Bron-21

Continued from Chapter 20: Bron-20 | ABCtales

Chris and Geoff were well into their second pints in the front bar of Ye Olde Mitre; it was nearly one. The pale midday sunlight seeped hesitantly through the mullioned glass of the windows and pooled on the tables and ancient carpet.

“She’s late,” said Geoff. “Sure you told her half-past twelve?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“And gave her the directions?”

“Wrote ‘em down for her. Go to 9 Hatton Gardens, then look for the sign.”

“Perhaps she’s lost. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to meet. You know, they say this is the hardest pub to find in London?”

“She insisted! Apparently, Cousin Elmer used to come here all the time when he was seconded to the War Ministry. Practically a fixture at the bar.”

“Can’t say I blame him. I know, it’s an old cliché, but this really is like stepping back in time. Positively Dickensian.”

“That pork pie certainly was.”

“Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

“Maybe she’s had a bit of a funny turn. That emphysema she’s got; pretty nasty. Flying the Atlantic in the middle of March can’t be the best thing for it. Hope she’s not collapsed somewhere.”

“Yeah. Hope not. Anyway, how’s your home life? Linda calmed down?”

“Oh yeah, she’s cool. Stopped accusing me of trying to have it off with the Welsh Witch.”

“That’s good.”

“Working all the hours that God gives. Says she’ll make her first million by the time she’s 40.”

“If she lives that long … sorry!”

“No, you’re right. I’ve told her. She’s in danger of being … bombed out?”

“Burned out. That’s what happens to these City types. Supposedly. Still, a million or so would come in handy for West Two. ”

“Yeah, you know, a couple of weeks ago, she turned up at the flat with this other bird…”

“Linda?”

“No! Bron! With this bird -fuzzy hair. Dungarees…”

“Ah, so she’s obviously a lesbian…”

“Well, she works as a gardener. In Hyde Park.”

“So … Bron’s batting for the other side, then?”

“Could well be. Bron and the fuzzy woman disappeared inside her bedroom for a good three hours … “

“Hear anything?”

“Nothing obvious. A bit of muttering, laughter …”

“Tried the old tumbler against the wall trick?”

"No!"

“I like a bit of lesbian action, me. You know, one night, I was looking out the back of my flat, at the window to the shower room opposite and there were these two Swedish birds …”

“How d’you know they were Swedish?”

“Well, Norwegian, Scandinavian, anyway. Bound to be - they were going at it, hammer and tongs …”

 

The unmistakable tones of Mary Hinds could be heard booming down the passage.

Glass smashed on the pavement, the sound of a table crashing over. “Dang! Sorry! Can’t seem to get my frame straight in this li’l passage – why they make it so narrow?”

Chris rose to his feet and went out into the courtyard. “Here Mary, let me give you a hand. Take my arm!”

“Thank you…”

He held the door to the public open. Mary Hinds levered her frame onto the battered carpet and collapsed gratefully onto one of the Mitre’s ex-church pews, wheezing heavily.

“You know, that cabbie … absolutely refused to take me to the … door of this place … d’spite mah condition … He could see I warn’t a well woman.. Thought London taxi drivers were s’posed to be best in the world?”

“But Mary, how could he? You saw how narrow the passage was… you could hardly get your frame down it…”

“What about the main entrance? Must be a place where he could pull in, surely?”

“This is the main entrance. The only other one’s another passage – and that’s even more narrow.”

“Elmer never said nathin’ bout that. How they get the beer an’ stuff here then?”

“Dunno,” Geoff broke in. “Must roll the barrels along the passage, I suppose.”

“Crazy! Crazy country … Well, mine’s a scotch on the rocks, since you buyin’, Chris.”

“Coming up. Another pint of Pride, Geoff?”

“Sure thing, pardner … er, yes, that’d be great, Chris.”

 

“Elmer said somethin’ ‘bout a cherry tree, Geoff. Queen Elizabeth used to dance round it?”
”Yeah – that’s it in the corner, behind the glass. When they built the pub, they kept the tree, used it as an upright.”

“So they didn’t build this place until, what, the 1950s? Looks way older.”

“It is. Fifteen hundreds, they claim.”

“But Queen Lizabeth, she weren’t even born till, what, 1920? If that tree were already built inside this place, how in hay-ull could she dance round it?”

“That’s the first Queen Elizabeth. Our Queen’s Elizabeth the Second…”

“You mean there’s more than one? Might confusin’…”

 

Chris settled back into his seat. “Well, Mary, did you manage to have a look at progress so far  - the tapes -back at your apartment?”

“Sure did. Lookin’ good, least what I saw. But I don’t git to say very much, do I?”

“Er, well, Bron, she’s having a bit of a struggle with the American accent. For now, we’ve concentrated on scenes where she doesn’t have to say much … while we work on it. We were wondering, while you’re over, could you  … maybe … give her a few tips?”

“Well, I can try, I daresay. Not there’s anythin’ wrong with how she speaks. Lovely accent – but you were tellin’ me, she’s not actually English, then?”

“She’s Welsh.”

“Is that a foreign country - does she need a Green Card to work here?”

“No, no – we’re all part of the United Kingdom.”

“Bron’s a mighty fine young woman. She may not look a bit like me, but she’s got …she’s got the same spirit that ah had back then. She’s a spirited lady. Real spunk…By the way, Geoff, that was a mighty fine piece of actin’ in the scene with the cawfee, Geoff, even if it din’t actually happen. If I din’t know otherwise, I’d swear you was hollerin’ in real pain and agony…”

“Er, yes. Quite…”

“Anyways, I din’t ask you here to con-gratulate you on your actin’ – you know that already. Have to confess, ah’ve a bit of an ulterior motive…Git me another scotch and I’ll tell you.”

To be continued in Chapter 22: Bron-22 | ABCtales