‘And do you think Lady Muck from High Tor will change from the Chilean Chardonnay too?’
‘I doubt it. I can’t see her wanting to do anything I do.’
‘What’s this then? Rifts in the lute? Less than perfect harmony between neighbours?’
‘Oh, it’s just, as I said, Carole being Carole.’ And Jude gave Ted a precis of Carole’s recent dithering over the Turkish holiday.
‘If she’s behaving like that, I’d have thought you’d be well shot of her. When Carole gets grumpy …’ He didn’t finish the sentence, but Jude picked up the reference. Incongruous though it might seem, Ted Crisp and Carole Seddon had at one point had a brief affair. And it was no doubt during that that he had experienced Carole getting grumpy. ‘Can’t you just go on your own? Or isn’t there one of your many lovers around who …?’
‘I don’t have many lovers, Ted.’
‘According to Carole you do.’
‘She just exaggerates. For someone who claims to have no imagination, she’s extremely inventive when it comes to her view of my love life. She thinks every man I speak to must have been one of my lovers at some point.’
‘Isn’t that rather flattering?’
‘I’m not sure that it is, actually, no. Anyway, there are other friends I could ask – ones I don’t actually go to bed with – but I can’t do that until I get a definite yea or nay from Carole.’
‘Why’s she messing you around like this?’
‘It’s just her nature. It’s how she is. Before she does anything she has to go through great rigmaroles of decision. She has to assess all the negatives before she gets near to a positive. Basically, she’s just afraid of anything new. She hasn’t been to Turkey before. So she’s scared she’ll make a fool of herself in unfamiliar surroundings.’
‘I think you’re right. How’s the Sauvignon?’
‘Delicious.’
‘I thought you’d agree. They do some very clever things with their wines in New Zealand. Anyway, how come you’ve got this holiday coming up?’
‘A friend’s offered me the use of his villa in a village called Kayaköy.’
‘Useful friend to have. Or was this for “services rendered”?’ Ted suggested roguishly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Another of all these ex-lovers that Carole goes on about?’
‘No,’ Jude lied. ‘He’s a guy called Barney Willingdon.’
‘Oh.’ Clearly, the name meant something to Ted.
‘Property developer,’ said Jude.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You’ve met him?’
‘No, I haven’t, actually, but I’ve heard a lot about him.’
‘How come?’
‘One of the advantages, Jude – or disadvantages, according to your personality – of being a pub landlord is that a lot of people talk to you.’
‘And in your case is it an advantage or disadvantage?’
‘Depends who’s doing the talking. You do get some interesting people passing through. You also get your regulars who bore you to death with the same moans every night. Hazard of a publican’s life. I’ve got a mate who runs a pub in London. He has his end of the bar where he always stands when he’s not serving, and over it he’s got this big sign saying “NO SYMPATHY CORNER”.’
‘Ooh, I love that. Maybe you should do the same, Ted?’
‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of it.’
‘Anyway, what’s this got to do with Barney Willingdon?’
‘Ah, well now, you see, his name is heard quite often round here.’
‘Oh?’
‘There’s a guy who used to work with him who’s one of my regulars.’
‘One of the interesting ones or the moaners?’
‘Can’t you tell from my tone of voice?’
‘Yes, I certainly can.’
‘Name of Fergus McNally.’ Ted Crisp looked at his watch. ‘He’ll be in here soon. On the dot of six every night. You’d recognize him. But you’re not often in here at six. Nobody is, so I’m the one who gets buttonholed. Talk about a captive audience. It’s like I’m nailed to the bloody bar with Fergus till I get a few more customers in.’
‘So you never escape?’
‘Only if I can fob him off on some other poor bugger and let him bore them to death instead.’
‘Ted, this may sound a strange request, but could I volunteer to be “some other poor bugger”?’
FOUR
Fergus McNally contrived to look like a rougher version of Barney Willingdon. Both were in their fifties, large and bearded, but whereas the owner of Chantry House glowed with success, around Fergus McNally hung the sour aroma of disappointment. Even if Ted Crisp had not prepared her, and before the new arrival had even opened his mouth, Jude would have identified him as a moaner.
He ordered ‘the usual’, and Ted pulled him a pint of Sussex Gold. Fergus’s accent was also Sussex, quite similar to Barney’s. Maybe they were both local boys.
Then, still with a residue of bewilderment at Jude’s request, Ted Crisp introduced them.
‘Do you live in Fethering too, Fergus?’ asked Jude.
‘Oh yes. One of my rules of life has always been: live near enough to a pub so that you can walk home, whatever state you’re in.’ For no very good reason he let out a hearty chuckle. ‘You imply you do as well.’
‘Yes. Down the High Street.’
‘Oh, I probably know the house …?’ suggested Fergus.
But Jude didn’t pick up the cue to volunteer any further information. She’d already identified Fergus McNally as the kind of man it might be difficult to shake off. Ted Crisp, glad to be off the hook, sidled down to the other end of the bar where he picked up a cloth and started assiduously drying dry glasses.
Fergus had perched on a bar stool, so Jude also drew one up and sat beside him.
‘Ted said your name’s Jude. Jude what?’
‘People just call me Jude.’
‘Well, everyone calls me Fergus. Fortunately, nobody’s ever tried to shorten it. I don’t fancy going through life called “Gus”.’
‘Or “Fer”.’
‘Nobody’d ever call anyone “Fer”,’ he said, slightly puzzled. Jude got the impression that a sense of humour was not one of his major qualities. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ he went on.
‘What is?’
‘Meeting you. Normally, when I come in of an evening I have to put up with Ted’s moaning. God, he does go on about stuff. It’s not often that I’m introduced to a dishy woman.’
There was something stiff and clumsy about the way he made the compliment. Whether or not he realized it, Fergus McNally was not a natural ladies’ man.
‘Do you work round here too?’ he went on.
‘I work from home. I’m a healer.’
He looked duly surprised. ‘Right. So if I’m suffering from some ghastly illness, I come to you and you lay your hands on me, do you? Sounds rather good.’
Jude didn’t like the way he said ‘lay your hands’, so she moved the conversation on. ‘What do you do, Fergus?’
‘Very little, I’m afraid, at the moment,’ he replied, moving into self-pitying mode. ‘I used to be in property.’
‘What aspect of property?’
‘Development. Had my own company. But then the recession came, and …’ He shrugged and downed the remains of his pint. It hadn’t lasted very long. He gestured to Jude’s glass. ‘You ready for another?’
‘Just a small one to top it up.’
‘What is it?’
Jude had to stop the instinctive reply of ‘Chilean Chardonnay’ and said, ‘A New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.’
Fergus summoned Ted from his redundant glass polishing and gave the order. While he served the drinks the landlord flashed a covert, ‘What did I tell you?’ look to Jude. Then he escaped back to the other end of the bar.