Page 62 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
‘At the castle.’
‘Ooh, fancy, at the castle. What do you make to the new bird up there? Tom here seems to think she’s all right – don’t ya, Tom? Always singing her praises.’
‘Probably trying to get into her knickers, more like.’ The man at the table misses his shot and he stands up. ‘Am I right, Tom?’
My face goes bright red, and I daren’t even look at Tom.
‘You pair of numpties – thisisthe new bird, ain’t it?’ Molly says, pointing a pool cue at me. ‘Thisis Lady bloody Chesterford!’
Both the men stand upright – as if to attention. I half think they might salute, so I’m very relieved when they don’t.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, m’lady, I didn’t recognise you,’ one of them says, looking mortified.
‘Yeah, me either,’ the other one says. ‘I didn’t expect you to look like that . . . I mean, you . . . you’re fit, ain’t ya?’
His friend nudges him hard in the ribs.
‘Oi! Well, she is, Paul,’ he insists as if I can’t hear them.
I have to smile. ‘Look, please don’t stand on ceremony like this. I’m not royalty!’ I say jokily, trying to defuse this awkward situation. ‘I’m not a lady or even a countess – I’m just Amelia.’
‘Me dad worked up at the castle for many years,’ the one called Paul says, ‘and me granddad before him. They wouldn’t dream of calling one of the Earls or Countesses by their first name, would they, Kev?’
‘Yeah,’ Kev agrees. ‘My aunt and me mum used to be maids up there until a few years ago. Me and my cousins was always taught to be polite to His Lordship.’
‘I see nothing wrong in being polite,’ I tell them. ‘But would you have found the last Earl or his wife down the local pub about to have a game of pool?’ I ask, grabbing a pool cue from the rack.
They shrug. ‘Doubt it,’ Paul says.
‘Right, well in that case, just for tonight I am simply Amelia, not Lady Chesterford, or any other titled name, for that matter.’
I bend down over the pool table, and line up my shot. Then I hit the white ball hard with my cue; the white ball knocks cleanly into the black ball, which shoots off up the table at an angle and rolls neatly into the corner pocket without touching the sides. ‘Now,’ I say, standing up and looking around at the others, ‘who’s up for a game?’
‘I thought you said she couldn’t play?’ Molly moans at Tom as they watch me win my tenth game on the trot.
‘I never said that,’ Tom says, watching me with interest. ‘I said she didn’twantto play.’
‘Who’s next?’ I ask, as the black ball rolls once more into the pocket with a satisfying click.
Over the last ninety minutes or so, the small pool room has become more and more crammed with people all intrigued by the exploits of the lady of the manor.
I’ve been challenged by those that thought they could beat me, bought drinks by those that had lost to me, and applauded by those that were pleasantly surprised by what they were seeing.
‘Perhaps you’d better take a break?’ Tom whispers into my ear as I chalk my cue up for the next game.
‘Why? I’m on a roll!’ I cry happily, as someone again high-fives me as they squeeze past in the small room.
‘All the more reason to go out on top, then,’ Tom says. ‘Plus you’ve had quite a bit to drink now.’
It was true, I had had quite a few alcoholic beverages. Apparently, the house rules are that the loser of the game has to offer to buy the winner a drink, and even though I’d politely begun refusing drinks after my second win, my opponents seem to take offence if I don’t allow them to buy me a drink, and even more so if I appear to not be drinking it. Therefore, I’d had to down a fair few more glasses of alcohol than I’m used to, in a relatively short space of time.
‘You know something,’ I say, my speech slurring a little, ‘it is getting harder to see the balls. I thought it was the light.’ I gesticulate with my cue to the long low light that hangs over the pool table.
‘Careful,’ Tom says, grabbing my hand, ‘or youwillhave a problem with the light if you break it.’
He gently prises the cue from my hand.
‘I think the champ has had enough for one night,’ he tells the assembled room. ‘She retires unbeaten.’
