Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (26 page)

‘No,
of course not.’

‘Good,
man,’ said Felix pausing. ‘Still, I can’t help wondering how an inspector can
afford such quality. Police pay must be better than I thought.’

‘Do
you reckon it’s worth a bit?’

‘It
should be. The only wine I recall coming close to this in the last few years
was a vintage Burgundy from Domaine Chambourge. I think that one retailed at
around five hundred pounds a bottle, if you could get it.’

I
was stunned to learn anyone would spend so much on a bottle of wine. The most I’d
ever paid had been ten pounds for a bottle of some white plonk I’d bought from
a bloke in the Feathers, intending to impress a girl at a party. It hadn’t worked
and I could still remember the way she’d pursed her lips on realising I hadn’t
chilled it, the way she’d rolled her eyes when I drove a corkscrew through the
screw-top, the way she’d clicked her tongue when I spilled a drop down her
front, the way she’d walked out without a word after the first sip. I’d thought
her overly judgemental until, taking a gulp to console myself, I felt as if the
wine was stripping the enamel from my teeth, forcing me to drink about a gallon
of water to douse the burning in my mouth and throat. Since then, I’d been
happy to knock back any wine that left my teeth intact. Even so, I had enough
palate remaining to have realised that Hobbes’s stock was rather nice, without
enough to realise it was exceptional. For a moment I wondered if they were
having me on, yet their expressions as they sipped the stuff reminded me of one
of the windows in the church, one depicting Saint somebody-or-other ascending
to heaven, convinced me they meant it.

To
me, the food, though no better than I’d expected, was even more impressive than
the wine. As for Felix and Violet, after their first bite of one of Mrs G’s
cheese sandwiches, they ate in awed silence. Yet the sandwiches were the least
of the delights, for she’d packed bite-sized meat pies that self-destructed in
the mouth, leaving just a wonderful savoury taste, a crispy salad with a
dressing that made me want to cry for joy, succulent cold meats and so many
wonderful things that six of us could have dined with no hardship. As it was, I
think we all rather stuffed ourselves, leaving little.

Felix
sighed as he finished the last slice of fruit cake, refilled his glass and
raised it. ‘To Andy, who knows how to picnic. I haven’t eaten so well in years.’

‘It
was no bother,’ I said, truthfully, ‘except that it was heavy to carry.’

‘No
problem,’ he said, ‘I’ll carry it back. In the meantime, would you care for a
top up?’

After
he’d filled my glass, I stretched out on the rug.

‘That
was lovely,’ said Violet, placing her hand on mine, giving it a squeeze, ‘thank
you.’

Feeling
very full, very satisfied and very relaxed, as the shadows lengthened, I
sprawled at Violet’s side as we chatted about art and literature and business. In
truth, Felix and Violet did the chatting, while I, trying to look intelligent, grunted
occasionally to express agreement. Yet, when Violet leaned back with her head
against my thigh, I felt as happy as I’d ever been.

‘Isn’t
it a glorious evening,’ I said.

‘It
is,’ said Felix, ‘and, of course, it’s the solstice.’

‘Oh
yes,’ said Violet, raising her head, ‘I nearly forgot.’

‘What
is it?’ I asked.

‘The
summer solstice,’ said Felix, with a snort of derision, ‘the longest day, the
shortest night.’

‘Oh,
yes … of course … when the nutters prance round the stones on Hedbury Common.’

‘So
the local rag says,’ said Violet, smiling, ‘though I wouldn’t go so far as
calling them nutters; they’re probably just having fun. After all, Midsummer’s
traditionally a time of celebration.’

‘That’s
not how my father saw it,’ I said, reflectively. ‘He used to reckon it was all downhill
towards winter from now on.’

‘Sounds
like a cheery soul.’

‘Not
really,’ I said, about to relate an amusing anecdote from my childhood.

Felix’s
mobile phone chirruped, just as the evening sun disappeared behind a cloud.

‘Excuse
me,’ he said, getting up, pulling the phone from his pocket. ‘Felix King … Oh,
it’s you Mike … I said I wasn’t to be disturbed … I see … Right, I’d best see
to it at once … I’m at the arboretum, just past Hedbury, with Violet and her …
friend, so pick me up in the lay-by in front of the kiosk as you come in …’ He
glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.’ He pushed
the mobile back into his pocket.

‘Must
you go?’ asked Violet.

‘I’m
afraid so, something’s come up,’ he said and grinned. ‘It’s about time we had
some good news on the project.’

Though
I tried to look suitably sad at his imminent departure, my heart felt as if it
were turning cartwheels of delight. Admittedly, things had improved
considerably since we’d started the meal, but the food and drink, superb though
they were, were not the real reasons for the picnic. What I wanted was to have
her to myself, and it was beginning to look as if I might get my way. The
affair was back on and, with the sun escaping the cloud’s embrace, warmth flooded
my soul.

‘Actually,
Andy,’ said Felix, stretching, slicking back his hair, ‘I was hoping to have a
word with you this evening and, since I really must get a move on, I’d
appreciate you walking back with me. It will give Violet a chance to pack up.’

Annoyed
that he expected me to jump at his command, angered at his assumption that
Violet would pack up on his say so, I should have just refused. Perhaps I would
have, had I not been so polite, had Felix not been the sort of man who expected
obedience and always seemed to get it. Without knowing quite why, I found
myself walking with him.

‘That
was a splendid picnic and an excellent wine,’ he said, ‘and I’d really
appreciate it if you could source it for me.’

‘Sauce
it?’

‘Find
out from where the Inspector obtains his supplies. Or you could ask him if he’d
mind selling me a few crates. Money won’t be a problem once this project comes
to completion, and it’s starting to move, so I won’t quibble about the cost.
Would you do that for me, Andy?’

‘Umm
… yes. I expect so,’ I said, thinking his request not sufficiently important to
drag me away from Violet, although the distant rumble of thunder suggested the
picnic would have been curtailed soon anyway.

‘Good
man,’ said Felix, pleasantly. ‘And now there’s something else I’d like to say,
so you’d do well to listen.’

His
voice had changed. All hint of friendliness had vanished, along with the
commanding, yet reasonable, tones of a leader of men. In an instant it had
grown cold, the tone reminding me a little of Hobbes when having a chat with a
miscreant.

‘I
make a point,’ he said, ‘of taking a long, hard look at Violet’s male friends. As
her older brother, I’ve always looked out for her, always wanted what’s best
for her.’

‘Good,’
I said, wondering where he was going, fearing I could guess, ‘I’m … umm … pleased
to hear that.’

‘She’s
very attractive, don’t you agree?’

I
nodded.

‘But
there are some, hangers-on, toadies, rogues and parasites, who find her wealth more
attractive. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Umm
… yes. I suppose so.’

‘So,
which category do you fit into, Mr Caplet?’

‘Me?
None of them … I just like her and …’

‘You
say that, yet know nothing about her, except that she is rich. I, on the other
hand, know rather a lot about you: you have no job, no home and no prospects.
Am I right?’

‘Well
…’

‘You
live on Hobbes’s charity and I have learned that Violet has already bought you
an expensive meal. Is my information correct so far?’

‘Sort
of … umm … but …’

‘It
appears to me that you are a chancer and a parasite. She is smart, successful
and cultured; you are a worthless waste of breath. Would you agree that a
worthless waste of breath is not a suitable man for Violet?’

‘Yes
… but I’m not …’

‘You
seem to have taken her in for the moment but, in all honesty, I can’t see what
she sees in you. However, I do not intend her to be hurt again.’

‘But
… I … I’d never do that,’ I said, feeling a chill run through me, shivering,
despite the evening still being so warm.

‘Men
such as you have hurt her in the past and it has resulted in breakdowns. I will
not go into the details. Suffice to say, I will not allow you to be the cause
of such unpleasantness. When my car arrives, you will return to her, help her
pack and carry the picnic and rugs back to her car. Afterwards, you will ask her
to drive you straight home and you will not see her again. Understood?’

‘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.

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.’