8 Flesh in the Miller’s Arms

Christie’s Detective Agency Two Part 8 THE BODY IN THE LIBRARY

The first thing Poiry (or Horace as he preferred to be called when he wasn’t at work) noted about Damsel Eagerhill was she had little appreciation of punctuality. There he was, sitting in a corner of the lounge bar at the Miller’s Arms wondering if he’d be better off going home for an early night because he was feeling as tired as a young man can feel at the end of a fairly long day when in she walked. Her lips were redder than ever, if that was possible, and shining as if she had trowelled half a pound of ultra-glossy lipstick onto them. Her hair was piled up into a fluffy bun and the dress she was wearing left little if anything to the imagination, being both low cut revealing a substantial cleavage, and short, revealing just about everything else.

“So you must be keen on me, being here already!” she beamed at him.

He was going to remind her of the actual time they’d agreed to meet but didn’t want to say anything that might put a muffler on any flow of information she may send his way, so he merely smiled and asked her what she’d like to drink.

No sooner had she sat down and he fetched a gin and tonic for her as well as a fresh pint of best bitter for himself that he realised just how uncomfortable he was going to feel because of the indecent amount of her flesh of display in a public place, and was absolutely certain that their date would end up being quite a brief affair, and never to be repeated. The way she sat indicated that the wisp of cotton that constituted her underwear did very little towards personal modesty and although it might have been pretty he didn’t really want to see it.

But he smiled at her, not wanting to give the impression of either being too keen or too churlish, and said “well, this is nice”, knowing ti was a lie but not caring.

In an exaggerated attempt at assuming modesty she hitched the skirt of her tiny dress down almost as if chiding him for peeping, which he most certainly wasn’t doing.

“I do like this pub,” she said, “it’s got such a free air to it.”

“More than you can say for the prices,” he said, and added, “I’ll bet it makes a big change from being in the library all day long.”

“A girl has to be careful what she wears at work,” agreed Damsel, “this outfit wouldn’t do for starters! I’d have all the dirty old men in town learning to read, if I stamped their books wearing this!”

Even dirty old men can read, he thought, but smiled at her, keeping the criticism to himself.

Out of the corner of one eye he saw an elderly man standing at the bar looking in their direction more than elderly men normally would, and whispering to a friend, and he guessed why.

“I’ll bet the librarian wouldn’t object if you did,” he said, “I mean, not to accumulate an audience for you but because you look...” (he gulped, knowing he was about to tell the worst lie of his life) “...gorgeous, and what’s his name would like to look at you or even seduce you in his office.”

The red deposit that was her mouth parted, to reveal teeth smeared pink with lipstick, and she laughed “you are a card! Aren’t I lucky to have such a handsome young man, and me in my thirties!”

“And the librarian?” prompted Horace.

“Old Leslie? He wouldn’t notice if I walked in starkers! I sometimes think he must be into boys, or he’d take more notice of me at our Christmas party than he does. You won’t believe this but I’m saying it anyway, yet at the last party I wore a frock that made the one I’m wearing now look huge, and he sat at the other end of the room all night, not even looking my way once! In the end I was left with young Rosie the cleaning lass for company, but she’s not into same sex stuff, and then her boyfriend turned up…”

“That must have been…”

“What?”

“Awkward.”

“Embarrassing, that’s the word. When they left, arm in arm, all that was left was old Leslie, and he still didn’t look my way. You’d have thought there was something wrong with me! I mean, I had perfectly good wares on display.”

“You must have been disappointed.”

“Nah, not me. He’s an old stick anyway and there’s summat wrong with him, if he can’t see an invitation when it’s sent his way, and accept it.”

“Invitation?” he asked.

“What a girl chooses to wear. If I’m in the need of company and other stuff then I wear what I’m wearing now, and you can see what I’m saying to you, and at the party I was saying to him, that I’m ready and willing. You know. It’s a kind of semaphore with clothes.”

“Or without them?”

She burst into a cackle of hysterical squealing when he said that, and he flinched.

I need to get out of here as soon as I can, he thought

The two gentlemen at the bar were talking quietly to the landlord, who glanced their way as he nodded in reply to whatever they said.

“Is there something … wrong … with Mr Leslie?” asked Horace, needing to drag as much as he could from her before he made his excuses and left.

“I heard he changed his name, you know” said Damsel as if that was all she knew about her boss. “I reckon he must have a dark past, to want to change his name like he did. Don’t know what it used to be, though. Probably Charlie Chaplin! But he sticks to himself. I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend. Certainly not been married or I’d have found out.”

“You would?”

“I’m a woman, Horace, and I know these things.”

“I believe you.”

“He’s just into his job, and it’s the most boring job for the most boring man on the planet.”

At that moment the landlord approached them, a look of determination on his face.

“Excuse me,” he said, looking purposefully at Damsel.

“You what?” she asked.

“I wonder, young lady, but would you mind sitting a little more discreetly?” he said, “some of my older customers are disturbed by what they can see…”

“The dirty old men!” she hissed, far too loud and certainly audible enough to be clearly heard by the men at the bar.

“Madam!” protested the landlord, “please!”

“Don’t you worry,” she barked at him, her voice suddenly rasping and losing the near feminine sweetness it had contained before the interruption, “some old farts don’t know what’s good for them! We’ll be off! Come on Horace.”

“Not me,” he said to her, “if you insist on showing everyone everything that you’ve got it’s down to you, but I’m alright where I am. You do know it’s common, I suppose, putting your body on display?”

“You silly little boy!” she rasped, “thinking a grown woman like me would want anything to do with your little-boy ways! I’m a woman, I am, with a woman’s needs and a woman’s body, so goodbye and don’t you think of coming after me! Common indeed!”

Then she stood up and marched off, making sure that her glass was empty before she went.

As she left the two elderly men at the bar applauded by clapping their hands and nodding at Horace.

“Thanks for that,” said Horace to the landlord, “It never crossed my mind she’d be dressed like that or I wouldn’t have been within a mile of her.” He shuddered theatrically. “And I thought she’d never go…”

© Peter Rogerson 02.10.21

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