by James Anson
"No," said Michael with conviction. "I've got too much to do here."
"Like what?" said Robert. "Don't you want to help me add to the sum total of human knowledge, to throw light into dark corners and all that?"
"No," said Michael. "You'll have to do better than that."
"Well, how about me dedicating the work to you - 'To Michael Faulkner, Esquire, who gave up valuable drinking time to help my research'?"
"That sounds more like it," said Michael. "But I have to be in Dublin for ten days later this month: horse show."
Robert nodded. "Fair enough. I thought you'd need more persuasion than that."
"Have an ulterior motive, don't I?" said Michael darkly.
"My God," said Robert, pausing to cough, "you weren't having me on. I'll never be able to look through this lot up here in the loft. Can we get them down?"
"Have to be one at a time if we do," said Michael, "otherwise there won't be room for me to live here. This lodge is a lot smaller than yours, you know."
"See what you mean - dusty too. All right, I'll look through everything I can reach up here. Pass me a sack up and I'll put in anything that might be of use."
Michael did so and left Robert to ferret happily. He eventually climbed back down very begrimed, but clutching a sackful of books.
"Found the one you mentioned: An Investigation Into The Murder of Oliver Fleming And The Con viction And Execution of Nathaniel Bolton. That's all there is out on the subject?"
"As far as I remember," said Michael. "Think Pa got that in a batch with some of his army books. You know, you have to buy a basket of seventeen to get the two you want.
That's where most of this stuff came from. You can have it. It's not old enough to have any resale value. What else have you got there?"
"Just some I'd like to look through. All right if I stay?"
"Of course. Stick everything on the couch there. It's old but you can stretch out on it.
I'm going to get some beer in."
Robert nodded vaguely as Michael left.
* * * * *
Robert, who had been curled into a corner of the couch, surrounded by books and busily making notes, flexed his back and looked around. He's a good-looking fella, Robert thought, and comfortable to be with.
Michael looked up and smiled and Robert found himself smiling back. Don't think I've been this much at ease with anyone for years, he thought. What's the matter with you, Robert, going soppy watching that promiscuous sod polishing a bit of leather? If you're not careful ...
"Robert, like a beer?" Michael held up a can.
"Yes, toss it over."
Robert opened it, as usual a moment too soon, and was mildly sprayed. He swore and licked his fingers.
"Well then," said Michael, "what do you want to start with?"
Robert consulted his list. "I better take a look at all these places connected with the case, including the estate where Fleming was found. Seems the big house is still inhabited. Looks like one of those fox-hunting jerks lives there: a Lord Bourton."
"No problem," said Michael. "Jack's my brother-in-law. The only thing we have to do is to see his place when my sister is away or we won't get over the doorstep. I'll try and find out when she'll be away with her cats."
"I'm not going to ask," said Robert. "Just don't expect me to grovel to an MFH."
* * * * *
"I have to hand it to you," said Robert the next afternoon, making rapid inroads into his chicken and chips at the Noel Arms. "You do find the best pubs - and seem to be known in most of them. There's just the manor to see now. You coming with me?"
"Yes, Agnes is away and Jack wants me to look at his new hunter."
It was only a short drive to imposing lodge gates, opened for them by a strapping young cowman accompanied by an incredibly dirty little girl, who hailed Michael joyfully. She had, Robert noted acidly, blue eyes and dark hair and resembled his assistant. They were greeted by Lord Bourton, looking as though he'd slept in his riding-clothes. Michael disappeared stablewards while Robert was given a tour of the house.
"Just mind you don't step on one of Agnes's blasted Persians. I can't stand the beasts - they look so damned superior."
Robert, who had been chucking a Persian kitten under the chin, started guiltily.
"Now, this is the gallery. I think that's the fella you want a photo of - Thomas Overbury. Boring sort of chap, he wrote religious books. Ancestor of my mother. I'll ask her to write you about him. She's away at the moment."
"You don't think he made the story up then?" asked Robert, after he had finished taking his photographs.
"Shouldn't think so. Don't see the point if he did. Like cats, do you?"
"Yes," said Robert shortly.
"Ah, you could do me a favour. That little chap there, Agnes wants me to have him topped. He's got a crooked leg: no good for breeding. I suppose you ...?"
Robert scooped up the kitten at once. Lord Bourton smiled.
"Mike said he thought you would. Now, you'd like to see the outside, and I'll get those books you want from the library. Can I show you the stables?"
Robert decided it would not go down well if he expressed a lack of appreciation at this treat. The stables were, to his jaundiced eye, much like everyone else's, only bigger.
Michael was examining a horse while the dirty child from the lodge gate was leaning on the stable door by him, sucking a lollipop.
"Ah, there you are, Miranda," said Lord Bourton. "You shouldn't eat between meals, you know."
Miranda ignored him and looked at Robert. "Would you like to see Muffler?" she inquired, a touch of condescension in her voice.
"No," said Robert. "I can see all the horses I want to right now." He noticed with interest that seemed to score him a point with her.
"Wise decision," said Michael, bent over examining a hoof. "Lousy little bugger nips. Nearly had my ear off last time - he'd love a go at yours. These hooves need picking out, Miranda. Make yourself useful and get me a hoof pick!"
Robert was impressed with the military-style command and the speed with which Miranda shot off, to return with a fearsome-looking implement, with which Michael, who had now hoisted a hoof between his knees, began picking out disgusting debris from inside the hoof.
"Feet need doing every day," he said. "And this straw stinks. You'll have thrush in here if you don't watch it. Your stableman needs shaking up."
"It's a problem finding a good one," said Jack. "I suppose you wouldn't - ?"
"You're right, I wouldn't," said Michael. "There, I better take a look at Muffler too."
"I've been doing his feet," said Miranda hurriedly.
"Hum," said Michael. "I'll look anyway."
Robert settled on a mounting-block with the large scotch and soda Jack had brought him. They could hear Michael laying down the law with some vehemence in a nearby stable, its condition and that of its occupant obviously not meeting with his approval.
“Mike's good with horses," said Jack. "Pity he can't get over here more often. I could put some good jobs his way, schooling horses, now he's out of the service. Thought he was interested but he seems to have gone off the idea now. Doesn't seem himself to me."
He looked curiously at Robert.
Robert was working out a noncommittal reply when he saw with relief that Michael was coming over to them.
"I've left Miranda curry-combing that beast. Should keep her occupied for the afternoon," he remarked.
"Like to stay for dinner?" Lord Bourton inquired. "Have to warn you, Mrs Kedge still does the cooking."
"I think not," said Michael. "I want to show Robert Broadway Hill before it gets too dark."
They made their farewells and left.
"I gather Mrs Kedge wouldn't pick up any awards from Escoffier," said Robert.
"No, her stuff would choke a horse," said Michael. "Can I hear purring from the back seat?"
"It's Amos. Jack lent me a basket, said to post it back. You knew I wouldn't be able to le
ave the poor little sod, didn't you? Rat! Anyway, Kasper spends all his time out courting these days. I like a cat who will stay at home. I'll see this one has a trip to the vet. Should get you done too - the place is lousy with black-haired, blue-eyed brats!"
"Have a heart!" said Michael indignantly. "They're not all mine, you know, Robert. Hell, you didn't think Lady Miranda Fanshaw was mine, did you? I'd sharpen that one up if she was. You should meet her brothers - none of 'em are a patch on Ashley. Turn off here and then we can walk up the hill."
The sun had begun to set by the time they reached the crest of the hill, reddening the sky as far as they could see. Robert stared out over the countryside.
"God, what a view! This is where he was ...?" He shivered.
"Yes. You feeling cold?"
"Think the place is getting to me. Let's go home," said Robert.
Michael was silent as they drove back to Larton.
“Mike, I didn't know you'd left the army. Any particular reason?" Robert asked.
"I haven't left; I'm on the reserve. If the Russians decide to invade they'll send me a telegram to come running," said Michael. "Reminds me, I'll be away for a few days - Dublin Horse Show. We have a team competing. Shouldn't be more than a week."
"I'll go up to the county library, do some digging there," said Robert. "Can finish the proofs off too. They'll be out of the way by the time you get back. Come in and have a meal. I've got something in for once."
Michael accepted.
"Forgot to tell you," he remarked, watching Robert busily chopping vegetables: "you were on the telly last night - that review programme."
"Oh yes?" said Robert warily. "What did they have to say? Reviewing the book that's out in paperback, were they?"
"I think so. Didn't see it all. Had to turn over to Hickstead to see how our team were doing."
"And how were they doing?" asked Robert. "Philistine!"
"Am not," said Michael, "I'm R.C. They were doing rotten, so I turned back to you. Showed a very tatty picture of you in your policeman's uniform."
"That must have been a thrill for the viewers," Robert remarked, bashing a piece of steak rather hard. "They didn't mention the book at all, I suppose?"
"In passing, after saying you eschewed all personal publicity. They seemed to think that was sinister. And one remarked how much you were paid for the screen rights."
"That bloody poet!" said Robert. "Bet it was him. I can't stand the bastard! It's no one's fucking business whether I have shreddies for breakfast or next door's cat!" He banged a pan down hard. Michael winced.
"Your head bothering you?" Robert asked, concerned.
Michael nodded and took a pill. Robert stared at him a moment then went on cooking.
"Better warn you," said Michael as they ate, "the Fair will be here at the end of the month. Gaiety will be unconfined. They usually have local bands, that kind of thing."
"I'll invest in earplugs," said Robert. "Like me to exercise Piper while you're away?"
"If you would. Amy has other fish to fry and Maud has enough to do with her string; I wouldn't trust him with anyone but you," said Michael.
"Ah," said Robert, "nicest thing you've said to me, that. I better see if Amos is settling down. What do you think of him?"
Michael considered the small heap of white fur. "Bit on the small side for ratting," he said. The kitten yawned, then gazed at him with wide green eyes. "Looks just like you,"
Michael went on. "Make a lovely couple."
"Idiot," said Robert, shovelling Kit-e-kat into a dish. "Wish this stuff didn't smell so bad -seems to be everyone's favourite, too. When are you off to Dublin?"
"Day after tomorrow. Can I get you a ticket to the horse show? No, I thought not. I'd better get home and pack. Give you a ring when I get back."
After Michael had left for Dublin Robert settled down to finishing his proofs, reading and visits to the county library and record office, pleased to note that compared with his experiences in London the staff here seemed both knowledgeable and helpful; he put it down to local atmosphere. Even his proofs did not require as many corrections as usual.
He began to worry if he was falling from his normally high standards - but that didn't seem likely.
In the evenings he ambled down to the Brewers Arms for a relaxing drink, the walk there doing that as much as anything else. The proofs returned, he settled to concentrate on his research, receiving a postcard from Michael: ' You're missing a great show! Home soon. '
He found he was missing Michael more than he had expected: Michael dropping in, nagging him out for rides down the local lanes, talking together over meals.
He was just putting Piper back in his stables after their daily ride late one afternoon when Jessie invited him to tea. Accepting, he wondered again why she and Michael hadn't married. She was a great cook, a fine-looking woman, decent and good-hearted too. She had the best farm in the area, and Ashley - with reservations - was a great lad.
They exchanged local gossip while they ate: the odd couple that had moved into Acacia Cottage; Ashley's progress at school; then moved on to the present village talking-point: the unexplained absence of Amy Chaffinch. Her father said she was in Scotland with a sick aunt, but no one could accept Amy as a Florence Nightingale figure. Robert wondered if she could be in Dublin, then realised with horror that he had said that out loud.
"No," said Jessie, " Mike 's not that daft. At least, not when he's working. Besides, he has to go to hospital - slight accident with a horse, he said. Rang me today to say he wouldn't be back till next weekend. He'll be in good time for the fair. You'll enjoy that, Mr March."
Robert thought that unlikely. Over the next few days he watched gloomily as the village filled up with caravans and stalls were erected the length of the main street, a large marquee being set up on the green to deal with the overflow from the Brewers Arms, who had had their licence extended. The vicar informed him that a well-known television personality would be there but if he couldn't make the opening could they ...?
Robert said, No, they couldn't: he had an appointment in London, and hurried back to his notebooks.
Chapter Five
Michael sat staring out of the train window. He could have stayed in Ireland, he supposed, but he wanted to be home, near Robert anyway. Left things too late, haven't you, he thought. Just as well. Robert's had enough to put up with over the years.
* * * * *
"Ah, Mr March ..." The vicar was hailing him, Robert realised with regret. "Lucky I found you. I meant to mention, we are having a meeting about the bell tower - dry rot, I'm afraid and ..."
Robert hurriedly handed over a five-pound note and, cutting the vicar's thanks short with an "I must speak to ..." he shot into the Brewers Arms, noting with glee when he glanced back that the vicar had cornered Fred Stebbins, by repute the tightest man in the village. Mrs Bleavins was presiding over the bar.
"Double scotch," said Robert. "I've just had a narrow escape."
She passed him one.
"Big surprise, wasn't it, Mr March?" she remarked, "hearing the banns being called on Sunday."
"Whose banns?" he asked.
"Why, Amy's of course. Good morning, Mike, the usual?"
Michael nodded carefully; he looked awful.
Robert stared at him as he sipped his brandy. "Started your stag night already then, Mike?" he asked.
Michael glared at him. "No, she's marrying Lord Escott's son, Henry - a real wimp.
She's been trying to get him up to the mark for years. Now his wife's given him the push Amy's looking forward to hunting with the Beaufort."
"Well, that's as good a reason as I've heard for marriage," said Robert. "I'm planning to lock myself in till all the jollification is over. Come and sit down: you look lousy."
"Feel it. I heard you might be opening the carnival if Joan Collins can't make it."
"I won't," said Robert. "Let's hope the Lord will provide. Are you coming back to my place?"
"No, I have things to do."
Robert nodded and returned home. By next afternoon the fête was in full swing, the booths doing a roaring trade and the music both loud and incessant. He ventured out once, to replenish his supply of canned beer, and was surprised at the number of people bussing in from what he regarded as the 'outback' to join in the fun.
He met Michael and Ashley, both equally sticky round the mouth and hell-bent on trying everything in sight. Staying with them a while, he returned to his papers. When by midnight the affair was still going strong, he put on his headphones to drown out the worst of it and kept on with his notes. Finally getting to bed at 3 a.m., he woke late on Sunday morning to peace.
Can't believe it, he thought. Oh, Sunday, he realised, hearing the church bells.
Hungry, he removed the soiled plates from the table and looked in the refrigerator, hoping some good fairy had replenished it overnight. None had.
He considered the possibilities: the Brewers Arms for a ploughman? No, he'd been warned off the pies. Now, Mike would be sure to have something in his freezer. He'd invite himself to dinner.
I'm going to have to do something about Mike, he realised. He needs a bloody keeper and it might as well be me.
Opening the front door, he sniffed the air and saw Michael limping along the road in his hunting-clothes, liberally mud-splattered. He had forgotten there had been a hunt this morning.
"Hey, Mike!" he yelled. "I was just going over to your place. I'm out of food. Is there anything in your freezer?"
Michael made his way over slowly and leaned on the gate.
"I'll make you an offer," he said. "You go over and pick out anything you fancy for us with a bottle of wine. Then come back here and cook it, while I soak in your bath."
"You're on," said Robert. "I've just heated the water - you go ahead. Shall I bring you back a change of clothes too?"
"Yes, do that ... something loose, I've got bruises everywhere. Took a fall at Hogtrough Wood."
He passed his keys over and Robert drove quickly to Michael's place, inspecting the freezer with interest. Good thing Michael's so methodical - bet Jess gives him a hand filling this, he thought, concentrating on food: chicken pie with vegetables and ice-cream - Mike had stacks of the stuff - and a bottle of red wine. Food sorted out, he went to find some clean clothes, smiling as he looked through the drawers. God, can tell he's army-trained, probably irons his socks: briefs, shirt, cords, trainers and socks, bathrobe ... that should do it, he thought.