BLINDFOLD

by Lyndon Stacey

  Jez had been in favour of approaching the building commandostyle, under cover of the shrubbery, calling the dog as they went; a notion that Gideon dismissed in no uncertain manner. His involvement in the whole affair was uncomfortable enough as it was and wouldn't be helped in any way, shape or form by being discovered skulking in the undergrowth. Jez was visibly disappointed.

  The house, when reached, proved to be sizeable. Not quite on the scale of Graylings Priory but not far short. An unlovely, grey block of a building, it sat squarely in a sea of mown lawns and dormant rhododendrons, with rows of shuttered windows like closed eyes, repelling unwelcome visitors. Above the double front doors a stone bore the carved inscription Lyddon Grange.

  Gideon mounted the steps and rang the doorbell. Nobody came.

  `Let's go,' Jez suggested.

  `No.' Gideon shook his head firmly. `We came for the dog. We'll get the dog.' A suspicion occurred. `There is a dog?' he said, fixing Jez with a warning eye.

  The curls nodded vigorously. `Of course there is!'

  Gideon took time to glance around him. On a sweep of gravel to his right a number of vehicles were parked, among them a gleaming Jaguar, a powerful sports saloon and a blue van with Barratt the Boiler Man emblazoned on the side, along with a childish representation of a boiler gushing smoke, and a telephone number. Gideon leaned on the bell again.

  On the third ring the door opened. The man behind it was of medium height and heavy build, with short-cropped hair, tattoos and an earring. He looked as though he might well be ex-Forces. `Yes?' His tone was decidedly short on welcome.

  `Sorry to bother you. We're looking for a dog that ran in here. It's a-' Gideon looked round helplessly for Jez and found him standing at the foot of the steps almost out of sight behind the wall. `A sheepdog,' Jez supplied. `A puppy.'

  `A sheepdog puppy,' he confirmed, turning back to the door. `Well, I haven't got it, have I? What does this look like? Battersea bloody Dogs' Home?'

  `I wouldn't know,' Gideon responded mildly. `I've never been there. All we want is your permission to look for the dog.'

  The man's eyes narrowed. `If it's a little black and white bugger, I kicked it into them bushes about ten minutes ago,' he said, pointing across the drive to a stand of rhododendron. `It yelped a bit,' he added with satisfaction.

  `If you've hurt him . . .' Jez cried from the foot of the steps, anger lending him courage.

  `You'll what?' The man enquired, sneering. `You gonna bite my ankles like that dog of yours did?'

  `I'm beginning to like this dog,' Gideon murmured. `Jez, go and call Tyke, will you?'

  Jez obediently turned away, but couldn't resist muttering, `You wait. My brother will sort you out.'

  'Yeah?' The man said, looking belligerently at Gideon. `Well?F 'I'm not his brother,' Gideon said, weary of the whole business. Across the drive, Jez had disappeared into the bushes and presently came out cradling a small black and white bundle. He carried the pup over to Gideon who was just preparing to take their collective leave when he noticed that the child had tears in his eyes.

  `Tyke's bleedin',' Jez said on a sob. `He must've kicked him in the mouth and now he's bleedin'.'

  Gideon was normally slow to anger but cruelty to animals did the trick every time. He turned back to the man at the door. `There was no need for that,' he said through clenched teeth.

  The man merely grinned. `So?'

  'Hit him, Gideon!' Jez advised from the bottom of the steps. Gideon could cheerfully have strangled the pair of them but certainly had no intention of starting a brawl over a point of principle with somebody so obviously devoid of them. Keeping a tight rein on his temper, he turned away, telling the bloodthirsty child that it was time to leave.

  `My brother would've hit him!' Jez muttered. `Yes, I expect he would,' Gideon agreed dryly.

  The tattooed one hadn't finished with him, however. `A big mouth but no guts to back it up!' he shouted scornfully after them. Jez looked up at Gideon hopefully but was disappointed. `Come on, just ignore him.'

  A burst of laughter followed them but was cut short as a new voice made itself heard.

  `What is the meaning of this confounded racket?' it enquired testily in high-pitched tones. `How in hell's name am I supposed to work with all that bloody noise going on?'

  As Gideon turned, an elderly man appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a piece of paint-smeared cloth and glowering at each of the offenders in turn. Of less than medium height, he was nevertheless an arresting figure, his spare frame topped by a crown of snowy hair which waved untidily around a bald pate speckled with liver spots. His face was weathered and lined, and he had deep-set brown eyes, a nose that would have been the pride and joy of any storybook wizard, a moustache and Van Dyke beard. A pair of pince-nez perched near the end of the improbable nose and the upper part of his body was covered by a painter's smock. Gideon felt sure he had seen him somewhere before.

  The acute, monkey-like eyes finished their survey of the unwanted visitors and returned to the man at his side.

  `Who are these people? Why haven't you got rid of them?' he demanded. `What the hell do I pay you for?'

  `I told them to get out but they wouldn't go,' Tattoos complained sullenly.

  The snowy head tipped forward again, and Gideon and Jez were subjected to a deep frown over the top of the man's pince-nez. Jez slid sideways to shelter from the glare behind Gideon.

  `Well? What do they want?' the man addressed his doorman again.

  Gideon had had enough of being discussed as if he wasn't there. He mounted the steps once more and advanced with hand outstretched.

  `Gideon Blake,' he said by way of introduction. `I'm sorry if we disturbed you but my young friend here lost his dog and we came to ask if it had been seen.'

  The elderly man looked suspiciously at Gideon's hand, as if hand-shaking was a custom he was not familiar with, and then looked past him to where Jez stood clutching Tyke.

  `You would appear to have found the animal,' he observed, returning his gaze to Gideon. `Do you have any other business here to detain you?'

  Gideon's eyes narrowed at this display of bad manners, and behind the old man, Tattoos smirked annoyingly.

  `I appreciate your right to privacy,' he said quietly, `and I can tolerate rudeness, but this man viciously kicked a puppy, and that I won't tolerate. I suggest you have a serious word with him or you'll have others to answer to besides me!'

  He was the recipient of another simian frown. `Gideon Blake, you say? Not the Gideon Blake who paints horses?'

  `Amongst other things, yes,' he agreed, amused by this change of subject. He'd placed the man now: Meredith Milne, an eccentric but highly successful artist; he'd seen a photograph of him in a Sunday supplement alongside a review of an exhibition of his paintings. He was held to be something of a recluse, seldom emerging from the privacy of his home and then travelling, whenever possible, in his own helicopter.

  `I've seen some of your work. There's a lot to like about it,' the old man conceded. Then, as if coming to a decision, finally held out his hand. `Meredith Milne,' he announced.

  Gideon affected not to notice the hand. `I know,' he said calmly. `But my warning stands. Your man was out of line and the very least I expect is an apology to the kid.'

  `Yes, yes. Whatever.' Milne was patently tired of the subject. `Benson, Renson - whatever your name is - give the boy some pocket money and then get out of my sight. I've had enough of you. Where's Slade anyway?'

  `In his flat. He's got somebody with him.' Renson's mood was not noticeably improving. He dug in his pocket and withdrew a note that he held out to Jez, muttering something under his breath. Then he went back into the house, favouring Gideon with a look of pure venom as he passed. Jez pocketed the note with alacrity, raising two fingers to Renson's departing back.

  `Well, and that's that,' Milne said, dismissing the affair. `Children and animals ... always trouble. Always.'

  If Gideon thought this generalisation a
little unfair, he let it go. Arguing the toss with Milne would quite obviously be fruitless. The man was a quite brilliant artist, known the world over, and his work an obsession with him. People like that were often, in Gideon's experience, a little naive in matters not pertaining to their ruling passion. He prepared to take his leave, wondering as he did so just what he was going to do with Jez.

  The problem was taken out of his hands. Footsteps scrunched on the gravel drive to the side of the house and a voice said in surprise, `Jez, you little bugger! What've you been up to? I told you to stay in the van.'

  Gideon stiffened. At the top of the steps and out of sight for the moment, he didn't need the evidence of his eyes to tell him who the newcomer was. Those soft, lilting tones were stamped into his

  memory for a lifetime. What crazy coincidence had thrown them together again so soon?

  His mind raced as the steps crunched closer. How should he react? Should he show that he recognised his abductor of five nights ago? Would he be believed if he didn't?

  Jez apparently had no reservations. `Joey!' he cried. `I lost Tyke and a man kicked him. He's bleeding, look!' He held the puppy out for inspection.

  Gideon made a snap decision. As far as he could see, he had nothing to gain by showing that he recognised the man, and possibly much to lose, here at this remote spot, outnumbered and with only a child for a witness. And hardly an impartial witness at that. With an odd feeling that fate was playing games with him, Gideon turned towards the newcomer, schooling his features to give no sign of recognition.

  Joey had had no such warning. `He'll be okay, Sis, he's a tough little bugger,' he said, looking the pup over and handing it back to the child. `But if you'd done as you were told in the first place . . .' He broke off, eyes widening with shock as he caught sight of Gideon on the steps.

  `He helped me. His name's Gideon and he helped me find Tyke,' Jez declared looking anxiously up at Joey. Then to Gideon, `I told you my brother was bigger than you.'

  Her brother? So this obviously wasn't Slade, who lived in the flat. `So you did,' Gideon acknowledged, still mentally adjusting to the revelation that Jez was a girl.

  ' Gideon? That's a name you don't often hear,' Joey remarked casually, watching him.

  `No, you don't,' he admitted blandly. `Look, the guy next door is a vet. He's a friend of mine. How about I take Jez and the puppy round to get that cut looked at? It won't take a minute.'

  Joey wasn't entirely happy with that. He opened his mouth to decline but Jez forestalled him.

  `Oh, please, Joey. It's still bleedin'. He might bleed to death!' `He'll be all right.'

  `Well, it might need stitching,' Gideon prompted, enjoying his reluctance. It seemed Joey wasn't quite sure whether he'd been recognised or not, and was anxious that Gideon should have no opportunity to question Jez. Gideon held out his hand to the girl. `Come on. I was going there anyway. Let's get Tyke sorted out, shall we?'

  Jez went to him, looking back at Joey in mute entreaty. At this point, Milne, who had been temporarily forgotten, decided to take a hand.

  `I don't personally care where any of you go, just so long as you go somewhere,' he observed impatiently. `All I want is some peace and quiet, so clear off, the lot of you!' He made a shooing motion, much as one might to a stray dog or cat, and then turned back into the darkness of his hallway, pausing on the threshold to say to Gideon, `You! You can come back one day and see my studio. I wouldn't mind talking to you, and you might learn something.'

  ' With this gracious invitation he disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

  `It seems we've been dismissed,' Gideon said into the silence that greeted this display of arrogance. `Well, Jez, are you coming? Your brother can come too, if he wants,' he added, slanting a quizzical look at Joey.

  Jez gave him another pleading look and Joey gave in.

  `All right. But don't be long. I'll meet you outside in ten minutes. And don't go chattering on about things, okay?'

  `I won't, Joey. I promise.'

  Naomi answered the bell in reception, and if she was surprised to see Gideon, complete with a small scruffy child and an even smaller and scruffier dog, she gave no sign of it.

  `Oh, poor little mite!' she exclaimed immediately, holding out her arms towards the puppy. `What happened?'

  Jez regarded her warily and held Tyke even more tightly. `This is Jez. Her puppy met with a slight accident,' Gideon explained briefly.

  `Let's go through and find Tim, shall we? He's a vet,' Naomi said to the girl, who nodded and went obediently through the door she held open. Over her shoulder Naomi murmured, `Another of your strays, Brother?'

  `I'll explain later,' Gideon promised.

  It was some three-quarters of an hour before Gideon finally restored Jez to her brother, and he was gratified to find Joey tapping his fingers impatiently, sitting on the bonnet of the blue van that was now parked at the end of the Sanctuary's driveway.

  `It won't take a minute, eh, pal?'Joey remarked sourly as they approached. `Did you lose your way or somethin'?'

  `Tim showed me round and I saw all the animals,' Jez told her brother, her eyes alight with remembered joy.

  Joey wasn't impressed. `Yeah, well, I've got a business to run, so hop in quick and let's be going, shall we?'

  With one last unloving look at Gideon, he got into the van himself and within moments they were gone.

  `Don't mention it,' Gideon murmured, but he was smiling faintly as he turned back to the farm. Jez had held true to her promise, telling him nothing other than her surname, Fletcher. But Joey wouldn't be human if he didn't have some doubts. Now it was his turn to wait and wonder.

  `So, what brings you out here this time?' Naomi asked, licking chicken fat off her fingers as she rolled up the remains of her takeaway lunch in the paper in which it had arrived. Having eaten, the three of them were relaxing in the warmth of the Sanctuary's office. `Two visits in one week. It must be a family record!'

  `I don't know, really,' he admitted. `It was just something about your phone call this morning ... I got the impression something was wrong. Tell me to mind my own business if you like, but there it is.'

  `You didn't tell me you'd phoned Gideon,' Tim said, looking

  at Naomi in surprise. `You said the note didn't worry you. Why didn't you talk to me?'

  She flushed unhappily. `I wasn't really worried. I don't know why I called Gideon. I didn't tell him about it even then.'

  Tim still looked a little hurt.

  `I'm sorry,' Naomi said, putting her hand on his. `I thought you'd got enough to worry about without me adding to it.'

  `At the risk of seeming abominably nosy, just what was it that everybody was worried about and Sis rang up specifically not to tell me?' Gideon asked. `Or is it still a deep dark secret?'

  Tim shook his head. `It's really no big deal,' he said. `Somebody with a sick sense of humour pinned a note to the surgery door in the night. By far the best thing to do is to treat it with the contempt it deserves and forget it.'

  `What did it say? Can I see it?'

  `I binned it,' Tim said dismissively.

  `And I took it out again,' Naomi said, reaching behind her to open a drawer in a nearby desk. `Well, if anything did happen, the police would be bound to ask to see it, wouldn't they?' she added defensively, passing a sheet of paper to Gideon.

  `Nothing is going to happen,' Tim said, soothingly.

  `You can't know that!' Naomi protested. `It's not as if we haven't had our problems already.'

  Gideon didn't miss the `we' and the `our'. It appeared their relationship had quite solid foundations. He turned his attention to the note. `Dear Dr Doolittle,' it read. `You can't have a hospital without any patients. Why don't you go back to wherever you came from? You're not wanted here.' It was unsigned but bore the postscript, `Ever had rabbit stew? It's really very good.'

  He looked up. `Have you any idea who sent it?' Tim shrugged. `Suspicions but no proof.'

  `What does this last
bit mean? About the rabbit stew?' Tim shrugged again.

  Naomi wasn't having that. `You know perfectly well what it means!' she exclaimed in exasperation. `Someone brought us a litter of baby rabbits two weeks ago, their dog had killed the parents or something. But anyway, three days ago I went to feed them in the morning and the cage was open. They'd all gone, of course, and I was mad at myself because I thought I hadn't shut the door properly. Now we know better!'

  `Not for sure,' Tim protested.

  `Well, how else could they have known about it, if it wasn't them?'

  Tim didn't have an answer for that. He subsided into thoughtful silence.

  `And other things have happened?' Gideon prompted. `Several things,' Naomi said unhappily, looking at Tim. He didn't speak.

  `Tim's dog was poisoned. Rat poison, we discovered. At the time we thought it was an accident, that he'd picked something up at the farm down the road. He was always getting out - we haven't had time to do the fences yet - but he never went on the road, always across the fields, so we weren't too worried. It was awful,' she said, sadness in her eyes as she remembered. `We found him in the barn. He'd just managed to make it home but he'd bled to death. Haemorrhaged. Now we're wondering if it wasn't those bastards next door!'

  `You are,' Tim put in, somewhat half-heartedly.

  `And you are! You know you are! You just won't admit it,' Naomi declared passionately.

  `The people at the Grange?' Gideon asked, trying to sift the facts from the emotional detritus. `Why?'

  'Milne tried to buy Tim out soon after he got here, apparently. Don't ask me why he wants the place, he doesn't do anything with the land he has, as far as I can see. And they've got their solicitors working to try and dispute the boundaries. Everything they can do to make things difficult for Tim, they do. And still he tries to see the good in them.'

  Tim looked uncomfortable. `I admit, their solicitors have been a pain in the backside but the chap who came round that time was very obliging. It's not his fault, anyway. He doesn't own the place, he just works for the guy.'