by Jean Chapman
Cannon blinked. ‘Evans?’ he queried. ‘Evans!’
‘Right, first time,’ Evans said, still holding the door open. ‘Brought someone anxious to see you.’
A square figure, built like a rugger player, with one arm in a sling across his chest, negotiated the door.
‘Austin,’ Cannon breathed and felt as if his heart really could swell to bursting as he spread his arms wide and with great care, put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. ‘So how are things? How’s the arm? Sit down.’
Austin was pale, a little drawn-looking like a man who had suffered.
‘Dear boy,’ Austin said quietly, ‘this is good, is it not?’
‘Liz,’ Cannon called.
Liz, who had been drawn by the hand into the kitchen by Bozena, now came hurrying back. ‘I thought I recognized the voice, but could not believe …’ she said as careful hugs and kisses were exchanged.
‘No peace until he’s discharged himself from hospital …’
‘Evans, please,’ Austin pleaded.
‘You shouldn’t be here?’ Liz said.
‘No, and he has to go back tomorrow,’ Evans informed them.
‘Merci, Constable!’
‘No use trying to pull rank with me, someone has to save you from yourself.’
‘So it was serious,’ Liz said, nodding to Austin’s shoulder.
‘Your attentions got me all the way to London,’ he told her.
‘But he’s had to go back to be plated and pinned, bone not healing,’ Evans persisted.
‘Fini!’ Austin declared. ‘That is the end of bulletins about me. There are others. Betterson, for one, is not back.’
‘Or Charlie Brown, Babs Beale and her son,’ Liz added.
‘But they are coming. All will be coming, and we must have a get-together, a party. Celebrate …’
‘Surviving,’ Evans suggested.
‘There’s that,’ Austin admitted, ‘and I do have to go back to the States to help collate evidence, prepare the paperwork to bring the villains before the courts.’
‘From what I hear that could take years,’ Hoskins said, ‘what about a drink now?’
‘No alcohol with his medications.’
Austin held up his hands in surrender. ‘OK but not for much longer, so how about we plan a party here for the tenth of July? An all-day affair where people can come anytime, stay as long as they like,’ Austin stipulated. ‘My party, my expense,’ he beamed at his friends, ‘my personal thank you.’
‘Special rates of course,’ Liz put in.
‘So why the tenth of July?’ Liz asked as they went early and thankfully to their own bed.
‘It’s his birthday.’
CHAPTER 32
‘It’s like the build-up to another operation,’ Cannon said as they rearranged tables in their bar to make more room.
The invitations had brought many and varied replies. An official message from London had said that DI Betterson would be driven down with Detective Superintendent Austin. Babs had telephoned to say that Jonathan had gone to stay with the Grangers, and catch up with Archie, while she settled affairs where she had been living and working, but could she book one of their stable apartments for the night after the party, and then for a week or so afterwards.
‘I am so looking forward to seeing you all again, it seems ages – and how’s Charlie?’
‘I … haven’t actually seen him,’ he answered truthfully, while what he had thought, what they had all thought, was that he was with her and Jonathan.
‘Perhaps he’s busy catching up with his customers,’ Cannon speculated.
‘So where’s he living?’ Liz asked, and both looked at each other and wondered if the farrier had gone back to his burnt out cottage.
‘I’ll go for a run that way first thing,’ Cannon said, ‘time I got back into a proper routine.’
He set off early, his heart lifting as he breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, with the hint of the ocean in every lungful. This was what he had missed, this land, this countryside, these lanes. Why had it taken him so many days for him to make this effort? Then, almost he felt too soon, he came to the scene of the fire, the scene where Charlie had found his father buried beneath the remains of what was to have been their new home, their new business.
Cannon walked slowly the last few yards. Some of the fallen stone had been moved into a neater pile, he could see the bare patches in the grass where it had recently lain. He judged that if anyone was going to live there, the cottage would have to be completely rebuilt, though the extensive outbuildings that had been much of the Browns’ reason for buying the property, were intact.
Cannon picked his way round to the back, thinking there was little reason for Charlie or anyone else to be here as it was, but then there was a noise, like something heavy being dragged, and it came from the far barn.
‘Hello?’ he called as the noise came again. ‘Anyone there? Charlie? It’s John Cannon.’
Silence.
Cannon walked to the door of the barn, and was shocked to see not just Charlie Brown sorting tools into piles, but to realize he had obviously opted to live rough, camp in his barn, there was everything there except a tent, and through a doorway at the far end, he could see the mobile farrier’s van.
‘All my worldly possessions in one place,’ Charlie said bitterly, ‘have you come to welcome me home?’
‘There’s no need for this. Come back to The Trap with me now, there’s apartments empty.’
Charlie shook his head.
‘I’ve got to get used to my own company,’ he said morosely.
‘Well, there’s a lot of people want to see you in a couple of days. Surely you’ve heard? You must have been answering your phone.’
‘I picked up messages.’
‘So we shall expect you on the tenth,’ Cannon said.
‘We’ll see.’
‘Charlie, you can’t be like this after all we’ve done together, after all the time you’ve spent with Babs and Jonathan, they’ll be here …’
‘I’m home, aren’t I, back to reality,’ he gestured towards the cottage, ‘back to what I have left, not living in some Hollywood setting.’
‘Something I think they wanted you to share,’ Cannon said quietly.
‘Me!’ he exclaimed. ‘What have I to offer a place like that, people like that?’
‘It’s not always what people have to offer, but what they are,’ Cannon said quietly, but Charlie shook his head, turned away, made towards his van.
‘I have horses to go and shoe.’
‘Austin wants everyone to be there, he wants to thank everyone,’ Cannon called after him, ‘and if Babs and Jonathan do return to White Picket Ranch …’
‘They’ll be fools if they don’t,’ he called back.
Cannon bit back a remark about Charlie being the biggest, blindest fool, but felt, no, knew, this would do no good. Antagonizing Charlie Brown was not a good tactic, and he felt he needed help with this problem. He completed his morning run by making the trek out to Hoskins’ cottage.
He found Hoskins sitting in the sun in his back garden, slicing runner beans into a colander. He looked up knowingly.
‘The kettle’s just boiled, you could make us both a cup of tea.’
Cannon did as he was told and carried them out into the sun, which was becoming hotter and brighter as it rose.
‘So, what’s the problem?’ Hoskins asked and balancing his knife on the bowl of beans sliced to uniform perfection, listened. ‘He could have come here, but he knows that,’ he said at the end. ‘But you think this Babs Beale really fancies him?’
‘I’m as sure of that as I am that he is about to make the biggest mistake of his life yet if he does not marry the woman. He has a life on a ranch full of horses waiting for him, with people who will welcome the pair of them with open arms.’
‘Ah! So this needs a bit of thought,’ Hoskins said, ‘though I know who would be able to get him to the party withou
t any messing about.’
‘And that is?’
‘Chrissie Granger.’
Cannon looked at his old friend with respect. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said.
‘Oh, I know I am,’ he said, ‘and once we’ve got him to this party, I’ve got another idea.’ He looked at Cannon, and laughed out loud, as the idea seemed to be developing in his mind. ‘Could we go and see Paul and Helen now?’ he asked.
CHAPTER 33
The tenth of July dawned as bright as the day Hoskins had outlined his plan. Babs and Jonathan were installed in one of the stable apartments. Chrissie had winkled Charlie out of the barn and he was staying with the Grangers, and, Chrissie informed them, they would all be there by two o’clock.
‘Well, we’re committed now, but I have to admit …’ Liz shook her head.
‘It’s crazy,’ Cannon supplied, ‘but everyone we’ve had to tell has—’
‘Laughed,’ Liz interjected.
‘Then been OK with the idea. It is a party, but if it doesn’t work and Charlie just storms off, well, at least we tried.’
Bozena would keep the long running-buffet table well supplied, and Alamat would ensure the drinks table was kept suitably full from the grosses, not dozens, he had preordered for the next Christmas.
People were soon coming in numbers, groups, greeting and finding friends and acquaintances. Austin, Paul and Helen were with Betterson. Sergeant Morris and his wife came with Detective Sergeant Jim Maddern and all his family. Evans had found a soulmate in Hoskins, and was being taken off to be shown something outside. Charlie was practically being stalked by Babs, who was all talk of her grandfather who wanted her and Jonathan to return to America, make White Picket Ranch their home.
‘As it should be,’ Charlie said stoically.
‘He does wants motivating,’ Helen said as they moved away.
‘He wants a kick up the …’ Paul declared.
‘Kick,’ John Paul repeated.
‘Just be careful what you say,’ Helen warned, ‘little big-ears is about,’ and took their son into her arms.
Hoskins caught Cannon’s eye as there was a lull in the eating and drinking, and the nod was given. A few seconds later, Evans came from the kitchen carrying something bulky and heavy. He placed it on one of the small round bar tables and left it there.
One or two looked, shrugged, carried on talking, eyeing the object from time to time.
Cannon watched as gradually Charlie saw what it was and went towards it. Once he got to the table, where Evans had put the small scale anvil, Cannon gave the signal. Those in the know urged others into the circle and Hoskins began.
‘The farrier’s in his forge,’ he sang. ‘The farrier’s in his forge.’
And everyone who knew the old rhyming game of ‘The Farmer’s in his Den’ now joined in.
‘E I addy-oh. The farrier’s in his forge.’
Charlie turned with his hand on the anvil.
‘The farrier wants a wife.’
Any hint of a smile disappeared as Hoskins led on.
‘The farrier wants a wife.’
‘E I addy-oh.’
Charlie looked about to storm off, but Babs ran forward, threw herself into his arms and kissed him on the lips.
A cheer went up and the song went on.
‘The farrier wants a wife.
‘The wife wants a child,
‘The wife wants a child.’
Babs darted to Jonathan and pulled him into the centre.
‘E I addy-oh. The wife wants a child.’
Babs linked arms with her two men.
‘The child wants a nurse.
The child wants a nurse.’
Jonathan looked around and ran to pull Chrissie Granger into the middle, to much cheering and jeering from the Granger camp.
‘E I addy-Oh.
The nurse wants a child.’
It was Chrissie’s turn now to do the choosing as the last verse began.
‘The child wants a dog,
The child wants a dog,
E I addy-oh.’
Without hesitation, Chrissie picked out her son, and despite Archie’s protests, pulled him out.
‘The child wants a dog.’
Now the whole company had the idea.
‘We all pat the dog,
‘We all pat the dog.’
Which they all endeavoured to do with varying degrees of force.
‘E I addy-oh.
We all pat the dog.’
At this point, John Paul in his mother’s arms, screamed with excitement, pointed at Hoskins who must have taught him the rhyme, and was then helped by all and sundry to pat the dog, who was now cowering down, covering his head with his hands.
In the middle of the mayhem, Charlie and Babs stood with their arms around each other, beaming. There was a whispered exchange, and a nod, and Babs shouted, ‘We shall expect you all to come to our wedding in America next year.’
‘We’ll be there,’ Liz shouted back.
‘I’ll help look after this place,’ Hoskins offered.
All the odds are that Alamat will remember the difference between grosses and dozens, Cannon thought, as Austin called for all glasses to be filled for a toast.
‘I give you law, order, justice,’ he raised his glass high, ‘true friendship and love.’
