Four hours later, thinking she might find Devon country inn accommodation near to the holiday home where her friend had died, Alice gingerly drove down a very steep hill into a deep and dark valley set in the heart of the Devon countryside.
At the bottom of the hill, looking out across the valley and a river that ran through it, was a tiny country inn.
The car park was at the back of the inn down a narrow rutted road scarily bordered by the walls of the inn on one side and a rushing river on the other.
Light slanted at intervals through the branches of the old oak trees that grew densely among the rocks on the other side of the fast flowing water as it splashed noisily across the rocks.
The door to the public bar was weathered and ancient and creaked as Alice pressed her body against it. Inside was dark and musty with the smells of a thousand country conversations.
Alice approached the bar cautiously – she hated public bars unless she was with her husband.
The fat man seated behind the bar, alerted by the sound of the door opening, briefly looked up from reading his newspaper. When he saw his prospective customer was a woman, he sighed and returned to his reading.
Not wanting to appear impolite but immediately irritated, Alice coughed. It was a delicate cough. She even put her hand with its neatly manicured nails in front of her mouth.
The man behind the bar looked up again. He had a ruddy face, arms that looked as if they moved beer barrels for fun and spoke with a strong West Country accent.
“And what might I be doing for you, my dear.”
“I was wondering if I might have a drink,” said Alice timidly.
“It’s what we do here,” the barman observed, a sudden twinkle in his eye.
The inn door creaked and a man wearing jodhpurs entered.
“Pint of the usual, Jack?”, the barman said, pulling on a tall pump handle, obviously not needing a reply.
“That would do nicely, Fred,” the man replied.
The foaming glass of beer was swiftly placed down in front of the newcomer who raised it to his lips swallowing deeply, smacking his lips in appreciation.
Then the barman went back to reading his newspaper.
“I was wondering,” said Alice.
The barman raised his eyes to the old brown wooden beams that lined the ceiling and then, as if with a great effort, focused them on Alice again.
“And what might you be wondering, my dear,” he said, most condescendingly.
“I was wondering whether I might have a drink,” said Alice, tersely.
“That’s what we’re here for, my dear. I’ve already explained that to you. Which bit didn’t you get?”
“Then can I have a drink please?”
“Of course you can, my dear. Let me try again. It goes like this. You tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you. Of course, you may do things differently up in London where you perhaps come from. They probably do mind reading up there or summat even cleverer. But down here in the quiet old countryside inn, you just tell me what you want and I’ll serve it up. It’s sort of a local tradition, see?”
“I’ll have a glass of dry white wine then, please, how much is that?” Alice said in a rush, feeling herself blushing deeply.
“A glass of dry white wine is £2, my dear,” said the barman.
Alice fumbled inside her handbag for the money. She looked up as she retrieved it.
The barman was still looking at her and still there was no drink.
“I suppose that it is also traditional that you take my money before I get my drink.”
“Take your money, my dear,” the barman drawled, “no I don’t want your money!”
Alice felt her reaching her chest. “If you really are going to give me a drink of white wine then surely you will be wanting some money,” Alice was now unable to keep the irritation from her voice and no longer cared about sounding impolite.
The barman took a deep breath and sighed as if he were explaining something very obvious to a child.
“On any other day, yes, I would love to take your money. But today is a special day, you see. It’s what we call a Ladies’ Day. You can’t have a drink in this bar unless a gentleman buys it for you.”
“Which actually means that I can’t have a drink at all,” said Alice, furiously slamming her purse down on the bar in front of her, “because I don’t know anybody here who is going to buy me a drink.”
The barman reached behind him and drew a large glass of white wine from an optic and deposited it on the bar besides Alice’s purse.
“There’s your drink, my dear.”
“But you won’t let me pay for it,” say Alice.
“I thought we’d been through all that,” said the barman wearily.
“But how can you stay in business, if you give drinks away.”
There was a gentle prod on Alice’s elbow. She turned and found that it was the young man in jodhpurs.
“I’ve just bought the drink for you,” he said, with a smile. “Welcome to the village. Would you like to join me over there?”
The man in jodhpurs was tall with jet-black hair and classic features. He had a confident and engaging smile. His tweed jacket exuded a faint smell of leather and tack.
“If it puts a great distance between myself and … Fred … I think that I would be absolutely delighted to have a drink with you,” stuttered Alice, as she crossed over to the window table.
“You shouldn’t mind Fred,” the man said. “He’s a heart of gold and will do everything for you when you’re in need.”
“He wasn’t too quick off the mark to serve my drink, though” said Alice, petulantly, as she sat down on a semicircular barrel seat with a curved back.
Although the country inn was small, it was split up into tiny rooms separated by old wood partitions offering privacy and an intimate setting for their conversation which seemed strange to Alice suddenly feeling alone with a man she didn’t know and a long way away from her husband.
“I appreciate you buying me a drink and rescuing me from that arrogant man,” said Alice. “However, to avoid any embarrassment at any time, I must mention that I’m married.”
She held up her hand showing her wedding ring and an eternity ring her husband had given her for their fifth anniversary.
Jack smiled and caught her small white hand in his which was suntanned and strong like his face.
“I’m Jack,” he said, unnecessarily, still holding her hand.
Alice pulled her hand away, feeling her face lighting up again.
“And I’m Alice, pleased to meet you!”
“And what brings you to these parts, Alice?” Jack leaned forward across the table. His eyes, grey and adventurous, like a buccaneer’s, laughing at her discomfort.
“I felt I needed a short holiday break and I’ve always liked this part of the Devon countryside that borders Dartmoor, so I thought I would take pot luck and see what I could find. I was going to ask whether there was some country inn accommodation here but I’ve been rather put off by Fred’s attitude.”
Jack beamed, benevolently.
“You shouldn’t be offended. You’ll love it around here. It’s beautiful countryside and especially good for horse riding. There is a network of bridleways on both sides of the valley and they all lead up to the top of the hill and Dartmoor.”
“Judging from your jodhpurs, you do a bit of riding yourself!”
“I do and I also run the riding school at the top of the hill.” He smiled broadly. “I can recommend myself highly. If you would like to see the countryside from the back of a horse, you can do no better than come horse riding with me.”
“Perhaps I’ll take you up on that,” said Alice. “But more immediately, I need to find some sort of holiday cottage or other holiday accommodation for tonight and probably for the rest of the week. Do you know of any local holiday cottages that are vacant?”
Jack took another deep swig of his beer, gazing intently at Alice over the top of his tankard.
“It’s a small village and most of the accommodation is on long term lets. I know of one holiday cottage that is available but I doubt whether you would want to stay there. There were some nasty goings on there a few days ago.”
“I read something happened about a murder locally in the newspaper,” admitted Alice. “It sounded horrible.”
Jack looked serious which was out of keeping with the smile marks in the corner of his eyes.
“The whole village is in a state of shock. Estelle was a popular girl. The Police still haven’t found who did it. Bearing her death in mind, you might prefer to try elsewhere.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I always liked reading a good murder mystery,” smiled Alice, lightly. “Was she a local girl?”
“I can’t say that I really knew her,” said Jack. “She inherited the holiday home where she lived. She mixed in quite well when she was here but the village was used to the holiday cottage being empty. Eventually, she settled in and joined the skittle and darts teams and, some say, she’d even found a bit of romance.”
“Everybody loves a bit of romance,” smiled Alice, feeling pleased she was finally getting a little bit of information. She tried probing further.
“Who is managing the property now?”
“The local estate agent, you can find her down Main Street and turn left by the bridge. Fancy another drink?”
“No thanks, that was very nice and enough for the moment. All things in moderation, you know” said Alice, primly. “Fortunately, I don’t believe in ghosts so I might talk to that estate agent about that holiday cottage accommodation.”
A few minutes later, Alice and Jack emerged into the harsh and bright afternoon sun from the comfortable gloom of the bar.
Tethered to the corner of the inn was a large brown horse.
“Can I give your lift to the estate agents?” chuckled Jack.
Alice looked down at her tight green knee length skirt.
“I don’t think I’m dressed for riding – unless you have a horse and carriage,” she said, wryly.
Jack smiled.
“OK, I’ll be off then!” He put a foot in the stirrups and in one easy motion was astride the large brown horse and cantering away down the street before Alice felt she’d said goodbye properly.
Shrugging her shoulders at the suddenness of his departure, Alice set off to investigate whether the local estate agent could provide her with a holiday cottage rental.