The Kept Woman

Pub Lunch

I'm finally up and about. Being sick was a total bore though I did manage to wonder down to the kitchen gardens with a blanket and snooze in the sun once I was feeling better.

To continue with my day on the 19th of May before I got sick...

I read the paper in silence, settling down for a truly enjoyable day. The bar girl disappeared for a break and Jon took over. He sent over another pint when I tipped him the wink but I was surprised when the pint was brought over by the russet haired young man who had been talking to the bar girl. He popped it in front of me with a,

"I rather think it's my fault that you were almost refused your tab, I'm so sorry." I looked up into an open and friendly face with that glorious English skin and smiled.

"No I rather think she would have hated me on sight anyway. I'm sure when I was that age I hated any woman older than myself who didn't have to do bar work or whatever we did in our youths to get paid."

"I put up marquees and hated every person who went to the parties." He said as he sat down in the chair next to mine.

"Champagne bar that did the season. It was terrible going to Ascot and Henley and all these events and having to wear boring black, not drink and stand up all day."

"Here's to not being 19 again." He tipped his glass to mine and I cheersed him with a "god yes." We smiled at each other and a light bulb clicked in my head.

"You're the new Squire aren't you?"

"Yes, tell me, will I be the new squire even when I'm old and gray?"

"Good lord yes!" I laughed, "certainly until everyone my mothers age has passed away or at least until you're married and have filled the rooms of The Hall with children."

"So not until I'm old and gray then?"

"How long have you been here now?" He grimaced before replying.

"Not long enough. My uncle, the old Squire, wouldn't have my side of the family any where near him so I know bugger all about all this."

"You'll be fine. Just kiss babies, don't kiss teenagers or get anyone's daughter pregnant and hold a feast day every summer. They'll soon love you. Ask for help from your staff too. If they're anything like ours they'll bend over backwards if they know you just want to make their lives easier and better and that you'll listen to their complaints."

"Your staff... What Jim said... are you really her Ladyships daughter?"

"Of course, is it so hard to credit?" He blushed, a deep stain that spread across that silky skin and I marveled at how few men look good blushing.

"No it's just that I've met your mother..."

"And you're amazed I don't have a booming voice, wear tweeds and shout at the locals?"

"Well..."

"Don't worry, based on your uncle I think we were all expecting the same from you." He laughed and settled back into his chair.

"So what's a feast day?" he asked.

"Oh you know, you open the gardens, hire a band, set up a bbq, ask the Womens Institute to do a cake stall, have a tombola and a prize for the biggest carrot or what have you then donate any money raised to the church steeple fund. If you have a famous friend to give out prizes even better. Kind of like the village fair but you pay for everything and charge very little."

"Does you're mother do this too?"

"Goodness no. It would be a terrible presumption. It's the Squires job, new or old." He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

"I can see I have a lot to learn. God, I wish I had been brought up in this like you." I laughed.

"Hardly. I've lived less in England than I have overseas now. Unless you count boarding school. I just seem to have made an impression with the locals when I am here."

"Yes you do make quite an impression..." he tailed off and we looked at each other. A blush bloomed over his cheeks again.

"Will you have lunch with me? Unless you have somewhere else to go..." I said.

He said he would love to so I jumped up to get the daily menu and we perused it together our heads almost touching. My heart beat loud in my chest and I smiled shakily at him. We both ordered, potted shrimp followed by sausage and mash for me, ploughman's followed by home made steak and kidney pie for him.

The food was delicious and simple. Home made and perfect. We talked and laughed together as our knees touched and my belly tingled. Our eyes would catch and he blushed all the more - a delicate rosy colour that suited him perfectly.

He paid, bless him, for our lunch and offered to escort me home, deeming Hatty and Pidge unfit to guard me. I laughed and let him as Jon the barman winked me out the door.

Weekend in bed... And not In a fun way

I'm still sick, I got far worse over the weekend. Even mother came to see if I was dead. Luckily not.

Will write more when up and about.

Xxx

The Kept Woman is missing a truely beautiful day outside. Still tucked up in bed wishing that I wasn't quite so sick. Feel revolting but at least I'm no longer throwing up thank god. Fever has come down too but I feel as weak as a kitten. Food poisoning? Virus? Act of god? Who knows!

YUK YUK YUK! There is a good chance I'm going to die from this. Feel revolllllting.

The Kept Woman is as sick as a dog. I have retired to bed to sweat out the fever and continue to throw up at the mention of food. Will continue to post once I'm out of the woods. xxx

Wellesly Arms

I left the house early again this morning after a very good nights sleep. Pidge and Hatty at my heals, I was dressed in some very old, tatty and faded skinny jeans tucked into my even older Hunter wellies (owned long before Kate Moss and her ilk wore them to festivals I'll add), a couple of cashmere jumpers and scarves and my very old Barbour jacket. The Barbour was actually bought just before I went off to boarding school and still comes 6 inches down my thigh which sadly shows how little I grew once I was packed off. Ah well, it's comfortable and old and smells just as it should of walks in the rain.

I stopped in to see Tom, the master of hounds, before I headed off as I had missed him the day before. He grinned and told me not to bring Hatty and Pidge too close to the kennels or his dogs would tear them apart. Pampered Hatty and Pidge are hated by the working dogs and the hounds go mad whenever the two morons scamper past. Tom and I talked for a while and he spoke eloquently about issues facing modern packs and the countryside. There is a great feeling out here that country folk are forgotten and ignored by townies and politicians who don't understand or care for the local and traditional way of life. My heart felt heavy as I said goodbye and left. There was so little I could say to comfort him.

I walked out and on with the dogs and headed in a different direction to the one I took yesterday. Heading away from the gardens and towards what was once the home farm I crossed the fields and hedgerows noticing what had changed and what hadn't. A good hour later I came up to the village and headed towards the village shop to buy a newspaper and then to the pub. The local pub, Wellesly Arms, is a good couple of hundred years old and quite wonderful. Autumn through Spring will likely find a good fire in the grate, they allow dogs, the publicans wife, Harriet, is a wonderful cook and Paul, the publican, pours the best pints anywhere in England. He even accepts that some of us have become used to the rather nasty heathenish ways of liking our beer cold although he does refuse to do it with any of his real ales.

I knocked my wellies, now quite muddy, off on the hedgehog mud brush and stepped in. The bar was quiet enough. There were a few older gents at the bar who nodded at me in recognition and the ladies bridge club sat a table in the lounge. A russet haired man of about 35 was talking to the young blonde behind the bar. She was flirting and giggling and looked far too young to be pouring pints let alone chatting up the natives. I walked up to the bar, Hatty and Pidge obedient at my heels. She ignored me in favour of trying to chat to the young man. I waited for about half a minute until it became obvious that the man was as uninterested in the conversation as I was. I turned to look at him and noticed unusual brown-green eyes set in a proud and handsome face. His hair was such a dark burnt red that it was mostly brown but with an unusual golden tone to it and his skin was that wonderful clear English complexion that we're famed for but so few of us seem to have. No wonder the bar girl was flirting.

Still, I wasn't here to flirt so I interrupted with a,

"Sorry, but do you think I could get a pint of Arbor Mild?" The girl harrumphed at me but went off to pour. I asked her if Harriet, Paul or their son Jon was in but she snapped a terse "No." I asked when they would be back and she ignored me and dumped the drink in front of me so that the beer slopped over the sides. I pursed my lips, took my pint and retreated to a sofa near the fire.

"Aren't you going to pay for that?" the bar girl asked. I noticed that the bar had fallen silent and was watching our exchange with interest - or at least as much interest as the country ever give to anything that doesn't involve dogs, crops, horses or the weather.

"Put it on my tab," I said as I sat down and opened my newspaper.

"We only give tabs to locals," she replied petulantly.

"Quite." I said without looking up.

The girl seemed to swell with fury until one of the men at the bar said to the bargirl,

"Don't you recognise those two mongrels at her feet? Do you think her ladyship lends them out to strangers?" Oh yes, my mother, though certainly no Lady, has been called this behind her back for years.

"Mongrels, Jim?" I said turning to look at him, "is that why you've done your damnedest to buy their pups every time they whelp?"

"Rubbish. You can't shoot with them, they can't run to pack, they can't work, what use would they be to me?"

"Draft excluder?" I asked as Hatty started to snore and Pidge looked balefully up at old Jim.

"Listen here missy," Jim wagged his arthritic finger at me, "you might have conned everyone else in these parts into thinking your the bees knees for all of your flighty ways but I'll never forget you stealing my apples and bothering my chickens!"

I had the grace to blush at this. I suppose, in my youth, I had been a bit of a terror for the locals by chasing chickens, disturbing sheep, scrumping anything I could get my hands on and generally being a terrible nuisance.

At this point Jon, the publicans son, came into the room and called out to me with pleasure. He then called up the stairs to the family living quarters that I was down in the bar. I stood up and he came over to give me a hug. We are similar in age and spent a lot of time together during school holidays when I was in the country. He liked to show me off to his school friends (though nothing ever happened) and introducing me to the dubious pleasures of white lightning and illicit bonfires in the woods.

Jon's parents, Harriet and Paul, came in and came over to give me a hug and a kiss too. I could see the bar girl looking particularly mutinous and Jim muttered into his pint about chicken rustlers and sunshine shining out of my arse. They asked me how I was and whether I was staying long. We chatted and joked and caught up on old news. Jon had recently become engaged to a girl in the village over and so we spoke about her and the upcoming wedding. Before they left they asked if everything was ok. I said it was fine and did they think I could still get a tab here? They laughed and said of course and called out to Jessica, the bar girl, to make sure I got whatever I wanted. I thought for a second that I would be getting bromide in my next drink if I wasn't careful so played it down by saying that Jessica had been very helpful. We established that I would be having lunch at the pub and then they moved off to get on with the days tasks. Jon made sure to tell me he wanted to catch up later and he couldn't wait for me to meet his fiance.

I sat back down, opened my paper and got on with enjoying my day.

A Quiet Day at My Mother's

I arrived home to my mother's late to cups of hot coffee and some rather wonderful game pie (wrong season I know, thank god for freezers). Mother was in bed of course but Mrs M up and about to see me settled in.

I woke up early so that I could go down and have breakfast with my mother. She looked about as pleased as she ever did when I came home which is not very. I'm never quite sure if she would rather have not had children at all or if she sees me as part of the whole aberration of being married to my father. We asked each other painful questions about how we were and then she sat looking at me as if quite, quite puzzled as to why I was there. Almost as if I were some acquaintance she once knew but couldn't remember from where. I sighed and finished my breakfast in silence. As much as going home soothes me I quite realise that it is the silence, the old dogs, Mrs M, the food, the country and the fresh air that does so. Mother is about as soothing as a snore.

I grabbed Hatty and Pidge, our house dogs, as fat as ever, found my old barbour and wellies and strode out with a home made pork pie and flask of coffee warming my pocket. The weather was wet but I tugged up my hood and strode on with determination. A little rain never hurt a true English girl.

I stopped, as always, in with the grounds staff and said hello and listened to any complaints. There weren't very many as usual, Mother, whatever else I may say about her, is a very efficient and good employer. I often wonder what her life would have been like if she had been born when I was and had the opportunities of my generation... university, jobs, no expectation to marry, excitement, fulfillment...

There was much talk from the gardeners, huntsmen and groundskeepers about the new squire. The old squire, as he was known in these parts (and rather feudal parts they seem sometimes), had recently passed and the heir, whom no one knew much about, had popped up and taken over The Hall. I pictured, as I always do when someone mentions "the squire" a slightly overweight man in tweeds. I asked about the staff at The Hall and was told that all were being kept on if they wanted to stay although some were retiring.

I listened to their gossip and chatter with only one ear before heading off again. The dogs and I walked down to the river and I ate my pork pie and drank my coffee under the vague protection of a weeping willow whilst fatty Hatty and Pidge looked at me like they had been starved for a month until I started to share the pie with them too.

The rest of my day was as lazy and slow. I had a long bath, I read English newspapers, I phoned friends and Alpha and we spoke for a long while as he was getting up and I was falling asleep.

Not the most exciting of days but nice in its own way.

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KW xxx

England, dear England

I'm back in the UK.

You may well ask me where the hell I've been all these months and I could tell you but instead I'm going to shrug prettily and politely ignore you. I've been to many places these past months and not all of them have been happy or interesting. There are many things I am happy to share with you all - my vice, my viciousness, my sluttery, my love of Alpha - but some that are too unhappy, too damaging to be spoken aloud. Far, far better to quietly close the door and shut the window and leave that poor unhappy ghost to silence and things best left unsaid.

Shorter story? I'm back.

But I'm back in the UK. Alpha packed me off to the airport with kisses and love and suggestions for how I could spend his hard earned cash. I'm in the London house right now. SH came over for lunch and we talked and laughed about days gone past. We neither of us mention the Captain but I have it on good authority that he has left the country on business and won't return for some months. Frankly, I wouldn't have come back otherwise.

I'm going down to see Mother, the dogs and dear Mrs M tonight so I can't stay and chat. The London house is slightly too cold and I miss Alpha. I don't want to be here on my own tonight so I'm driving down even though the roads are wet and I would be better off waiting for tomorrow. Ah well. I hope the weather clears up. London is dull and dreary and I can't help thinking how Beijing is beautiful and warm right now with all the blossom trees competing for attention.

I'll sign off now but rest assured, there will be more to come!

Just the start of Guess Whose Coming to Dinner has been posted. The rest goes up tomorrow. I'm hoping that by teasing you to begin with - showing a bit of leg, as it were - I'll get you hooked until you're begging for more.

xxx