The Knapthorne Conspiracy by Malcolm Ballard (best english novels for beginners txt) 📕

It struck Bella how neat and tidy everything looked, after London. And quiet! She couldn’t get over the lack of traffic and the absence of people. From the minute she had entered the cottage she’d had the feeling that this was meant to be. Strangely enough, since the success of her novel, in particular, she had experienced a vague uneasiness that had been disturbing her. At a time when she should have been enjoying the rewards of her achievement, some nebulous, unsettling feeling had been spoiling the party. Now, right this moment, she had identified the problem and it felt like a weight had been lifted from her.

“Ha!” she cried, throwing her head back and running her fingers through her hair. “What a fool I’ve been!” Her outburst startled Ben, who looked at her in alarm.

“What on earth’s the matter?” There was genuine concern in his voice.

“I think I’ve just started to grow up!” she informed him, with a look of immense pleasure on her face.

“How d’you mean?” He had dropped the car’s speed, trying to concentrate on the road as well as what Bella was saying. Thankfully, there was virtually no traffic around.

“For years I’ve had a pretty self-indulgent life in London.” She had turned sideways in her seat, to look at him. “Lots of friends, parties, that sort of thing. Theatres, restaurants, clubs, late nights, you name it. It’s what you do….”

“So?” He was about to continue when he saw the pub, and the car park, on the other side of the road. “Hold on, til I’ve parked the car,” he said, waiting for a car coming in the opposite direction to pass. When it was clear, he drove in and found a space. “So, what are you about to tell me?” he continued, as they sat in the parked car. She took a deep breath before speaking.

“I’m ready for a change. No, more than that. I need a change. Something’s been bothering me for some time now and I’ve realised that I’ve finally had enough of London.” Bella looked quite pleased with herself.

“Are you serious?” He couldn’t for a moment imagine living anywhere else and his look of disbelief amused her.

“Never more so, Ben. I feel that there’s a rightness to all of this. The cottage, the village, Dorset. Everything. In fact I feel so good about it, I’m going to buy you a drink. Come on!” She swanned into the saloon bar of The Lamb, infusing a cocktail of Karen Walker and Chanel into the midst of the astonished customers, as though it were one of her Sunday haunts in London. Who was more surprised at what confronted them, Bella or the locals, it was difficult to gauge. Accustomed to a pulsating mix of live music and animated conversation in a crowded venue, the enervated atmosphere of The Lamb came as a rude shock to her.

“Fly yer back to London, lady?” Ben whispered, in a Cockney accent.

Chapter Three

The Lamb appeared to have escaped the passage of time that had seen most public houses undergo changes of some description. Changes that had been in some cases modest, some dramatic, and some even final, when commercial reality meant closing the doors for good. The pub stood as a monument to another age, before the invasion of the motor car and prior to the relentless drive for acquisition and profit-making, when a country pub served mainly its local community, and lager and french fries were unheard of. Bella’s eyes took in a scene that had changed little in fifty years. So little, in fact, that one or two of the patrons, who were all eyeing her with undisguised curiosity, would have been drinking here that many years ago.

“Reckon they must be lost, or been to a fancy dress party,” an old timer muttered, in a thick Dorset accent. His remark generated a ripple of mocking laughter and Bella could feel the colour come to her face as the customers resumed whatever activities they had been involved in before the couple had entered and a low hum of conversation filled the room. They were being ignored now but Bella could sense an atmosphere in the place, an undercurrent of something she couldn't identify. Ben guided her towards the bar, where the landlord, a stout, shortish man, of sixty-plus years was busy washing glasses. A goatee beard, more grey than black, matched his good head of hair. Although his face was chubby, with rounded features, he had small eyes behind his half-rimmed glasses and a narrow mouth with thin lips. Bella was relieved to see that he welcomed them with a smile.

“Don’t take too much notice of the lads, they tend to be a bit wary of strangers,” he explained,  “It’s not often they see folk they don’t know in here. What can I get you?”

Bella was busy looking at her surroundings, taking in the overpainted anaglypta paper on the walls, its creamy colouring enhanced by years of tobacco smoke, and the pitted linoleum which covered the floor. It wasn’t a big room, accommodating only nine solid-looking wooden tables, with matching chairs, all painted a uniform dark brown. A game of darts was in progress, to her left, in the far corner, otherwise hardy-looking, weathered customers were seated at the tables or standing at the bar. The dress code for the men in the bar, whose ages ranged from late teens to elderly, appeared to be mandatory for, without exception, they were all wearing two-piece worsted or terylene suits with an open-necked shirt. Sunday best, but it couldn’t disguise the rugged, manual lifestyle of each and every owner. It was with some relief that Bella noticed she wasn’t the only woman there. Seated at one of the tables near the door were three women. It was difficult to tell their ages exactly but she would have put them, perhaps, in their late fifties. They each had permed hair and wore winter coats, still, with