‘We’d better get going too,’ Sloane said. ‘I don’t want to miss lunch. Mrs Smith’s making pizza.’
The girls left through the sitting room, bidding farewell to Ursula, and went their separate ways. Sloane and Alice-Miranda took a short cut across the field, following a lane that led to the edge of Winchesterfield. They spent the next hour trekking up and down the streets and lanes on the east side of the village. They were going to visit some of the shops before tackling the west side, where the Fayle School was located, and then finish up at Rosebud Lane, which was only a short walk from the school.
Fluffy white clouds drifted across the blue sky as Sloane taped another poster to a timber lamppost. The golden leaves at her feet foretold the colder months to come but for now the village sparkled in the sun.
‘You do realise that we’re going to have to take all of these down again once someone claims the puppy,’ Alice-Miranda said.
Sloane looked at her in alarm. She had been enjoying the task right up until that moment. ‘Really?’
‘Absolutely,’ Alice-Miranda replied. ‘Don’t you remember when we did the play with the boys at Fayle and we put posters up around the town? Mrs Parker nearly had a fit that they were still there the morning after the performance.’
Sloane pulled a face and shook her head. ‘Actually, no. I was already halfway back to Spain by then.’
Alice-Miranda smiled at her. ‘Oops, I forgot about that. Never mind. Things worked out in the end, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, thanks to you,’ Sloane said, grinning. She pointed to the general store across the road. ‘Do you want to get a drink?’
‘Sure, I’ll ask Mr Munz if we can put a poster in the window,’ Alice-Miranda said.
As the girls walked through the door with the tinkly bell, an ancient white van with more dents than a golf ball squeaked to a halt across the road. Two young men, one tall and solidly built, the other much shorter and slighter, got out. The taller lad walked into the hardware shop while the shorter lad stood in the sunshine, leaning against the driver’s door.
Declan emerged from the hardware shop with a large bag of dog food slung over his shoulder. He opened the van door and dumped it inside. ‘Get in,’ he ordered.
‘But I want something to drink,’ Damon said.
‘Why didn’t you go when I was in the shop?’ The older lad rolled his eyes and sighed. He pulled a couple of notes from his wallet and shoved them into Damon’s hand. ‘Get me a bag of crisps and a cola while you’re at it, and hurry up – they’re starting to get antsy in the back.’
Damon jogged across the street to the general store. He was about to go in when he noticed the poster in the window and stepped back to read it. ‘Oh heck,’ he breathed.
Alice-Miranda glanced at the young man by the shop window. She and Sloane had decided to have their drinks before tackling the rest of the village and were sitting on the bench by the door. The lad’s shorts and singlet looked as if they hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in a while and he seemed to be studying the flyer intently. Alice-Miranda jumped up and hurried over to him.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Do you know who owns him?’
The lad flinched, startled by the small girl. ‘Why would I know that?’ he said, taking a step back.
‘You just seemed to be looking closely, that’s all, and we’d love to find his owner. He’s a gorgeous little pup and he’s probably too young to be away from his mother.’
‘No, he’s not,’ Damon said, curling his top lip.
‘Really?’ Alice-Miranda frowned, wondering how he could be so sure. ‘Well, if you do know who owns him, please tell them that he’s being well cared for at our school and they can come and pick him up at any time. Hopefully someone will be missing him. We’ve delivered plenty of flyers around the village and put posters up on the lampposts too.’
‘Oi, what are you doing?’ another young man yelled from across the road. He was leaning out of the van window and Alice-Miranda noticed a large tattoo of a star on his upper arm. ‘We gotta go!’
‘I’m coming,’ the skinny chap shouted. He stalked across the road and jumped into the passenger seat without looking back.
‘Where’s my stuff?’ Declan growled.
The younger lad swallowed hard and nodded towards the two girls sitting on the bench. ‘We’ve got trouble. They have the pup.’
Declan stared at the girls. ‘How d’you know that?’ he said.
‘There’s a poster in the shop window,’ Damon explained. ‘She says that whoever owns him can go to the school and pick him up.’
‘Did she say what school it was?’
‘No, but it must be that big posh boarding school on the edge of the village because the school in town is closed on the weekends, isn’t it?’
Declan glanced at his watch. ‘There’s no time to go there now.’
‘Well, if we can’t get him now, we can’t get him at all or the boss’ll know we lied about him dying,’ Damon said as his brother turned the key in the ignition. ‘Oh, crumbs!’
‘What now?’ Declan sighed. He eased the sputtering van out from the kerb.
‘The girl said they’ve put up posters all around the village and they letterbox-dropped everyone. What if the boss sees?’
‘We’re goners, that’s what.’ Beads of perspiration began to trickle down the older lad’s temple. ‘Fine. Let’s make the drop, then come back and take them all down as quick as we can,’ he said.
Damon’s face lit up. ‘Why don’t we come back and collect the pup?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Declan barked. ‘We just said we can’t!’
‘We could sell him ourselves,’ Damon suggested, his face splitting into a grin.
‘If the boss found out, I can only imagine what would happen to us,’ Declan said.
‘We could leave it at the school until we have a buyer and then we can just pick it up and deliver direct,’ the younger brother said. He clenched his fists like a prize fighter. ‘And if it works, who knows where that might lead?’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, moron,’ Declan spat.
‘But it could work, couldn’t it?’
The older lad crunched the gears. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I think I’m a genius.’ Damon picked at a pimple on his cheek as his brother finally found second and the van sped out of town.
Declan shook his head. ‘You would.’
The doorbell buzzed sharply and Myrtle Parker scurried down the hallway to get it. She had asked her committee members to be there at nine o’clock sharp so she could organise the tea and biscuits before their guest of honour arrived. Most of them had obeyed her instructions, but she was still waiting on Mrs Howard, who had been less than enthusiastic about attending. She swung open the door to find a tall man wearing a very stylish navy suit standing on the porch. He leaned on a polished timber walking stick, its brass handle the head of a handsome-looking hound.
‘Good morning, Major Foxley, and welcome to Winchesterfield,’ Myrtle sparkled. She held out her hand and stared at the man, simply taken aback.
He smiled, revealing a perfect set of white teeth, and shook her hand. ‘Thank you for having me, Mrs Parker,’ he said, wondering if the woman’s grip was always so firm.
Myrtle sighed. With his tanned complexion and full head of silver hair, the man could have stepped straight out of an old Hollywood film. ‘Please, do come in,’ she said, patting her bouffant curls and straightening her floral skirt. ‘Most of the committee members are here already – well, those who could make it this morning. Unfortunately, several have been detained by work engagements. I told them this was far more important but, for whatever reason, some people are reluctant to put their community commitments first. But you have no worries about that with me.’
The woman ushered him in, then briefly stepped outside to see if there was any sign of Mrs Howard, but she could hardly look past the glistening black Range Rover parked in the drive
way. Major Foxley simply exuded elegance, from his immaculate clothing to his impressive vehicle. Myrtle closed the door and turned to the major. She’d noticed he had quite a pronounced limp and stared at the stick in his hand.
He saw her looking at it too. ‘Nothing to worry about, Mrs Parker – just an old war injury. That’s what you get when you save an entire battalion.’
A dreamy look clouded Myrtle’s face as she found herself imagining the man in his battle fatigues, throwing men the size of lumberjacks over his shoulder and spiriting them to safety.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Parker?’ Major Foxley asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ Myrtle said, crashing back to reality. We’re just through here in the sitting room,’ she said, and held out her arm for the man to go ahead of her. ‘Ladies,’ Myrtle fizzed, ‘I’d like you to meet Major Alistair Foxley, Chairman of Chudleigh’s Dog Show.’
There was an audible gasp as the women stood up to greet the man. Major Foxley walked around the room with Myrtle as she introduced each member of the committee to him.
‘This is Mrs Singh. She and her husband own the local curry house,’ Myrtle said.
‘How divine. I love a good curry,’ he purred. Mrs Singh offered her hand, which the man shook gently. But when he tried to take it away, her grip tightened.
‘Indira,’ Myrtle snapped.
The woman released Major Foxley and giggled like a schoolgirl. Myrtle continued around the room, introducing Doreen Smith from the girls’ school, Marta Munz, Evelyn Pepper from Chesterfield Downs, Nancy Mereweather and Deidre Winterbottom, wife of the headmaster of the Fayle School. All of the women seemed to have fallen under some sort of charm spell, and Myrtle made sure to mention several times that, in addition to being Chairman of Chudleigh’s, he was also a decorated war hero.
Alistair Foxley leaned down to give the pristine West Highland terrier at Mrs Winterbottom’s feet a pat. ‘What an adorable little chap,’ he said.
‘His name is Parsley,’ Myrtle chimed. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? A pedigree, I believe. Isn’t that right, Deidre?’
The woman nodded obediently. On past occasions when Parsley had accompanied her, Myrtle Parker had made him sit in the kitchen on a mat. Some days he’d even been relegated to the utility room. He usually wasn’t allowed within cooee of Myrtle’s precious sitting room, but today Parsley had received his own special invitation. Professor Winterbottom had been quite miffed not to be able to take him to the morning’s rugby matches, but Deidre insisted that Myrtle had been very specific that Parsley attend the meeting, and everyone knew that it wasn’t worth upsetting her.
‘Do you have a dog yourself, Mrs Parker?’ the man asked as she showed him to the armchair in the middle of the room.
‘Sadly not,’ she said, handing him a fine china cup and saucer. ‘My Reginald has been unwell for the past few years, so there was just no time for one. I couldn’t bear the thought of not devoting all my energy to a pet – it just wouldn’t be fair.’
Deidre Winterbottom sputtered. It was common knowledge that Myrtle wasn’t at all partial to animals, particularly dogs, but this offer to host Chudleigh’s had seen quite the most remarkable about face in the woman. Deidre glanced over at Nancy Mereweather, who gave her a sly wink. The two women found themselves having to contain a rising fit of giggles.
Myrtle turned and gave them both a stern glare. ‘Whatever’s the problem, Deidre?’
‘Nothing. I was just thinking about something funny that Wallace said to me this morning,’ the woman replied. She recovered her composure and didn’t dare look at anyone for the next few minutes – especially not Mrs Mereweather.
‘Right. Major Foxley, I think we should get on with the business at hand.’ Myrtle produced a clipboard and proceeded to distribute the agenda for the meeting. ‘Item one: Her Majesty’s attendance,’ Myrtle began.
‘Oh dear,’ Nancy Mereweather said with a giggle. ‘I think there’s been a mix-up. Her Majesty is to be the guest of honour at the Quilters’ Exhibition, not Chudleigh’s. I believe Major Foxley will be presenting Best in Show.’ She smiled at the man and chortled.
Myrtle Parker looked up sharply from the agenda. Her face seemed set to explode. Around the room, the women held their collective breaths. ‘Oh, never mind,’ Myrtle said, her face softening as she gazed at Major Foxley. ‘Her Majesty comes to our events all the time. It will be a breath of fresh air to have a man of Major Foxley’s standing among us.’
The committee members eyed each other warily, exhaling in unison just as the doorbell rang.
‘I’ll get that,’ Doreen Smith said, jumping up from her seat. She didn’t think Mrs Howard deserved to be on the receiving end of Myrtle’s wrath for being late. Several minutes later Mrs Howard followed Mrs Smith into the room and quietly took her place in the corner.
‘Nice of you to join us, Mrs Howard,’ Myrtle remarked before introducing the woman to their special guest.
‘My apologies, Major Foxley,’ Mrs Howard said. ‘One of my girls was terribly homesick this morning and I couldn’t leave the poor poppet until we’d had a soothing cocoa and some cuddles. Given I won’t be there this evening and her parents are uncontactable, I thought it only fair.’
‘Oh, Mrs Howard, you’re a gem. I wish my boarding mistresses had been as kind and compassionate as yourself. I spent many a year crying myself to sleep,’ the man replied.
‘I’ll give you a hug now if you like, Mr Foxley,’ Marta Munz said cheekily. The other women tittered until Myrtle Parker cast death stares at all of them.
‘You’re a cheeky one, Mrs Munz. I can see I’m going to enjoy working with you lot.’ Alistair laughed. He cleared his throat and the ladies all settled down.
Myrtle was about to resume the meeting when Major Foxley beat her to it.
‘Well, thank you all for agreeing to host Chudleigh’s. It is a huge under taking but one that I am assured by Mayor Wiley that you can not only cope with but will excel at.’ He tapped a shiny gold pen on the notebook he’d just pulled out of his suit pocket and looked expectantly at the group, who stared at the man with the doe-eyed looks of lovestruck teenage girls.
The telephone rang as Becca Finchley finished making her son’s bed as best she could. She fumbled with the wheels of her chair and tried to push herself backwards, only to have one of them jammed by a stray sock.
‘Would you get that, please, Daniel?’ she shouted. ‘Daniel! Please answer the phone,’ she called again, but it rang and rang until it was interrupted by the tinkling of the front doorbell.
It must have been about the fourth time she’d missed the phone this week and no one was leaving messages. She made a mental note to check if she’d set the thing up properly. The woman gave a sharp shove, releasing the stuck wheel and manoeuvring her way out of the room. She pushed down the hallway to the front door and turned the lock.
‘Have I got you at a bad time, dear?’ the old woman asked. She was holding a large round tin in one hand and a carton of eggs in the other.
‘Oh, no, Mrs Bird, I was just making the beds,’ Becca replied.
‘What are you doing that for? Your son is old enough to help with the household chores,’ Mrs Bird tutted.
‘Please come in.’ Becca pushed back, trying to spin the chair around but the hallway was narrow and she found it a challenge, to say the least.
‘Let me help you.’ The old woman dumped the goods she was carrying into Becca’s lap and grabbed the handles. ‘Speaking of Daniel, where is he? I would have thought he could have answered the door for you.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Becca said, hoping he didn’t suddenly appear. She never liked having to explain herself to anyone, including their kindly old neighbour. They reached the kitchen and Becca was surprised to see that the washing up had been done.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Mrs Bird insisted. ‘And I’ve made you some biscuits. I know what it’s like living with boys.’
Becca Finchley thought Mrs Bird’s name ra
ther suited her. A small woman with a nondescript face, she looked like one of those television mothers from an advertisement for washing powder – pleasant but not especially memorable. She had been particularly kind, though, since the accident. Funnily enough, they’d not had much to do with her beforehand. She’d wave as she drove her ancient white sedan past the house and the Finchleys presumed she lived somewhere at the end of the road, but they’d never been invited up and she never mentioned a family. The Finchleys had only moved to Winchesterfield a year and a half ago, and renovating their own house and the outbuildings to accommodate Becca’s kennels had been their priority. Daniel had settled in well at the village school and they’d only just started getting to know people when their life was turned upside down.
‘Milk and sugar, dear?’ Mrs Bird asked, jolting Becca from her thoughts.
‘Just milk, thank you,’ she replied. The sound of tapping claws tripped down the timber hallway and into the kitchen. Becca put down her hand for the dog to nuzzle. ‘Hello my gorgeous girl.’
‘She’s looking good,’ Mrs Bird commented.
‘I’ve entered her in Chudleigh’s,’ Becca said.
‘Really?’ the old woman said in surprise. ‘How are you going to manage it?’
Becca smiled and cradled her teacup in her hands. ‘I’ll be fine. You know I’m driving again now, and Daniel will help me.’
‘Are you sure you want to? I mean, it’s going to bring back a lot of memories,’ the old woman said.
‘I need to do something,’ Becca replied. ‘Maybe next year I’ll start breeding again.’
Mrs Bird sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Still no news from the police?’
‘Nothing. Constable Derby said it was as if they vanished into thin air. Whoever took them was well organised. The police can’t be sure if it was opportunistic or if the thieves heard about the accident and pounced, but, realistically, my babies could be halfway across the world by now,’ Becca said, blinking back tears.
Alice-Miranda to the Rescue Page 10
