by Rebecca Tope
‘Yes,’ said Thea slowly. ‘But it feels so hidden. As if she doesn’t want anybody to know about it.’
‘She uses her real name on the book. This address is printed in it. I don’t call that being secretive.’
‘But nobody’s said anything about it to me. Isn’t that odd?’
‘They probably find it embarrassing. Haven’t you noticed how uneasy English people are with writers? They regard the whole business as frivolous, self-indulgent, not serious.’
‘Do they? How do you know?’
‘I had an aunt,’ he said vaguely. ‘I remember she told us once how an old man at a whist drive told her she could hardly complain that her husband left her. “What sort of a wife is it that goes in for book-writing?” he said to her. She was so shocked, I still remember her face when she came round to tell my mother about it. We talked about it for ages afterwards, mainly because there was probably a bit of truth in it. Book writers put themselves outside normal society. Perhaps Harriet didn’t want that to happen to her.’
‘But she’s American. She’s already outside normal society.’
Drew laughed. ‘You don’t mean that, do you? I never had you down as xenophobic.’
She grimaced. ‘That just came out, without conscious thought. I think everybody likes her, actually. I haven’t heard a word against her. Not that anybody talks much about her. They might resent her having this house, I suppose.’ She was trying to analyse her own reaction to their discovery. On one level, it meant very little. But as Drew located dozens of copies of the book on how to organise a funeral in the other cardboard boxes, she knew there had to be a greater significance – something connecting Harriet’s writing to Donny Davis’s death.
‘What’s happened with your rebel dog in the woods?’ Drew asked her, half an hour later. ‘Is it still there?’
‘Gosh, yes! I haven’t been to see her today. I should go this afternoon. The poor thing’ll be starving.’
‘Can I come?’
She looked at him. ‘Don’t you have to be somewhere?’
He shrugged. ‘Not for a bit. I just have to go and check that the planning application’s gone in properly. I could do it by phone, actually, but I thought I should turn up in person. Things so often go wrong when it comes to council offices.’
‘Will they pass it, do you think?’
‘You know, I think they might. It sounds as if I’ve got a few prominent residents on my side, which is likely to make all the difference. Opinion has suddenly changed in the past few days. I can’t think why.’
‘It’s your boyish charm.’
‘That must be it. It works every time.’
‘Even Jessica changed her mind about you in the end.’
He groaned. ‘I should hope so. I thought I’d be dogged by your daughter for the rest of my life, trying to catch me out in some minor transgression. She’s a scary woman.’
‘Don’t give me that. Your Maggs sounds every bit as bad.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Maggs is a pussycat. What do you mean?’
They laughed easily, without saying more about the people closest to them. Their first meeting in Broad Campden had not ended happily for everyone, and it was an unspoken pact to stay off the subject. For a long time, Drew had not been at all sure he wanted to open a second natural burial ground there, given the associations.
‘So show me your secret protégée,’ he encouraged. ‘Does Hepzie come as well?’
‘Better not, although I hate to go without her.’
‘Put her on the lead, then, and I can hold her,’ he offered.
‘Good idea. Hang on while I get something for the collie to eat.’
They set off five minutes later, in warm sunshine. ‘What a splendid day,’ Drew enthused. ‘Sunshine makes such a difference to everything, don’t you find?’
‘It’s only superficial, though,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘We had a lovely June last year, if you remember, and it didn’t help much when I got embroiled in some trouble in Temple Guiting.’
‘Oh? And in January you were caught in all that snow – right?’
She sighed. ‘That was awful. OK – sunshine is better, regardless of the horrible things people might be doing to each other. You win.’
‘I wasn’t arguing,’ he said mildly.
‘No, but I was. I do it quite a lot.’
‘Feel free,’ he invited.
She laughed and led him down the path into the beech woods, Hepzie enjoying a free run for the first part of the walk. ‘This woodland is quite famous, apparently,’ she said. ‘It extends for a long way.’
‘It’s fabulous,’ he said, looking around admiringly. ‘There’s something so English about beech trees.’
‘Really? I thought that was oaks.’
‘And chestnuts, of course. The village smithy and all that.’
‘Cold Aston,’ she nodded. ‘They’ve still got theirs, right in the middle of the village.’
‘The smithy?’
‘No, you fool. The tree.’
‘Coffins always used to be made of elm, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elm tree, and yet the whole country was dense with them at one time.’
‘It just goes to show, you can’t take anything for granted. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, either. Will they come back, I wonder?’
‘Probably. How far is this secret hideaway?’
‘Ten minutes or less. I’ll catch Hepzie before we get near. She’s bound to cause trouble otherwise. But at least she’s not suspicious by her absence.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Did I tell you I met the dog’s owner last time I came here? He thought it was very strange that I was out here without my spaniel. I’m famous for my spaniel,’ she added.
‘But the man didn’t find his missing dog?’
‘I hope not. He’ll drown the puppies if he gets a chance.’
‘How old are they now?’
‘About a week, I think. They’re terribly sweet. I’ve always adored puppies. They smell so wonderful.’
‘I’ve never been particularly close to a dog. I told you I’ve never got over being bitten as a child. We used to say we’d get one, because Karen likes them, but somehow never did. It’s such a huge responsibility.’
‘So you were joking when you said you’d take a puppy?’ She tried to quell the flicker of disappointment.
‘Not entirely. There’s really no reason not to, apart from the mess and the expense and the responsibility.’
She stopped and faced him, her expression serious. ‘Don’t just have it on a whim. You have to be sure you’ll stick with it for its whole life. That might be fifteen years.’
He nodded with mock solemnity. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘Listen to me!’ she exploded. ‘When did I get to be so pompous?’
‘No, but you’re right. A lot of dogs get thrown out. Maggs was talking about it the other day. She gets in a real state about it, even though she’s not especially fond of dogs. She’s very idealistic in some ways. Bad behaviour upsets her.’
‘Do you know you talk about Maggs more than you do about your wife?’
He grunted. ‘Do I? There isn’t a lot to say about Karen these days, that’s the trouble. She’s gone so limp. She used to be a real firebrand, campaigning for local food, and the farmers’ market and all that. It seems a hundred years ago now.’
‘So she was as idealistic as Maggs?’
‘More, if anything. It’s all very sad, although she seems happy enough. I’m not sure she understands how changed she is.’
‘Difficult,’ murmured Thea, carefully. ‘And maybe not an ideal situation to introduce a puppy into.’
‘The children would love it. Poor little things, they could do with something new to occupy them. Do you know – I think I might be able to talk myself into it.’
‘No rush. There’s six weeks or more until they can leave their mum.’
‘By which time you’ll have been long go
ne, and their fate will be in other hands. I think we have to admit it’s all just a dream. The truth is, I can’t really imagine myself with a dog.’
‘Pity. Now, Hepzie, come here, girl. Time to put your lead on.’
The spaniel reluctantly presented herself, staring down at the ground with lowered head while Thea attached the lead. When she found herself being led by Drew, she shook her shoulders in a canine shrug and did her best to drag him through a clump of brambles.
‘Hey! Steady on!’ he pleaded. ‘Whoa there!’
‘Just give her a firm tug,’ said Thea. ‘She’s trying it on.’
‘It’s just occurred to me that I won’t be able to see the pups if I’ve got to stay clear with this creature,’ he said. ‘Bad planning.’
‘I can go and feed her, then come back to take Hepzie, and then you can go and have a look,’ she suggested. ‘Except, I’m not sure how the mother dog will feel about a strange man showing up.’
‘And I’m not entirely heartbroken to miss it,’ he admitted. ‘I mean – I don’t expect there’s very much to see, is there?’
‘Up to you,’ she said shortly. Something about the area surrounding the burrow had changed, and she quickened her pace, sliding down the steepest part of the approach on her backside. ‘Hello, girl?’ she called softly. ‘Are you there?’
No answering whine came from the hidden nest. ‘Oh!’ Thea exclaimed, seeing the disturbed ground and shifted tree trunk. ‘Somebody’s found her. She’s gone!’
Desperately she searched for signs of violence – half expecting to see dead puppies lying on the forest floor. She dropped the bag of meat and milk, and stood helplessly staring at the wrecked hideaway. ‘Oh,’ she said again.
‘Gone?’ repeated Drew, stupidly, from ten yards away. ‘How?’
She ignored him, kneeling down and pushing her head and shoulders into the hole where the dogs had been. Its shape was all different, with the removal of the fallen tree that had comprised the roof. A few branches still remained and a lot of dead leaves. There was a smooth hollow where the family had been, and an unmistakable smell of dog.
Feeling like a distraught mother herself, she rummaged in the leaves, feeling for small cold bodies that she was sure must be there. ‘They’re not here,’ she moaned. ‘They’ve all gone.’
Slowly she got to her feet, swinging a leg to clear away bracken and other plants in a search for her lost protégés. ‘What happened?’ She faced Drew. ‘Come and look.’
Assuming it no longer mattered what he did with the spaniel, he joined Thea, squinting bemusedly at the ground.
Surprising herself as much as him, Thea suddenly dissolved into tears and buried her face in the undertaker’s chest. For half a minute she wept like a child, while he rubbed her back and made soothing noises. Then she pulled away, wiping a hand across her nose and sniffing forcefully. ‘Sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘People cry on me all the time.’
She giggled moistly. ‘I bet they do,’ she said. ‘Comes with the territory. But not over lost puppies. It was what I’d been afraid of all along. It shouldn’t have come as such a shock.’
‘So you think the farmer found her and dragged her home?’
‘Must have done. It was probably me that gave her away.’ Her face crumpled again, but she fought back the tears. Enough was enough, she told herself. ‘Poor little things.’
‘Well, I guess that means I don’t have to adopt a puppy after all,’ he sighed. ‘And there’s not much we can do here, is there? Do you know where he lives? I mean – which farm is it?’
‘I’ve no idea. Presumably he’s got sheep, if he keeps a working dog. I might be able to find out. But I can’t just march in and accuse him of cruelty to dogs, can I?’
‘Can’t you? I imagine it wouldn’t be the first time.’
She giggled again. ‘That’s true. But it is his dog, and I don’t expect he’d listen to me.’
‘I doubt if it’s legal to kill puppies, though, is it?’
She wiped her face again, with both hands. ‘I’m not reporting him to the RSPCA, if that’s what you mean. Nobody deserves that.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘Why not?’
‘They overreact terribly. Every farmer dreads coming to their attention. Horrible things happen to animals as a matter of course, with the best will in the world. The whole attitude of the authorities is hopelessly unfair and judgemental.’
‘I’m amazed. I thought they were Britain’s favourite charity. You sound as if you’ve had close encounters with them.’
‘No, actually. It’s just being around farming people on and off for much of my life. And reading local papers. They’re like a branch of the social services – all that moral outrage because somebody left a dead sheep in a ditch. You don’t have to be especially well informed to know that sheep die routinely, whatever you try and do for them. And they remove dogs and cats from their owners on little more than a whim. Most pet owners dread coming to their attention, let alone farmers.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you,’ he said, with a look of puzzlement. ‘It sounds like gross exaggeration to me. Plus you’re contradicting yourself. You were trying to save the dog from her master, but now he’s found her, you’re defending him.’
She chewed her lip, unhappy at being accused of exaggeration. ‘Honestly, I could find people to back up what I said. But you might be right that I’m being inconsistent. I just think the farmer was basically fond of his dog, and had no intention of hurting her. It’s a bit like Jemima and her father, come to think of it. She was trying to steer him away from thoughts of death and dying, but when he did die, she was almost glad. Things so often turn out to be much more complicated than we expect.’
He smiled, but she could see he was still confused. The fruitless expedition left her feeling thwarted and slightly foolish. ‘We’d better go back, then,’ she said, gathering up the unwanted mince and milk. ‘At least I suppose he’ll feed her properly. And he did say he might let her keep one or two pups. I’m going to miss her,’ she admitted. ‘I liked coming here to visit her.’
‘That’s obvious,’ he said. ‘She was lucky to have you.’
‘I wonder. All I did was delay the inevitable.’
‘What would she have done otherwise?’
‘Stayed with the pups until hunger drove her to take bigger and bigger risks, I presume. She might have managed with rabbits and squirrels, if she could catch them. But there’s no water for a long way. They do say that dogs can’t survive without people any more. They’ve got too dependent on us.’
Drew led the way back to the main track through the woods. Hepzie zigzagged amongst the trees, impervious to her mistress’s sadness. Thea said very little, her thoughts all on the bitch, trying to cling to a hope that all was well with her. Perhaps the farmer’s heart was softer than it looked, and he would permit the whole litter to grow up.
The driveway up to Hollywell Manor looked steeper than before, the house slightly forbidding as it looked down on them. ‘Funny little place, isn’t it?’ Thea said, pointing to the Lodge.
‘I wonder what’ll happen to it now,’ he replied.
‘Harriet will have to find a new tenant, I suppose.’
‘Is Jemima his only child now?’
‘No, there’s a brother. Silas. He’s in Africa. He’ll come for the funeral.’
‘I can see the appeal of your work,’ he said slowly. ‘All these new people to get to know. A whole new community to try and understand. It’s a bit like what I do, but more so. I get very close to a family for a few days, and then they disappear.’
‘Don’t they come back to visit the graves?’
‘Oh, yes, but there’s seldom the same intimacy again as on that first visit, and the funeral itself.’
‘I never considered myself as having anything in common with an undertaker.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he advised. �
��I’m just being fanciful.’
‘You’re right, though,’ she said. ‘Although I’m not sure other house-sitters would agree with you.’
‘They don’t have your curiosity – or your knack with people.’
She shrugged away the compliment, and waited for him to get back into his car and drive away. He did so unhurriedly, winding down the window to talk to her before starting the engine. ‘It was nice to see you again,’ he said.
‘And you.’ She smiled weakly, thinking of the long evening ahead with practically nothing to do.
‘Let me know what happens,’ he called, having turned the car and begun to move away. ‘And good luck!’
Chapter Thirteen
She certainly had plenty to think about for the rest of the day, and the late afternoon was still warm enough for a lazy hour in the garden with a mug of tea. Hepzie crawled under the reclining chair, in pure contentment.
Drew had been sweet to bring Harriet’s book in person and take such an interest in the Cranham happenings. He had lost a funeral, which must have been annoying, but he had not once mentioned it. His home life sounded rather joyless, despite the two children; a telltale air of making the best of it gave him away when he spoke about Karen. A sense of the best times being behind them, both in terms of family and business, cast a melancholy light on him as Thea replayed their encounters. She wished she hadn’t cried on him – not so much for the lack of dignity as the relatively trivial reason for her tears. When he was accustomed to people weeping for their dead partner or parent, grief over the misplacing of a dog must have struck him as a piece of weak sentimentality. All the same, he had been exactly right in his response: neither stiff nor unduly sympathetic. He must be a perfect undertaker, she concluded. Safe, reassuring and efficient, without being distant or unctuous.
The disappearance of the dog and her pups was a nagging worry that refused to go away. There could be other explanations that she hadn’t thought of: men illegally digging for badgers, for example. They might have mistaken the dog’s lair for a sett quite easily. Or another dog walker, like Thea herself, alerted to the hideaway by their own animal, and dismantling it from overzealous curiosity. But what then? The bitch surely wouldn’t run away and leave her brood. She would fight to defend them. Or would she? A trained sheepdog was viscerally subservient to human beings, whoever they might be. She might stand by, whining pitifully, as her offspring were removed and disposed of. Then she would probably slink home, the adventure over, and do her best to forget the whole miserable thing.