After waving a greeting to the pub landlord, Adrian slumped down on the booth bench opposite. While sitting, he twisted out of his hoodie and once again found Lenny checking out his chest and biceps, or maybe the design of his tee. With a resigned sigh he wondered whether he was losing his touch. When he was younger, he used to be much better at interpreting the signs of attraction.
“Me? Not a lot. Stuck indoors all day. My flat has never been so spotless. I think I must have scrubbed the kitchen clean at least three times. My mum would be proud.”
Lenny grinned and Adrian met his gaze, also smiling. Up close, he realised not only how nice his eyes were, a kind of slate grey, but how his greying beard betrayed dimples beneath whenever he smiled or laughed.
“Shame,” said Lenny.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’ve been stuck inside the house, too. I should have called you. We could have had some fun together.”
Adrian took a sip of beer and studied Lenny’s face. This man bore no resemblance to the angry boy he’d known from high school. Not that they had ever really interacted. If they did get to know each other better, as he hoped they would, he vowed to find out why Lenny had been so antagonistic when they were younger.
“I thought you were sorting out your dad’s estate or something. Doing all the legal stuff?”
“Done. We were in the solicitor’s office for barely an hour. Pretty straightforward, actually. Well, most of it. Ted phoned me about the car this morning, by the way.”
“And?”
“It’s exactly what you said. New alternator and battery. But he says he’ll also need to do some work on the brakes, steam clean the interior and patch up some of the bodywork, so he’s offering me fifteen hundred cash.”
“Bollocks. He’s trying it on—”
“It’s fine, Adrian. If it means the damn thing is no longer gathering dust outside the house, then everyone’s happy. Mum doesn’t want the car or need the money. Their mortgage is already paid off and the substantial money Dad left behind will take care of her even if she lives long enough to get a telegram from the Queen.”
Adrian nodded, but felt irritated. Ted would most likely make over three thousand pounds on the second-hand Astra, probably nearer four. What rankled was the idea of a nice guy like Lenny being taken for a ride by an old crook like Ted. Oddly enough, Lenny sensed Adrian’s annoyance.
“Let it go, Adrian. Remember I deal with the buying and selling of cars all the time. Not bulk standard ones, like the Astra. But don’t you think I haggle when I get called out to visit the owners of old jalopies, usually left to rot in their garages? One guy wanted to sell off an old Daimler as spare parts and scrap metal. Honestly, we’ve made tens of thousands on some of the cars we’ve bought and renovated. And in my book, as long as you can settle on a good price that keeps both buyer and seller happy, then it’s a win-win all round.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Anyway, change of topic. Any work on the horizon?”
“Sod all. Not even a sniff.”
Lenny stopped then, took a long gulp of beer and reclined against the back of the bench.
“Well, on that note, the reason I asked you down here tonight, apart from my mother annoying me to hell, is because I seem to have inherited a holiday home from my father. And before I decide what to do with it, I thought I’d go down there and see what kind of state the place is in. But I could really use a professional eye and a second opinion. So I wondered if you might be interested in being hired as my—not even sure what it’s called—structural consultant?”
“Holiday home?”
“That’s what they said. I’ve never been there, but my father’s family used the place as a holiday home when they were kids. It’s not a caravan, in case that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a farmhouse in the Welsh countryside.”
Adrian had worked on a number of cottage-style houses in and around the area, so had no reservations about whether he could be of any help.
“How many bedrooms?”
“No idea.”
“Is it a one or two-storey structure?”
Lenny laughed and shook his head.
“Honestly, Adrian. It’s all a mystery. Until the reading of the will, I had no idea the place even existed. All I know for sure is it’s a holiday home, a farmhouse called Bryn Bach in a tiny Welsh village called Disserth. Although he promised to email a photograph to me, the solicitor gave me no blueprints or floor plan, which is why I want to go for a look-see. No idea what state it’s in, so it might be just a pile of bricks. According to an online map application, the plot is in the Welsh countryside about forty minutes from the English border. My aunt mentioned the nearest main town being Newbridge. I thought I would book us into a local pub for a couple of nights—if you’re onboard—and we can go and see exactly what kind of state the place is in.”
“When?”
“So you’re in?”
