BLINDFOLD

by Lyndon Stacey

  They listened to Gideon's report of Duke Shelley's activities, read and took charge of the note, and told Rachel that everyone at the station had been made aware of her case and that they were confident Duke would soon be apprehended.

  Rachel didn't appear much comforted.

  As Gideon showed the officers out, one of them stopped on the doorstep.

  `We heard from the lads at Chilminster that they had a visit from you too, on another matter. Busy sort of chap, aren't you? If you go on like this you'll have to have a task force assigned 'specially to you!' He leaned closer to Gideon. `I think perhaps you like the attention, that's what I think.'

  Gideon forced himself not to recoil from the waft of smoky breath that accompanied the remark. He leaned even closer. `You know what? As long as you do your job, I don't give a damn what you think.'

  Unable to come up with a suitable reply, the constable gave him a look heavy with dislike, turned on his heel and followed his colleague to the car.

  NINE

  THE EVENING WENT WELL, all things considered. The grey skies had cleared after dusk and it was a cold, frosty night. Gideon's first impulse was to walk up to the Priory but thoughts of Duke Shelley lurking menacingly in the undergrowth made him decide, reluctantly, that the car was a safer option. He hated to let the man dictate his actions - it was like acknowledging a defeat, however small - but there was another person in the equation and in his present, less than athletic, state he couldn't guarantee Rachel protection. Besides, he added to himself, there was the possibility of a gun to consider. Much better to concede the skirmish for the sake of the war.

  They travelled the few hundred yards to the Priory with Gideon at the wheel of Rachel's Mini, in spite of her protesting that she ought to drive.

  `Well, what would you do if Duke jumped out in front of us?' Gideon quizzed her.

  `I think I'd run him down,' she said darkly.

  Gideon gave her a hard look and wasn't at all sure she was

  joking. `My point exactly,' he said, twitching the keys out of her hand. `I'll drive.'

  Pippa and Giles were in high spirits. Mrs Morecambe had been given the evening off and Pippa was revelling in having the kitchen to herself. Or at least, she would have been, she informed Gideon and Rachel on their arrival, if she could only get Giles out from under her feet.

  `Now you've come,' she said thankfully to Gideon, `you can go off together and admire cases of dusty old bottles down in the cellar with the spiders, while Rachel and I put the finishing touches to the meal. I'll apologise in advance for the red wine sauce. It's had to be white wine as that's all I could find in the larder and Giles wouldn't let me have anything from his precious store.'

  `For cooking?' her brother exclaimed, scandalised. `I should think not! You don't know what you're asking. Come on, Gideon. Let's leave these Philistines to their crude arts and occupy our minds with higher things!'

  He headed for the door, leaving Gideon to shrug helplessly and follow, as Pippa spluttered with indignation behind him.

  `I take it you won't be interested in the product of these crude arts,' she called after them.

  Giles' voice floated back accompanied by laughter. `Oh, I expect we'll force ourselves.'

  Giles Barrington-Carr's wine cellar was deep in the bowels of the old Priory and quite as dusty and spidery as Pippa had suggested. Remembering the neat, almost surgical cleanliness of Rosetti's cellar, Gideon was struck by the contrast. Now he came to think of it though, there had been an armchair and a filing cabinet in the corner of Rosetti's cellar, and his wife said he spent a lot of time down there. Giles' cellar definitely didn't lend itself to thoughts of relaxing in armchairs.

  He proudly displayed for Gideon's benefit several dozen bottles adorned with the name of some revered French chateau that he'd frankly never heard of, and promised they'd sample the contents of one of them with their meal.

  `Even the Philistines?'

  `Well, I suppose they could have a little, glass,' Giles conceded. `How do you know, when you pay thousands for a case of wine, that it's any good?' Gideon asked, his mind, as so often, running on unconventional lines. `Or even,' he said, going a step further, `that there's any wine in them at all? It might be Ribena or something.'

  Giles looked askance. `They do come with provenance.'

  `Yes, but who's to say the wine is really as good as it's reputed to be? It's a bit like abstract art. It's given so much hype by the promoters that everyone's afraid to admit they don't know what the hell it is, and that it's hideous anyway.'

  `But you'd know when you tried it, wouldn't you?' Giles pointed out. `The wine, I mean.'

  `Yes, but who's to say that your taste is the same as Joe Bloggs' in the next chateau?' Gideon persisted. `One man's vinegar might be another man's nectar.'

  Giles looked at him suspiciously. `You're arguing for the sake of it, aren't you, you bugger? Just trying to wind me up!'

  `It's good sport,' Gideon agreed. `But seriously, I've had homemade wine produced in a year or so on somebody's kitchen table that was as good as anything I've had with a fancy name on it, that's spent decades maturing in oak vats or whatever you call them.'

  Giles looked disgusted. `You're as much a Philistine as my sister. I'm obviously wasting my time trying to educate you.'

  `Think of it as a challenge,' Gideon said helpfully, wishing at the same time that Giles' cellar actually did have an armchair. His sore muscles were aching. `Actually, I saw another wine cellar yesterday, not as venerable as this one, perhaps, but it was a working one with all the gubbins for production of the noble juice.'

  `Yes, Pippa told me. At the vet's place, wasn't it? Does he have his own vines, or does he use concentrate?'

  ,I don't honestly know. I shouldn't have thought he had time

  for vines but I suppose his wife might have, she seemed the efficient sort.'

  `And pretty, according to my sister,' Giles remarked with a sidelong look.

  `And taken,' Gideon said firmly.

  `Yeah, shame. Anyway, I'm going to try making wine myself in the old pantry. I might even set up a vineyard.'

  `Well, it's an improvement on ostriches, I suppose.'

  Giles gave him a withering look. `You've no sense of adventure, that's your problem. Come and have a look at the gear I've bought.' `Okay. But only if I can look sitting down. I got mown down by a startled horse this morning and I'm in dire need of a soft chair to sink into.'

  `Not having much luck with horses lately, are you?' Giles observed, selecting two bottles from his store. `Ever occur to you, you might be losing your touch?'

  `Frequently.'

  Giles' new purchases occupied most of the shelves in what was known as the butler's pantry; a small, windowless room whose white-painted, stone walls were divided into cubicles about two feet square.

  Gideon looked around him at the wealth of equipment accumulated. There seemed to be at least a dozen of everything. Ear-handled glass jars, wooden casks, plastic buckets, funnels, a pack of wooden spoons, rolls of white muslin, several large plastic dustbins, yards of tubing, multitudes of squiggly devices that Giles identified as fermentation locks, empty bottles by the boxful and corks by the hundred.

  `Wow!' Gideon said, taken aback even though he should have been accustomed by then to Giles' whole-hearted immersion in anything that caught his imagination. `All you need now are some grapes. What's that instrument of torture over there?'

  Giles followed his gaze. `It's a fruit crusher.'

  `Only one?' Gideon queried, an eyebrow raised. `Besides, I thought you were supposed to trample the grapes.'

  `Grapes you can trample - if you want to - apples and pears are not so comfortable.'

  `Oh, I see. Branching out already. Well, I'm all for expansion.' `You may scoff now, but just you wait. I might surprise you.' `You might at that.' Gideon looked around again. `Rosetti had

  a couple of big metal canisters. You don't seem to have got any of those. Don't tell me you've missed so
mething.'

  Giles frowned. `They could have been boilers, I suppose. I can't think what else. You usually steer clear of metal in winemaking, especially for storage. It taints the wine. Ends up tasting metallic. Foul!'

  Gideon smiled to himself. Giles was already an authority. Dinner, when it was served, was predictably excellent. The combined talents of Pippa, with her training, and Rachel, with her natural flair, had produced a meal that would have aroused justifiable pride in the breast of any top chef.

  `I've always said you were wasted as an equestrienne,' Giles told his sister handsomely. `Women should confine themselves to the kitchen where they so obviously belong. I've said it time and time again.'

  Rachel gasped with indignation but Pippa merely smiled sweetly. `I refuse to rise to that kind of male chauvinism. But just for that, you can do the washing-up!'

  Giles groaned. `Can't we leave it to mournful Millie?'

  `Well, that's hardly fair, is it? Giving her the night off and then letting her come back to a loaded sink! And don't keep calling her that. You'll say it to her face one day!'

  Gideon laughed at Giles' expression, enjoying the banter between brother and sister. Enjoying too the ambience of the centuries-old, candlelit dining room, the food, and the all-toorare relaxed happiness evident in Rachel's face. She was laughing now as Giles related the latest chapter in the terriers' ongoing harassment of Mrs Morecambe, her clear skin honey-toned in the soft light and her huge dark eyes sparkling.

  Gideon looked from her to Pippa's strong, boyish features, under her mop of wayward curls, and wondered how two people could be so completely different and yet equally attractive.

  'Giddy's looking very serious,' Pippa said then. She'd been calling him by Daisy's childish name all evening. `Too much wine? Or not enough, perhaps?'

  `He's brooding over his lost powers,' Giles told her. `He got flattened by a horse again this morning.'

  `What do you mean, again? I haven't been flattened for months,' Gideon responded indignantly.

  `And it wasn't his fault!' Rachel stepped in defensively. `It was the farmer's stupid son, banging on the horsebox.'

  `It's not the animals you have to worry about, it's the people,' Pippa agreed, adding solicitously, `Were you very much flattened?'

  `Completely,' Gideon said ruefully. `The horse wasn't hurt, I hope?' `The horse was fine.'

  Rachel looked from one to the other incredulously. `Why shouldn't the horse be all right? She wasn't the one who got flattened!'

  Pippa laughed. `It's a long-standing joke of ours, Rachel. You see a crashing fall point-to-pointing or eventing, and everyone's first concern seems to be for the horse; never mind that the rider's breathing his last a few feet away.'

  `Oh, I see,' Rachel said doubtfully. `Still, it was very frightening.'

  `Oh, you don't want to worry about Gideon. He bounces.' `No sense, no feeling,' Giles put in heartlessly.

  `When you've quite finished . . .' Gideon protested. `If you can't be sympathetic, then kindly keep your thoughts to yourselves. Now, I don't know about you, but I think I should move from this chair before it becomes an integral part of my anatomy!'

  The four of them cleared away the dinner things and transferred

  them to the kitchen where they discovered that somebody had left the door open, allowing Yip and Yap access to the remains of the first course; access of which the terriers had taken full and unashamed advantage.

  The party broke up shortly after midnight, with Pippa complaining that she had to get up early the next morning, even if nobody else had to, and Gideon drove sleepily home, glad he wasn't on a public highway, with Rachel drowsily content at his side.

  With deference to his bruises, Gideon spent most of the next couple of days at the Gatehouse working on the portrait. Rachel was also busy preparing plans, drawings and samples for her clients in Bournemouth.

  They had heard nothing more from or about her ex-husband, and a shopping trip to Blandford on the third day passed without incident, but on their way back to the Gatehouse, Gideon began to wonder uneasily if it had been a wise idea to leave the place unprotected.

  What if Duke had broken in, in their absence? He wouldn't put it past the man to trash the place out of spite. Elsa was too wary of strangers to come to any harm but the portrait was there on its easel; hours of work that could be completely undone with barely any effort at all. Starting from scratch on a project that was all but finished was something that didn't bear thinking about.

  Happily, there was no evidence of unwanted visitors either outside or in. Wondering briefly if he was allowing himself to be unduly affected by Rachel's paranoia, Gideon nevertheless made a call to his picture framer and arranged to drop the portrait off after lunch.

  Rachel had arranged to go riding with Pippa that afternoon and Gideon accompanied her to the Priory to beg the use of the runabout.

  `Why don't you get yourself a sensible vehicle, for heaven

  sakes?' Pippa protested. `I should have thought you'd grown out of the motorbike phase at your age.'

  `Well, my free bus pass should be coming through any day now,' Gideon told her through the open window of the vehicle. `But seriously, if I had my own car, I wouldn't have any excuse for coming up here to be scolded by you, would I? And you know how gorgeous you are when you're cross!'

  He made a prudent getaway at that point, driving the thirty miles or so to Bridport with one eye on his rear-view mirror - which remained empty, as far as he could tell, of any suspicious vehicles - and with his thoughts on the complex turn his life had taken of late.

  What with the unresolved affair of his abduction, which seemed even to him oddly remote and dreamlike now; his involvement with the troubles at the Sanctuary; and now the business with Rachel and Duke, he could well believe he'd occasioned some comment amongst the local constabulary. How could someone as laid-back and instinctively solitary as himself become embroiled in so many other peoples' troubles in such a short time? he wondered.

  It was a relief to offload Tom's portrait on the framer. Framing and mounting can make or ruin a picture and Gideon had never been tempted to do the job himself. The Bridport man had an unerring eye for style and colour, and the end result always justified the last nought on Gideon's prices.

  Having accomplished his mission, he found himself back on the road with a couple of hours to spare. It occurred to him that he hadn't heard from Naomi and Tim for the best part of a week - not, in fact, since he'd rung them to report on his meeting with Milne the previous Saturday - and keyed in their number on his mobile phone.

  There was no answer from the Sanctuary office, and as he headed back towards Dorchester, Gideon tried to raise Naomi on her own mobile with equally negative results. Maybe they'd got trouble with one of the animals.

  He decided to investigate.

  It was by this time getting on for four o'clock and although the sun wouldn't actually set for another hour and a half, the dull skies made it seem like twilight already.

  It was more than that, Gideon realised after a few minutes as he turned off the A-road on to the back road that led ultimately to Lyddon Grange and the farm. The low sun was being obscured not only by clouds but also by a haze of smoke emanating from somewhere beyond the trees.

  The road dipped between high hedges and for a moment the sky was lost to view but as he emerged from the trees Gideon saw that the volume of smoke had not diminished. It had if anything increased, rolling and eddying as the wind caught it, and the vague hope that it was the product of an oversized bonfire rather than something more serious was reluctantly abandoned.

  An uneasy suspicion began to form in Gideon's mind and he stood on the accelerator, at the same time tapping nine, nine, nine into his mobile phone with his left thumb.

  The operator listened and then thanked him. `We are aware of that incident, sir, and already responding. An appliance should be with you shortly. Please keep well back and don't block the road.'

  Gideon threw the p
hone on to the seat beside him and concentrated on his driving. The acrid smell of the smoke had begun to filter through the car's ventilation system now, and as he approached the Grange it became obvious that the seat of the fire was beyond it. It had to be the Sanctuary.

  Flinging Pippa's hatchback round the last bend and into the farm track, Gideon nearly put it into the hedge as he came face to face with two careering donkeys. The poor creatures skidded to a halt, heads high and jostling one another in fright, but clearly the horror they had fled from was greater, for they made no attempt to retreat up the track.

  Gideon got out of the car, cursing under his breath. Desperate as he was to get up to the farm and find out what the situation was there, the donkeys could clearly not be abandoned to their fate.

  Left to their own devices they would almost certainly run out on to the road where, even if they escaped being mown down by the approaching fire engine, it was highly likely that they would be involved in some kind of accident.

  There was no time for calming techniques or subtle body language. The two creatures were patently terrified. They crowded into the hedge as Gideon approached, their minds muddled by panic and unable to separate real threat from imagined. About five yards beyond them he could see a gate that led into the adjacent field, and edging cautiously past he went to investigate, hoping they wouldn't, in the meantime, try to squeeze past the car which he'd left parked across the track.

  The gate, which proved to be one of the few metal ones Gideon had seen at the Sanctuary, was securely locked with a very business-like new padlock; legacy, no doubt, of the trouble they had been having over the past few weeks. He swore and transferred his attention to the hinge end.

  - Bingo! How utterly like Tim to bar the front door and leave the back door open, as it were.

  Lifting the long farm gate off its rusting post required a lot more effort than his damaged shoulder appreciated, but it couldn't be helped. Way off in the distance he could hear the siren of the approaching fire engine and, as he struggled with the gate, had an awful picture in his mind of it crashing into the stationary car, flattening the hapless donkeys and effectively blocking the lane completely to any further access.