" and Giles slapped Perry again.

Perry grabbed the edge of the bench and pushed back hard, sending Giles reeling into the lathe. He bent to pull his trousers up but before he could fasten them, Giles was on him again.

"You dare! You worthless piece of shit!" Giles snarled; his face contorted with rage.

Perry abandoned his trousers in favour of a gut punch to the other. Giles sat down heavily amongst the sawdust and Perry returned to securing his modesty.

"You're finished, Pezza! Start looking for another job."

"Ain't up to you. Don't ever touch me again."

"As if I'd dirty my hands with a country bumpkin!"

Perry looked down at him for a long moment and Giles tensed for another blow, but it never came.

"I've got work to do," Perry said finally. "Not a concept you'd understand."

He marched past Giles and into the yard where he found Eleanor hovering by the door, white faced with two spots of high colour on her cheeks.

Perry stared at her briefly and then gestured with his chin and she fell in alongside him.

They were halfway to the lake before she spoke.

"How long?"

"Since I came to work here," he muttered, not really knowing why he was confiding in her.

Another couple of minutes slipped by in awkward silence.

"I wanted him to be my boyfriend. God knows, if wanting him was all it took ..." His voice trailed off.

Eleanor didn't know what to say. What she'd overheard wasn't a lover's quarrel but something dark and unpleasant.

"Can you give him up?"

Perry examined his feelings.

"I want to say that that's it, but we've been here before. I'll weaken if he gives me that smile and crooks his finger. He's a shit, but I love him."

Unexpectedly she took his arm and Perry felt his eyes prick with tears. They stopped by the lake and stood watching the insects dance above the water.

"Do you ever go out?" she asked.

Perry shook his head. "Where is there to go?"

"We could go to the pub."

He turned to her, but she was still looking out over the lake. After a moment, he laughed. "Yeah, why not? I can't remember the last time I went to the Six Bells."

***

Later that evening Perry pushed open the door to the lounge bar and saw her sitting in one of the window alcoves, nursing a glass of white wine. He was struck again how beautiful she was in repose.

Her hair, normally tied up under a cap at work, was loose. Luxuriant auburn locks spilled over a simple white collarless shirt and framed her perfect face and clear grey eyes.

And this all before she even opened her mouth. He wondered if she sang and whether that might prove too much to bear.

He still didn't know what she was doing working as a gardener, but she was very capable. The older men liked her, and she'd repelled all advances from everyone else. Giles called her the Ice Queen and that was perfectly fine with Perry.

As for Perry himself, he didn't know how he felt about Eleanor exactly. There had always been a bit of a spark between himself and Anastacia, but not enough to act on. And she was family so that was a non-starter. But Eleanor ...

Perry collected himself and resolved to keep it professional. Life was complicated enough. He got a pint of IPA and sauntered over to where she was sitting.

"If I may?"

Eleanor giggled and gave him a swivel-eyed look. "S'pose! Weirdo!"

He chuckled. "Is that any way to address your boss? Miss Price, is there anyone sitting here?"

"Please," she said, waving her glass to encompass the window seat.

Perry plonked himself down across the table from her. For a few minutes they talked shop and then they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes more.

He sighed and she looked at him.

"What is it?"

"You know my problem."

She looked at him seriously.

"You have issues, alright. Intellectually, you know he's not going to change and he's never going to allow you to be a proper couple."

Perry nodded and stared gloomily out of the window into the gathering dusk.

"I think you want him precisely because he's unattainable."

"How does that work?" he laughed.

"Then you don't have to do the hard stuff of an actual relationship."

He took a pull of his pint. "You've got an old head for such young shoulders."

She grimaced and looked unhappy. "You have no idea."

Perry scooted round the window seat and put his hand on hers.

"I'm clumsy with people. Sorry if I've upset you."

Eleanor looked down at his hand and he hurriedly picked it up, only for her to snatch it back and hold it. He stared at her as she turned to look him in the face.

"My Mum had a nervous breakdown when I was thirteen. She took to her bed for over a year. My Dad worked away a lot and I'm an only child.

I had to learn to run the house, to cook, clean, wash and iron and to shop for food while at the same time taking myself off to school and doing my homework. Thankfully, the bills were all paid by direct debit and Mum gave me her cashcard so that I could draw money when I needed it.

Dad left us when I turned fifteen. Mum had only just recovered enough to start looking after things and it broke her all over again. There was just about enough money to tide us over until I was able to leave school and get a job. Mum hasn't left the house in ten years."

Perry hardly knew what to say. He didn't have much to do with the village, but he could imagine Eleanor's neighbours shaking their heads and making sympathetic noises without ever offering anything in the way of concrete help.

Tentatively he put his other hand on top of their joined hands.