The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene (31 page)

He rose at seven and staggered to the waterfall in the corner of the bedroom and covered himself in the expensive shower wash he had treated himself to at Cardingberry’s.

   He was still thinking of the call. Truth was he couldn’t think of anything else. But as it turned out she didn’t ring again that week, and he didn’t date a woman either, putting Maria off saying he had a dreadful cold, so by the time he was ready to set off to meet Sarah Swift on the Friday evening, he was really in the mood for female company. 

   He arrived at her Willerby flat at twenty to seven and as he pulled into the car park, a woman was leaning into the back of Sarah’s car, fiddling with something in the boot. It took him a moment to realise it was Sarah, for somehow the tight blue skirt made her appear slimmer. He pulled the car to a standstill and jumped out. She stood and watched him, a welcoming smile on her face.

   ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,’ she said, flicking her wrist and glancing at her watch.

   ‘Never a doubt,’ he said, closing in on her, ‘traffic was terrible.’

   ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, clearly not believing him.

   ‘Have you lost weight?’

   She held her stomach in and rubbed her hands down her trimmer tummy.

   ‘Maybe a little.’

   The truth was that she had been on a dieting frenzy, no cakes, chocolate, less gin and wine, and certainly no pies, pizzas, doughnuts, or jam scones. It’s amazing what a younger man can do for a middle-aged woman, and vice versa.

   ‘I hardly recognised you, you look fantastic.’

   ‘Thank you, you don’t look so bad yourself.

   Her spiky hairdo had been reinforced with fresher, blonder streaks and he liked that too. The sky blue blouse complimented her darker skirt, and the glossy pink lipstick demanded he kiss her, though he didn’t, not yet, she could wait a little longer.

   After their previous soirée where she had shown up his lack of clothes, he’d brought a larger bag crammed with designer gear.

   ‘I like your shirt,’ she said, and she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. Lace curtains in the flats blew in the wind, yet it was a particularly still evening. His shirt was a beige woollen number with a light blue check running through it, and Gringo thought it matched his fawn slacks and loafers perfectly.

   ‘Let’s get the stuff shifted,’ said Gringo, taking her bags from her car and storing them in his. ‘And the water,’ and a couple of minutes later she’d locked up and they were on the road. They hadn’t been going more than five minutes when she said: ‘Can you pull over a moment.’

   They were passing a small estate of local authority homes that had lay-bys opposite for the tenants to park, but being Friday evening there were plenty of empty spaces, the thirsty tenants not yet home. Gringo pulled in and cut the engine and turned toward her, wondering what was on her mind. She leant inward and smiled. They kissed a long and gentle kiss, lips only, no hands or arms, no embrace, no rubbing knees, warm and demanding lips alone, a long and caring kiss that more than anything was a promise of things to come.

   As they came apart she whispered: ‘Have you thought about me?’

   ‘I’ve thought of little else,’ which may have been a slight lie, but it was certainly true that he had thought about her a great deal, and more to the point, what he was going to do to her this weekend. Past memories were all fine and dandy, but Gringo lived for the here and now and the immediate future. Today, tonight.

   ‘I just wanted to check the magic is still there,’ she said.

   ‘And is it?’

   ‘It is for me.’

   ‘And me.’

   ‘That’s all right then. You better start the car,’ and in the next moment they were back on the road, heading for the country, and her wonderful secret shack of a cottage, her right hand back in its natural place on the inside of his left thigh, a resting point it automatically now adopted whenever they travelled.

   They followed the same path as before, neither keen to try anything different, both anxious to preserve the magic from two weeks before. He took her to the Black Cat again, there was never any discussion about that, they both chose the fish, and Gringo bought a better wine than last time, a tiny point that Sarah noted. They sat together in the car park afterwards, in no hurry to head off to the bungalow, embracing and kissing again, more passionately than earlier, and later as they bumped and jerked down the dark lane, a dozen rabbits came out as if to welcome them home.

   At the gate to the field Gringo stopped and took the key from her outstretched hand in silence, opened and closed the gate behind them, steered the car across the sea of the long grassed meadow, and pulled it to a gentle stop beside her brooding cottage.

   His lips and mouth were dry.

   Her heartbeat noticeably increased.

   She disappeared inside without saying a word, and slowly a hint of candlelight appeared through the curtained windows. Gringo took in the gear. As soon as he’d finished, he locked the car and hurried inside.

   Within ten minutes of the bolts being drawn the soles of her feet were staring at the sloping bedroom ceiling, her legs swaying about the softly lit room like hypnotic cobras, all clothes scattered to the floor.

   Some time later he rolled over on his back. She crept onto his chest and into his arms. The pair of them were soaked in sweat, her expensive haircut flattened to oblivion, wet hair plastered to her head.

   ‘What’s the matter, darling?’ she whispered.

   ‘Nothing. Why?’

   ‘Sometimes you… sometimes you make love as if it were the very last time… sometimes there is a sense of desperation about it…’

   ‘Are you complaining?’

   ‘No, course not, you know I adore the way you touch me, but…’

   ‘But what?’

   ‘Sometimes you give the impression you are making up for lost time… as if you think you are heading for an early grave.’

   ‘That’s a strange thing to say.’

   ‘I know. It’s unsettling, Gringo. It’s how I feel; it’s how you make me feel. I’m worried for you, Gringo.’

   ‘Then don’t be; I’m not planning on going anywhere, not for a long time yet.’

   ‘I hope not, Gringo, I so hope not.’ 

The remainder of the weekend followed an almost identical pattern to their previous visit. They carveried twice, visited the Duke of Clarence where surprisingly Tracey appeared pleased to see them, happily announcing as she ran back to the kitchens:
The lovers are back!

   During the next hour and a half most of the Duke’s staff took the opportunity to come out on some spurious excuse to check them out, and they all agreed the pair of them looked better than before, being in love, as they so clearly were, must be doing them the power of good, the lucky devils. No one bore them any ill will, a little jealously perhaps, but that is only human.

   On Sunday evening he laid her out on the rug before the blazing fire, and gently reminded her of what he was all about. Sarah appreciated his newer, softer approach, perhaps he was acting on what she had said, but whatever the reason, there would be no carpet burns this time, no worn out knees, no bite marks across his torso and beyond, just an inner feeling of wellbeing and contentment, knowing as they did, that these were days that would live with them forever.

   They did do one thing differently.

   They drove home later that Sunday night, Sarah needing to get home to check on her ailing mother, Gringo happy to oblige after another wonderful weekend.

   Parked outside her flat he switched all the gear back to her car as she waited for him inside his vehicle. When he’d finished he jumped in beside her.

   ‘Okay, Miss Swift. All done.’

   ‘Thank you.’

   ‘What for?’

   ‘For everything.’

   ‘My pleasure, we must do it again soon.’

   She reached across and linked his arm.

   ‘Of course we will, Gringo, of course we will.’

   He went to kiss her again, but this time she turned away.

   ‘I have something for you,’ she said, reaching down and picking up her leather handbag from beneath her feet.

   ‘A present?’ said Gringo, suddenly as excited as a little boy. Gringo adored presents, and he adored women even more who gave him presents. There was a time shortly after Eddie’s death when he had toyed with the idea of becoming a gigolo. He figured that what had happened to Eddie could happen to him, and if time was short, then maybe he should concentrate all his energy in the pursuit of women, and to do that, he would need regular cash. Thinking back on it now he couldn’t think of why he hadn’t done it. He would have been good at it too, and in great demand. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.

   Sarah nodded and unclipped her bag with a loud
snick.
She pulled out a small box. It was about five inches in width by eight inches long and maybe an inch deep. He guessed it might be a single tier of chocolates, a funny thing to buy a man, he remembered thinking afterwards. The box had been particularly carefully wrapped as only a woman or a gay man can, in blue and beige striped paper that reminded him of father’s old pyjamas. Each end had been meticulously folded and was well stuck down, while on the top was a pre-constructed beige bow that served no purpose other than to make the gift appear more special.

   ‘For me?’ he said, as excited as a mouse inspecting a cheese-laden mousetrap.

   ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘Who else? But please don’t open it today.’

   ‘I won’t,’ he promised, taking it and gently shaking it. Things moved inside. He was sure it was chocolates.

   ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘thanks a lot,’ and suddenly he felt guilty. ‘I haven’t bought you anything.’

   ‘Never mind,’ she said, smiling in that gentle way she possessed. ‘There’s always next time.’

   ‘Yeah, sure is,’ said Gringo,
next time
, and his mind was already rushing ahead, trying to think of something appropriate to buy her, and instinctively he knew it would be gold earrings. He always bought his women gold earrings, and those same pieces of decorative jewellery often helped him achieve his desires. They adored gold earrings, his ladies, so they said, unless it was just out of politeness, and after that she didn’t invite him in, and in truth he didn’t want to go in.

   They kissed passionately one final time before the twitching curtains, and after that the
painted whore,
as some of her co-residents referred to her behind her back, eased from the car and went into the flats, waving and smiling one last time.

   Gringo drove home in a hurry as he often did after a successful liaison. He found more mail waiting for him, but nothing from America, though that was only to be expected. She would not have received his second letter yet.

   He sat at the kitchen table and stared down at his present. He picked it up and gently shook it again before setting it back in the centre of the table.
Please don’t open it today.
He still thought it was chocolates. He picked it up again and sniffed it.
Please don’t open it today.
It didn’t smell of anything. He set it down again. What could it be?
Please don’t open it today.
She needn’t have worried about that. He would not open it for several days. What was the point in that?  

   The whole exciting secret of presents was in the anticipation, in the guessing as to what might be hidden within, in the excitement of knowing there was a present to come home to, in the knowledge there was someone out there smitten enough to buy you presents.

   Often the opening and the discovery was a huge disappointment, but Gringo didn’t care about that. He fed on the thrill that still rippled through his veins. He would leave the gift there, smouldering and teasing, until his eyes could bear it no longer, and only then, would he relent. When the time came he would attack it, rip it open, and satisfy his curiosity, but only then, and never before.

On Monday evening Gringo rang Maria and made an arrangement to see her on the Wednesday, and all through the phone call his eyes insisted on returning to the striped box. She seemed genuinely pleased to hear his voice and maybe even a tad surprised. After that he retrieved a letter from his pocket. It was from Michael Soloman. Every time he read it, it brought a crooked smile to his jagged face.

  
We are delighted to confirm an ex gratia payment to you of £20,000 for special services rendered to the company in dealing with our present conflict with the tax authorities. We wish you well in your complicated negotiations.