by Liz Fielding
‘You were waiting for me.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, laughing. ‘It’s good to see you back, Kam. Is your mother with you?’
‘She prefers the sun. She runs cooking holidays from her home in Spain these days.’
‘That sounds like a good life. Maybe she’ll visit when you’re settled?’ He ignored the question. Thanks to his slip there was going to be enough speculation about his return to the castle, without him fuelling the gossip. ‘It was shocking what Sir Hugo did to you both,’ Barb continued, taking the hint. ‘And as for poor Agnès being left orphaned to be brought up by that dreadful man... I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he led Lady Jane a shocking life with his affairs. The rumours about what went on on the island...’ She shook her head. ‘She hasn’t been well for years, poor lady, and now I hear that she’s in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.’
For the first time that day he was at a loss for words. Alzheimer’s? Why hadn’t Agnès said anything?
Stupid question. Why would she?
He’d come roaring in, treating her like the enemy, and she’d had her defences up.
Maybe they both had.
He gave Henry a last rub behind the ears and stood up.
Ten minutes later, all the paperwork completed, and everything a dog would need in a backpack with the rescue centre’s logo, he said, ‘I’ll remember you to my mother when I call her.’
‘You do that. And thank you again for the donation. It will be put to good use.’
He nodded, looked down and said, ‘Ready, Henry?’
He got an enthusiastic bark in response. The phone buzzed in Kam’s jacket as they reached the door, but he ignored it. For the moment his total concentration had to be on the dog.
Henry trotted at his side, walking to heel, constantly looking up, constantly receiving reassurance. ‘Good boy. Good boy, Henry.’
And Henry remained a good boy, walking tidily down the steps and along the quay until confronted with the dinghy. At which point he backed off and sat down.
‘What? You’re kidding me.’ Henry gave a little whine in protest. Clearly he wasn’t kidding. ‘You’re a lurcher, Henry. A poacher’s dog. Intelligent, fearless, as happy in water as on dry land...’
Henry lay down, head flat on the ground between his paws, making himself as low as possible.
This wasn’t the moment to push it. They were building a relationship, building trust, and the last thing he needed was to be in a small boat with a frantic dog. It was the last thing Henry needed.
‘Okay, boy, let’s try it another way.’ He walked back up the steps and along to the ferry. Henry went rigid.
It wasn’t, apparently, just small boats.
He could get a taxi but it was ten miles up the river to the nearest road bridge and a long way round to reach the castle from the other side. It was possible that Henry had never been in a car and there was no way of knowing how he’d react.
He’d sort this, but not today.
There was a narrow bridge a couple of miles up the creek that had been closed to traffic for years. Today it was going to be a long walk home.
He stopped to buy a couple of large bottles of water and snacks for them both and then called Agnès.
‘Do you want lunch service, too?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t the fish biting today?’
‘What’s today’s special in the Orangery?’
‘Fish pie.’
‘I’ll pass.’
‘If that’s all—’
‘No. Wait!’ She waited in silence. ‘Is Tim about?’
‘Tim?’
‘I rowed over the creek this morning and, for reasons I won’t go into now, I can’t bring the dinghy back.’
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked, her voice softer, anxious. Was that concern?
‘No, I’m fine. I just don’t want to risk leaving the dinghy on the quay in case some idiot decides to take it for a joy ride.’
‘As opposed to the idiot who took it for a joy ride this morning.’ Forget the concern. ‘Okay, leave it with me, I’ll see to it.’ And with that she ended the call.
‘I think I’m in trouble, Henry.’
No doubt she thought he’d run into an old school friend and decided to go on a pub crawl. Or maybe she thought he’d run into a girl he’d known and they’d decided to catch up somewhere a little quieter.
Not his style, but she wasn’t to know that.
His world had been the estate back then. The freedom of the woods, his dog, his guitar and Agnès.
It was late afternoon by the time he arrived back at the castle. He and Henry had taken it easy, enjoying the walk, taking water stops, taking detours through the woods to revisit old haunts, so that Henry could investigate interesting smells.
‘What is that?’
He had just put one of the stainless-steel bowls he’d bought at the rescue centre on the steps of the castle and filled it with the last of the water from one of the bottles he’d bought, when Agnès appeared.
Henry was drinking noisily. Kam was drinking, rather less noisily, from his own bottle.
‘It’s not a what, it’s a dog,’ he said.
‘Barely.’ Agnès was glaring at him. ‘If it isn’t enough that you abandon a boat that you took without permission, you return with this...’
‘Henry,’ he said, since she was clearly lost for words.
‘Henry?’ And in that moment he realised what he’d done. He’d taken one look at the dog and the name had seemed perfect. But Agnès had something against Henri Prideaux...
He didn’t say the word that slipped into his brain, but he didn’t need her chilly voice to know that he had done something really stupid and it was too late to do anything about it. The name was beyond recall.
It took her a moment, but she recovered sufficiently to say, ‘It states clearly on our website that we don’t accept dogs in the B & B. You are going to have to find other accommodation.’
She was really mad. Oddly that cheered him because that kind of reaction meant that what he did mattered to her.
And he was discovering that what she did mattered to him. A lot.
‘You’re missing a trick,’ he said. ‘Dog-friendly hotels are big business.’
‘Are they? How interesting,’ she said. ‘In that case I’m sure you’ll find somewhere suitable if you enter “dog hotel” in the search engine.’
‘We’ll camp out,’ he said.
She hesitated then shrugged. ‘I suppose he can’t do much harm on the island. You know where to find the dinghy. You will be billed for my ferry fare and time.’
She’d gone herself?
‘Doesn’t Tim row?’
‘It’s Sunday. Tim is having roast beef and Yorkshire pudding at home with his mum.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you. I’ll be happy with whatever charge you feel appropriate, however—’ she narrowed her eyes at him ‘—I’m afraid the island won’t be suitable.’
‘Why?’
He had been afraid she would ask that. He just had to hope that he could make her laugh...
‘You can’t just take my word for it?’ She crossed her arm and tapped a foot. Apparently not. ‘Henry is afraid of boats.’
‘That’s ridiculous. Dogs love boats.’
‘And so will Henry once I’ve discovered why he’s scared.’
She frowned. ‘How did you get back?’
‘We walked.’
And there it was. She fought it, fought really hard, but the smile began in the depths of her eyes, little creases formed at their corners.
‘That’s got to be six miles,’ she said.
‘Nearer seven.’
Her mouth curved into a wide grin and then she was laughing, at first just a chuckle and then helplessly. Maybe there was a
touch of hysteria. She finally pulled herself together, wiped her eyes and said, ‘Thank you. I needed that. I imagine you could do with a cup of tea?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
‘You should get one at The Ferryside Inn. Fortunately they allow dogs in the bar.’
‘Agnès!’
The smile was history. ‘You called him Henry!’ she declared, furiously. ‘How could you?’
‘Because I’m an idiot?’ he suggested and got no argument. ‘I’m sorry but he looked like a Henry. Maybe it was subconscious because he looks a bit like a pirate.’
‘Henri Prideaux was a smuggler, not a pirate, but there’s the irony. Your dog is frightened of boats.’
‘You’re right. It’s hilarious. Now if someone could fetch my stuff from the island?’
‘Fetch it yourself. You know where the dinghy is kept.’
‘I begin to see why this B & B is not featured on the list of the hundred best places to stay in Devon.’
‘You are not staying here, Kam. You are camping without permission on an island that is closed to the public on safety grounds. And now you have brought an unauthorised dog onto the estate.’
‘You allow visitors to the garden to bring in dogs on leads,’ he pointed out. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘They walk round the woods and then go home!’ She raised her hands in despair. ‘Go away!’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Henry, stay.’
Henry promptly sat, and it would have been an excellent demonstration of his obedience if Dora hadn’t chosen that moment to skitter across the polished hall.
Henry shot after her like a rocket.
Agnès tried to grab him but he slipped through her hands and cornered Dora in the office where, from the safety of her retreat beneath the desk, she bared her teeth and gave a low, rolling growl.
Henry, confused, dropped to the floor, nose twitching in Dora’s direction and, once again, Agnès laughed as Kam folded himself up beside Henry and held onto his collar.
There was definitely a touch of hysteria, he thought. This wasn’t just about him and the dog. Something had happened. Not something good.
‘Barb saw you coming, Kam.’
‘Yes, she did,’ he said. ‘She remembered Tramp.’
‘Tramp was shorter. And darker.’ And the softness was back in her voice. ‘He was a lovely old thing. I missed him.’
‘So did I. We couldn’t have dogs in the flat we were living in and, anyway, he would have hated the city. I took him to Battersea and they found him a home in the country with a great couple.’
All the anger seemed to leave her. ‘How many times can I say I’m sorry, Kam?’
‘I should have left him with you...’ There were tears in her eyes and, unable to watch, he turned to Henry. ‘Okay, you daft mutt, this is Dora. She’s a dog, too. A very small, rather silly dog, but that’s not her fault.’
‘Not so silly.’ Agnès sniffed, grabbed a tissue from her desk, blew her nose. ‘She showed your useless mutt her teeth.’
‘He just saw something small and furry and thought it was a cat.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’
‘No, I think that’s going to take a while. But give these two a minute and they’ll sort it out. Stay down, Henry. This is Dora’s house.’
Henry put his head down, looking away from Dora, and gave a little whimper. She pushed her nose forward and gave a hesitant sniff.
It took a few minutes but Henry, with Kam’s hand on his back, remained submissive and Dora finally had the confidence to trot out and give him a good sniff. By the time she’d finished, Henry, tired from his long walk, was asleep. Dora, satisfied that she had forced the newcomer to back down and submit, sat down and then curled up and followed suit.
‘They’ll be fine now,’ he said, standing up.
‘Will they?’ She watched them for a moment and with her face in repose he could see the strain. Finally she looked up and said, ‘Is it too early for gin?’
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
‘It doesn’t have the same hit as a large gin.’
‘No, but you won’t feel so bad in the morning.’
‘You think?’ she muttered but followed him to the kitchen and slumped in a chair, making no move to help, or show him where things were.
He filled the kettle, found mugs, teabags, took the milk from the fridge. ‘When did you last have something to eat?’ he asked.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You look terrible.’
‘So my grandmother keeps telling me.’
She’d put her hair up but there were strands escaping as if she’d been pushing her hands through it. She made an attempt to shove one back into place but it immediately fell back down. Giving up, she let her arms drop to the table and then laid her head on them.
She was at the end of her tether, he realised. Had probably been running on empty, not eating properly, for weeks.
‘Is the boiler playing up again?’ he asked. ‘I could take a look—’
‘No.’ She struggled to sit upright. ‘It’s had its wobbly for the week.’
He found eggs and cheese in the fridge, washed his hands and then, as he cracked eggs into a basin, ‘So I imagine this is about selling your mother’s parure.’
‘This?’
He gently whisked the eggs with a fork.
‘How do you know about the parure?’ The words were right but there was no punch to them. It was as if that scene on the steps had been a last gasp and the fight had gone right out of her. ‘Have you been spying on me?’
He and Henry had taken a couple of water stops on the way home and, on one, he’d remembered the missed call.
He had no idea what a parure was and neither did his assistant, but it had been valued at a little under half a million pounds back in the nineteen-twenties. A valuation that had been conservatively increased by twenty-five per cent on her parents’ death. An estimate. There had been no up-to-date valuation.
‘So it’s true? You are selling it?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘Which?’ he asked, opening cupboards.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘The cheese grater.’
‘Next one along. On your right.’
He found it, made tea in two mugs and put plenty of sugar in hers.
‘So? Is it yes or no?’ he said, as he set it in front of her and then set to work grating the cheese.
‘I took it to an auction house in London yesterday. The jewellery man was out of the office so they said he would call me with a likely sale estimate when he’d seen it. He went in specially today.’
‘I may be wrong but I’m getting the feeling that it wasn’t good news.’
‘There’s good news and bad news. The good news is that I get to keep it. The bad news is that some time, in the last hundred years, someone replaced the diamonds with paste copies. Some Prideaux hard up for cash. Or maybe a crooked jeweller when it was sent for cleaning. Or maybe not.’ She propped her head on her hands as if it was too heavy to hold up by itself. ‘Maybe they never were diamonds. Maybe it was all a con. The love story, the fabulous morning gift. The original bill of sale from the jewellers.’
‘Unlikely,’ he pointed out. ‘There was a valuation in the nineteen-twenties.’
‘You have been spying on me.’
‘Wills are in the public record. You can download documents for a fee. Drink your tea.’
‘You put sugar in it. I’ve never had sugar in my tea. Not even when I was a child.’
Of course not. This was cold comfort castle. Something he was determined to change.
‘It will make you feel better.’
‘It’s going to take more than a spoonful of sugar in my tea,’ she said, but she a took
a sip. Then another one. ‘And I had a call from the estate lawyer this afternoon. He’s been very kind and he wanted to warn me that they expect the tax demand this week.’
‘How long have you got?’
‘They are going to negotiate staged payments. A few months before the first one if I’m lucky but it’s all academic.’ She looked up. ‘I spied on you, too. Well, I ran an Internet search. I wanted to know how you made all that money.’
‘You couldn’t wait for the book?’
‘There isn’t going to be a book. You are publicity shy.’
‘I don’t think my face on social media is going to sell one more bedding set.’
‘You underestimate yourself.’ Her blush brought some colour to her cheeks. What it did to him... ‘I tried to find you on social media, too,’ she said, ‘but it made me feel grubby. Do you feel grubby, Kam?’
‘Because I wanted to know what you had to sell? It’s going to take a lot of money to put things right here,’ he said. ‘I was concerned you were throwing good money after bad.’
‘I remember. You said. Well, no worries. There is no money, good or bad, to throw anywhere so I refer you to the question I asked earlier. Is it too early for gin?’
‘Stick to the tea. As soon as I’ve finished this, I’ll tell you my plan.’
‘What does the D stand for?’
‘D?’
‘KD Faulkner.’
‘Oh, that. It’s David. My maternal grandfather’s name.’
‘I never heard you mention a grandfather. Is that where you went? When you left here?’
‘I never met him or my grandmother. They disowned my mother when she became pregnant with an Arab immigrant.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, resting her chin on her hands. ‘We haven’t been lucky on the grandparent front, have we?’
‘What about your mother’s parents?’
‘They were quite old when she was born. I don’t think they got over losing her. I put having a baby in my five-year plan. I don’t want to leave it too late.’
His hand slipped and he took a piece of skin off his knuckle with the cheese grater.
