‘Not much chance of that when visitors arrive unannounced,’ said a voice from the doorway.
Rachel sighed. She knew Philip’s welcome would never match that of the dogs, but he could be a little bit more pleasant, couldn’t he?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, determined to remain good-tempered. ‘I hope I haven’t caused him to do anything silly.’
‘No more than he’s been doing since we got home,’ said the man grimly. ‘I’ve tried to keep him inside but with the weather so sultry we’ve had the doors open and any excuse and he’s off …’ He bent and patted the dog. ‘You’re an idiot, aren’t you? But then we’ve always known that.’
Rachel smiled more genuinely, seeing his affection for the great soft beast.
‘I just wanted to pop by and see how he was doing,’ she said, deciding it was best to explain her presence. ‘It’s good that he’s so bright in himself. I hope the cut is healing all right.’
Philip tossed back the dark hair and considered her for a moment. She wondered if he was going to remind her it was no thanks to her if it did heal fine. Instead he said after a pause, ‘That’s very kind of you. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?’
Rachel was stunned. ‘Oh, no, I don’t want to trouble you. I was just popping by …’
‘Have you walked all the way here? That’s not just “popping by”.’
‘I like to walk,’ said Rachel simply. She gestured to the trees and the hills beyond. ‘Especially here. It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Very. It’s also rather warm and I’m sure you could do with some refreshment. Do come on in.’
‘Well …’ Rachel was pleased to be invited, but she still wasn’t sure how she felt about this man. His moods could change all too quickly.
Ben nudged her leg and Philip said, ‘See, Ben wants to see a bit more of you.’ There was the sound of a child’s voice from the house and his mouth became a grim line again. ‘And you can come and say hello to my niece Amelia. Perhaps you’ll know how to talk to her.’
Rachel was interested now and followed him inside without further protest.
She barely had time to take in the polished wood of the porch and the coloured glass of the secondary front door before they were in the gloom of a large hall. It was degrees cooler in here and Rachel felt she had taken a step back in time. The walls were wood-panelled, the floor tiled in a complicated pattern.
Then the child’s voice could be heard again, and this time Rachel realised it was a cry.
‘Oh, no, what has she done now?’ said Philip, hurrying through another door at the rear of the hall that took them into a massive kitchen. A tiny blonde girl was standing beside the white sink, trying to rinse her hand but yelping every time the water touched her.
‘Amelia! What happened?’ Philip rushed forward and then stopped before he reached the child, as though unsure what to do next. He put out a hand and then dropped it to his side.
‘I cut myself,’ said the girl in a whisper.
‘For goodness sake! What were you doing with a knife? You should have asked …’
‘Let me have a look,’ said Rachel calmly. Shouting was the very last thing the youngster needed. She was in shock and wanted reassurance.
She put one arm around the child’s shoulders and gave her a slight hug, and then took the injured hand in her own. Blood was welling up along the edge of a cut, but when she rinsed it under the tap the bleeding slowed. After a further rinse it had almost stopped.
‘Not too much to worry about,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Nothing like the mess Ben got himself in to, you’ll be glad to hear. Now, if I could have a clean tissue for you to hold over it for a while …?’ She looked at Philip who looked blank. ‘Or kitchen towel, perhaps?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He hurried to bring her what she required and watched in silence as she settled the child in a chair at the long wooden table. Then he cleared his throat, seeming to realise that some comment was called for. Rachel smiled to herself. It was strange to see the confident television personality at a loss for words before a small child.
‘I’ll, er, put the kettle on for that tea, shall I?’
‘That would be good,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Perhaps your niece would like a cup, too? With sugar.’
‘I’m not supposed to have sugar in my tea,’ whispered the girl.
‘It’s for the shock, an important medicinal purpose,’ said Rachel firmly. ‘And now I suppose I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I? I’m Rachel and I live not far from here …’ She kept up a flow of chatter, partly to soothe the child, but also to give Philip time to collect his wits. And as her father would have said, chattering wasn’t exactly a hardship to Rachel.
By the time tea and biscuits were on the table she had spoken of her move home, enthused over the Southern Uplands, petted the dogs, and found out that Amelia was seven-years-old.
‘What a grown up girl you are for seven,’ she said encouragingly. ‘Is this fruit salad you’re making?’
The girl nodded her shiny blonde head. She was small for her age but her eyes were bright with intelligence and she seemed to take in everything Rachel said. The problem was getting her to respond.
‘Who showed you how to make fruit salad?’
‘My mum.’
‘That’s very clever. My mum’s the one who taught me to cook, too. Preparing food’s fun, isn’t it?’
The child nodded and took a biscuit. Rachel decided to let her eat it in peace and turned her attention to the uncle who now sat down opposite her. He nodded towards the child. ‘Is she going to be all right?’
‘She’ll be fine. Won’t you, Amelia?’ The child nodded, silent again. ‘How long is she staying with you?’ Rachel asked Philip. It seemed an odd arrangement to her. Philip Milligan didn’t strike her as very child-friendly.
‘A month or so,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘Her mum – my sister – is in hospital having an operation. The op’s gone well, thank goodness, but it’ll take her a while to get over it.’
‘It’s very kind of you to look after your niece,’ said Rachel. She suspected this wasn’t something he had taken on willingly and the shrug he gave seemed to confirm this. Poor child. At least he didn’t actually put his reluctance into words. ‘It’s a great place for children here. All the gardens and open space, and the dogs to play with.’
‘It’s a bit lonely. And Ben’s not supposed to be playing just now.’ He shot her a meaningful look so she knew he hadn’t forgotten whose fault that was.
‘I wonder if I can find you any local families with children for her to play with,’ mused Rachel. She was sure her mother would know someone suitable.
‘We’re perfectly all right here,’ said Philip abruptly, seeming to take this as criticism.
Rachel sighed. She never could say the right thing with him. ‘I’m sure you are. Now I’d better be on my way. Thanks for the tea. Can I have a quick look at your finger, Amelia? That looks fine. I don’t think you’ll need a plaster unless you’re doing something that might get it dirty.’ She wondered whether Philip would actually have plasters in the house. It was the sort of thing you kept a supply of if you were used to being around children, which he probably wasn’t. She didn’t ask. No doubt he would take that as criticism too.
He walked with her to the front door. ‘Thanks for calling round,’ he said abruptly.
‘My pleasure. If you feel like bringing Amelia to visit us, feel free. You know my father would love to see you.’
He nodded but didn’t actually agree. What a strange man. Rachel strode off across the gravel. She turned to look back at the house as she reached the entrance to the driveway and found he was still standing at the door, watching her. He raised a hand in farewell. For some reason she blushed as she waved in return.
Chapter Six
‘Just exactly what do you think you’re doing?’ demanded a deep voice that was all too familiar to Anthony.
He swung round, immediatel
y guilty although he didn’t know why he should be. He and Gemma were just putting up a few posters. The voice belonged to Sergeant MacFarlane, as he had known it would.
‘We’re putting up posters,’ he said, trying to be polite. Rachel had gone on and on at him about how being polite made life so much easier.
The policeman folded his arms across his broad chest and shook his head at them.
‘Is there a problem?’ said Gemma. She sounded scared.
‘I don’t see why there should be,’ said Anthony.
‘Yes there is a problem.’ The policeman sighed lugubriously. ‘Have you ever heard of fly-posting? It’s against the law to put up posters on any property that isn’t your own and even on your own property there can be restrictions.’
‘But that’s ridic …’ started Anthony, and then thought better of it. ‘That’s really, er, a shame.’ He could feel colour rising to his face and he hated that. They had put up at least twenty posters around Boroughbie and the plan had been to do the same in Moffat the next day.
‘I never thought,’ said Gemma, chewing her lip.
‘Other people do it,’ said Anthony.
‘Yes, and if caught they can receive a hefty fine.’ The man glowered at them. ‘Is that what you want?’
Anthony balked. He still hadn’t repaid Rachel for the last fine. ‘I suppose we could go and take them all down,’ he offered, hoping he could remember where they had put them.
‘We’re really sorry,’ said Gemma. She sounded mortified and that made Anthony feel even worse. He was the one who had got her in to this. It had seemed such a good idea. And the posters were brilliant, they had used a photograph of the kennels around which Gemma had superimposed picture after picture of happy dogs. It was eye-catching and he had been sure it would bring in those much-needed extra few customers.
‘I had hoped not to come face to face with you for a while, young man,’ said Sergeant MacFarlane, looking Anthony up and down. He didn’t seem mollified by their offer or apology and Anthony could feel himself losing his temper.
‘Look here …’
‘What’s all this about?’ said a new voice.
Anthony had thought his spirits couldn’t plummet any lower, but he was wrong.
Gemma’s father had appeared out of nowhere. Now he was towering over all of them, looking very angry indeed.
‘Hi Dad,’ said Gemma, putting a hand quickly on his arm. ‘It’s nothing. We were just …’ She faltered, which wasn’t surprising under the glare her father was giving her.
‘Are you in trouble with the police?’ he demanded. ‘And who is this young man?’ He turned his fierce dark stare to Anthony. ‘Perhaps you can enlighten me?’ he ended, turning to the police officer.
‘Certainly,’ said the police officer, his tone noticeably more pleasant. ‘I was just having a chat with these young people, pointing out they shouldn’t be putting up any posters in public places.’ Now he made it sound as though it was a very minor misdemeanour.
‘So we’re stopping right now,’ said Gemma quickly, trying to pass the rest of the posters to Anthony. ‘Did you come to give me a lift home? That was really kind but I could have got the bus.’
‘I had to come in to town to see the seed merchant. Thought I’d keep an eye out for you. I didn’t expect to see you with a young man and certainly not being accosted by a police officer.’
‘We were just having a wee chat,’ said Sergeant MacFarlane and Anthony shot him a grateful smile. Maybe the police weren’t so bad after all.
‘Shall we go?’ said Gemma to her father.
Anthony felt he should do something to help her, but he wasn’t sure what. She seemed desperate to leave.
‘Not until you’ve introduced me to your friend.’
‘Oh, this is Anthony. I know him from school.’
‘Anthony?’ The man frowned. On Gemma the dark eyes were lovely, but on her father they were definitely scary. ‘That wouldn’t be Anthony Collington, would it? From the kennels? I thought I recognised you. I should have known. You’re nothing but trouble, your family. Just keep away from me and my daughter, do you hear me? Just keep away.’
He took the remaining papers from his daughter’s arms and thrust them at Anthony so suddenly that more than half of them spilt across the pavement. Anthony gathered them as best he could, helped by the sergeant who was now making sympathetic noises. By the time they rose to their feet again Gemma and her father had gone.
Rachel and her parents were at the kitchen table going through future bookings when Anthony appeared. He had been very pleased with himself when he went out that morning, but now he looked thunderous.
‘Hello, dear, how are you?’ said her mother.
‘What’s happened?’ demanded Rachel, and then wished she hadn’t. Her parents didn’t seem to have noticed anything was wrong. She should have let Anthony slide off to his room and gone looking for him later.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked their father, turning slowly to examine his son. ‘What is it, my boy?’
‘Nothing,’ said Anthony, looking desperately from one to the other of them. For all his height and deep voice he looked like nothing so much as a young boy in trouble.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ said Rachel brightly.
‘Come and sit down and tell us about it,’ said her father.
Anthony hesitated and then slumped down onto one of the chairs. He slapped down a pile of papers that he had been holding under his arm. ‘It’s these.’
Rachel and her parents leant forward to look more closely. They were posters advertising Collington Kennels, bright and quirky and just the sort of thing they needed.
‘But they’re brilliant!’ she said, surprised. ‘Did you make them?’
‘Yes, with Gemma Smith. That’s what we were doing the other day.’ Anthony looked slightly mollified by her praise.
‘What a good idea,’ said his mother. She turned to her husband. ‘Remember we did a few plain posters just after we started, to put up in the local vets practices? But these are so much better.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ asked John, still with his eye on his son.
Anthony shrugged. ‘We were putting a few up around Boroughbie and apparently you’re … not supposed to. We got told to take them all down.’
‘Oh what a shame,’ said Maggie sympathetically.
‘You should have discussed it with us first, surely you realise you can’t put up posters just anywhere,’ said Rachel.
‘I do now. So I’ll just put the whole lot in the bin, shall I?’ Anthony looked furious again and Rachel wished her tone had been less critical.
‘Absolutely not,’ said his father pleasantly. ‘They’re excellent, we just need to find the right places to put them. Vets practices, as your mother said, and maybe that notice board at the newsagent’s.’
Rachel managed to bite her lip and not say anything else critical. The posters were very good and publicity was exactly what they needed to get the bookings up to a reasonable level once again. She wondered who it was that had stopped Anthony putting up the posters, but decided to wait until they were alone before she asked him.
The opportunity to ask never seemed to arise which she regretted strongly a couple of days later. She picked up a copy of the twice-weekly local gazette on a trip into Boroughbie and was paging through it as she chatted to her mother over coffee when the article caught her eye.
Local Business Adds to Litter Problem. The Gazette’s ongoing campaign against litter in our towns seems to have made no impression on local business Collington Kennels, whose posters and leaflets were left strewn about the streets …
‘Oh no,’ Rachel didn’t need to read further to know this was not the sort of publicity they had been hoping for. She made as if to turn the page so that her mother wouldn’t see the offending article, and then realised there was no chance of keeping it from her parents, who both read the paper from cover to cover. And even if she ‘lost’ the paper, one of
their friends was bound to mention it. She pushed the paper over to her mother with a sigh. ‘Look at that. Just what we didn’t need at the moment.’
She hated to see the way her mother’s face crumbled as she read. Things had been so much better the last few days, her father definitely on the mend and her mother starting to relax. And now this.
She showed it to Anthony when he came downstairs. He would have to know sometime. For once she felt sorry for him. He had been trying to help, it was such a shame it had turned out so badly.
‘But we didn’t leave any litter!’ he said heatedly. ‘I tried to collect everything, really I did. I don’t know where they got that from.’
‘Maybe you dropped one or two by accident?’ said his mother placatingly.
‘If only the paper hadn’t started this stupid campaign,’ groaned Rachel.
‘It’s a very laudable campaign,’ said her mother.
‘Gemma had the leaflets in her bag,’ said Anthony, remembering. ‘I should have got them back off her. What was she doing throwing them away?’
‘She wouldn’t do it on purpose. She’s such a nice girl.’ Rachel wondered, not for the first time, if her mother ever said anything negative about people.
‘It’s the last time I involve her in anything,’ said Anthony, jumping to his feet. ‘And don’t worry about me causing you any more trouble because I won’t. Everything I do goes wrong, so I won’t do anything.’
He stormed out of the room and Rachel and her mother exchanged a silent look.
‘I’ll talk to him later,’ said Rachel.
‘He’s a good boy really,’ said her mother.
Rachel’s move back to the family home hadn’t started as well as she had hoped, but she tried to concentrate on the positive. Her father was recovering nicely. All the local vet practices had been happy to take Anthony’s posters and a couple of new bookings had come in, possibly as a result. The weather was beautiful and she was enjoying the opportunity to be outdoors. Her parents seemed to think she was doing too much but what they didn’t realise was that Rachel needed to be doing something. She revelled in it. It was a pity Anthony wasn’t a bit more like her, but she was working on that.
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