Next Door to Romance (17 page)

But it was certainly necessary, just now, to see that Simon shouldn't be worried, because he was so irritable that it was abundantly clear that he had something on his mind, though what it was, Mrs Cosgrave had no idea—these days, her Simon rarely took her into his confidence.

The trouble was, in fact, the elusiveness of Sir Gerald Tenbury.

Simon's first idea had been for Mark to put pressure on Lisa to bring about a meeting with Sir Gerald. He had taken a lot of persuading that such a course simply wasn't feasible. Indeed, it was not until, in desperation, Mark broke his promise not to pass on the news that Sir Gerald was living in the neighbourhood that he reluctantly abandoned the original plan. Reluctantly because he saw that there could be an irritating delay before he could make the contact he so desired. He wasn't in much doubt what sort of welcome he'd get if he forced his way into Sir Gerald's home uninvited.

No, it had got to be a chance meeting, and obviously the Bellairs still offered the best opportunity for that. Consequently, he 'took up' Professor Bellairs, much to that gentleman's embarrassment, and encouraged his wife to do the same with Mrs Bellairs.

'She's on heaven knows how many committees,' he pointed out impatiently when Mrs Cosgrave protested that she wasn't any use at that sort of thing. 'There must be one at least dealing with something you're interested in—gardens or dogs or something—'

Mrs Cosgrave did as she was told, but neither that nor anything else brought Simon an inch nearer to achieving his purpose.

Then, one stiflingly hot day, when even in the spacious Manor grounds there seemed to be no air, Simon asked his wife if she'd like to go for a drive. She accepted eagerly.

'It'll do Chicot good,' she explained. 'He feels the heat so badly, poor pet!'

So, despite Simon's grumbles, the three of them set off. It was an aimless drive until, suddenly, Simon stiffened as a small car turned out of a side lane and passing them in the opposite direction, took the turning towards Bardley. Instantly Simon turned and followed.

'Oh, are we going back already?' Mrs Cosgrave asked in a disappointed way.

Simon didn't answer, but when they got nearer Bardley, the little car in front turned off for Addingly. Simon followed it.

'I thought so!' he muttered with considerable satisfaction as the car turned in at the Bellairs' entrance.

He, however, kept going and it was not until a quarter of an hour later that he turned back and went in at the same entrance.

'Why, there's the car you were—' Mrs Cosgrave began.

Simon interrupted her sharply.

'Listen, if you say a word to anybody about having seen that car earlier this afternoon, I—I'll stop your allowance for six months! Understand? And don't take that yappy little brute in with you. He'd just make a damn nuisance of himself.'

'But, Simon, he does so hate being left alone,' Mrs Cosgrave objected.

But it was no use. Simon was adamant and the dog was locked in the car despite its piteous whining.

They found Professor and Mrs Bellairs and Sir Gerald sitting in the shade of a clump of sturdy trees. The garden ran down to a little stream that, despite the long spell of hot weather, chuckled and gurgled over its stony bed in a way that brought at least an illusion of coolness that was lacking in the Manor garden. But Simon hardly noticed his surroundings. He was on his mettle. It wasn't an easy situation, but he'd got to convince everyone that it was at least a chance one—

The Bellairs weren't happy. They knew perfectly well that Sir Gerald was annoyed at having been run to ground like this, but what on earth could they do? One can't send neighbours—and the Cosgraves were practically that—packing, particularly in view of the link which Mark made between the two families.

They did not need to have worried. Sir Gerald was quite equal to the occasion. He greeted Simon politely enough, but turned immediately to Mrs Cosgrave.

'I understand from Mrs Bellairs that you are very much interested in gardening,' he said pleasantly. 'I wonder if you'd give me the benefit of your experience—'

And from then on, he talked to no one but Mrs Cosgrave who, flattered and set at ease by his skilful handling, talked naturally and quite interestingly about gardens she had known. And, bored though he was with Professor Bellairs' account of an archaeological dig in which he had taken part many years ago, Simon wasn't altogether displeased. In fact, he was rather amused as he heard Violet promise to let Sir Gerald have some cuttings in the autumn. If, after all, it was through Violet, of all people—

Tea was served—and then, quite suddenly, the peace of the afternoon was shattered. Round the corner of the house Tom Farrier came racing at top speed with Lisa in his wake.

'Why, Tom—' Mrs Bellairs said anxiously, half rising from her seat.

Tom took no notice. A forbidding and threatening figure, he stood over Simon Cosgrave, his face black with anger.

'Is that your car out in the drive—the black saloon?' he demanded.

'It is,' Simon replied belligerently. 'Any objection?'

Tom ignored the question.

'You will come and get your dog out of it
at once
!' he announced grimly. 'That is, unless you
want
it to die!'

There was a moment of shocked silence. Then, as Mrs Cosgrave gave a pitiful little scream, Simon Cosgrave jumped to his feet with a roar, his face purple with rage.

'You young jackanapes!' he bellowed, his arms flailing furiously. 'Who do you think you're talking to?'

'
You
,' Tom told him, holding off the threatened blows with skilled control. 'Well, are you coming? Or am I to ring up the police?'

'The police?' The colour in Simon's face faded to an ugly blotch of red and white.

'Yes. Causing an animal unnecessary suffering is an indictable offence,' Tom told him grimly. 'And the sentence, if the animal dies as a result of it, is likely to be heavy. So I advise you to hurry, Mr Cosgrave!'

Simon looked round the circle of watching faces and unconsciously he moistened his lips with his tongue. If he had gained any ground this afternoon, thanks to this young fool he'd lost it and more besides! Their faces told him that—bleak and critical and unfriendly, ready before they even knew what it was all about to assume that he was to blame.

'A lot of nonsense!' he muttered thickly, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. 'The dog was quite all right when we left him!'

'But I told you, Simon, Chicot hates being left alone—' Mrs Cosgrave whimpered, her eyes full of tears, her lips quivering. 'Oh, please, please do hurry—'

The entire party hastened round to the front of the house and peered into the car. A little black body lay very still on the back seat.

With hands that shook despite himself, Simon opened up the car and Tom, pushing him unceremoniously aside, leaned forward and picked Chicot up.

'Oh, he's dead, I know he is!' Mrs Cosgrave wailed.

'I told you, Simon—I told you, but you wouldn't take any notice. And now he's had a fit or something being left alone. He's so highly strung—'

Tom, holding the dog in the crook of his arm, laid his other hand on the curly black chest.

'He's not dead
yet
, Mrs Cosgrave,' he said ominously. 'But there isn't much time to spare.' He turned towards the house. 'Come along, Lisa. I'll need your help,' he flung over his shoulder.

Lisa followed at his heels, forgetting all their differences, thankful only that she could help. For half an hour she obeyed the orders Tom flung at her without hesitation. Then for a moment he paused in the treatment he was giving and put the stethoscope to Chicot's chest. His face grew grim, but he returned to the treatment for another quarter of an hour before, again, he applied the stethoscope. But this time his hands dropped to his sides and he shook his head.

'That's it,' he said grimly. 'He's had it, poor little chap. Fetch Cosgrave, please, Lisa.'

It wasn't a task that Lisa would have chosen to do, but in Tom's present mood she couldn't argue with him. She went out to the hall and found Mrs Cosgrave sitting slumped in a chair, occasionally sniffing and mopping her eyes. Simon was striding up and down, his face grim and scowling. Of Lisa's parents and Sir Gerald there was no sign.

As Lisa came out, both the Cosgraves turned towards her. Mrs Cosgrave said nothing, but her hands stretched out appealingly. Mr Cosgrave stood still, his feet planted wide.

'Well?' he demanded.

'Mr Farrier would like to see you, Mr Cosgrave,' she said briefly.

Mrs Cosgrave gave a little cry.

'That means—it's bad news, isn't it?' she asked, wide-eyed.

'I'm afraid so,' Lisa said gently and then, as Simon brushed her aside and strode into Tom's quarters, she put a restraining hand on Mrs Cosgrave's arm. 'Mrs Cosgrave, don't go in. It will only distress you—'

'But I must, my dear,' Mrs Cosgrave said firmly. 'I must know—'

Something in the older woman's manner convinced Lisa that whether she ought to stop her or not, she wouldn't be able to so, since there was nothing else she could do, she followed in her wake and was just in time to hear Tom say, coldly and formally:

'I regret to have to inform you that I have been unable to save your dog's life.'

'Just as well,' Simon said harshly. 'I've no use for a dog that's so nervy he throws fits because he's left alone for a while. If this hadn't happened I'd have had him put down anyway. A dog like that's better out of the way,' he finished unfeelingly, ignoring Mrs Cosgrave's heartbroken cry.

'Just a minute,' Tom said, dangerously quiet. 'Are you trying to make out that the dog's condition was due entirely to nerves?'

'Of course it was!' Simon said promptly, but to Lisa's ears, there was rather more than a hint of bluster in his manner. It suggested that he wasn't too sure of his ground. 'Too inbred, probably. These pedigree dogs so often are—'

'Your dog,' Tom said, choosing each word with deliberate care, 'has died for one reason and one only. Heat exhaustion. No, keep quiet and listen to me!' as Mr Cosgrave showed signs of exploding. 'The temperature today in the
shade
is over eighty-four degrees. Your car was not only standing in the full sunshine, the windows were shut and there was no movement of air. The poor little chap was roasted to death!'

'Rubbish—' Mr Cosgrave began, but Tom brushed him aside.

'Is it rubbish? Would
you
care to be shut up in similar circumstances for well over an hour? By heavens, I'd like to be able to see that you were! It's the only punishment that would fit such a crime!'

'Crime!' Simon bellowed. 'The way you speak, anyone would think I'd committed a murder!'

'If by murder you mean taking the life of another living creature, then that's just what you have done,' Tom told him sternly.

'Now look here, young man, I've had enough of your insolence!' Simon announced, breathing heavily. 'Fetch your boss!'

'My boss?' Tom repeated.

'Yes, your boss—your employer. Whatever you like to call him,' Simon said impatiently. 'I intend to report you for your insolence!'

Tom smiled faintly and shook his head.