The Lost Traveller Read online

do.”

  “Who were you calling?”

  “Checking in at the office. They like to keep tabs on me.”

  “Do you often go missing then?”

  “Quite often.”

  J finished his pint and replaced the empty glass on the bar. “See you later,” he said.

  “I hope so”, replied Ruth who was serving another customer.

  She wished she had said something, anything else than that. She barely caught his shape in the corner of her vision as he left the bar. She should have told her regulars to wait a moment. He may have left the following morning without ever coming back to the Plough.

  The afternoon turned to evening; regulars dropped in for a pint or two and left for dinner or an early night. There were a few strangers who stayed in the corners of the bar and remained as distant as they first arrived.

  It was almost closing time when J came in again.

  “I thought you might have decided to go on.”

  “To where?”

  “To wherever you were heading.”

  “As you know I have no transport and as luck would have it, there was room at the guest house you mentioned. I passed it before coming in here. There were a few vacancies apparently. I had an afternoon nap, wrote up a few notes, showered and changed for dinner. And a very pleasant dinner it was.”

  “Usual?” asked Ruth although she had only ever poured him one pint. J nodded and watched as one who had never seen a pint poured as she leaned slightly towards him between the gap in the other pumps.

  “You remembered.”

  Ruth said nothing but took his money and placed the pint on the beer tray in front of him.

  “I was going to bed and saw your lights on so I thought I’d have a quick nightcap.”

  “You were lucky. I was about to close.”

  “Am I the only customer?”

  “It’s been a normal sort of evening but its rare that people stay late this early in the week.”

  “And you work here all by yourself?”

  “I’ve got staff. If you’d been here earlier you would have met them. But I like to lock up unless its my night off.”

  “And when is your night off?”

  “That really depends.”

  “On?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “You must tell me some time.”

  “Maybe not tonight. I really have to close.”

  “Do the local police check up on you?”

  “No,” she laughed. “They drink here. But the pub does not get cleaned or restocked by itself, the bar is empty and a girl needs her beauty sleep.”

  “I’ll be going then.”

  “Will you be off tomorrow?”

  “I suppose so, providing Dan gets the parts delivered.”

  “Where were you heading? You’re not from round here. It’s not a local accent.”

  “No, I’m not. Is the accent such a giveaway? It used to be pure cockney but now its so polished that it hardly shows at all.”

  “You’re a Londoner?”

  “I’m afraid so. You?”

  “I was born here. Left and came back. And I’ve been her ever since.”

  “Never married then?”

  “No one ever took my fancy. I suppose I am destined to be left on the shelf.”

  “You’re still very young; time enough for someone to try their luck”

  “You have no idea how old I am.”

  “Oh thirty maybe. Maybe a little more. Time has treated you well.”

  Ruth almost felt the blushing in her cheeks but it was just her imagination. A barmaid gets used to flattery and sometimes it was hard to distinguish a bit of flirting with the real thing. So she changed the subject.

  So what are you doing so far from home?”

  “That is a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  “I thought you had to close.”

  “I close when the landlady says so. Do you only drink beer?”

  “I’ve been known to drink most things alcoholic in my time.”

  “Red wine?”

  “Non vintage?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then I’m your man.”

  Ruth took a bottle of red from behind the bar, picked up two glasses and placed them on the table by the fireplace where two large chairs were always facing the large brick chimney breast, especially on dark, winter nights when the snow was falling. J poured two measures whilst Ruth closed the curtains, dimmed the lights and locked the front door. She sat down opposite him.

  “This is my favourite time of day,” she said taking a large sip from the glass in hand.

  “Why?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I own the pub, I like working here. But I also like time to myself, a bit of peace and this is the best time. Everyone has gone home, the lights are low, the outside world is shut away, there’s no cars, no people wanting food and drink, no impatient drinkers shouting orders at you. It’s just me. Me, a bottle of wine and my own thoughts.”

  “And what are they?”

  “Absolutely nothing. That’s the wonderful thing. I don’t have to think for other people, carry staff who aren’t up to it on a particular day or talk to customers as if I’m their best mate. I just sort of drift away.”

  “If I was back in the city right now, with the traffic outside noisy and drunks singing this would be a good place for your mind drifting to. It’s my kind of country. A country full of homely pubs with good English beer and friendly barmaids.”

  “I told you, I’m not the barmaid.”

  “But you do run a friendly sort of place. This is the kind of pub I would want to come home to after a days work, sit in front of a roaring fire with a plate of cheese and pickle sandwiches and talk football or darts with my mates.”

  “You’ve never run a pub have you?”

  “No, it’s never been that high on my wish list. I’ve been in quite a few. But I wouldn’t want to work in one. Seems like hard work.”

  “It is. And you still haven’t told me what you are doing here.”

  J refilled their glasses with the deep red coloured wine.

  “I was just passing through and the car packed up.”

  “People rarely pass through here. It’s not on anyone’s usual route.”

  “I was on my way to town for a meeting. I had booked into a hotel there and thought I’d take the scenic route, take in the local colour and enjoy the fresh air. So I ended up outside of the Plough and here I am destined to stay for a while.”

  “You won’t be going tomorrow?”

  “Maybe not. I’m no wild eyed optimist and certainly no mechanic but I do know that even if Dan does get the parts the car is only going to be ready to drive later than sooner so I’ve booked in at the Greenwood Guest House for another night at least.”

  “It’s all right there. We try not to compete on the menu front.”

  “Do you get on?”

  “Like a house on fire. Like two houses on fire. Carol is my mother, well step mother from her second marriage. Sandy is her third.”

  “I like him. We had a long chat after dinner. He opened up one of his favourite Island malts. He told me all about his career in antiques and turning telephone boxes into shower cubicles and Pullman carriages into mobile restaurants. And then there was the fine wines and horse syndicates. Fascinating chap.”

  “He’s lost more money than you and me have ever earned. It’s Carol’s money that’s bailed him out. She owns the place. He likes to play at being the cordon bleu chef.”

  “You can’t knock the quality of the food.”

  “No, no. Just make sure he doesn’t bill you for the whisky.”

  “Thanks for the tip. Thanks for the wine. Thanks for a lovely evening. I’d better go.”

  “You don’t want to finish the bottle.”

  “I’d better go or else the evening might get ruined and one of us may say something that could lead to one or both of us suggesting something we might regret
in the morning. I’m not sure I want to spoil anything. Even if I am just passing through.”

  They got up and Ruth opened the door very slightly to make sure that was what he really wanted.

  “I really ought to be going. Too much beer, scotch and the finest house red is not always the best mix in unfamiliar surroundings. I hope to see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Like every other morning Ruth was up early. The pub’s windows offered a panorama of all the comings and goings at one end of the village. She saw J leave the guest house and decided to meet Fate head on.

  She met him at the garage where he had just exchanged a few words with Dan.

  “You’ll be leaving then?”

  “I don’t think so,” replied J. “They’re having problems tracking down the spare parts. Dan reckons he may have to go round to the breakers yards himself.”

  “He’ll charge.”

  “It’s worth it Ruth. How else will I get the car back on the road?”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I’ll take myself for a long walk. Is there much to see round here?”

  “There’s lots of fields and grass; and a few cows. If you carry on up that path you’ll find yourself on the Hunter Estate.”

  “Do they mind strangers?”

  “They have a high degree of tolerance towards walkers and hikers unless they shoot their rabbits or poach their fish. Otherwise the family are quite normal.”

  “I’ll try that then and leave my gun at home. And you?”

  “I’ve seen it all before, many times. If you get really bored you could take in the ruins of the old St Leonards Church, and the Buckfast Farm, and the cricket field, and all the rest.”

  “Have you got time to show a stranger around?”

  “I’ve got a pub to run. And we have no milk.”

  “No local milkman with all those handy cows?”

  “He’s late so I’m off to the local store.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Up that way.”

  “You’re facing the wrong way though.”

  “I was being friendly.”

  “Well, I’ll be on my way then. I suppose I’ll see you for lunch. Unless I get shot for rustling deer.”

  They turned and went their separate ways; Ruth to the Village Shop which housed the Post office and sold coffees and home made cakes, and J to the green fields.

  He was as good as his word. He returned to the Plough for lunch; a more tired, muddy and dishevelled man than he was before.

  “Where have you been?” asked Ruth.

  “I have been walking; through ploughed fields, wooded hills and submerged streams. It would have been quite an experience if dressed appropriately which as you can see I was not. Then I was forced to back into a field full of cow pats by a couple of men with shotguns, funny hats and strange vocabulary.”

  “The Bensons.”

  “If that’s the name they use, that’s who I saw. Who are they?”

  “Gamekeepers. They’re basically honest and loyal and protect the Hunters from unwanted guests.”

  “They don’t say much. They just waved a double barrelled shotgun at me and wanted to know what I was doing there. I said I was lost which was when they directed me to a single track path over which a herd of cattle with raging dysentery had recently passed. It brought me back to here. So I suppose their intentions were basically good. I need a pint.”

  Ruth laughed and pulled J a pint of best bitter refusing payment.

  “Are you staying for lunch?”

  “I think a shower, an afternoon nap and a takeaway beef and mustard sandwich from your kitchen is all I need right now.”

  “Sure you won’t stay a while?”

  “I have some work to catch up on, a few overdue business calls and to be honest, some clean clothes. But I am free later. Is tonight your day off by any chance?”

  “It could be.”

  “Then I shall pick you up at seven and buy you dinner at that place across the road.”

  “Is that a date?”

  “I thought it was.”

  “Then I’ll see you at seven.”

  J was there on the chiming of the hour; cleaned and dressed and free from mud and traces of the surrounding countryside.

  They didn’t stay in the Plough for a drink but went across the street to the Greenwood Guest House and was shown to their reserved table by Sandy.

  “Tell me,” asked J as they drank the wine and waited for the first course, “what do you do for entertainment round here? For that matter what does everyone do?”

  “It’s a small, country village. We don’t have interesting lives like city folk. People either run farms or work on the bigger ones. The Hunters employ a good number of staff in various ways, especially shooting parties when they need caterers and waiting staff.”

  “It’s a bit feudal then?”

  “Of course not. It’s all very amicable. They need staff, people need work. Simple. The Plough is one of the last few pubs around here. We haven’t got that many incomers so most of the village meets there for a drink after work and at weekends. We have dances at the big barn and fetes and things. Life goes on, very slowly perhaps, but calmly as well.”

  By the time they had worked their way through the meal and were drinking more wine and more coffee J had found out all Ruth could tell him about life in the village.

  “And you, what do you do when you’re not getting lost in the countryside?”

  “This is my work. Getting lost is sometimes part of the job description but my main work is travelling. I’m a location manager. To put it simply I look for places and buildings that can be used in films or TV series. Mostly its all done on commission so that I know exactly what it is I’m supposed to be looking for but other times and when I have time I just like to point the car down a leafy lane and see where it leads.”

  “Like here?”

  “Especially like here. It’s a jewel, so English, almost a forgotten scene. I’m sure I’ll be able to use this place sometime if the right approach is made by the right company.”

  “And this meeting you were going to?”

  “It’s to provide a company with the results of my investigations.”

  “Do they want a sleepy English village?”

  “No, not really. I’m not always too sure what is in some TV producer’s mind. Some are quite easy to understand, some have no idea themselves but a vague whim that comes to them in the middle of the night. They wake up and ring the real professionals who have to do the artistic interpretation for them.”

  “It must take you away from home a lot.”

  “Quite a lot. But I enjoy the travel. And the expenses are good.”

  “And does your wife mind very much you doing all this travelling about?”

  “I have no wife. Fortunately. Or not, you might think for a man of my age.”

  “It must get very lonely. No one to talk to, no one to share the day with.”

  “I talk to my lap top instead. It has the advantage of never answering back or telling me that I’m wrong.”

  “We all need someone to put us straight sometimes. You can’t be right all the time.”

  “I try to be.”

  “Like last night when you said that if you stayed it might be a big mistake.”

  There was no mistake tonight. J picked up the half empty bottle of wine and the two empty glasses and Ruth followed him upstairs.

  The unexpected pleasures of the night were rudely shattered as he walked into the Plough just before midday. Ruth was holding the receiver of the pub’s land line and visibly seething with venom.

  “It’s for you. Its your wife.”

  She slammed the receiver down on the bar and stormed into the living quarters behind the main bar. Barry her barman said nothing; he had seen her angry many times before.

  J ignored the phone and tried to walk past Barry to follow Ruth but the loyal member of staff barred his way.
/>
  “Let her go,” he urged. “She’ll calm down. Or maybe not, whatever it is that’s upset her.”

  “I just want to explain,” said J but any progress was still prevented so he decided to take the phone call although his attitude was far from friendly.

  “What was that about? Why ring me here? Yes, I’ll be there.”

  From those three sentences the small lunchtime crowd tried to piece together a story.

  “All I want to do is to try and explain. I won’t make her cry, or make her any more upset than she appears to be.”

  “Maybe you won’t but its more than my job’s worth to let you back there.”

  Barry had years of experience with the sometimes volatile Ruth to fall back on.

  “Look why don’t you take a bit of air outside. I’ll see if I can get her to speak to you.”

  “Thanks Barry. I’ll be outside somewhere.”

  A few minutes later Ruth appeared. Barry had worked his magic although her face did not betray any sign of forgiveness.

  “You didn’t give me a chance to explain,” began J.

  “That phone call needs no explanation. You tell me you have no wife, that you’re some kind of lost traveller and the next thing I find myself in your bed and throwing all caution to the four winds.”

  “Let’s get away from here.” By which J meant the outside drinking area. “I walked over a small stone bridge yesterday and found myself on a cricket field with wooden benches and a garden shed as a scoreboard.”

  “You can’t charm me with your dreams of rustic scenery and the playing fields of England.”

  Nevertheless they walked in silence, a few feet apart but held together by a strange bond. They sat down on the white painted bench on the cricket field boundary where old men applauded a well hit four or a fine catch. The seat was not too wide but there was still a distance between them.

  “I’m not married,” began J. “I was. I’m divorced. She was my wife but now we’re just business partners and she likes to call herself my wife at times because it’s guaranteed to get my attention. Or someone else’s. Usually if I’ve been ignoring her. Or not so much her, as work. I’m due at a meeting first thing tomorrow.”

  “Say I don’t believe you. Say I think all that over the last few days was just a very good ploy to get me into bed.”

  “Well if it was, it worked. But it wasn’t,” added J very quickly correcting himself. “It was all the truth. You can ring her back. She’ll admit it all and laugh as well.”

  “I think I believe you,” said Ruth and they were suddenly close again.

  “But why would you want to go into business with your ex-wife?”

  “She wasn’t my wife when we started the business. Then she became my wife and then we got divorced and now we work together almost as we always have done. Simple really. Why don’t I explain it all over dinner?”

  “But not across the road. There’s something not quite right about staying overnight as a non-paying guest at my own father-in-law’s guest house. It’s not good to have to creep about in the early hours to get back home. Someone might have seen me. No, I’ll cook and we can have dinner at my place.”

  “Won’t it be just as odd for me to have to slip out in the early hours back to my own lodgings?”

  “Who said anything about you staying?”

  As ever he was neither too early nor too late; actually prompt at eight.

  “Do you enjoy this life, moving around from place to place?”

  “You make me sound like a Romany traveller. I do have a home. It’s just that my work means that I have to travel quite a bit. I enjoy it. I see a lot of this country. I happen to like England very much; as well as the villages and village pubs.”

  “And the landladies of village pubs.”

  “Oh them, especially.”

  “You know many do you?”

  “I’ve met with so many.