But the two boys drifted off, vaguely unsettled by his attitude; and as before, their steps led them to the cricket field. To their disappointment Alfie was nowhere to be found, so they sat on the board floor of the pavilion veranda, and did their agonising alone. They had never missed the old man more. When they had talked their way round and round in circles for two hours or more, they had come to no conclusion except that they could see no alternative to the plan they had already made. They got up, stretched, and started ambling back through the village to the pub.
16
The bar was full that evening, for the rumour had gone round fast that Stephen was planning to make some kind of statement. He made his entry, deliberately coming in through the main door rather than using the entrance from the residential part, spotted Richard, waiting expectantly in their usual corner with their coterie of friends and supporters, waved to him, then advanced into the packed room. The first person he ran into was Gibson. He clapped an arm affectionately round his shoulders. “Well, Pat,” he said, rightly surmising that a matey use of his first name would be the thing most calculated to annoy Gibson intensely, “you’ve won, old man. How d’you like it?” Gibson glared at him, wriggled out from under his long arm, and said nothing.
“Fact, gents,” said Stephen, revolving slowly and inspecting the turn-out. “Mr Gibson, your well-known and generous local rugby sponsor, has, as you all know, been saying, noisily, for a long time now — it seems like a long time to me, anyway, but perhaps that was just because of the number of times one seemed to hear the same old drone going on in the background — yes, he’s been saying, ever since I inherited this place, that my friend and I were freaks, vermin, perverts, all manner of unspeakable names. He once accused me of being a child-molester, in the full hearing of a dozen people.” He glanced about him, and saw a lot of uncomfortable faces. They hadn’t expected this kind of rude, crude reference to such matters. A low buzz of resentment sprang up around the room.
“Just lately, he’s been blaming Richard and me for the sudden arrival of a lot of new friends from Brighton and places. Well, as a matter of plain fact, that was nothing to do with us, as it happens. But as far as it goes, I was glad enough to have them. Money in my till, no harm done, as far as I could see — or as far as I can see now, for that matter. Still, Mr Gibson and his pals thought it was a bad sign — bringing the tone of the place down, or something of the kind. We’ve even been blamed for that appalling attack on the little boy recently. It may interest you to know that Richard and I were questioned about it, but only in case we might have recognised anyone from the descriptions. We ourselves were cleared instantly, on the first night of the police’s enquiries, because we were nothing like those descriptions. As far as I know the police are no nearer catching the monsters who did that than they were the night it happened. But it may interest you to know also that the gay community has put up thousands of pounds in reward money; I myself contributed a hundred pounds towards it. I wouldn’t mention that in ordinary circumstances, but I think it’s worth mentioning here. You might compare it with the amount you’ve offered in the same good cause, for instance.
“But the fact remains, we’ve been becoming more and more conscious of getting less and less popular. We were blamed when a gang of bikers decided to stop off here for one of their little adventures — though I don’t quite know how we were expected to know they were going to stop here, or what we were supposed to do about it when they did. As far as the first’s concerned, my second sight’s been getting a bit rusty lately; and as far as the second’s concerned, well, I noticed a distinct lack of heroism among all parties when it came to chucking our bikie friends out. Even our rugby match — and I confess, Pat, that was all my own idea — even that hasn’t helped you to like us much better, despite the fact that practically everybody in the village turned up to watch it, and was demanding a replay afterwards last night.
“I could go on and on, but I’m not going to. I think instead I’ll just tell you what I’m going to do.
“I’m told that it’s likely that if I stay on here as owner, there will be an objection to my application for renewal of the licence. Well, I thought about that, and I decided that that was getting just a little bit too sneaky. There are limits beyond which I’m not willing to be pushed, and that’s beyond them. So, you win. I’m going. I’m leaving the licensing trade, after a short and turbulent spell in it. In other words, I’m selling up.”
He looked round, and saw that Gibson’s face was clothed in a broad smile of satisfaction. “Mr Gibson, at least, is pleased, gents, as you’ll see, if you care to come and look,” he went on. “Hmmm. Not one taker, Pat. But beware of rejoicing a little prematurely. ‘And makes us rather bear those ills we have/ Than fly to others that we know not of…’”
He left them with the quotation hanging in the air, went to the bar, and got himself a drink from Tom.
“I left you with that quotation,” he resumed after quenching his thirst, “to remind you gently of the fact that you have no idea who I’ve sold out to. Well, he’s a very shrewd businessman, wealthy, ready to put a lot of money into any project he likes the look of. He’s promised to look after Tom and keep him on, which is one testimony to his very good sense and judgment. But other than what I’ve told you just now, you know nothing about him. In the circumstances, I’m sure you’ll understand my feelings when I tell you that I’m not inclined to tell you any more. No, gents, I think you can wait and see just who I’m selling to. But I hope you’ll be very happy. You ought to be, seeing how hard you’ve been hoping and striving to get rid of Richard and me.
“Just one last thing, gentlemen, and then I shall relieve you of the embarrassment of my presence. There are some here — they know who I mean — who are not included in the things I’ve been saying. They have consistently made a point of taking our part, sometimes representing us when unkind things were said about us when we weren’t here to defend ourselves. To those I say that nothing I’ve said so far refers to them — though I’m sure they realise that already. To them I say that we shall be very sorry indeed to say goodbye to them, and hope we may perhaps see them again in happier surroundings. To the rest, simply goodbye.”
He stopped speaking abruptly, turned smartly about and walked over to Richard. They stood for a few moments, having a word with the Major, Alfie and other supporters, then the two of them disappeared into the residential part of the building, leaving a buzz of conversation going on behind them.
Tom, Major Sealey, Alfie and their group found themselves under heavy pressure from the remainder to tell anything they knew of Stephen’s plans. “He’s got something up his sleeve, the little shit,” said Gibson, almost through gritted teeth. It so happened that Tom was in earshot when he said it; and it happened also that Gibson chanced to glance Tom’s way just as he permitted himself a broad grin at Gibson’s words.
Gibson immediately homed in on him. “You know more than you’re saying, Tom,” he snapped. “Now you better let us in on this. You owe it to us.”
“Owe it?” queried Tom. “I owe you something? How do you work that one out, Pat?”
“You’re one of us, that’s how I work it out,” snapped Gibson furiously. “You’ve been here as long as a good many of us, and you’ve fitted in well here. You’re part of this place, part of the setup here. You were here, and part of things here, long before those two insolent upstart kids came here disrupting things and upsetting everyone. You owe it to us to let us know if he’s got anything unpleasant stored up for us. I wouldn’t put that past him, the dirty little hound.”
“He’s not the only one to have played a dirty game, is he?” said Tom drily. Gibson flushed angrily, but subsided into muttered protests.
“I’ll tell you as much as he authorised me to tell you,” volunteered Tom, amid general surprise. There was an excited buzz of speculation, quickly turning to a hush of expectancy as they waited to see what Tom knew.
“He’s sold the hot
el, which he owns outright, to an entrepreneur,” said Tom. “A very wealthy one, who will do his best to keep the inn, itself, in the traditional way, not tread on anybody’s toes. He’s also a gay entrepreneur. I gather it took Stephen rather a long time to be put in touch with him, but that we shall never know. But I do understand that the man intends to build on the hotel’s land, to convert the place into a full-blown gay amenities and leisure centre — you know the kind of thing: swimming, tennis courts, squash, snooker, table tennis, outings to all manner of places of interest. That’s all I know, except that he’ll be advertising the place extensively in the gay press. So we’re likely to be seeing a lot more new faces round here. Heterosexuals will, he stresses, be very welcome at all times. He hopes that’s what you wanted.
“Oh, yes,” he added, as if by way of an afterthought. “He knows all about your seedy little scheme to object to his licence, and he’s quite used to scotching that kind of back-stabbing effort. You’ve started a ball rolling here, Master Gibson, that you may live to regret.”
He turned away and busied himself with the chores associated with lunch.
When the boys reappeared in the bar, changed and cheerful, they were surrounded by a crowd, all anxious to know if Tom had spoken truthfully. He looked round him at the mass of faces, staring levelly into each pair of eyes. Most of them dropped. Then he strolled easily across the room to where the Major and Alfie Brett were chatting. He gently removed their glasses from their hands and had them refilled at the bar. Then he spoke, again in a profound hush. “I gather Tom’s detonated the small firework I left him holding for me,” he said mildly. “Is it true?” demanded many voices.
“Yes, it’s true,” he said. “Cheers,” he added, turning to the Major and Alfie.
“Is there any way you might change your mind?” asked someone.
“Who asked that?” asked Stephen interestedly. A man pushed forward. It was Gibson’s defecting crony, who had left him at the rugby match. “I said it,” he said, flushing a little, but determined to speak. “I was with Pat to start with,” he said. “I don’t mind admitting that. But I’ve done a lot of thinking for myself since those days. You may remember I dissociated myself from his ideas when he accused you of… of something in here one night.”
“I remember,” said Stephen.
“So I count as neutral,” went on the man. “And I’d like to say that as far as I’m concerned, I’d rather you stayed on. You’ll have no complaints from me if you change your mind.”
“Lesser of two evils, as it were?” suggested Stephen.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” protested the man.
“That’s how I mean to take it, though,” said Stephen. “And it’s not good enough. If you people find you’ve jumped out of the frying pan into the fire, you’ve only yourselves to blame. Richard and I came down here full of optimism. We brought our home cricket club here on tour, and we both took a very active part in your local club, right from the start. Not an insignificant part, either. I don’t intend to stand here blowing my own trumpet, but if you care to look at my batting average in the few matches I played for the club, you’ll see that for yourselves. We came here in good faith and in good will. If you find you’ve brought something you find even less welcome on yourselves, well it serves you right. If you’d been a little more welcoming towards decent chaps like us, you wouldn’t now be wondering what was coming. I suggest you might try giving the new chap a bit more of a chance than you gave us. I suspect — I don’t know this for certain, mind, but I strongly suspect — that he’ll be a very, very much rougher customer to rub up the wrong way than we’ve been. Still, it’s not for me to tell you how to behave. If you need someone my age to tell you that you’re beyond good advice anyway.”
He turned round once again, and thrust out a hand to Major Sealey. “Goodbye, Major,” he said, and all the savage, bitter irony and hostility had vanished from his voice. “It’s been a pleasure to have got to know you. And you know where to find us. We’ll see you again, and soon, I hope.”
The Major shook his hand firmly, his moustache twitching to show the force of his emotion. He murmured his farewells quietly into Stephen’s ear, then turned and spoke to Richard, who smiled suddenly, like the sun coming out, and murmured a reply in sudden animation.
“Bye, Alfie,” said Stephen, and the old man gave him a brisk handshake and a big wink. “We’ll see you again, too, right?”
“I dare say,” said Alfie. “I dare say you will. Come and see us here, when your pal’s installed and settled down. Why not?”
“We’ll do that,” said Stephen. He moved among the group, saying goodbyes and shaking hands with selected friends and supporters, including a good many of the cricket club. Richard was making his own circuit. Neither of them took very long about it, and they quickly moved to the door. The Major, Alfie and several of the cricketers, including the club captain, came out into the car park to see them off. The Major stuck his head in the side window as Richard started the engine. “You’re doing the right thing, my boy,” he said to Stephen. “Sorry to see you go, speaking for myself. Dashed sorry. But you’re doing the right thing, and you don’t want to waste any time worrying over it. But I hope we shall see something of you.”
“You will, Major. I promise,” said Stephen, and Richard nodded and smiled. “You will,” he said.
“Well, that’s good, then,” said the Major. And he withdrew his white head from the car and straightened up, blowing his nose vigorously to conceal his emotion. Richard eased the BMW over the sleeping policemen and pulled out into the lane. There was a chorus of goodbyes from the small group in the car park. Stephen stuck a hand out of the window and waved, and they were gone.
“Well, that’s that over with,” said Stephen. “How did I sound?”
“You sounded fine to me,” said Richard, and the love in his tone melted something deep in Stephen’s insides. He leaned towards Richard and slid an arm round his shoulders. “Back to how we used to be?” he said, very tenderly. Richard turned to glance at him briefly before resuming his concentration on the road. “Yes,” he murmured. “Back to normal.”
* * *
That night they sat talking to Richard’s parents, staying by some tacit understanding on neutral topics, and, quite early, the boys went scampering upstairs to the room, which had become so familiar to Stephen during his tribulations the previous year. They tumbled out of their clothes, into Richard’s double bed, and into each other’s arms, and it felt for both of them as if a mild nightmare, not horrifying or appalling but generally drab, depressing and seemingly unending, had suddenly been relieved by a grateful, joyous waking-up. “Oh, yes. We’re back to normal, all right,” said Stephen happily.
* * *
The next morning they sat in the big bow window of Richard’s parents’ living room, watching heavy rain dashing itself against the glass and discussing, in fairly desultory fashion, what to do next. “You’re absolutely sure you’re doing the right thing?” asked Richard for the fourth time. “I mean, I’d hate to influence you into doing something you didn’t really think was right, just because of the way I felt.”
“Nope,” said Stephen flatly. “I’ve told you, and I’ll tell you again, I really, really, really think I’m doing the right thing. I’ve felt happier last night with you, and this morning, sitting here watching the rain, than I’ve felt in months. In fact I’ll do it now,” he said, jumping up impulsively and going to the telephone.
First he called Guilfoyle of the sharp operators, and told him what he was planning. He gave the name and telephone number of his purchaser, and instructed him to handle the matter for him. “I shan’t be around,” he said, “so I’m leaving it to you to do the deal and get as good an offer as you can from him. The only thing I say is, do sell it. I don’t want it, and I want him to have it. Get the top-whack offer out of him, but don’t push him so hard that he loses interest. Okay?” There was a short crackle from the other end. “No,” s
aid Stephen. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, because I don’t know myself. But you’ve got Richard’s parents’ number — that’s where I’m speaking from, and it counts as a sort of permanent base camp. And as soon as I know where I am, or where I’m going to be, I’ll get in touch and let you know. Okay. Right. Yes, of course. And thanks very much. Sure. Bye.”
Then he extracted a card from the back pocket of his jeans and rang another number. After a moment he said “Morning. Can I speak to Mr Hendricks, please? My name’s Stephen Hill. It’s to do with… oh, you know about that? Good. Right. Thanks.” A few moments later the entrepreneur came on the line. “Hallo, Mr Hendricks,” Stephen said. “About the Crown. Yes, I’ve decided definitely to sell — to you, if possible. I liked the sound of the things you had in mind to do there. I’m not going to be involved in the negotiations myself. No, I’m too busy, and in any case I’m not going to be here to take part. I’ve instructed the firm of lawyers who’ve been running the place for years to deal with you direct. They’ve got full authority from me to handle everything. Yes, I’ve got it here. You need to speak — to start with, at least — to a Mr Guilfoyle, that’s G-U-I-L-F-O-Y-L-E, Guilfoyle. The company’s name is…” He gave the name, address and Guilfoyle’s telephone number, exchanged a few pleasantries, hung up, and went back in a hurry to curl up with Richard once more in the window seat.
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