CHAPTER 1
Rudely belching, Russell Matthews held up a finger signalling for another beer and Rosie with pink cheeks and a wide bottom arrived at the thick oak table and leaned over to deliver the pint of ale.
"Nice titties Rosie."
She pouted and said then why didn't had attempt to play with them like other regulars and he said she was too young for the likes of him to try going around the racecourse with her.
"But mom wouldn't want me being chased around the racecourse 'cos the racecourse is a place of evil with betting and violence and men crying into their beer because they've lost their week's pay and know what's in store when they get home."
"Not that kind of racecourse Rosie. I suppose it is a notional racecourse."
"Mr Matthews, I do declare you know much too much for the likes of me. You have a real way with words."
She went off, lifting up the back of her short skirt to show her panties were pink that day. Salt of the earth was Rosie. She knew how to please men. But as he'd tried to tell her if she took him on he'd tire before the finish. Well that was his theory to avoid messing with young tarts. Women become more discreet about lovers as they age.
Aye is was like young bulls chasing after skittish heifers and having to fight to get in whereas older bulls knew mature cows simply knew what was coming and, contentedly chewing cud, simply lifted their tails aside.
Bloody journalist. She'd spent half the day talking to him about his land holdings and farming methods and taking a good look abound and all that dumb-ass probing about profitability knowing she'd get nowhere on that. If she had tits perhaps he wouldn't have become so bored and that dumb photographer wanting him to try on different 'ats. Why couldn't he say hats like normal people did?
He went home grumpy from the pub but smiled when he saw Sarah his housekeeper was rolling dough. When she did that she operated almost in a trance and accepted him without question, like a cow with her tail held aside.
Russell went behind Sarah, unzipped, pulled up the tail of her skirt and pushed in under her panties and rutted until he finished, sweating.
Salt of the earth was Sarah. He even heard her say, as usual, thank you.
She continued rolling out pastry. How did she clean herself up? Did she even bother? Russell had no idea.
Next morning the truck driver who collected waste from restaurants and delivered it to Matthews Piggeries stopped as usual for a chat and handed over the morning newspaper.
"Won't hold you up this morning. You'll want to read all about yourself. Two whole fucking pages Rusty."
Two fucking pages? How the hell could that dumb bimbo fill two pages when talking to him less than an hour? The rest of the time had been spent walking about and driving over a couple of his other seven farms.
"What do you do with the semen that leaks down you legs," he wanted to say but if that turned Sarah grumpy he'd not be served good cooking for a week. So he just said, "Morning Sarah" as she plonked his coffee in front of him and muttered well it might be for some people.
He spread out the paper and found the story was the centrespread. Yes there were no ads and he swore when reading the heading, 'Call Me Rusty says Essex's Multi-Millionaire Mixed Farmer.'
When the hell had he told that skinny bitch he was a multi-millionaire? The bitch must have been on Speed.
Russell read the story and photo captions carefully and sniffed in satisfaction. Quite well done really; he hadn't spotted a single error. She'd let the cat out of the bag when at the end of the story she'd written, "According to an accountant specialising in farming clients, a top practitioner like Mr Matthews intensely but prudently farming 3800 acres of prime Essex farmland would theoretically be hugely wealthy. Land holdings alone would place him in the multi-millionaire class."
Well that was okay. Farmers liked to cry poor to fend off angry complaints about them getting subsidies and other breaks. Well farming occurred at the whim of weather and everyone ought to know that. Profitability could go down the drain virtually overnight. The bad days in farming outnumbered the good days hugely, notionally by twenty to one perhaps.
The calls started as neighbours phoned to congratulate him on the story that was supportive of Sussex farming. They particularly liked the quotation. "If it weren't for subsidies land would be reverting to its natural habitat of swamps and broom and gorse to provide breeding grounds for Britain's most hated vermin after rats."
A retired barmaid from his old days of rampaging called to ask was he still dating? He slammed down the phone and yelled, "Whore."
Sarah arrived at the doorway and said, "What did you just call me?"
"Fat old Liz Ryan just called and had the gall to ask if I were still dating. I cut the call and you heard me salute her verbally."
"Well yes. A whore whose use-by date is well gone I should think."
Later when watching a mobile mechanic work on a huge £15,000 tractor to ensure used parts weren't fitted, Russell took a call from Lady Hamilton who invited him to dinner on Saturday and she said her daughter Susan would be there. He accepted but five minutes later realized what that was about... the Hamilton's were scratching for loans to keep their estate intact. He called back and apologized saying he was sorry but he would have to cancel because he was er due to have a rectum examination on Friday.
Lady Hamilton gave the impression she was about to vomit as she cut the call.
At 4:00 Russell carried out the routine of going to the local pub for a couple of pints and returning hoping to find Sarah making pastry. She seemed to make a hell of a lot of pastry, at it almost every afternoon.
At the pub he learned Rosie's mom must be able to read because she said her mom had read that Mr Matthews was filthy rich and that Rosie ought to marry him.
When he replied he would be too big for her, the sweet kid opened her mouth wide and said she had a wide mouth. He cried poor and said the newspaper had got it wrong; the fact was he was millions of pounds in debt.
"Oh you poor man. I'll ask daddy if he can help out."
Russell thought that would be unlikely because her dad washed cars for the local Ford dealer.
He arrived home to find Sarah was making pastry but her daughter was sitting beside her.
Damn.
"Mom wonders if you'd like to show me the new extensions to the barn.
Russell was completely sucked in and said right-tee-ho and they began walking off until Jennifer began telling him her favourite past time was screwing.
He stopped and clutched his heart and said, "What?"
"I think I'm passing a testicle."
"Omigod," she said and fled.
He returned to the kitchen and wishing to avoid a lousy meal being served he said, "Sorry Sarah but..."
"I know, you want someone closer to your age which is...?"
"Forty-six."
"Well come over here, I can't let you go without," she said, stopping the pastry rolling to pull up the back of her skirt.
Russell went to an agricultural machinery field day sponsored by a local firm, Ginter, Lupton, Shipwash. He was watching the operation of a giant hay baling machine he was thinking of buying when a kid's or a woman's arm slipped through his (it was a small arm) and then a French perfume of indescribable beauty assaulted his nostrils honed on farm muck.
He looked at the blue eyes and great teeth of Annette, Charlie Shipwash's youngest daughter. She wasn't much over thirty.
"Hi angel, still selling equipment to make poor farmers even poorer?"
"Well I say pull a condom over the heads of crying poor farmers like you and you'd still look like lying pricks," she laughed and Russell laughed with her.
"I guess after that big spread in the Post, gold diggers have come out of the woodwork to offer you never-ending sex and marriage or marriage and some sex?"
"Yeah a few."
"I suppose Lady Hamilton would be one of them?"
"Yeah one of the first."
"You've never been at me for sex and you've known me for ever."
"Yeah and now you're gold digging."
"The truth is Rusty this selling business is not all it's cracked up to be. If you could give me a couple of kids and leave me well-endowed when you've finished with me, one way of the other I would be very happy."
"That's the best offer I've had. You should know I'm dull."
"I know."
"I can't fuck all night any longer."
She giggled and said that was a relief.
