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

a rugged life working outside at the mercy of the elements. It didn’t appear to have affected his sense of humour though, as he enjoyed a joke with the publican, while holding his glass in a big, roughened hand. The two men burst into laughter, simultaneously, revealing a missing tooth in the man’s top set, seemingly at odds with the gleaming gold replacement for one of his bottom teeth.

“Nice one, Alec. Just don’t tell your missus, eh?” the publican warned, and the sound of their laughter rose again, briefly. The man turned from the bar, looked straight at Bella but didn’t acknowledge her, as Samuel Handysides moved along to where she stood.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. Now what would you be wanting?”

“I’d love a gin and tonic, Sam, thanks!” she replied. Although feeling tired, she gave him the brightest smile she could muster. “Ice and lemon, too, please.” She had noticed a little cloud of disappointment scud across his features, at her request, and wondered why.

“I likes to be called Samuel, Miss Foxton, if you please.” It was said politely, with no malice, in a way that she couldn’t take offence. “Too many folk want to shorten everything these days. Samuel I was christened and Samuel I’ll die!” he told her firmly, with a smile.

“Fair enough. It’s your name. I’ll do my best to remember!”

“I’d be obliged,” he answered, sounding rather like the village policeman giving a reprimand to a juvenile offender. She took her glass along the bar, to a vacant stool, not seeking conversation, just happy to be part of the scene. Tiredness had dulled her senses and she wasn’t aware of eyes on her or any other reaction to her presence. In fact, it seemed as though she were being ignored which suited her perfectly.

The drink tasted like nectar and it seemed to revitalise her, much like giving water to a wilting tomato plant. The activity in the bar went on around her almost as though she were one step removed from what was going on. She felt smug. Deliciously, selfishly smug. There was no other word for it. The more she said the word to herself, the stranger it sounded. Smug. Where did a word like that come from? She made a mental note to look it up when she got back. It was a habit of hers, from way back, to research the derivation of words or make a note of interesting words she came across. Within no time, it seemed, she had finished her drink and pushed the empty glass forward to attract Samuel’s attention. He came right over and she ordered the same again.

“Where are your toilets, please Samuel?” she asked, as he placed her drink in front of her.

“Through the door, over there,” he answered, pointing to his right. She waited for her change before picking up her purse and slipping off the stool. The toilets were better than she had expected, seemingly having been modernised more recently than the pub. Interestingly, there were no signs of graffiti or vandalism anywhere, either. When she came out of the cubicle, a woman whom she recognised as having seen in the pub last week entered the toilets. On seeing Bella, she made eye contact but, instead of saying anything, her back stiffened and Bella noticed a small grimace tighten the corners of the woman’s mouth. Bella had been about to speak but the woman’s actions had put her off and she adopted a look of studied insousiance instead, as if to say, ‘That’s fine, have it your own way!’ as the woman disappeared into a cubicle. She was suddenly hungry, remembering how little she’d eaten, and returned to her stool with the object of ordering something quickly. Looking at her watch she saw that it was nearly eight-o-clock and she was beginning to feel the effects of her busy day. The bar seemed to be busier now but no-one had taken her seat or appeared to be paying her any special attention. It must have been, she speculated, that we stood out so obviously, last week. Too tired to think about it any further, she caught Samuel’s attention and he came over. A  severe-looking, large woman, close to the landlord’s age was helping him out now that it had got busier.

“Could I have a sandwich, Samuel, do you think, please?” He could see the tiredness in her eyes.

“And what would you like, Miss Foxton? We can do you ham and tomato, cheese and onion…” he stopped, in mid-flow. “Tell you what. How about toasted egg and bacon, how does that sound?”

“Delightful,” Bella replied, glad somebody could do the thinking for her.

“’Bout ten minutes, I should reckon,” he added. Bella paid him and he went away to put her order in. Although tired, she was pleased to have made the effort to come down to the pub and happy that the previous experience hadn’t been repeated. Content to be a part of the atmosphere, she sipped at her drink while waiting for the sandwich.

“You’m from Willow Cottage, eh?” Her nose detected that it was Alfie, before she turned to look at him, his personal hygiene, or lack of it announcing his presence. Certain it wasn’t her imagination, he appeared to be wearing exactly what he had been dressed in the first time they’d met.

“That’s right. Hallo, Alfie,” Bella said, quietly. "Nice to see you again.” At least someone in the place was prepared to talk to her.

“I knows about Willow Cottage an’ all,” he said, with a self-satisfied grin. He looked smug, too, Bella thought, her thinking influenced by the gin.

“What do you know, Alfie?” It seemed like a good opportunity to find out.

“Here’s your sandwich, Miss Foxton. Now don’t bother the lady, Alfie. Get yourself back out in the kitchen.” The sound of the landlord’s voice was enough for Alfie, who walked off with a despairing look over his shoulder.

“What happened to him?” Bella asked. “Or was he born like