A Rural Affair

echoing my thoughts. ‘It sort of … defines him.’

For some reason I thought of Sam, when I’d first met him: in his paper-strewn office, sleeves rolled up, files and books all over the floor. Not any more, of course. Tidy now.

‘So … you said?’ I prompted, tremulously.

‘I said yes.’

‘Angie, you didn’t!’

‘I bloody did. I looked him straight back in the eye and said yes, actually, I’d like him to do the same for me as he’d done for Mary Granger last hunting season, and gave him a terrific wink.’

‘He services Mary Granger?’ I gasped. Mary was a rangy, scary, foxy blonde, who rode horses professionally and relentlessly. She was always trotting past, stony-faced and in a hurry, one horse under her bony bum, another on a lead rein. She probably wouldn’t have time for the normal social conventions a boyfriend entailed. I could imagine her bonking a man like Pete before breakfast, as part of her horsy routine. Stable management.

And was it my imagination or was Sylvia, in front of Angie, leaning back, straining to hear?

‘Why are you so horrified?’ Angie looked defiant. ‘Not everyone wants a boyfriend, you know. I don’t. And I certainly don’t want another husband. But what I do, occasionally, feel the need for, is the touch and feel of a man and some basic human comfort. Preferably without a saggy stomach, dandruff or BO, and preferably the right side of forty.’ She raised her chin. ‘I’ve always liked sex, if you must know.’

‘Right,’ I said inadequately, wondering if I must know that in church and quite loudly too. Sylvia’s ears were as pricked as those of any horse on the hunting field.

‘Well, anyway, we went upstairs –’

‘Just like that?’ I tried but failed to keep the squeaky excitement from my voice.

‘Yes, just like that. He made the pretence of grabbing some tools, and then he asked where the bathroom was, which, frankly, I was pleased about, because don’t forget he shoes horses for a living. Fairly blue collar and all that. So when we got to the top of the stairs I showed him into my en suite. Then I went into the bedroom, took all my clothes off and got into bed.’

I felt my mouth fall open.

‘I had to,’ she confessed. ‘Otherwise I knew I wouldn’t do it. Knew I’d lose my nerve.’

I nodded dumbly, acknowledging the warped logic in this.

‘Anyway, he was ages in the bathroom, and after a bit he called out, “Mrs Asher?”, which was rather formal, I thought, and not quite what I was expecting, so I called back, “In here!” And in he came holding my shower attachment, and saying it was rather different to Mary Granger’s.’

I stared at her for a long moment. Then the penny dropped.

‘He does plumbing on the side,’ she said stiffly. ‘Unofficially. Just during the recession. Hasn’t got a licence so it’s hush-hush. He serviced Mary Granger’s shower, apparently.

‘Oh, Angie …’

‘So there I was, in bed, stark-naked, propped up on pillows and showing a great deal of cleavage. Near as damn it with a rose between my teeth.’

‘What did you do?’ I breathed.

‘Well, he went completely puce, naturally, and his jaw dropped – he nearly dropped the shower head too – and then I had to pretend it was the most natural thing in the world to be talking to my plumber-come-farrier supine and in the buff. I said it was probably best that he took it away and sorted it out at home, where he’d got the proper tools, and he agreed. To save us, I asked conversationally in what way my shower head differed to Mary’s and he said mine had bigger holes. Did I mention I’d lit a candle?’

‘No.’

‘Yes. By the bed. And a few on the dressing table. Diptyque. And squirted Jo Malone about too.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, he fled. Thundered downstairs and out to his van and roared away in moments, no doubt to tell the entire village about the terrifying frustrated housewife at the manor. I should think everyone knows by now.’ Her face collapsed a bit. She looked older.

‘They don’t,’ I assured her quickly, but knew she was right. It was only a matter of time before it ricocheted around the village. ‘And anyway, you could say you always have an afternoon nap,’ I suggested. ‘Churchill used to. And a bath.’

‘I could,’ she agreed, ‘except it was ten o’clock in the morning and I wasn’t exactly marching the troops across the Rhine.