“Look,” Valerie said, pointing at a signboard propped on the pavement outside an entrance alcove. “A menu. We found the village pub.”
“On our own. What a team.”
He pushed open the door to the alcove and then a second to the interior. They paused in the doorway to get their bearings. A man and a teenaged boy, clearly father and son, stood behind the handles at the bar, both in jeans and blue sweatshirts. The few people seated at the tables by the fireplace turned to see who had entered. In the back, a young couple, both overweight, threw darts at the board on a wall, the man leaning against the woman, arms over her shoulders, guiding her throws. The room was thick with cigarette smoke. Valerie made a face and glanced back toward the entrance.
“We’ve got a no smoking room,” the father said, stubbing his own cigarette in an ashtray and indicating a door to his right.
Dennis and Valerie found themselves alone among the small round tables. The father moved to an end of the bar, lifting a flap and approaching them with two cardboard menus. “Anywhere you like.”
When Dennis picked a table against the back wall, the man handed them the menus and asked what they were drinking. Valerie said red wine and Dennis, after a hesitation, a pint of best bitter. The father called their orders to his son and retrieved the glasses from the bar.
To Dennis’ surprise, the man pulled back a chair and sat with them. Dennis felt a jolt, invaded, violated. He tried to meet Valerie’s eye, hoping for a signal to ask the man to leave; but she smiled, amused.
The father was a thin man, a wave of dark hair falling over his forehead, the sweatshirt sleeves pushed up above his elbows, a tattoo on one forearm. He touched a finger to Valerie’s menu. “I’d recommend the plaice and chips. We’re inland, I know, but a fresh catch was delivered this morning.”
When Valerie nodded, Dennis nodded too. The father signaled his son.
“Call me Will,” the man said. “And the boy there is called Willie. People say he was cloned.”
Valerie threw back her head. “You do look alike.”
“The wife is a fair woman, and so is my daughter. Though you’d hardly know they were related. They’re in the kitchen frying up your fish. We’re together all the time. Work down here, sleep up there.” He pointed to the ceiling.
“It must be nice to have your family around you,” Valerie said.
Will grinned at her. “I call myself a lucky man.” He looked at Dennis and back at her. “You two must be staying at the inn.”
“How could you tell?” Valerie seemed to be enjoying the man, the country lilt to his voice, and Dennis swallowed his annoyance at sharing her attention. Even though he knew it was foolish, he tensed, as if he and Will were at the verge of a struggle, hands around each other’s throats.
Will leaned forward. “I know everybody in the village. Besides, you look like city people.”
“Right again,” Valerie told him.
“What about your family?” Will asked. “Your children?”
Dennis almost said none, that he was a bachelor. Valerie spoke quickly, “Two. Two boys. Eight and ten.” Dennis feared she would add that they were off fishing with their father, but she stopped.
“With their granny while mom and dad have a holiday.” Will’s words were more of a statement than a question.
“Absolutely,” Dennis said, too loud he feared, not sure how Valerie would have reacted, relieved when she added, “Everyone needs a holiday.”
“So you’ll be here tomorrow. Saturday.”
“We expect to be,” Valerie told him.
“Then you’re in for a treat if you want to come back.”
“What’s that?” Valerie asked.
“Venison.” Will spoke the word proudly as if naming a treasure. “We’ll have venison steak and venison stew.”
“Another fresh delivery?” Dennis said.
“I suppose you could say that. Courtesy of Malcolm provisions.” Will laughed out loud.
“What’s that?” Valerie asked.
Will leaned forward and whispered. “Can you keep a secret?” Before they could respond, he went on. “Course, if you can’t, I’ll deny it and I’ll be the one they believe.”
“Of course, they would. We’re absolute strangers. They don’t know anything about us. Who we really are.” Valerie signaled Dennis with the blink of an eye.
Will glanced behind him, though they were the only ones in the room. “Malcolm is the local poacher. Malcolm and his dogs. They help thin out the deer population.
“What about the police?” Valerie said.
Will laughed again. “Malcolm doesn’t worry about the likes of them. Once you see the man, you’ll understand why the police keep their distance.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, you may be in luck. He and Sylvie are due in tonight. I’ll introduce you.”
Willie brought the plates, heaps of chips spilling over large plaice fillets. Will stood up. “I’ll let you enjoy your dinners. Another drink?”
Valerie handed him her wine glass, but Dennis indicated that he was fine.
“Do you really want to meet Malcolm?” he said when they were alone.
“Of course. I’ve never met a poacher before. In fact, I thought they only existed in Victorian novels.”
“Have you ever eaten venison?”
“Not until tomorrow.” Her answer surprised him; he expected her sympathy for the deer, creatures he always considered delicate and beautiful. As if reading his thoughts, she added, “We’re having an adventure.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Of course we are.”
She lifted her fork with the other and chewed. “This fish is quite good. Mrs. Will certainly knows how to cook.”
Dennis nodded, sensing that Valerie was trying too hard, that her amusement at being here was an act, not for him, but for herself, an attempt to force images of her husband and sons into a dark corner of her consciousness. Forget them, he wished he could tell her. Just for these few days. Think only of me.
He picked at the edge of the fish, stabbed a chip, with no appetite, while she ate with real pleasure, little left on her plate. He noticed that her glass was almost empty.
“Would you like to walk about the village and head back to the inn?” he asked.
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