Talking dirty.

Day 5. Friday.

I had never discussed a work contract with Vera. Day one had been a Monday, which hadn’t really been a working day. Tuesday I’d moonlighted in the café so maybe Vera wouldn’t pay me for that either. And I don’t know if I am working weekends or not. She said I would be paid monthly and that would be a nightmare.

As I walked up the wide gravel path to the huge oak door, I decided I would have to talk dirty with Vera - at least she would consider talking about money to be talking dirty, but it had to be done. I would have to ask Vera for a sub.

I found her in her apartment, with her head in the cupboard under the newly fitted sink. She was whispering something to herself and it ended with a ladylike ‘drat’. Did she only swear to impress me?

'Anything the matter, Vera?'

She jerked her head upwards and caught it on the sink with a mighty crack, slumped back on her buttocks, holding her head.

'Sorry, Vera. I didn’t mean to startle you.'

'That’s the least of my problems. I realised that sinks need waste-pipes and they are bigger in diameter than the little copper things David was getting so excited about. Take a look.'

She pointed me at the cupboard. I stuck my head inside and waited for the gloom to subside.

'Oh drat indeed,' I exclaimed once my eyes had adjusted. A huge, ragged hole surrounded the plastic waste-pipe and, as Uncle Wilf hadn’t bothered to use compression fittings under the sink, the listed wallpaper was scorched around every soldered joint.

'What can we do, Vera? I’m so sorry.'

'Do, Millicent? Do? We’ll glue the ruddy doors up when English Heritage come to inspect.'

Her face was covered in a mischievous grin.

'It’s not just E H is it? Wilf shouldn’t have been such an arsehole!'

'Can you tell me why he did it? Is he really that stupid? Before you answer that, remember, he was your recommendation.'

'The fact that he used non-soldered compression fittings next door where there is no grade 1 listed wallpaper, and drilled very neat holes through the wall as well, tells you he is not stupid and knows what he should have done under the sink. Why he didn’t do it? You can probably answer that one Vera.'

She sighed deeply.

'Jealousy. He’s cross I have so much when he has so little, payback-time for all the jobs he didn’t get because he is so unreliable? You choose.'

'All of those and some more, and he doesn’t realise what a big deal it is for you to look after unique and precious 18th century Chinese wallpaper. That’s hardly an excuse though, is it? If you already knew what he was like, why did you let me give him the job?'

'He’s family, Millicent. I’ve done similar things in order to help feckless family members out. One always regrets it, but I appreciate why you tried. What did he say when you gave him the three hundred?'

'Hasn’t happened yet. I had a date last night.'

'Quite so, Millicent, and I have to say, you can do better than Charles.'

'How do you know about that, Vera?'

She laughed at no one in particular and studied the stucco on the ceiling for a moment.

'Come with me,' she ordered in her no-nonsense voice.

She led me to the most westerly end of her apartment and through a door, more modern than any of the others I’d seen. We entered a hidden steep circular wooden staircase, which the creaked as we ascended. Light came through small slits set at an angle. One couldn’t see the window. Despite the daylight, Vera operated a large lever switch, which turned on a trail of harsh bulbs strung along the white painted bricks.

'Don’t touch the walls,' she warned. ‘The whitewash brushes onto your clothes.'

The stairs and wall looked like Victorian mock-gothic. After a long and silent climb, we emerged into sunlight at the top of a turret, overlooking the twirls of the leaded roof and of course, the surrounding countryside. The formal gardens and maze first caught my attention. In the distance, beyond them, I could make out the block of converted stables, which housed Charley’s tiny one-room apartment. No way could she have recognised Charley and me from this distance – unless?

'Did you use binoculars to spy on me?'

'Not directly. I hadn’t expected to see you walk hand in hand with Charles to his apartment. That was a chance observation. But it did stir my curiosity. And you stayed three hours, which was too long for a cup of tea and chat about the Suffolk Village League cricket scores.'

'How often do you come up here to spy on the serfs?'

'Most evenings if the weather is nice.'

'Why was this tower built? It’s obviously much later than the rest of the house.'

'Well spotted, Millicent. Mid-19th century - third duke - wanted to see who was slacking in the outlying fields.'

I gasped in disbelief.

'You mean spying on the serfs has a history.'

'Never mind the serfs. Why are you screwing Charles?'

'We didn’t screw.'

'Why not?'

'Nothing to do with you Vera. Absolutely nothing so MYOFB.'

'Sultan, Millicent, Sultan. Now you have to tell me.'

'The Sultan rule is not for situations like this, Vera, not to pry into my private life.'

She clenched the railing so hard that her hands whitened.

'I know, Millicent. I know. You are so right, but don’t you see? These are the things I so want to know about my serfs - as you call them. I am searching for a different life, a carefree life, not free of conventions, but certainly outside them.'

'Voyeur, Vera! It was not nice of you, even if you now claim it was all part of a massive yelhux.'

'I am a voyeur and not ashamed of it, Millicent! If I find a path that prevents alcoholism or insanity, I’ll put my hand up to snooping. But we’re friends. You will tell me one day about you and Charles, so you may as well tell me now -  tell me tell me tell me, now.'

She was pleading like a little girl. Time to bargain.

'What’s it worth?'

'I’m sure you can think of something.'

I lost the battle yesterday, but now I could sell a story from my sex life to win the war.

'Sid gets to ride a horse.'

Again, that sudden breath in. Had I gone too far?

'OK. You win, you little scrubber. Lord knows how I’ll explain Sidonie to the Gormley-Stuarts. Now dish the goods about last evening.'

I’d struck a hard bargain so the tale of yesterday evening spent with Charley had to be good. The truth was an irrelevancy. I just had to be sure I wouldn’t blush. That would spoil the effect. Steely resolve was called for.

'We didn’t have intimate discourse, because the idiot hadn’t bothered to get some condoms before soliciting my favours. You may or may not know or realise Vera that villagers in villages with no entertainment value, have to make their own. In Lower Butts, we screw. Young people, old people, everyone is at it. So, if one person gets an STD, we’ll all have it, unless someone breaks the chain. I do that. I’m like the rest of the village except, no condom or no recent STD clinic visit - no sex.'

'What did you do for three hours?'

I stopped and thought. I wanted to make this as titillating as possible. Poor Vera. She needed something to be horrified by. It makes the world go round and it would serve her right if she got a real shock.

'Curiosity killed the cat, Vera! We sat either end of the bed and watched each other masturbate.'

The gasp was awesome. I thought it had to be followed by a heart attack.

'You never!' She paused and let my story sink into the folds of her aristocratic brain. 'You naughty little tinkers.'

I noticed she had gone as red as a beetroot and was holding her chest bone with one hand, as if fighting a severe indigestion bout. With the other she was steadying herself on the railing at the top of the staircase. ‘I’ll teach her’ I thought. ‘She’ll need more than a Rennies before bedtime’.

'Yep, three times. The first he built up such a head it hit me on the left tit.'

She ran too quickly for safety, down the spiral stairs. I stayed and admired the view.

Sid had to sit down at the bus shelter on the way home. She was convulsed, with tears streaming down her face.

'You never told her that!'

'To get my old chum Sid a ride on a horse? Of course I did - no problem.'

'Did you and Charley really - you know - do it?'

'MYOFB, Sid.'

'You canny tart. Never mind. I’ll wheedle it out of Charley. Changing the subject -  when will it happen -  the horse riding thing?'

'No idea. Knowing Vera, she will send you a gilded invitation card.'

'Tell her, if she doesn’t take the piss out of me, I’ll sleep with her.'

Now it was my turn to look as if I were having a heartburn attack.

'Are you really lesbian, Sid?'

'MYOFB, Millie!'

'And how do you know she wants to sleep with you?' I squeaked.

'MYOFB, Millie!'

'It’s not me who’s the canny tart. Never mind. I’ll wheedle it out of Vera.'

That earned me a dead arm -  the first I’d had off Sid for many years.

We walked on from the bus stop in silence, each considering what the events, lies and unanswered questions of this day would mean to us long-term. Someone would blab about some aspect of what had happened and the whole village would gossip at our expense. What had happened? Nothing really, apart from me spending time with Charley, Sid having a bout of equestrianism and Vera coming out over her hobby as a peeper. If someone, other than Vera, noticed my nocturnal visit, or when Vera tells her stable staff that Sid will be riding out, the gossip mill will begin to turn for sure. Truth wouldn’t really play a major role. My gran would be the first to hear some version or other, probably at the village stores and post office, and she never spoilt a good yarn for the sake of a few white lies. On the gossip mill, Sid, or would it be me, were as good as in bed with Vera. Why did my gran think we are all lusting after lesbian relationships? Does it say more about her than me?

Note to me: tackle Gran over her obsession with fictional lesbian relationships. I must sneak a look at what she is reading these days.

At my house Sid just kept walking, no goodbye, no kiss -  in a daydream.

As she walked into the distance, with her slight waddle, I said to myself, 'She’s in love.'

Bedtime - still haven’t seen the house or paid Uncle Wilf.

I wonder if one can be sacked for lewd acts in an aristocratic let?