What am I bid?’
Mr Booth rapped the concrete with his cane. The bull, unsettled by the crowd and the change in routine, spun round in his pen, dragging the chain to its full extent and pawing the floor and bellowing, murder in his eyes. Mary felt accusing stares and busied herself with Ben. If she’d had any sense she’d have tranquillised the brute, heaven knows what this performance would do to the price.
She felt a sudden shock. What was happening to her? Six months ago she had believed in honesty, integrity and a good name, and here she was now, money-grubbing, lying, and seriously considering doping. She could end up in gaol! At least it would be a roof over my head, she thought dismally.
She couldn’t see who was bidding. It was going up fast and it took a trained eye to see the lifted finger and slight nod. All at once it slowed. Mr Booth took a deep breath and looked round in amazement. ‘Come now, gentlemen, please. We’re talking about a prize bull here. Pedigree Charolais, show winner. Always gets good calves. I need hardly remind you, gentlemen, of the tragic circumstances that bring about this sale - a rare opportunity for someone I should say. Now, shall we be serious? Do I hear ...’ and off they went again.
Suddenly the tempo changed, the bidding must have passed a magic figure because the agent became quite frenzied. ‘Selling all the time now gentlemen, selling all the time. Chance of a lifetime and we’re selling, thank you Mr Vane, what about you Harry, you’re not going to miss it for a few hundred are you?’
He punctuated his words with raps of his cane. The bull swung his massive head from side to side, his roar bouncing against the stone, filling the barn with sound, but Mr Booth talked on, apparently understood although no one could hear him. Then he stopped.
‘All done?’ The dramatic pause. ‘SOLD to Mr Vane.’
He thwacked the stone with a force sufficient to break the cane, and it was done. Too little by half.
Chapter 2
That evening, when the children were in bed, she walked round the empty yard and listened to the silence. The night was clear and very cold, frost already twinkling on the roofs and cobbles. Soon, very soon, she would have to leave here, abandoning not only a place but a whole way of life. She needed courage and she had none.
Small sounds caught her attention: the far off whines and snuffles of Jet rabbiting in the long field; the low champing of the horses at their hay. She moved to look in at them and they were quiet and trustful in the dark. Large, warm, familiar shapes. She leaned her head on the door and let Bella blow into her hair. It soothed her.
‘Excuse me.'
She spun round, heart pounding. A man, a stranger, and she was alone here with just two small children in the house and the dog away across the fields. He was walking towards her across the dark yard; he looked very tall and there was nowhere to run.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice sounded thick. Oh God, if only the dog would come back.
‘I was looking for Mrs Squires. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He sounded faintly Irish. Her brain started to function again. If he’d been going to murder her then surely he wouldn’t waste time with pleasantries, but then again, perhaps he would, she didn’t know many murderers. Either way there was very little she could do about it. Her mother’s training asserted itself - always be polite. ‘I am Mrs Squires. What can I do for you?’ She sounded ridiculously social and at once regretted that she had told him who she was. He would know she was alone. She should have said he was at the wrong farm, that her husband was in the house, anything. He took the few remaining strides towards her, his step sounding measured, menacing. She couldn’t stand it. She pushed past him and raced for the house, slipping and sliding on the frosty stone. The kitchen door banged behind her. She shot the bolt home and scuttled into the hall. He couldn’t see her there. She sat on the stairs, holding her knees and shivering. A knock came on the back door.
‘Mrs Squires? Mrs Squires? It’s quite all right really. I only want to talk to you for a moment.’ He kept on knocking.
The stupidity of her position annoyed her, she felt like a rabbit with a ferret at the hole. She walked into the kitchen, turning on the outside light as she did so. She could see him now.
‘What the hell do you want, sneaking up on me in the dark?’
He was trying to look through the frosted glass panel of the door. ‘For God’s sake, I called at the house, there was no one there. I walked over to have a look at the horses. Look, do you always hold conversations like this? I feel as if you’re about to shoot me or something.’
Now there was a thought. She would have to get a shotgun.
Suddenly the night erupted in a frenzy of growling and snarling. Jet was back from his sortie and was making up for lost time. Muffled cries drifted into the kitchen. Quite at ease with this familiar situation Mary flung open the door, collared the dog and helped the man up.
‘Won’t you come in?’ she asked sweetly.
Ten minutes later they were sitting opposite one another at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.
‘I really am extremely sorry about your coat,’ Mary said again. He glared back at her. His eyes were very blue, his hair fair, but he had had an accident at some time it seemed. His cheekbone was out of line and it was irritating to look at. It was as if a picture was crooked or a tablecloth rumpled; you automatically wanted to straighten it.
‘That dog is really dangerous. You should get rid of him.’
She had heard that once too often. She drew herself to her feet. ‘I would rather get rid of you. Creeping round houses in the middle of the night, you deserve everything you get. You’re some horse dealer I suppose, hoping to pull some nice big con on a silly little woman. Give her some tale about splints and curbs, knock hundreds off the price and waltz off with a champion. I should have let the dog eat you.’ She was fighting angry tears.
He looked up at her, without emotion. ‘It is only half past eight, you know.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Well, it’s not the middle of the night. Anyway, how was I to know you were on your own? Has your husband run off with the milkman?’
She sat down again. ‘My husband is dead.’ She spoke with conscious dignity, expecting the usual embarrassed mutter.
‘Don’t tell me the dog ate him by mistake.’ Mary stared at him, in outrage, and then started to laugh. It went on and on, and she knew that if she didn’t stop soon she never would. The man leaned over and caught her wrist, she choked on a giggle and was silent. ‘It’s been one hell of a day,’ she said wearily. The man still held her arm, loosely, his fingers brown against the white inside of her wrist. Her skin prickled and she pulled away, embarrassed.
‘It’s cold in here,’ she said, apropos of nothing.
‘You’re tired. Look, I wanted to talk about the horses but I can come back tomorrow if you like.’
She shook her head and dragged herself to her feet. Oh, he was right, she was so tired she thought her bones might fall though her skin and on to the floor.
‘You might as well come now. But don’t think you can con me because you can’t.’
He grinned and pushed his coffee cup aside. His cheek twisted when he smiled, which was a pity. ‘I never con pretty ladies,’ he said lightly, and she thought ‘smoothie’.
She led the way to the loose boxes. ‘This is Bella, my brood mare,’ she said, switching on the light. He grunted. ‘It’s the filly I’m interested in.’
‘Now, how did you hear about her?’ It was flattering to know people thought the horse worth discussion. There, that proved she was good.
‘Bloke called Fred Swallow mentioned her. Know him?’
She was impressed. A rich industrialist who had taken to the country, Swallow was fast becoming a name in the horse world. His house had kept two firms of builders occupied for the best part of five years. Mercifully he had planted a tree screen which would one day hide it from the public gaze but in the meantime it was a local tourist attraction.
> ‘We do not move in the same circles.’ She hoped he thought she was socially superior to nouveau riche Mr Swallow, when of course she was just too poor. ‘How did he find out? She’s only just broken, no one’s seen her.’
‘The vet told him. Chatty fellow, Swallow said.’ She should have known. Ted was better than a telephone exchange.
‘Well, you’d better come and see. As it happens I’ve sold the mare anyway.’
They stood and looked over the door at the big, sleepy three-year-old, straw in her tail, blinking in the light. The man pulled out a cigarette and started to smoke. Mary coughed ostentatiously but he took no notice, and just stood there, smoking, saying nothing. The silence began to grate on Mary’s nerves.
‘What do you think?’ she asked shrilly.
‘What? What about?’ He was peering down at her, a little perplexed.
‘The filly of course. But if you were studying the stars or something you can give me your opinion of them too.’
He was laughing at her. ‘You don’t sell many horses. Take your time, lady, it pays.’
‘But what do you think?’ she asked again, softly, her eyes large and worried.
‘I think - I think I’d like to try her. Tomorrow. Ten o’clock. All right?’
She nodded and turned to go into the house. The day had been so awful and this man was too much. Let him come back tomorrow, she would talk to him tomorrow. Without a word to him, the dog at her heels, she trailed into the house and off to bed. The man stood in the dark yard, looking after her, and then walked to his car.
She overslept. Normally the children would have been racing round the house by half past seven, but not today. When ten o’clock came they had only just finished breakfast and the house was a shambles. She was desperately washing dishes when he drove up, and the dog was loose. She had to catch Jet before he raked his claws down the car door, the blasted man would probably run him over after last night’s little incident.
Anna joined in the chase, yelling, ‘I win, I win!’ and obstructing her mother’s every step with the result that Jet was only apprehended seconds before the dreadful deed was done. Red-faced and panting, she looked up to see an expression of mild interest on the face behind the glass. He extended a languid hand and pressed a button. The window descended noiselessly.
‘Can I get out now?’ he enquired sweetly.
‘By all means,’ replied Mary with as much ice as she could manage while hanging on to an exuberant dog.
They proceeded towards the stables in silence. She showed him the tack and returned, with Anna, to the house, there to undertake frenzied tidying. She suddenly remembered the sack of flaked maize in the corner of the sitting room. She gazed at it in surprise. What on earth was it doing there? Of course it was safe from the mice, but reall. . .perhaps things had been getting a little out of hand lately. She hadn’t time to move it so she’d just have to get the kitchen presentable.
At the last moment she noticed a pile of soggy nappies underneath the kitchen table. She swooped on them and stuffed them into the cleaning cupboard, jamming the door shut with a chair. Not a moment too soon - in he walked.
‘Do sit down,’ said Mary with her most charming smile, and too late saw which chair he was going to choose. She watched resignedly as nappies, shoe cleaning gear, a half full packet of washing powder and a dandy brush spewed on to the floor. Never apologise, never explain she thought, kicking a path to the table. She plonked two cups of coffee on it and sat down. The silence became oppressive. He cleared his throat.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Just you and the two children, is it?’
‘And a horse I think you want to buy.’
‘Not to mention a dog that—’ he caught her eye and grinned. ‘I suppose he grows on you in time.’
‘About the horse.’
‘Yes.’
Anna wandered into the kitchen, accompanied by her Jack-in-the-box, a toy renowned for its eldritch scream. The man leaned down and plucked it from her grasp, his features contorted with pain. ‘Little girl,’ he said patiently, ‘why don’t you go outside? Your mother and I are talking.’
‘That’s mine,’ said Anna.
‘Yes. You can have it later.’
‘Now.’
‘Later.’
Anna gave him a measuring look and decided to give in. She leaned against his knee, sucking her thumb and staring at him. ‘What’s your name.’
‘Patrick Brogan. What’s yours?’
‘Anna. And I’ve got a little brother called Ben. Daddy’s in heaven. Mummy doesn’t like it, and—’
‘Time to play outside,’ interrupted Mary scooping her up and plonking her unceremoniously outside the back door. Anna thought about wailing then changed her mind, content instead to chase the straw that blew around the yard. Mary watched through the window for a moment and then came back to the table.
The man, Brogan, was watching her. ‘I like your little girl,’ he said. ‘She’s pretty. Like you.’ Mary brushed this aside with an irritable shake of her head. ‘Mr Brogan, you must understand something. I’m selling the filly because I have to. The mare, Bella, the farm agent’s going to take her and she didn’t - there wasn’t - well, I didn’t get very much. She’s old you see, and - but the filly’s different. I’ve got to get a decent price for her. I thought you should understand.’
‘How bad are things with you?’ He was smoking again, without asking. She did not offer him an ashtray.
‘I don’t want charity. She’s a good filly and I want a fair price. That’s all.’
‘I don’t buy horses out of charity.’
‘Well then.’
They stared at each other. Mary’s heart bumped against her ribs and a pulse in her throat fluttered. His eyes were very blue and very steady. All at once he seemed to decide something. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out cheque book and pen, the one leather covered, the other engraved gold.
‘There you are.’ He tossed the cheque towards her. Mary looked at the figure and gasped. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘She’s worth it. She’s a great horse. All right, I know I could get her for less, but you need the money. I’d feel a heel if I didn’t pay.’
‘But - what will you do with her? I thought she might make a hunter or something and then one-day events, that sort of thing. This is race horse money.’
‘Or show jumping.’
‘Oh. That’s what you do, is it?’
He grinned ruefully. ‘You sure know how to hurt a guy. It’s what I do and I’m even supposed to be quite good at it. You don’t watch?’
‘Not really. It always seems to be very boring when it’s going all right and then dreadful when it goes wrong - you know, horses falling and people squashed and so on.’
‘Thank God the rest of the world doesn’t think like you.’
‘And you think my filly could jump?’
He nodded. ‘She’s got all the makings. Of course she’s too young yet but she’s the right shape, and she’s got a nice nature. She showed really well over the poles.’
Mary beamed at him, delighted with his approval of her treasure. Plans began to form for what she might do with the money and she stood lost in thought, the cheque in her hands. Was it enough for a deposit on a house? But she wouldn’t get a mortgage, you needed a job for that and how could you get a job when you had nowhere to live? Brogan coughed, and Mary started back to life. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. More coffee? A biscuit?’
‘Yes, please.’
She bustled about fetching things but her mind was still wrestling with bills and bank balances. ‘Where are you going to go?’
She jumped, turned, and gave him a strained smile. ‘I don’t know yet. You see, even with this it’s going to be - we have debts, you see. But you must understand that Stephen never meant to leave me in this mess, neither of us ever thought this could happen. In a few years it would have been fine.’ A deep sigh racked her, but again she forced a smile. ‘I’ll sort something
out. And it’s so wonderful of you to take the filly.’
‘I think I’d like to take something else as well.’ It was almost a whisper. She blinked at him, without understanding, and turned away. Did he want the old plough?
‘What is it? What do you want?’
He was standing behind her. His finger traced the curve of her cheek.
‘I want you,’ he said softly.
‘What on earth do you mean?’ She was sure she must have misunderstood him.
She really must not jump to conclusions, he surely couldn’t mean . . . she looked up into his face and looked away quickly, feeling herself go scarlet all over. Oh yes he could.
‘I - I think there has been some misunderstanding, Mr Brogan. The filly is not for sale and I would like you to go.’ She tried to push past him but he refused to move. She could smell horses and tobacco, mixed with a faint tang of sweat. What could he smell - soap and cabbage probably, she couldn’t remember when she had last used perfume. He took hold of her shoulders and stroked her gently with his thumbs.
‘I mean it, you know. I want you, the children and even that God-awful dog. Come and live with me, Mary. I want you.’
His voice was very soft, his hands caressing. She lifted her gaze from a detailed study of his jumper - machine knitted she noticed - and met his eyes. They were half closed and his breath came through parted lips. She realised with a shock that he passionately wanted to make love to her.
‘So you think you can have us all for your money, do you?’ She sounded shrill but could do nothing about it. ‘We may be desperate but we haven’t sunk that low. Get out of my way you - you—’ she searched for something bad enough to suit him and found it ‘- you bloody Irish mick, you!’
To her fury he was laughing and the grip on her shoulders was no longer gentle. Suddenly he let her go and she rushed to the other side of the kitchen. She stood for a moment trying to decide what to do, there was no way she could throw him out if he didn’t want to go.
A Summer Frost Page 2