The Price of Butcher's Meat

by Reginald Hill

  Good for him!—I thought—& I said to her—yes—I understand—& Im sure someone as attractive—& talented—as Teddy will have little difficulty in finding someone his equal in name—& his superior in income—

  Nicely put—eh?

  She nodded—& smiled—& said—Im so pleased we understand each other—my dear—now I must toil up this path to lunch—

  She let go of my arm—& Ess—whod been veiwing our tete-a-tete with great suspicion—went into ministering angel mode—leaping forward—presumably to ensure Lady Ds foot did not dash against a stone.

  Her ladyship did not look at her—but gazed on me assessingly. I guessed she wanted to reward me for being a sensible peasant—possibly with an invite to lunch—which I wasnt crazy about—but might just accept—to put Esthers nose out of joint!

  Then she said—in a very measured extremely condescending tone—Miss Heywood do tell Tom Parker to bring you to my hog roast this Sunday—

  Her hog roast—which—according to Mary—the consortium was paying for!

  I resisted the temptation to do a curtsy—& said—that would be lovely—but Im probably going home on Saturday—

  I expected her to react sort of amazed anyone could turn down a royal invite—instead she said—yes—of course—your family must miss you—family loyalties are so important. Come if you change your mind—meanwhile—do feel free to stay here as long as you like—& dont be afraid to come again—whenever the public beach is full—

  There! In my place—or what?

  I felt like kicking sand in her face.

  Instead I said—very dignified—thank you—so kind—but I really ought to get back to my friends—& off I stalked!

  Id gone about a dozen yards when Teddy caught up with me.

  —dont take any notice of the old bat—he said—she cant help it—still thinks were living in the dark ages!—

  Which might have impressed me with his independence—if he hadnt still been whispering—for fear of being overheard!

  I said—better get back—else you might be sent to bed without any lunch—

  He grinned—hes got a great grin—& said—who cares about lunch—so long as the company in beds good? Look—Id like to see you again—soon—

  I said—pushing it—is that an invitation to Denham Park then?—or do you need permission to invite someone to your own home?—

  He winced—then said—of course not—though I warn you—the plumbings terrible! What Id really like is to give you a ride—on the Beast I mean. You could borrow Ests leathers. The trick is—to get the full experience—not to wear anything at all underneath!—

  Who writes this guys scripts?!!

  But—like a good thriller—it may be a load of crap—but you cant stop reading it!

  I said—Ill think about it—& scrambled over the rocks—back to the main beach—even more crowded now than before. Suddenly the peace & friendliness of Kyoto House seemed very attractive.

  So off I set to trudge back up the hill.

  But my exciting adventures werent over yet!

  However—youll have to wait for the next exciting episode—as I have to go & interview a woman who says that an infusion of whortleberries & a nettle oil massage have taken 20 years off her age.

  You see—Im a working girl too!

  Much love

  Charley xxx

  15

  FROM: charley@whiffle.com

  TO: cassie@natterjack.com

  SUBJECT: sex on wheels!

  Hi again!

  Well that was fun! If the berries & nettles have made her 20 years younger—she must have been nigh on 100 before. Fits under my grasping at straws category. Ready to beleive anything except that youre going to die.

  Back to the land of the living. Now where was I…? Oh yes. The foot of the hill.

  The road up North Cliff seemed a lot steeper than when Id come down—& showing off to the bart had taken more out of me than I thought. By the time I reached Witch Cottage I was ready for a rest—so I sat on the little garden wall. There was an ancient motorbike plus sidecar parked outside. Some poor sod hoping to alleviate his saddle soreness by having needles stuck in his bum—I theorized.

  I heard the door open behind me—& glanced round to see Yan Lee ushering a man out. He was wearing motorbike leathers—& putting on a helmet—but the brambly beard was a dead giveaway. It was Gordon Godley—the healer from Willingdene. I remembered Tom saying hed agreed to come over—to check the setup here in Sandytown. Remembered too my sense he knew a lot more about the setup here than hed let on.

  & when I saw them exchange a hug & a kiss—not a one cheek peck either—but a full lip job—I thought hello!—not so unworldly after all—bit of pillow talk going on here Id guess—wonder if theres a book on faith healing in that Teach Yourself series!

  When he clocked me sitting on the wall—he stopped dead in his tracks like hed seen a rabid Doberman. Behind him Miss Lee gave me her little Oriental bob—went back inside—& closed the door—leaving him & me standing facing each other—both stock still—like a pair of gunfighters in a spaghetti western—each waiting for the other to make a move. While his biking leathers didnt do for him what they did for the bart—they did have a juvenating effect—& I adjusted my estimate of his age down a few notches—more 45 than 55—

  He cracked first & finally started toward me like a man on his way to the gallows!

  Funny—not nice having a really off-putting effect on somebody—not even somebody you dont care a toss about! Id have moved off without passing the time of day—but I felt I owed it to Tom to make it clear—in case Mr G hadnt grasped it on our previous meeting—that I wasnt a permanent blot on the village landscape. Wouldnt want it on my conscience that I was responsible for putting the Sandytonians out of reach of godly Gordons healing hands!

  So I said brightly—hello—Mr Godley. Charlotte Heywood—remember? (Not that there was much doubt of that—the way he was looking at me!)—On your way to see Mr Parker—are you? Im staying with the family for a couple of days. Its lovely round here—isnt it? (Doing my best to give the place a puff!)—but I wont be sorry not to have to face this hill every day—

  Even as I said it—I thought—oh no!—sounds like youre trying to hitch a ride!

  Sure enough—what I could see of his face beneath the fungus turned color a couple of times—like you when youre nerving yourself up to go in off the high board!—then he mumbled something about a lift.

  My first instinct was to say—no way!—

  Then I thought—dont be a prat—youve cut off your nose to spite your face once already by letting Lady Ds patronizing ungraciousness drive you off her empty beach. Its stupid—& bloody difficult!—to cut off your nose again.

  So—a moment later—I was sitting in the sidecar—bouncing up the hill!

  I couldnt help but contrast the Godley motorbike experience with what Teddy Denham had promised me on the pillion of the Beast. This was a bit like being dragged behind a tractor—in an old tin bath! At least it meant I didnt have to make small talk.

  When we got to Kyoto I hopped out—said thanks—& dashed inside—yelling at Tom as I passed his workroom—Mr Godleys here!—

  When I got to my room—I met Minnie coming out. Said shed been looking for me—but I wasnt fooled. I remember when I was her age—I was always looking for a chance to get my sticky little fingers on your gear & makeup! I said I wanted to get out of my wet cozzie—& went in—thinking shed stay outside. But she followed me in—& sat on the bed watching as I toweled down—like she was a judge at a gymnastics floor exercise—so I said—OK how many points do I get?—& she said—quick as a flash—7 for performance—8 for interpretation—

  Cheeky little cow—but you cant help but like her.

  I took the chance to pump her for info about Miss Lee & Lady D—not that it took much pumping!

  Seems Miss Lee got Witch Cottage on a long lease from Lady Ds land agent—whose arthritis shed fixed with a couple of judicious
ly placed pins. Then the great consortium came into being—& it dawned on Lady D that funny old Witch Cottage—with its gingerbready appearance & magical history—could be a real little money spinner when the tourists started pouring in. So she wanted it back. Only Miss Lee had a tenancy agreement—so—like the Chinese train passenger in that awful non-PC joke the HBs so fond of—she told Lady D—you fuckoffee—me got 1st class ticket!

  Battle was joined—might v right—with Tom Parker trying to mediate. Then suddenly Miss Lee caved in—nobody knew why—big bribe was Mins best guess—& agreed to move out in the autumn—& relocate in new premises Tom had found for her.

  Min had just finished her story & I was nearly dressed—when she heard the sound of an engine—& looking out of the open window she screamed—oh look—its Uncle Sid!—& shot past me through the door.

  I went to the window & looked down.

  There was this gorgeous deep red Maserati coupe bombing up the drive.

  Minnie must have moved almost as fast—she came rushing out of the front door as the car came to a halt—& when the driver slid elegantly out of his seat—she flung herself into his arms. He lifted her high into the air & whirled her round. I got the impression as he spun that his gaze took me in—standing in my bra at the open window—so I backed away—& finished dressing. Modest—or what? But even that brief glimpse of him left me with the impression that—unlike hunky Ted the bart—Sidney was not someone to impress by flashing the flesh.

  & why should I want to impress him? The car? OK, maybe. What Id heard about him as a fast track finance wiz? No way! No—I think it was the fact that he looked as immaculate as his car when he got out of it—& he didnt show the least disinclination to being leapt upon & wrapped around by a 9 year old tomboy—who—I seem to recall—can be remarkably unhygienic creatures!

  There you go—another sharp psychological assessment from your wise young sister.

  Also—I admit—he did look quite dishy in a Hugh Grant kind of way.

  I delayed long enough to let him get the family greetings over—then I went to make my entrance.

  I was right. Seriously dishy—also seriously smooth—without being at all oleaginus—(dont know if thats how you spell it but its my favorite word this month!). Bit taller than Tom—same lively expressive face—the Parker soft brown eyes—hes one of those guys you know will always do the right thing—I dont mean morally—but like if your pants fell off on the dance floor—he would slip them into his pocket without missing a step! He was wearing a soft cream shirt under a linen suit that bore no signs of Minnies assault—& certainly hadnt come from M&S. On his feet he had soft leather sandals—no socks—& the sexiest toes imaginable! OK—maybe toes dont figure large in your erotic fantasies—but take it from me—Sids are the tops!

  I was introduced with Toms usual hyperbole—which Sidney took in his stride. Unlike Ted the bart he made no particular effort to impress me—which impressed me!

  Tom of course was pressing him to stay at Kyoto—& Mary backed up the invite—while Minnie was ready to go on her knees to persuade him.

  But Sidney was adamant.

  —Im booked in at the hotel—he said—the honeymoon suite!—No—Mary—I am not married—alas. I thought I might as well see what all those healthy honeymooners will be getting for their money—

  The thought—need any help with your research Sid?—flitted across my mind.

  Then our eyes met—& it was like he could read what I was thinking—& I felt myself blushing.

  We sat on the terrace. Tom—inevitably—rhapsodized about the sea breezes—the pure air—the clarity that on a good day afforded a view all the way to Holland.

  Sid said—I never quite understand—dear Tom—why you find the prospect of even a distant view of Holland so desirable—

  As he spoke—he gave me a complicitous smile. I tried to feel defensive of Tom—but the bond of affection between them was so obvious that I realized this was only the kind of ribbing that goes on between—say—me & George—or you for that matter!

  Anyway—he drew me into the conversation—effortlessly—made me one of the family—& though Im not a natural lover of smoothies—in a bottle or in the City—I soon found myself joining Minnie as a member of the Sid Parker fan club!

  You must be thinking your little sis is seriously repressed. In Sandytown only 5 days—& already Ive let 3 men—Ted the hunk—Fran the wheelie—& Sid the smoothie—get my juices running!

  Never fear. This is fantasy football. Lousy Liam has put me off forever! Im a career girl pure & simple. Recreational romping only!

  So there we were—sitting & chatting—when I heard this odd noise—like a deer barking—& there in the doorway stood Godly Gordon—the hairy healer—coughing to attract attention!

  In the excitement of seeing Sidney—Tom had forgotten all about him—& left him in his office! Tom of course was abject with apology—dragged him onto the terrace—made him sit down—& introduced him to Sidney in terms that made him sound a cross between Gandalf & Jesus. Smooth Sid was perfectly charming—of course—but I sensed the feeling—this is one bit of my dear bros plans for Sandytowns future that I need to keep out of any prospectus I prepare for my City chums!

  Mr Godley was soon on his feet again—saying he needed to be on his way—& refusing all urgings to stay for lunch. Tom—dead keen to get him involved in the Festival of Healing—reminded him about the meeting at the Avalon.

  —I think youll be really impressed by how open minded Dr Feldenhammer is—he said—this is a great opportunity for those of us who believe in the road less traveled—

  I saw Sidneys eyes glaze over in that expression us Heywoods know so well—the one we all wear when dad says something more than usually extreme in company—& family loyalty makes us keep our faces straight.

  Mr G just looked uncertain & muttered something indeterminate—leaving Tom looking a bit downcast—but far too polite to press. I dont like seeing Tom disappointed—so when Sid said he couldnt stay for lunch either & we all went outside together—I went up to Mr G as he got on his bike—& said—I dont think I thanked you properly for the lift—it was great—I really didnt feel up to climbing the hill!—

  He looked embarrassed—of course—but I think he was pleased—so I pressed on—saying—why dont you come to the meeting at the clinic?—no harm in looking the place over—is there? Usually costs a fortune to get in a place like that—be fun to see what they make of someone who wants to heal their patients without charging a penny!

  He looked straight at me—a bit puzzled—like fun was a foreign word. Then he said—youll be there?—

  Clearly he was worried in case I was going to be sitting in a corner—making skeptical noises—& notes for my thesis.

  —perhaps for the refreshments afterward—but definitely not at the meeting—I said—patting his gauntleted hand reassuringly.

  Wow! Youd have thought Id zapped him with a cattle prodder!

  He shot up out of his saddle—jerked his hand away from me so sharply he almost left his gauntlet—then said—Ill see—

  & off he went—in a puff of blue smoke—definitely more Gandalf than Jesus!

  Nobody else noticed—they were too busy saying cheerio to Sidney. I went to join them—& help prise Minnie loose from his car door.

  His last words to me were more conventional—but hopeful too.

  —I hope I see you again before you go—Miss Heywood—

  I said—me too—& its Charley—

  —& why not?—he said laughing—Bye!—

  Minnie stood by my side—watching the Maz boom off down the drive.

  —Isnt he great?—she said—eyes ashine—if he wasnt my uncle—Id marry him!—

  Then she took my hand—& said—he liked you Charley. You could marry him & settle down in London—I could come & stay with you—all summer—& at Christmas!—

  I said—is that all?—what dull Easters wed have—

  She dug her nails into my palm—but no
t too hard—& said—but you do like him—dont you?—

  —I like his car—I said.

  This time her nails hurt—& I grabbed hold of her—& we had a wrestle—ending up rolling on the lawn—with Tom beaming down at us in delight—& Mary smiling too.

  But Marys gaze kept straying to the end of the drive—& the road to the hotel—& with this wonderful power of mind reading I seem to be developing (perhaps I caught it from Mr Godley as I sat in the sidecar!)—I guessed she was wondering whether it was some crisis of high finance that had brought Sidney to Sandytown.

  Chatting to her later—I brought up the subject of Sidney—casually! Far too loyal to criticize—& she really likes him—but it soon came out—as Id guessed—that shes bothered that Tom relies on his brother so much—financially speaking—& she feels theres a lot more under that smooth surface than she understands.

  Bit like Sandytown itself—I think. Dont know why—but Im getting the impression theres a lot more going on beneath its smooth surface than meets the eye!

  OK—youre going to remind me of the time I decided the vicar had killed his wife—& buried her in Les Turpins coffin—cos Les was only seven stone when he died & the bearers staggered as they came into the church. Then the vics wife came back from visiting her sick sister in Beverley—& it turned out one of the bearers had taken badly at the last minute—& they had to get Iggy Earnshaw out of the bar to make up the numbers—& hed drunk seven pints already!

  Cant win em all! But I was the one who spotted Mrs Inlake from the post office was having it off with the oil tanker man—before anyone else!

  So whats your next move—inspector?—you ask.

  Who knows? I may be obliged to seduce Smoothie Sid to find out whats going on…

  The things we psychologists do for our art.

  You take care. Seriously. & for heavens sake—when your contracts up next month—come home! I know you—cos—except in the area of blood guts & bedpans—were so alike—& just as Im finding myself ingested by Sandytown—& starting to doubt if Ill ever be able to leave—so with you & your bomb-blasted mine-strewn disease-ridden chunk of Africa.