Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman)

by Martin, Wilkie

  ‘Yes, I understand what you’re saying, but surely it’s her choice.’

  ‘No, Mr Caplet. I expect you to do as I say, or you will regret it. Now, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes … But …’

  ‘Enough. I hope you know what’s good for you.’

  As he said this, we reached the car park and a glossy black Jaguar turned into the arboretum and stopped. As Felix marched towards it, a fit young man, who looked as if he might play rugby or some other manly sport, emerged, opening the back door for him.

  ‘I’m glad we understand each other,’ said Felix with a pleasant smile, his menace dissipated, ‘because I really wouldn’t want anything nasty happening to you. You can’t help the way you are.

  ‘Thank you so much for a delightful picnic and don’t forget to ask the Inspector about his wine. Here’s my card.’ He pressed it into my hand, nodded and slid into the back of the car.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, stupidly, standing there bemused as the young man, closing the door, climbed into the driver’s seat and drove away.

  I had much to think about while trudging back to Violet.

  13

  With the sun sinking and reddening, heavy clouds creeping up on the horizon, the heat and humidity seemed to be on the rise, the air feeling as thick as golden syrup. The gentle breeze that had maintained a little freshness in the air was growing fretful and capricious as the evening lengthened. Everyone else was heading for the exit and the birds had stopped singing. Not that I cared.

  My legs were heavy, as if encased in concrete, and, although it was my fifth trek of the evening, it wasn’t physical tiredness causing my weakness, for Felix’s threats had knocked the stuffing out of me. I’d thought we’d been getting on tolerably well or, at least, that any animosity was on my side; he’d been saying nice things about the picnic and the wine, so his attack, shocking in its unexpectedness, had hit me like a punch to the jaw. Yet the threats weren’t the worse of it, his brutal dissection of my character having really struck home, since I couldn’t really refute his accusations: I really was out of work, reliant on Hobbes for shelter and food; I really was penniless (though not literally so, as I’d picked one up from the gutter); I really was useless. Such a realisation, hurtful though it was, was not nearly as painful as the prospect of ending it with Violet, for despite knowing our relationship was doomed, bound to smash into an uncharted reef sooner or later, it was still agony now the reef was just ahead and I had no means to steer away.

  Yet, deep within, I felt a resistance movement stirring, my anger building, for her money meant nothing to me and I’d never have dreamt of hurting her. Who was Felix to tell me what to do or, for that matter, to speak for his sister? It had to be her decision to say when she was fed up with me.

  I was in a dilemma, unsure whether to meekly give in or to damn the consequences and stand up to him, wondering if, perhaps, he’d just been testing me, giving me the chance to be a man, to prove myself worthy. Yet, I couldn’t make myself believe he hadn’t been deadly serious, or rid myself of the fear that he might not stop at cutting words the next time we met, unless I’d done what he’d asked. Even so, I could hardly bring myself to think that he, a respectable businessman, would really do anything to me, at least nothing violent. Yet if I was wrong and he did attack me, I was sure, his brief display of strength coming to mind, that I’d stand little chance of beating him. Even if I did get lucky, perhaps punching him out, I doubted Violet would be happy with me and running away from him would probably impress her even less than fighting.

  There was another consideration: Felix might not have to do his own dirty work for Mike, his driver, had looked more than a bit handy.

  He’d also looked familiar.

  When I reached the clearing, Violet’s smile drove away depressing thoughts.

  ‘You took your time, slowcoach,’ she teased, stretching out on the rug, back arched, slim arms behind her head. Her t-shirt, having pulled up to reveal an inch of soft, smooth belly, was tight across her breasts. ‘I’ve packed everything away, apart from the drinks. I thought you might want something.’

  ‘Yes … it’s a long walk.’ My throat was dry.

  ‘You do look hot. Wine or ginger beer?’

  ‘Both, please.’

  As she sat up, reaching for the bottles, I sat down beside her, knowing with absolute certainty that I really did not give a damn about her wealth or what her brother thought of me. What I wanted was her, and I didn’t mean physically: at least not just physically. Before anything, though, I needed a drink. As she handed me a glass of ginger beer, I gulped it down in one, glugging a glass of wine straight after it.

  As I sat there, my thirst quenched, I came to a firm decision that, whatever Felix might do later, I was going to kiss her. I would, definitely, without hesitation, should an opportunity arise, in the fullness of time, kiss her. Finishing off the last bottle of ginger beer, throwing back the last dregs, I gazed into her gorgeous eyes.

  Her face was just a few inches from mine and, taking myself by surprise, seizing the opportunity, I leaned forward and held her gently by the shoulders. Reassured by her easy sway towards me, I puckered my lips, looked deep into her dark eyes … and burped.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I said, recoiling, ashamed, ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it, it was all the fizz.’

  Without trying, I’d blown it, done what Felix wanted, leaving me embarrassed, feeling like a total klutz.

  However, she seemed to be taking it rather well. Rolling back onto the rug, she lay there rocking, little gasps of amusement soon becoming helpless laughter, continuing for what seemed like ages. When, at last, it looked as if she might be regaining control, she glanced up at me, catching my eye, starting again and setting me off. I collapsed on the rug beside her and, next thing I knew, she was lying half across me, her face buried in my blazer. Eventually, our laughter subsiding, she pinned me to the rug and kissed me full on the lips, making my head swirl as if I was on a fairground ride, the kiss lingering until, far too soon, she pulled away, sitting up abruptly. My lips still tingling, I reached for her hand.

  ‘What was that?’ she said, pushing me away.

  ‘Just a kiss,’ I said, deflated, disappointed. It had been good for me, the first real one I’d enjoyed in years, since Jenny Riley had pounced on me in the playground during a game of kiss chase; I’d been running away very slowly.

  ‘Not that. Something’s out there, didn’t you hear it?’ Wild-eyed, she stared into the woods.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘An animal I think.’

  I sprang to my feet, genuine dread gathering in my stomach. ‘What sort of animal?’ I asked, a big, dangerous cat springing to mind. ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Taking my hand, she pulled herself to her feet, her body trembling as she snuggled against me. Suddenly alarmed, I put my arm around her shoulders, which certainly comforted me.

  ‘We should probably go,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’

  She nodded and, releasing her with regret, I threw the last odds and sods into the hamper, piled the rugs on top, and picked it up. Grabbing Felix’s folding chair, she held it like a weapon, urging me back to the car, while I concentrated on keeping as close together as possible, feeling sure she was making a real effort not to run. At last, reaching the car park, hurrying towards her car, she rummaged frantically through her little hessian bag, her eyes as big as headlights.

  ‘I can’t find the keys,’ she said, her voice shrill, on the edge of panic.

  ‘It’s alright,’ I said, panting and sweating, resting the hamper on the bonnet, catching my breath.

  ‘It isn’t!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I must have dropped them. I’m not going back to look. I’ll call Felix and get help.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, trying to be reassuring, ‘I’ve still got them.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Her face was as white as a fridge door and her hand was trembling. ‘Give them h
ere.’

  ‘They’re in my pocket. I’ll just put this down and …’

  Thrusting her hand into my trousers, she grabbed the keys, the touch of her warm hand in such an intimate spot like an electric shock through all my nerves, though not at all unpleasant. Even so, it paralysed me for a second or two, by which time she’d opened the car doors, sat down and was scrabbling to get the key in the ignition. Chucking the hamper into the back seat, I threw myself in beside her as, the engine bursting into life, we drove away in a plume of dust.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said, through clenched teeth.

  ‘Yeah, let’s. But … umm … what was it? A panther?’

  ‘No.’ Shaking her head, turning the steering wheel, tyres screeching, she drove into the main road.

  ‘What then?’ I asked, the acceleration pinning me back.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think,’ I said, noticing the speedo creeping up to ninety, ‘we might be going a little fast?’

  ‘We’ve got to get away.’

  ‘But we’re safe now,’ I said, trying to calm her, worried that she was driving like Hobbes in a hurry, but without his reflexes.

  Shaking her head, she leaned forward, hugging the wheel, as if urging the car ever faster.

  I held my breath and the edge of my seat as we screeched round a bend. ‘We must be miles away by now. It can’t possibly catch us.’

  Her manner, even more than her driving, scared me while Felix’s remark about breakdowns made me doubt anything had been out there, for her change of mood had been so swift, she could easily have been mentally unstable, no doubt explaining why she’d taken a fancy to me. Perhaps my kiss had driven her over the edge.

  ‘Please, slow down,’ I said. ‘You’re starting to frighten me. This road’s not very …’

  ‘Sorry, Andy. We’ve got to get away.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. What did you see? A fox, maybe?’

  ‘It was no fox,’ she shouted, her face flushed and angry.

  Hitting a pothole, the car swerved, for a moment looking like it would veer into a tree, before she regained control.

  ‘You must have seen something … umm … what was it?’

  ‘Something in the woods.’

  ‘Can you describe it?’ I asked. ‘Careful!’

  We rounded a bend too close to the verge, the back tyres bumping.

  ‘I didn’t see anything,’ said Violet, ‘but something was there.’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘I might but, please, slow down, for God’s sake, we’re coming to a village.’

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded, slowing quite a lot as we approached the first house, a stone cottage with scruffy garden and leggy hollyhocks round the front. Bright yellow light was pouring from its open front door and a white pig with stuck up ears hurtled out, demolishing the garden gate, stopping in the middle of the road, sniffing something that had been squashed.

  As Violet stamped on the brake, only my seat belt stopped me from kissing the windscreen. The tyres squealed. The pig looked like a goner. As we swerved, missing it by a grunt, we hit the kerb and lurched off the road. For a moment there was darkness, and then greenery, a thump and evening light. The car stopping at last, I turned towards Violet, who was slumped forward, still gripping the wheel.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  She didn’t move.

  Unbuckling my seat belt, I leapt from the car and ran round, pushing through a jungle of bamboo canes and clinging plants until I could pull the door open. ‘Are you alright?’ I asked again, reaching for her hand.

  She turned towards me, blood oozing from her mouth and nose. ‘I think so but my lip hurts. You?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, leaning over, turning off the ignition, pulling out the key.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘And the pig?

  ‘We missed it.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m so sorry, Andy.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I said, ‘there’s no real harm done, that’s the main thing.’

  ‘No real harm done?’ a man shouted. ‘You’ve ruined my hedge and destroyed my runner beans.’

  A hefty, bald-headed, middle-aged man in a checked shirt and olive corduroy trousers was striding towards us from an old stone cottage, his face, red and contorted with rage, complementing his voice. We’d crashed into a country garden, one that might have been idyllic before our arrival, with roses blooming around the cottage windows, a vine clinging to its walls and raised vegetable beds that were lush and green.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry,’ I said, holding up my hands in apology, the keys jangling, but a pig ran across the road and …’

  ‘Sod the bloody pig!’ the man bellowed, ‘you were probably speeding. I know you lot with your flashy clothes and expensive motors, tearing up the countryside, wrecking people’s gardens. Just look at my hedge! My great grandfather planted it a hundred years ago and you’ve just ruined it. I’ll have the law on you, just see if I don’t. You’re going to pay for it and for what you’ve done to my runner beans. Now get off my bloody spuds!’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, making sure to place my feet where they would cause least harm, making a big play of causing no further damage. Unfortunately, my attempted leap onto the path falling short, I stumbled backwards.

  ‘Get off my bloody carrots!’ the man screamed.

  His face turning almost purple, his meaty hand seized my collar, dragging me off his precious vegetables onto the garden path. I was convinced he intended pulverizing me until Violet groaned. Turning my head, I watched her slide from the car, collapsing, lying still on the ground. The man, dropping me like a bit of litter, ran towards her. I couldn’t help noticing that he went right through his carrots and potatoes.

  ‘Are you hurt, my dear?’ he asked, rolling her onto her back with surprising gentleness.

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he bellowed. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me there was an injured woman in the car?’

  ‘I was going to …’

  ‘Shut up,’ he roared at the top of his voice. ‘Maureen!’

  A stout, little woman with permed white hair and sallow skin hobbled from the cottage, looking confused. ‘Yes, Tom?’

  ‘Call an ambulance. Tell them there’s been a road accident and that a woman’s unconscious.’

  ‘Yes, Tom,’ she said, retreating.

  Running towards Violet, I knelt at her side, feeling useless and terrified she was dying, holding her hand, shocked by how clammy and cold it felt.

  Then I remembered my ABC.

  A was for airways. Wiping blood and soil from her mouth and nose with the edge of my shirt, I made sure everything was clear.

  B was for breathing. It was alright, her chest rising and falling, though faster than I’d have liked.

  C was for circulation. Placing two fingers against her neck, finding the pulse, I was relieved beyond joy to feel how strong and regular it was.

  The only blood was coming from a small split on her lower lip and from her left nostril.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked a tall, angular woman standing where the hedge had been.

  ‘This idiot,’ said the angry man, ‘has crashed his car through my hedge and badly injured the young lady. Maureen’s calling an ambulance but I fear it’s too late.’

  The woman stared at me through dead fish-eyes. ‘I bet he’s been drinking. They’ve always been drinking.’

  ‘His breath stinks of it,’ said Tom. ‘They’ll put him away this time, if there’s still any justice in this country.’

  ‘And good riddance,’ added another spectator, an owl-faced man, peering at me.

  Several people were soon at the gap, staring at me with contempt. Ignoring them as best I could, taking off my blazer, I laid it gently under Violet’s head, trying to decide whether I needed to put her into the recovery position, longing for the ambulance to turn up. W
hen at last her eyes opened, she stared up at me as if I were a complete stranger and tried to sit.

  ‘No,’ I said, placing a hand on her shoulder, ‘it’s best if you lie still until the ambulance gets here.’

  ‘Where am I?’ she asked, clawing my hand away roughly, sitting up anyway.

  Though my hand stung, four little bleeding scratches showing where she’d made contact, I forced myself to ignore it. ‘You’re in this gentleman’s garden,’ I said.

  ‘Felix?’

  ‘No, it’s me, Andy.’

  ‘Are we having a picnic?’

  ‘It’s no bloody picnic,’ Tom muttered.

  ‘Did we catch many this time?’ she asked, staring as if she thought she should know me, but couldn’t quite place me.

  ‘How many what?’ asked Tom.

  Her eyes suddenly coming into focus, she threw her arms around my neck. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You … umm … fainted after the accident.’

  ‘Accident? Oh, yes … stupid pig!’

  ‘Don’t you go calling me names,’ said Tom, standing over us, grumbling. By the smell of him, I wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking.

  Violet, letting go of me, glanced up. ‘Do we know him?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘but unfortunately we crashed into his garden and did a bit of damage.’

  ‘A lot of damage,’ said Tom, ‘which someone’s going to pay for.’ He kicked a pebble savagely.

  ‘Are they?’ asked Violet, smiling, ‘well, that’s good news, isn’t it? … I think I’m going to lie down again, I’m feeling a little woozy. Why is all that stuff on my car?’

  ‘That’s my hedge and beans,’ said Tom.

  ‘Just so long as we know.’ Lying back, she closed her eyes.

  A minute or two later, to the delight of the onlookers, several of whom seemed disappointed Violet wasn’t dead, a police car arrived and a police officer strode towards us. To my disappointment, it was one from Hedbury, not someone I knew.

  ‘What’s going on here, then?’ he asked.

  ‘This idiot,’ said Tom, jabbing his finger into my chest, ‘crashed through my hedge and ruined my garden, not to mention injuring the young lady, who is lucky to be alive. I think I should point out that he’s drunk.’