by James Runcie
‘He made it that far?’ Sidney asked.
‘Accounts are hazy. Students may be able to study the origins of the Agricultural Revolution but most of them are incapable of walking across a field. In the meantime, another of their number, one Olivia Randall, “lost” her mother’s necklace.’
‘Valuable?’
‘It’s worth about a thousand pounds, she says.’
‘And no one has so far suggested that the stampede of cows was a deliberate distraction to facilitate the disappearance of the jewellery?’
‘No one, Sidney. Not even you. Yet.’
‘Olivia Randall, you say?’
‘Helena’s sister. She’s eleven years younger; an afterthought, apparently. Although you would have thought her parents would have had misgivings after they saw how their first child turned out.’
‘Is Olivia anything like our friend, the great investigative journalist?’
‘On the contrary, she seems a bit of a hippy.’
‘And could she simply have mislaid her necklace?’
‘Yes she could; not that she’s going to admit to it. The whole situation has got out of hand. The parents of the injured boy want to sue the farmer, whom we both know is trouble from past encounters, and the Randall sisters are terrified their mother will find out about the necklace and are making all manner of fuss.’
‘When the thing might not have been stolen at all.’
‘They want us to get it back. They seem to think it’s far more important than a half-dead student with a broken leg, smashed ribs and a fractured collarbone.’
‘But in both of these cases it may be the victim’s fault; a mixture of drunken cow-provocation and careless necklace-wearing?’
‘Yes: which is why it’s so annoying we’ve been called in to sort things out.’
‘Do you have to?’
‘There could be a case of negligence against the farmer. That’ll go down well. He will retaliate with claiming wilful damage by the students. And if the necklace has gone . . . well, theft is theft.’
‘I presume it was insured?’
‘Belongs to Mummy. She lent it to her daughter for May Week. Made quite a fuss about her not losing it, probably because I am not so sure the insurance covers them if a loopy daughter with a skinful of Pimm’s dances half-naked across the Meadows.’
‘Half-naked?’
‘You know what I mean. Anyway, apparently we have to get the necklace back before Mummy finds out it’s missing.’
‘This is, presumably, Helena’s instruction.’
‘I am afraid so.’
‘Do you need my help at all?’
‘I certainly do; both with the cow incident and the question of negligence. You have a history with the Redmonds.’
Sidney knew the farmer all too well. Harding Redmond’s wife Agatha was a formidable Labrador breeder who had provided Sidney with both Dickens and Byron. His daughter Abigail was a great beauty who had attended the same antenatal class as Hildegard.
However, Harding Redmond’s brother and sister were both in prison for poisoning a young Indian boy at a cricket match, and the farmer’s terrible temper had not endeared him to the police in the subsequent investigation.
‘I wouldn’t mind if you paid the old bastard a visit,’ Geordie continued. ‘He’s funny with the police, as you know.’
‘He has form. As do you . . .’
‘I’ll ignore that. He won’t take kindly to anyone suggesting that his animals might be to blame. Then there is the small matter of the Randall family. You are probably on better terms with Helena than I am these days, especially since you’re taking her wedding. I am sure that she and her sister will let you know more than they’ll tell me. And you’ve got Malcolm, the fiancé, on your side too.’
‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘We’ll interview all the students who were at the party, but some of your more discreet enquiries wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Not that they’re very discreet these days.’
‘It might be easier now people are used to them. They accept you. You’ve interviewed many of them before.’
‘Which means they will be more prepared.’
‘I’m sure you can lull them into a false sense of security.’
The Cambridge quads were full of large marquees and bands unloading their equipment. This particular year the May Ball committees had secured the services of the Who, the Moody Blues and the New Vaudeville Band, who were soundchecking a jaunty number called ‘Winchester Cathedral’. Sidney wondered why on earth it was called that, and he was just thinking about the need to concentrate on his regular duties, and find a new vicar for All Saints in Newmarket, when he saw Harding Redmond on the edge of Spring Lane Meadow. The farmer was getting out of his Land Rover to look in on his herd after the drama of the near-stampede. There were about seventy cows in all, a mixture of breeders, heifers, yearlings and four or five calves, dark red in colour with white touches on the tail-switch and udder.
Redmond was an imposingly broad-framed outdoor-hued man in his mid-fifties who preferred animals to people. In his youth he had opened the bowling for the village cricket team but age had lessened his physical presence, boiling it down to a simmering aggression.
On being asked to recall the events of the previous week he said he hated the students thinking they owned the place, interfering with innocent cows and then blaming him. He’d already had the police round, explained what had happened, and didn’t fancy going over it all again. The students had been mucking about by the river in an area known as Little Fen. The herd was in Trench Meadow and the victim had got between a cow and her calf. The animals thought they were under threat and so rushed towards one of the partygoers. The boy could only make his escape uphill and that slowed him down. He fell and the cows surrounded him. It had been a job to get them all off.
‘When did you arrive on the scene?’
‘After the ambulance. My daughter sorted it all out. Saved the boy’s life.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be grateful.’
‘We won’t be expecting thanks.’
‘And that must have been Abigail? How’s she keeping?’
‘Baby John isn’t so much a baby any more.’ The memory brought the farmer’s guard down. Sidney had been instrumental in persuading a grieving woman to return the child she had snatched from hospital in the Christmas of 1963. ‘We’ll always be grateful to you, Mr Chambers, for getting him back.’
‘I didn’t do very much.’
‘We all know you did. But you’re getting yourself involved in this now? I hope you’re not going to cause trouble.’
‘It’s not so much about the cows. There was a crime committed at the same time.’
‘Apart from the one against my animals?’
‘I’m afraid so. But please tell me: what did Abigail do?’
‘She reunited the calf with the mother. It was a third-calver and she knew our Abi straight away. As soon she’d got them back together it was all over. They’re not normally so aggressive, not like the continental breeds – the Limousin or Charolais. Polled cattle are born with no horns. They’re a cross between the Norfolk cow that was bred for beef, and a Suffolk, which is used for dairy. So they’re dual-purpose . . .’
‘Two for the price of one.’
‘Not that they’re cheap. But they’re docile and friendly in the main. If that boy had got under some horns he’d have a punctured lung, so he’s lucky they were our polls. They’re the best cows you can get, in my opinion. The meat’s like fine wine, the beef of old England. The Queen keeps a herd at Sandringham. Not that she has to put up with students messing about.’
‘I’m sure they won’t be doing that again.’
‘A new generation comes every autumn. They never know better. They don’t understand that the land needs to be worked. It’s not a private park where they can swan past peasants doffing their caps. Those days are gone.’
‘Indeed they are, Harding. But the
Meadows are common to us all.’
‘King’s College own the land. They should control it better.’
‘I’m not sure how you can police the whole countryside.’
‘None of those students know what it’s like to work for a living.’
‘They’ll find out soon enough.’
‘As long as they don’t start thinking I’m responsible. The police said I should have put up warning signs and fenced it off better. One of them told me I ought to have known that particular cow was a liability. But what about dangerous students, that’s what I want to know? If they think they can sue then they’ve got another think coming. I’ll give as good as I get, I can tell you that, Mr Chambers.’
‘If there is any problem with the university I am sure I can help.’
‘That would be good of you, I must say.’
Sidney remembered that Harding Redmond never knew how to end a conversation. He called Byron back.
‘Mind the herd with your dog, Mr Chambers. The cows will get funny if he comes too close.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he gives them a wide berth.’
‘You should come round and visit our Abi some time. She’d love to see you. So would the wife. Is your Lab holding up all right? Dickens, isn’t he?’
‘That was the last one. This is Byron.’
‘Looks like he knows his own mind.’
‘Byron has a relaxed attitude to discipline but is easily bribed by food. If he senses the possibility of nourishment he is immediately obedient.’
‘You’ll let us know if you want another? Agatha’s got some puppies on the go. You may have moved up to Ely but there’s always a welcome for you down here.’
This was about as good a farewell as Sidney was going to get. Harding Redmond climbed back into his Land Rover. It was a new series IIA, he said, and he had paid nearly £2,000 pounds for it.
‘That’s about twenty-five cows or a grant for five or six students. Funny thing money, don’t you think?’
‘It is indeed,’ said Sidney, realising that the amount was twice the price of Olivia Randall’s necklace and almost £700 more than his annual salary.
Sidney loved the Meadows around midsummer: the comfrey, lady’s-smock, water figwort and arrowhead along the river; the commas, brimstones and meadow brown butterflies in the hedgerows with swifts and house martins overhead. The blossom on the hawthorn was starting to turn but the elderflower and honeysuckle were out, young jackdaws skirred in the sky and swallows hawked midges over the water. He wished he could stop and laze away the rest of the afternoon, but those student days were long gone.
At least he could watch a few overs of village cricket on Audley’s Field. He could perhaps enjoy the end of the game in Malcolm’s company and share a pint or two in the Blue Ball afterwards.
Grantchester was playing Hemingford Grey, a rival village that was coasting towards a five-wicket victory requiring only twenty-eight runs to win. Because he had a strong throw, Malcolm was fielding at long leg, close to the boundary, and Sidney walked round so that he could talk to him between overs. Reclining in a deckchair nearby was a retired Welsh undertaker, who reminisced about fielding in the long grass in the 1920s and jumping out of it to catch a batsman who thought he’d hit a six.
‘I was like a whale rising out of the sea. And I took the ball that was Jonah.’
‘Presumably,’ Sidney could not help but ask, ‘you didn’t swallow it?’
After just missing a difficult high chance, Malcolm said that he needed to concentrate, but the game was finished in the next twenty minutes and the two former colleagues were soon ensconced in post-match conviviality, during which various cricketing metaphors were extended towards the curate’s forthcoming nuptials; how he’d at last bowled a maiden over, that Helena Randall was quite a catch and that he’d need his third man once the covers came off.
Malcolm was, it has to be said, uncomfortable with the joshing and confessed to Sidney that he was worried about his ability to fulfil Helena’s expectations. He was sure that she was more experienced than he was and he also wanted to ask about her relationship with Inspector Keating. Had there been any funny business? They were always so odd when they were together and the inspector had been hostile towards him from the start.
‘I shouldn’t worry about Geordie. He’s always trying to bat above his average. It was a flirtation, nothing more. I think Helena just used her feminine wiles to extract information for the newspaper.’
‘It’s the feminine wiles I’m worried about. I’m not entirely sure what I’m in for. What’s marriage like? Is there anything I should know?’
‘This is not something that’s easy to talk about, Malcolm, especially here. All I can say is that if your love is tender and considerate and sometimes forgiving then you won’t go far wrong. It’s a matter of mutual compassion. Do you think you understand Helena?’
‘She’s a complex creature.’
‘She’s about to be your wife. You should know her pretty well by now.’
‘But do you understand Hildegard, Sidney? How much should a man know the woman he is going to marry and how much should be left to discover? Sometimes I think it’s like half-opening a present, guessing what it’s going to be and finding that it’s something entirely different.’
‘Then I look forward to being unwrapped.’
Helena had arrived in the pub, approached Malcolm from behind and put her arms around his neck. She was wearing a white smock with Jackie O sunglasses perched on her head. Neither of the men had seen her but there was a raucous jeer from the cricketers to her left.
After buying the couple drinks and talking about the arrangements for the wedding rehearsal, Sidney dared to switch the subject and ask about her sister.
‘You’ve heard already?’
‘Geordie told me.’
‘We have to stop my mother finding out about the necklace . . .’
‘She’s that formidable?’
‘Will you talk to Olivia, Sidney?’
‘If you think it will help.’
‘Fortunately her boyfriend is in Corpus. That gives you an excuse.’
‘Now I am no longer the Vicar of Grantchester I do not have so much access to the college.’
‘I am sure you can find a reason.’
‘What do you have so far?’
‘Olivia’s twenty-one and she’s what you might call a free spirit. She’s always threatening to drop out and go and live in some godforsaken ashram, so I think Mummy and Daddy just kept bribing her to finish her degree. They paid for a party, to which they weren’t even invited, and Mummy lent her the necklace for the May Balls.’
‘She’s going to more than one?’
‘She could go to them all. She’s very in demand, my sister, as you’ll see. She combines beauty with availability. If her degree was in flirting, she’d get a first.’
‘But it’s not.’
‘No, it’s in English. I think that’s almost as easy. You end up studying books that most educated people are supposed to read anyway. But that’s by the by. Mummy told Olivia that she was only supposed to wear the necklace to the May Balls but my sister couldn’t resist showing it off at some ludicrous drinks party where they all got completely smashed. Now she can’t remember a thing. Sometimes she says the drinks must have been spiked. At others she blames one of her many boyfriends. The one thing she isn’t prepared to do, it seems, is to accept any responsibility herself.’
‘She’s not upset?’
‘She’s attempting a casual bravado. At least the whole disaster has happened after finals. She’s got no excuse if she’s messed them up.’
‘I suppose I should applaud your sense of priority.’
‘Don’t be pompous, Sidney. I’m annoyed with her more than anything else. Olivia could have been killed. Instead, she’s lost one of Mummy’s most valuable pieces of jewellery. I could kill her myself, I’m so annoyed.’
‘You’re keeping it out of the papers?
’
‘The jewellery but not the cows. My colleagues are on to all that. You can imagine the fun they’re having. Anyone would think that they had invented the art of alliteration. Meadows May Week Mayhem. Cow Carnage. Terror Trampling.’
‘Have they interviewed your sister yet?’
‘I’ve told them they can’t. A friend of hers has piped up instead. She was near enough to the drama at the time and used to go out with the victim. That should be enough. They love a girlfriend angle and her picture will help the story. I’m sure Emily can look appropriately distraught. One of the boys has already told me she’s “an absolute corker”. That was helpful, I must say.’
‘She’s a friend?’
‘Of Olivia’s, but she won’t mention her. We want the cow story and Emily and Richard to take all the attention. Daddy’s certain to read about it and we just need to make sure that he doesn’t feel duty-bound to tell my mother. If she finds out, she’ll either phone Newnham to ask what the hell’s going on, which will be easy enough because she’s an old girl, or she’ll take the next train up, check that Olivia’s all right, and then ask where the bloody necklace is.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s a single large sapphire, but very rare: cornflower blue from Ceylon. It was fashioned into a pear shape and then set within what they call a “sparkling halo” of small mine-cut diamonds.’
‘A “sparkling halo”?’
‘Don’t go all ecclesiastical, Sidney. It’s Victorian. It’s been in the family for almost a hundred years.’
‘Why didn’t you have it? You’re the eldest.’
‘Mummy said I didn’t have the right colouring. Olivia’s the one with the bright-blue eyes. Besides, it was only a loan.’
‘I don’t suppose . . .’
