Chapter 9

The Jays were right. Business went flat on Monday and stayed that way until Thursday evening. Being in a village two miles from the main road meant that they got no passing trade. They resolved to have a sign erected. Over time, on the other hand they did get a few visiting tradesman such as gas and electrical engineers and deliverymen. They made a great fuss of them in the hope that word would get round and that similar people would come in when visiting other places along or just off the main road.

Fred and Roy continued their vigil. Villagers returning from shopping in Pitsbury started to drop in for a drink or even lunch but there were very few that first week. True to their word, Mr Turner and Bill Purdey appeared each evening, sank their two pints of Guinness and disappeared clutching their two bottles of brown.

Court drifted in on Monday evening and Jenny tried with difficulty to make conversation with him.

"I thought we might have seen you on Saturday or Sunday," she said.

"No, I was away."

"Ah!" she waited expectantly. Nothing more was forthcoming. He ordered a Stilton and bacon baguette which she went off to produce for him. While she was in the kitchen Court turned to Fred.

"Any more trouble with Marty," he asked.

"Nope."

"Good."

Jenny took the opportunity to run up stairs.

"Court's just come in," she said to James. "I can't get him to talk. He's almost as bad as Fred."

James chuckled. "Silenced by your beauty," he said.

"That might be it," mused Jenny.

"Braggart!"

She grinned. "Well I am pretty stunning. No, darling, I'm serious. He may be nervous of women."

"Can't think why but I'll pop down in a few minutes and see whether he opens up to me."

Jenny kissed his forehead and vanished below.

By the time James appeared Court was eating his baguette. James pulled Jenny into the kitchen.

"By my estimates, and the overheads were guesses based on the Jones's figures, we made a profit of five hundred quid over the weekend."

"Yippee!" Jenny danced up and down.

"Steady, darling. The overheads over the slack period are going to take a large chunk out of that and we won't do as well this coming weekend without the party."

"Mm, yes darling. I see what you mean but even so it's a pretty good start."

"It is, my love. It is."

She hugged him hard and his arms went around her.

"I love you, Jenny Wren," he murmured.

She replied with a soft whimper. James knew what she meant and hugged her tighter. He kissed the top of her head and then, holding it gently in his hands, moved her back.

"You are a very special person," he whispered. "I'm doing something I enjoy and it's full of risk but you're there for me. Thank you, my darling."

"I enjoy it too, James darling, but ... I couldn't imagine doing it with anyone else."

He pulled her back into a hug but this was a soft, loving and understanding one.

"Go on, darling," she said. "Go and break down Fred and Court's barriers."

He smiled at her. "You go back first, darling, and I'll follow nonchalantly in a couple of minutes."

He did, saying as he came in, "Phew! Accounts are thirsty work. I'm going to have a drink. Are you ready for another, Fred?"

Fred pushed his glass forward and James refilled it.

"Mr Turner?"

"No thanks, son. We've 'ad our two so we'll just take the brown now. 'Urts though to turn down a free drink. You ought've come in earlier."

James smiled, gave them their bottles of brown and took their payment. They left with a cheery goodnight.

"What about you, Court?"

"Thanks, James. I'll have a half."

James poured Court's drink and then a pint for himself.

"You are our most regular customer, Fred," he said, "but I know nothing about you."

Fred shrugged.

"I'd guess you work at Manor Farm."

Fred nodded.

"But not the cows. They seem to be Bill's personal property."

For the first time, Fred's face cracked. "Yeah, selfish old bugger!"

"He seems pretty keen on them."

"Keen? Bloody mad about 'em. Moind you, 'e knows what 'e's doin'."

"So what about you?"

"Sheep mostly. Then all the tractor work. Ploughin', 'arrowin', seedin', fertilisin'. I also droives the 'arvester."

"So what does the farm manager do?"

Fred grinned again. "Blessed if I know. No. That's not fair. 'E organoises everything and 'elps out when we're pressed. E's a bloody marvel with the animals. Don't need the vet often, we don't."

"I look forward to meeting him."

"In Froiday 'e was. My 'oight. Grey, curly 'air. Dave Brinkley."

"Oh, yes. I think I remember."

"Silver haired wife, quite tall, Carol," chipped in Court. "She must have been stunning when she was younger."

"Yeah, she were. I don' reckon she's bad lookin' now oither."

"Nor do I, Fred."

"What about you, Court? Apart from helping us with Marty last Friday, I know nothing about you. I don't know but I'd guess you don't live in the village as such."

"No, I rent Bibury Lodge from the Everleighs."

James looked blank. Court smiled.

"About a mile and a half south-east," he said. "You know that double row of beeches that runs from the bottom far corner of the manor wall?"

"Yes."

"Well that used to be the main drive, up from the Durnchester road."

"Gosh, yes! There's a gate there."

"That's right."

"So what do you do for a living?"

"Lighting."

"Lighting?"

"For small theatrical productions, not in theatres but schools and village halls, and outdoor productions."