‘So, Chuck. You’ve heard all about our family tree and Chamberlain Manor so now it’s time to hear everything about you. Tell me, what do you do for a living and how on earth did a gentleman from Kentucky end up in New York City?’ Clarissa lifted her coffee cup and waited.
Tristan pounced, not wanting Chuck to go full-blown honest. He’d had three beers, politely decanted by Jennifer. At least they’d not had to watch him swig from the bottle and belch like he had the previous day in the hotel bar.
‘Well, Chuck has had a varied…’ The sight of Clarissa’s raised hand immediately silenced him and while he flushed, she turned her attention to Chuck and waited.
Chuck, now comfortable in his surroundings and no doubt buoyed by alcohol and an encouraging smile from Jennifer, told all. ‘Well, it’s very simple really. I was a fool for love and followed a lady, my girlfriend at the time, to the Big Apple. One of her friends got her a job and she thought she’d hit the big time so, rather than be alone in Kentucky, I packed up and headed out. I drove her north, and used my savings to get us a place to live. But within a month she met a new guy, the owner of the joint where she worked and kicked me to the kerb.’
Tristan was tempted to translate but fearful of the hand-signal and being made to feel like a naughty boy, he remained silent. Anyway, it seemed that Clarissa was fluent in Chuck-speak.
‘Oh what a shame. And how horrible to use you like that. But why didn’t you return to Kentucky? Were you not happy there?’
‘Ma’am, I love my hometown. Owensboro is in my heart. I love that place so goddamn much.’
Give me strength,Tristan said to himself while he threw imaginary daggers at Chuck’s head.
Oblivious to the invisible attack, chatty Chuck continued, ‘But I’d given up my apartment in Owensboro and used what money I had for the new one in New York, so decided to stay in the city until I had enough to go back. There was plenty of work, in bars and the car-wash and other…’ Chuck paused, side-eyed Tristan who was holding his breath, then continued, ‘…delivery jobs here and there. I was doin’ okay and planned to head home before Christmas when the PI turned up and told me I had a family on the other side of the pond. And well, here I am.’
Again, Clarissa sipped, then gave Chuck what Tristan hoped was a benevolent smile before she asked, ‘And what do you plan to do, when you go back to Kentucky? Do you have a trade, a profession other than what you do in New York? And tell me about Owensboro. What it’s like there.’
A smile lit Chuck’s face and for a second, Tristan saw a glimmer of the person he hoped Clarissa might take under her wing.
‘It’s the home of Bluegrass, my favourite kinda music, and we have bourbon distilleries and manufacture chewin’ tobacco like you ain’t ever chewed in your life.’
At this Tristan saw Jennifer stifle a chuckle while the corners of Clarissa’s eyes crinkled in what he took as amusement, rather than disgust.
‘And then when you head out of town and hit the highway, there’s miles and miles of green pastures and cattle ranches on every hill. I got me some photos on my phone if you’d like to see.’ Chuck reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and was soon flicking away, showing Jennifer first, who then passed the phone on to Clarissa who needed her glasses, that were somewhere, oh yes, hanging around her neck.
Ten minutes later, after an interminable period where Tristan thought his face had frozen into a fake rictus grin and he was losing the will to live and the ability to summon any more enthusiastic adjectives, Chuck put his phone away.
‘Well, I must say it looks like a lovely place to live, but what is it you do there? Well, before you left for New York.’ Clarissa waited and Tristan felt the weight of expectancy, realising that while he’d focused on Chuck’s New York lifestyle, he too had no clue what he did in Owensboro. Again, Tristan held his breath and to his surprise, he saw Chuck blush.
‘Well, y’all might find this amusing… heck you might not even know what Bluegrass music is… well anyways, before I shipped out I used to work in a bar by day and at night and during the summer months I was a dancer.’
You could actually have knocked Tristan down with a feather but then a thought, followed by creeping dread, followed by another bloody question from Clarissa.
‘A dancer, how marvellous and no, I’m not sure what Bluegrass music is but perhaps later you can show us, on Jennifer’s laptop but first, what kind of dancing do you do?’
He’s going to say erotic, I know he is…
Chuck quickly and in a rather bashful voice, proved Tristan wrong. ‘Clog. I’m a Bluegrass Clog Dancer.’
Tristan was getting agitated again and no sodding wonder. After they’d all relocated to the drawing room where Jennifer found video after endless video of Bluegrass country music. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, after being told to pull back the Persian rug, he’d hidden a grimace as Clarissa clapped like a deranged seal, thoroughly delighted by Chuck’s clog dancing routines. Tristan had literally wanted to die, again.
And now, to add insult to injury, while Jennifer caught up with the utter dross that wasCoronation Street,and he fended off another angry text from Diana wanting to know where the hell he was, Tristan wondered if the day could get any worse.
Scanning the grounds from the drawing room window, Tristan watched for signs of Chuck and Clarissa who’d insisted on showing him the stables, albeit from her wheelchair.
Okay, so the afternoon had been sheer torture, and if Chuck held him to his promise of hitting Manchester to find a karaoke bar, he’d be in deep doo-doo with Diana. While on the other hand, rough and ready Chuck the Clog-Dancing Cowboy appeared to have won Clarissa over, so it hadn’t been a complete waste of time.
During the impromptu cabaret, Chuck had also divulged that it was his heart’s desire to open his own bar and restaurant in his hometown, where the sound of Bluegrass and clip-clopping-cloggers could be heard night and day. Hence, Tristan had the most perfect carrot to dangle.
If Chuck inherited the lot, once Chamberlain Manor was sold, good old Chuck could bugger off back to Kentucky and open a chain of bars should he so wish. It couldn’t have been more perfect if he’d planned it himself.
Hearing the front door opening and the shrill sound of Clarissa’s voice, accompanied by guffaws from Chuck’s, Tristan scooted into the hallway, followed by Jennifer.
‘Well, I must say you’ve got some colour in your cheeks. Did you enjoy your walk?’ Jennifer was removing the blanket from Clarissa’s knees as she spoke.
‘We most certainly did. We’ve taken a stroll down memory lane, and both learned a bit more about each other and our family history and, we have some news, don’t we, Chuck?’ Clarissa looked up and gave him a beaming smile.
