The Hen and Duck’s presence could be felt from a hundred yards away, the aroma of beer and smoke drifting on the wind like an olfactory trail of breadcrumbs, leading the thirsty to its door.
Stevie gladly followed the siren call of the pub. Since she moved to Tanglewood she’d hardly managed to snatch a minute for herself. What with moving, then settling in and preparing the tea shop for opening, she had been on the go from breakfast until supper and well into the night.
But today was a day to remember. Today she had opened her doors for the first day’s trading and she had been busy. Very busy indeed. All in all, it had been an encouraging start, and she had the rest of the summer stretching out before her, with its tourists and walkers, during which to establish her business. The only thing to make the day even better would be someone to share her celebration with.
She’d give Karen a call in the morning if she had a chance, otherwise she’d send a text. She checked her watch; it was gone nine o’clock and her friend would be up to her eyes in plating up meals for hungry customers right now, so she continued to make her weary, but happy, way to the nearest public house to celebrate on her own. Anyway, she was sick of the sight of baked goods, having cooked another batch this evening after she’d shut the shop, and she was hoping the pub sold food. Anything but cakes or pastries. A nice lasagne would do the trick, or a beef hotpot.
Screwing up her courage, she stepped inside, her eyes trying to adjust to the gloom. Crikey, it’s quiet in here, she thought disappointedly, having sworn she’d heard voices when she was standing outside.
It took a moment for her to realise the voices she had thought she’d heard did, in fact, belong to real people; unfortunately, those people were all now silent and staring at her.
Stevie smiled ingratiatingly, her eyes darting from face to face, and then she bit her lip when the only responses she got back were blank looks. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched up to the bar. It was only when she placed her elbows on the polished surface she noticed all the faces were male. There was not one woman amongst them.
Stevie cleared her throat noisily. ‘A pint of bitter, please,’ she squeaked.
The barman put down the glass he had been polishing and gave her a hard look. Stevie stared defiantly back.
‘Other door,’ he eventually said, gruffly, jerking his head to the right.
‘Sorry?’
‘Next door.’
‘That’s what I thought you said.’ Stevie risked a quick glance behind her. All eyes were still focused on her. ‘Um, I asked for a pint of bitter. Please.’
‘I know, and I said, “next door”.’
The man was big, around six feet six, with a large, rotund belly which seemed to start at his neck and finish at his knees. He was in his late fifties, but for all his weight and age he gave the impression of someone who could take care of himself, and others too, if it became necessary. The almost-bald head, the florid face, and hands the colour and texture of slabs of marbled beef, helped the image along nicely.
Stevie almost turned tail and ran, but her pride kept her feet cemented to the floor. Anyway, there was something she needed to know.
‘What about next door?’ She simply had to ask.
‘You’ll get served in there.’ The landlord placed both chunky hands on the bar and leaned forward.
‘Why won’t I get served in here? What’s wrong with in here?’ Stevie wanted to know.
‘Men only, that’s what.’
‘What?’
Stevie caught the nods of agreement out of the corner of her eye.
The landlord leaned forward even further and Stevie shrank back by a corresponding amount.
‘I said,’ he repeated slowly, ‘it’s men only in this bar.’
‘But, but, that’s discrimination,’ Stevie blustered, her cheeks red with embarrassment and indignation in equal measure.
‘Aye.’
‘You can’t do that!’
‘I can, and I do.’
‘But—’
‘Listen, love. No one asked you to come in here, but I’m asking you to leave this bar. It’s my pub and I can do what I damn well like in it.’
There was a low murmur around her and Stevie swallowed nervously.
‘The Ladies’ Lounge is next door.’ This came from a figure huddled at the end of the bar who was cuddling a pint of dark liquid like it was a small puppy. A wizened little face peered out at her from underneath a flat cap. ‘We come in here to get away from the likes of you.’
‘“The likes of me?”’ Stevie was incensed. ‘What do you mean, “the likes of me?”’
‘Women.’ The old man smiled, revealing a set of startlingly white dentures. They rattled gently in his mouth as he spoke.
‘Aye, that’s right. I see enough of my missus at home, without having a good pint spoiled by her nagging,’ someone else added.
Stevie turned to the owner of the voice and encountered more disappointed faces.
‘Leave the girl alone, lads,’ someone else said.
Ah, someone who was on her side. Yay!
‘Can I help?’ the newcomer continued.
Stevie, startled out of her daydream, found the man who had just spoken standing inches away from her and she squeaked in surprise. Squeaking was quickly replaced by drooling and simpering. He was gorgeous: tall, well built with broad shoulders, and what appeared to be a flat stomach. He had dark hair curling over his ears, a chiselled jaw and deep blue, dreamy eyes fringed by long, black lashes. Eyes that a girl could just drown in but were at the moment staring quizzically at her. He was also somewhat familiar, but she couldn’t for the life of her think where she had seen him before.
Stevie pulled herself together and tore her gaze away from a tiny scar dissecting his left eyebrow. He also had nice shaped lips, not too thin, or too fat like a double row of pork sausages. No, his lips were just perfect, and from what she could see of his teeth, they were just perfect, too. In fact, everything about him was just perfect…
She shook her head – the silence had gone on for some time. He was staring at her, the expression on his face making her realise her thoughts had been displayed for all to see. Especially him. Marvellous! She might as well have spoken them out loud, and she groaned in dismay.
‘It’s OK,’ he continued. ‘Mads doesn’t bite.’
‘Mads?’ Stevie shook her head, puzzled, wondering if she had heard correctly.
‘The landlord. His name is Maddox but Mads suits him better.’
Stevie was barely listening to this man’s actual words. She was concentrating more on his accent, and the sexy, husky tone. There was a Welsh lilt to it, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as most other people in Tanglewood. Anyway, whatever the accent was, she could listen to him all day. Stevie was drooling again.
‘Come on, I’ll take you through to the Ladies’ Lounge,’ he suggested.
He grasped her upper arm gently and Stevie’s skin burned at his touch. This is so clichéd, she thought. I’ll be melting into his embrace next. She shrugged to free her arm, not because she didn’t want him to hold her (on the contrary, she quite liked it), but because she really didn’t want, or need, to be escorted to the Ladies’ Lounge.
‘Sorry.’ He backed off immediately. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘Aye, she’s a feisty one. You can tell by that red hair of hers.’ The wizened little man at the end of the bar had suddenly come to life again.
‘It’s not red, it’s chestnut,’ Stevie fired back automatically, flicking said hair away from her face.
‘Eh, you don’t want to get too friendly with that one, Nick, because she’ll eat you for breakfast. Now, I likes ’em with a bit of spirit. Pass her over.’
‘In your dreams, old man,’ came another voice from the gloom at the other end of the bar.
The banter flew around the room and the volume gradually returned to what it had been before Stevie had shown her face.
‘See? They’re not a bad bunch. Merely set in their ways,’ the Adonis said, shepherding her towards the door to the lounge.
‘Hang on, a minute.’ Stevie stopped defiantly. ‘What if I don’t want to drink in there?’
‘There are two more pubs in the village you could try. You’re new here, aren’t you?’ He squinted at her, and once again she had the feeling they’d met before, or maybe she’d seen him around. No, she’d remember if she had. He was too yummy to forget.
‘Yes. So?’ she replied, a tad belligerently. What difference did new make after all?
‘Only making conversation.’ He held up his hands, palms facing her, clearly taken aback by her tone. And so he should be, suggesting she should take herself off to another pub!
‘I want a pint in this bar,’ Stevie said, stubbornly, her chin jutting out and her eyes sparking.
‘You won’t get one.’ There was laughter in his voice, and it wasn’t doing anything to stop her quick temper from rising. For the record, she snarled inwardly, my temper has nothing to do with the colour of my hair.
‘Why won’t I?’ Stevie said this through gritted teeth. Her feminist sisters would have been proud of her stance.
‘Because Mads won’t serve you,’ her knight in shining armour replied, reasonably.
‘Well, he should!’ Stevie stamped her foot.
Mads, catching the drift of the conversation, looked up from his newspaper and frowned at her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be averse to picking her up and physically removing her if she didn’t leave.
‘OK, OK, I’m going,’ she called.
There were several grunts of satisfaction from the men.
‘Happy now?’ Stevie demanded to the Adonis, as she stropped into the Ladies’ Lounge, the gorgeous man at her side.
‘Ecstatic,’ came the sarcastic reply. ‘Enjoy your drink.’
And before she knew it, he had turned around and was walking away from her. Nice bum, she thought, admiring the way his backside filled out his cargo pants. She liked a nice backside—
‘Oh!’ Her face turned scarlet. I’ve seen that one before, I’m certain of it, bouncing up and down on top of a skittish horse. She never forgot a bum, a face maybe, but not a bum. Talking of faces, his looked much better when it wasn’t screwed up in temper.
She pulled herself out of her thoughts and realised he’d returned to the depths of the men-only sanctuary. It’s like a bloody sheikh’s harem there, only in reverse, Stevie thought crossly. Surely refusing to serve someone because of their gender was illegal? She could sue, that’s what she could do, but first she wanted a drink, and she was determined to have it.
Stevie propped up the bar and looked around, the difference between the two bars obvious. This was no spit and sawdust joint, like the room she had just left. This one had “ladies” in it, drinking what looked like sherry, or Babycham, or similar other “womanly” drinks. She shuddered. Then there was actual carpet on the floor, not floorboards, and nice pictures on the walls, and gentle lighting and comfy chairs. And there wasn’t one person under fifty, man or woman. Unfair, she thought; women weren’t allowed in the other bar, but men were allowed in the Ladies’ Lounge. Perhaps she ought to start a petition?
However, there were two things both bars had in common. The first was that all eyes were still on her, although not as obviously this time, and the second was that Mads was behind the bar.
‘Are you his evil twin?’ she asked the large man, sweetly.
‘What can I get you, love?’
Stevie opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind and to insist he stopped calling her “love”, then hesitated. Mads was no longer gruff and unfriendly. In this bar, he was all charm and service.
‘A pint, wasn’t it?’ he asked, before she could force the words out.
She nodded.
He pulled the pint, and Stevie paid, not taking her eyes off the man in front of her. Mads indicated for her to take a sip. Stevie dutifully obeyed.
‘Nice brew,’ she said, licking her lips, appreciatively.
‘House speciality. It’s called Hairy Dog.’
‘Do you serve food?’
‘It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘What time is it?’
She checked her watch again. ‘It’s coming up for nine-thirty.’
‘No, then. We stop serving at nine. The chef has gone home.’
Wonderful. Stevie sighed.
A yelled “Service!” from the other bar caught Mads’s attention. As he disappeared through the hatch, he turned towards her and said, straight-faced, ‘His name is Nick Saunders.’ Then he winked.
Stevie smiled, finished her pint slowly, then went home and opened a tin of soup, eating it absently and thinking it might be a good idea to make some homemade soups for the lunchtime trade, especially nearer the winter.
Although, when she finally fell into bed, her thoughts weren’t on the shop – she found herself thinking about Nick Saunders, and wondering if he was single…