Summer Lawns Ch. 05 - The Pub!

As the grass grew that summer he came to terms with her complex moods and gained her trust, something her husband had never done. They never actually became lovers, but Sandra never seemed to mind his dog-like devotion, and for Charles, it was better than nothing.

Of course, all this sex and gardening had filled Charlie's head so much, he was oblivious to the rest of the world. It was almost like waking from a dream the day he went back into the village pub. He had even moved into the rooms above the old stables, which cut him off from the rest of the world. Suddenly he found how out of touch he had become.

"Oh, it's the sex slave. Come to give it a rest Charlie?" The landlord of the Steel Helmet pub, greeted him with a laugh as he walked through the door. At least he still reached for his tankard and automatically put it beneath the bitter pump.

"The beer any more drinkable?" Charles sat at the bar and looked around him. The same faces sat in the same places, but the mood was different.

"She keeping you working up there?" Bob Tailor, the local mechanic, roared with laughter at his joke, and the rest joined in.

"I've been doing the garden," replied Charles, "if that's what you're on about?"

"That's not the only thing you've been doing, so we've heard." Bob Tailor continued with his crude line of questioning.

Charles knew the mood in the pub was growing cold. It had never really been warm, but now the men at the bar were there simply to make fun of him, and there was little he could do. So Charles decided to stick it out.

"What's she like then Charlie'?" asked Bob with a smile to the others. "Good in bed? Or just manage it on the lawn?"

The pub erupted in a hail of cruel laughter. Charles ignored them all.

"Look," said Charles, "I just get on with my life, ok?" His stare never left the tankard of beer, as he knew to look them in the eye, would bring down more derision.

"Sounds like you are getting on with Mr Draper's for him," laughed Bob. "After all, you're getting on his wife." The man wheeled round to more brutish laughter from the others, all enjoying the spectacle.

"We'll have none of that sort of coarse language Bob Tailor, thank you." The Landlord knew the atmosphere was getting out of hand and wanted things to calm down a little.

"He can't go around shagging the richest woman in the village and get away with it. We all know!" Bob carried on with his pursuit of the fun, looking to his allies for support.

"Whatever he does, he's more decent than you. So I'll thank you to keep your crude opinions to yourself. We'll have less of that sort of talk in the pub." The Landlord had spoken, and no matter what they all thought of the young man, he was not to become fair game for them.

Bob, on the other hand, did not see it that way.

"Who are you to tell me what I can or can't say?" He was clearly riled at this challenge.

"I've known this lad all his life, and his parents. They've lived in this village as far back as it goes. They have ancestors buried in that churchyard. So have some respect." The Landlord winked at Charles.

"I've got relatives buried there too," insisted Bob.

"His go back to the civil war. Maybe even further," the Landlord challenged.

Up till now, Charles had let things flow over his head, but even he could see something had to be done.

"You can say what you like about me, but at least I try to make an honest living." Charles now looked Bob square in the face and watched his mood boil.

"What's that supposed to mean," suddenly Bob slammed his glass down on the bar.

"That's a fair point, Bob. What about that business with the jewellers a few years back. That might not go down so well if the truth got out?" Now the Landlord joined in the fun of seeing the tables turned on Bob Tailor.

"Rumours! You can't throw mud at me!" Bob was clearly on the defensive now, and glanced around the room in quick shifty gestures, as the crowd turned on him. All wanted an explanation.

"You were mixed up with that jewel robbery. A smash and grab. Someone wrapped newspaper around a brick, trying to look innocent, as they walked through the town." The Landlord was enjoying every minute of the story, as he thought back. "Seems to me those CCTV cameras can spot anyone, and a man with a brick in his hand would look pretty suspicious. So he wrapped it in a newspaper, then at the last minute; threw at the jeweller's window."

"Wasn't me!" insisted Bob.

"£10,00 in rings went missing, didn't they?" put in Charles taking a swig of beer.

"That's right, and the police soon had a strong lead." The Landlord leaned over the bar to watch Bob squirming.

"It was never linked to me," Bob was quite adamant about that.

"Well, you had something to do with the robbers, or at least the newspaper." The Landlord now had the full attention of the crowd. "Because the newspaper you used had your name and address still written on it when you threw it!"

With that, the pub fell about with laughter, as Bob was caught in his own trap.

"Bastards!" he shouted and threw his glass at the back of the bar. The Landlord responded by taking down a huge copper warming-pan, which hung on the wall for decoration, and chased Bob round the pub.

In all this, Charles managed to slip out. Having a quiet pint in the village local was not going to be so easy from now on.

Back at the Manor house, Sandra told him to forget the past and enjoy his new life. But Charles knew he was a working-class village kid, and would always remain so. No matter what nice clothes Sandra bought him; or showed him off to her rich friends; he would always remain just that.

The money did help.

Charles had always earned a little working on the local farm, but the only real job he had ever taken, was the factory.

That had always been such a dull place, he had been forced to take a chance on the garden at the Manor House.

Soon the nightmare of those boring times was passing him by. Charles was learning how to enjoy himself. After all, he was young and fit and having sex with the most beautiful woman in the world. What more could he ask for?

The only problems came in the form of Mr Draper.

He was a strange man, and Charles never liked him. He cared little for his wife and was only really interested in the money.

"Not happy living in the village any more Charles?" Mr Draper asked him one morning. He was loading up his car with files and expensive clothes, for another London trip.

"Not my sort of place any more Mr Draper," replied Charles.

"Why, I thought you loved living with the poor but honest people? Working-class together, and all that?" Draper was clearly making fun of him but knew he could get away with it. They both looked to the house, where Sandra stood watching them. "Take care of the lady wife for me Charlie. I might be gone for a while, and I know you two get on well together."

Now Charles wondered what he meant by that? Was it a trap? Sandra must have let something slip by now, and her husband must have guessed they had become sexual partners. So why was he saying it?

"I'll try to help all I can. This is a good job, I wouldn't want to mess things up." Charles held open the car door for the older man.

"Good. Whatever happens, she was good to me. Don't forget that." So with that strange remark, he was gone. The Jaguar racing away down the white gravelled drive.

Charles walked back into the house and looked at Sandra.

"He said something very strange back there. As if he was going away?" Charles helped the woman load her car up now.

"He's a strange man," she replied.

"He seemed a worried man to me."

"Why, what could he be worried about?"

"Well for a start, he must have guessed I'm having sex with his wife? That must show up?"

"I live my life, what we do is none of his business, remember that Charlie."

"He is your husband for God sake! In court that might count for a lot?"

"So that's what this is all about? The money? You are worried he might divorce me and get all the money? Men-so selfish!"

"So what's our life to become? We do at least have one?"

"Charlie you let me worry what our life is going to be, and look after the house."

With that, Sandra set off too.