He wasn't actually told 'don't go near Ella' but it was pretty much as near to that as possible. His landlady had told the thirty three year old school teacher that 'her down Traitors Lane' with the emphasis on 'HER', was trouble and he could see his new neighbours and numerous other villagers looking down their noses at the beautiful woman when she, very occasionally, passed by.
He sat in the pub below his room on that Saturday morning eating a Full English Breakfast and sipping at the pint mug of tea they had given him to go with it. The TV was showing sports but with the volume turned down, but he could read the subtitles having the occasional grin when the robot doing them got the discussion wrong because of the pundits' broad accents and West Ham's new midfielder became the London teams new 'wildfowler'.
He finished his meal and took a long draught of his tea, this was a very nice way to spend a Saturday morning and no mistake.
He had been selected to come along to the tiny four class primary school in this remote Gloucestershire village by the county's education service seeing as he was a bit of a rising star and due a deputy head's job anyway, plus they liked that fact that he had previously been an auditor. Part of his job was to quietly crawl over the school's finances with a view to closure and bussing the seventy or so 4-11 year olds the five or six miles to the nearby town and the under-subscribed school there.
He had to consider the cost of buses, drivers and diesel in against the money the county could make selling the site for development.
"But surely," he said, "You sell the school and build more houses and you'll need a school?"
"You let me worry about that," said the interviewer.
The older lady that interviewed him was very specific about what was needed and no way was anything cut and dried and he would still need to do his sums, learn about the community and report on what he found and make his decision based on 'facts'. He'd never met her before which was strange', he'd met most of the senior managers and the top politico's; her manner, age and dress soon told him she was an elected councillor before he saw the gold edging to her name badge hidden under her scarf that announced she wasn't 'staff'.
To his shame though the thing that stood out most about that day was her broad rural Gloucestershire accent and the savage looking scar on her right cheek that he tried so hard not to look at. That and the foul tasting green tea she had made him; shit but it was nasty,
She saw him flinch after his first long sup, "Get it down you," she said, "it's great for getting rid of those bags under your eyes Mr Clements, and it'll make you a big strong boy, and that's something I need you to be for this job."
And seeing as this weird looking woman was important in him getting the job, he gritted his teeth and finished it.
He was there to possibly close down the school, and while he wasn't looking forward to that bit, after his last three years in an urban war zone that survived on government grants and benefits payments, he decided that he would spend a good year or so enjoying the country life before making that particular decision. His interviewer had been very specific about that too.
He decided to buy a place in the village seeing as the pay was one and a half times what he was earning previously. His search had been unfruitful, but eventually he was approached by the local estate agent who discussed some large town houses that were unaffordable in the current market as they stood so were being split as upstairs and downstairs flats. He could buy one, live in one flat and rent out the other. He decided he would do just that, and would live in the upstairs flat with a converted loft, and view of the village green across to the pub he was currently lodging in and in the distance his school. He could sort the downstairs flat at his convenience.
Even undecorated it looked like paradise compared to his flat in the city, with its two locks, chain and double locked windows even on the first floor.
Before house hunting he'd checked the police reports and other than the occasional speeding ticket, crime or any major disorder was pretty much unheard of in this village that seemed straight off of the front of a chocolate box.
The sale of his last flat had been really quick and meant that he could start at his new school much earlier than had been suggested, the county was even paying for his stay at the village pub until his new place was ready, after spare rooms and sofa surfing and the tiresome commutes had almost put an end to his desire to work there.
Within days of driving here with a rented box van full of his furniture and possessions currently packed into the completed loft room of his flat, he was completely under the spell of this funny little village and its funny people who seemed to go through life like the outside world (except for soaps, TOWIE, The Kardashians and Manchester United) didn't exist. For them the planet consisted of farmers, people that worked for farmers, people that looked after farming families and little else. The tiny children he taught all had a strange and slightly disbelieving look when he told them about his previous school in the big city,
"What?" their cute little faces seemed to say, "so you're saying there's... like... somewhere else?"
It was a really great place and he figured his place would be a good investment even if he did end up shutting the school... eventually... there was no rush after all, the politician had been very clear about that and he was looking for ways to stretch his investigatory year out to eighteen months.
Around the outskirts of the village were lots of barn and stable holiday home conversions that were opened up in time for Easter weekend and closed in October as this village was 'in the heart of the Cotswolds', and the outrageous weekly rents would pay the quite low mortgage easily if he had to move back to the city.
He sipped more of his tea and looked around him, he couldn't move in as the conversion was taking the local firm of builders much longer than they had quoted for to finish the work so was living in the pub weeks longer than he'd figured for and this was the end of his first month actually living in the village.
The great food here was making it so much easier to put up with the inconvenience mind you and this chilly Saturday was no exception.
"Good Morning Dan," said a female voice in the rich country tones the teacher was starting to get so used to, and there she was.
"Well Good Morning Ella!" said the barman, "usual Luvvie?" She nodded and he continued his reach behind him for a long glass and pulled a half pint of the local strong beer. She paid him with a smile, took her drink and moved across the bar to the inglenook fireplace and sat, dipping into her large handbag and drawing out the local newspaper flicking it open to the first page.
She was dressed as she normally was, always in a long dress, sometimes with smocking, loose fitting, but still hinting at what lay beneath. He only saw her very occasionally and she always had what his father called the that slightly far away, incense burning, vegan, 'hippy' look. But then she did run the alternative lifestyle, health food shop in the village and always seemed to have either customers or the post office collecting or delivering.
The teacher looked across at her and smiled, raising his mug of tea. She raised her beer glass, and tilting her head slightly smiled back to him. She was stunning close up!
He guessed she was somewhere between mid-twentysomething verging on early thirty-something, her dark mahogany brown hair that looked just washed hung around her pretty heart shaped face framing it to perfection.
He tried to guess if she was older than him -- if so it was not by very much and the more he looked at her the harder it became for him to guess, but he just as quickly thought 'fuck it' and decided to find some way he could go across and make conversation with her. She smiled back at him and drowsily raised her eyelashes with some level of inquisition as if she had read his mind.
He saw she was working through the paper and her beer, and he went back to the erroneously dubbed BBC News 24 and his smart phone with occasional looks to see if she was looking to see if he was looking at her.
After fifteen minutes she looked over her shoulder with a raised hand towards the barman.
"No, let me," he said. "That's a half of Poachers isn't it."
"Yes," she beamed a smile to him, "that would be very kind, thank you."
