New directions pt 23

By Ed Crane
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This was Karen’s fault. At least that’s what I told myself as I squeezed through the door on Monday morning. The cottage still smelled of a pleasant blend of Celia’s and Karen’s perfume. Collecting the envelope I settled into Celia’s armchair and tipped out the sheath of damaged and stained paperwork.
*
After Dev left we walked over to the White Lion. Tiny and ancient in a simple rustic way it felt like a real pub, nothing like the oak beam palaces which pass as country pubs these days. I loved it. We were the only ones there.
I approached the bar wondering where the landlord was. A tall skinny man with thick white hair under an expressionless face appeared from behind a curtain with a limp tea towel in one hand. He hesitated when he saw me then relaxed when he noticed Karen. Choosing a friendly, but slightly wry smile he said, ‘Good afternoon, Sir what can I get you?’
While he poured out the pint of local bitter he asked in the casual way only experienced barmen can, ‘been in the wars have we?’
Remembering my bruises and fading shiner I touched the plaster covering my stitches – it still hurt. Attempting to be just as casual I said, ’Yeah, you could say that.’
‘Walked into a wall?’
‘He was attacked from behind by a of bunch bastards trying to rob an old lady.’ Karen called out from a table by the window.
I looked round and gave her a, don’t say that look. ‘Well you were, Chuck . . . you’re not a bloody thug,’
‘Was that you up at Celia’s cottage?’ the bloke asked, his eyes wide.
In response to my nod he asked if I was her landlord. ‘No I just work for him.’ It was a meant as a joke, but he didn’t know that.
‘Have this on me, mate and whatever the lady wants.’ He said holding out his hand. I shook it.
‘Thanks very much. Karen only wants a coke, she’s driving today.’
‘Hold on a sec. I got something for you.’ Disappearing behind the curtain he was gone for a while. I could hear him fiddling around. I realised for the first time he was pretty old. He re-appeared and slapped a large old fashioned key on the bar. ‘This is poor Celia’s back door key, I ‘spose she won’t be needing it now.’
‘Erm . . . she’s in hospital. She’s in a bad way, but they’re taking good care of her. They think she’ll be ok, but it’s gonna take a lot of time to recover. Visiting’s difficult at the moment.’
‘Oh no, I didn’t mean . . . you know. I guess you’ll be wanting to change all the locks, make it more secure. We always told her to be careful, but she wouldn’t have it.’
‘How come you have a key?’
‘She asked us to keep it for her deliveries.’ He clocked my puzzled frown. ‘Celia gets a lot of her stuff sent from London. You know; Fortnum and Masons, Harrods and such places. They deliver to the pub and we take it over there. She doesn’t like delivery people coming to the cottage. We have a key for when she’s out. Always gives us a little gift of jam or tea or something. Top class stuff.’
‘And a Christmas hamper every year,’ a woman who looked like she could be his sister came through the curtain, ‘she used to get it all sent to the post office next door until it closed. Bloody scandal that was. They accused the post master of having his fingers in the till. Don’t believe a word of it.’
‘The wife’s right, honest as the day he was born was Alan. Never could figure out the computer though. Poor bugger got eighteen months. Wendy couldn’t keep the business going. We have to go to bloody to Thatcham now. Bloody scandal. . . . I’m Ted by the way. This is my wife, Lucy.’
‘Terry, I said shaking Lucy’s slightly damp paw. Karen’s, my partner.’ She waved. ‘Did Celia go out a lot?’ I asked out of sheer nosiness.
‘Not so much these days, but she often went down to London when she first came here. I think her lawyer’s there, and Newbury of course and somewhere in Wiltshire. Always got a Taxi to the station and back, never wanted a lift. “I don’t like disturbing people’s days,” she used to say. A very independent lady that one.’
‘Yes Celia is a very lovely lady. . . I better take this Coke over to Karen before it goes cold,’ I said as an excuse to break off the conversation and join her.
After about a minute of total silence Karen piped up, ‘What’s the matter Chuck? You’re very quiet.’
‘Just thinking about what Ted said about Celia going to town to see her lawyer.’
‘Town? Oh, the smoke. What’s so interesting about that?’
‘Something the Dook said about Celia’s trust being managed by his solicitor.’
‘I don’t remember him saying that.’
‘He implied it then changed the subject. He was so wound up about the cellar it got right up my nose. . . . What I mean is, if Celia often went to London to see her lawyer, why are Reggie’s people handling her trust?’
‘Maybe it’s the same one. What does it matter anyway? Not your prob. is it?
‘He pissed me off.’
‘’Praps there’s something in those papers.’
‘What papers?’
Karen waved her hands in frustration, ‘the ones the police left in a big envelope. You were gonna take them home to read.’
‘Ahhhh, f. . . . Well that’s a bugger.’
‘You’ve got a key, Terry.'
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I hope he takes a look in the
I hope he takes a look in the cellar while he's there!
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