then a bag of sand and cement, and fill all the holes, replace the stones that have fallen out. Then paint.” He gave a broad sweep with his arm and his imagination full rein. “Everywhere. Just imagine a snow-white barn, with the beams picked out in black and Sunny Boy in pride of place with the light shining in from that window above his head. A wonderful setting for a magnificent beast. What a picture! And no more than a beast of his caliber deserves.” He paused to let the picture sink into Phil’s brain. “I can see three or four wheelie bins lined up against that far wall with the feed in. Blue, I think, would look good against the white. Imagine, Blossom. Why, you could hold tea parties in here.”
He drank down the last of the coffee, put the empty mug on the tray, said, “Thanks. Be seeing you” and left to shouts of gratitude from Blossom and Phil.
As he drove to his next call, he thought about the charity auction Mungo had asked him to attend in his place. He was obliged to go but would have preferred someone to go with. High-profile animal charity event, lots of country people there, no doubt, so whom should he ask? It would have to be someone from the practice because he didn’t know anyone else. If only Rose were here …; but she wasn’t and wouldn’t be, and he’d better close his mind to her because wishing would achieve nothing at all. Unbidden, a picture came into his mind of her striding beside him along that magnificent beach, very early one morning, almost before the sun was up … the fine, silvery sand filtering up between his bare toes … her slender fingers entwined in his, swimming naked in the sea, the chill waterrippling against his skin … breakfasting on the beach afterward. He could still smell the ripeness of the peaches she’d brought with her, and even now his forearms could feel the roughness of the sun-dried towel she lay on … pain shot through him at the thought of her. He quickly closed the door on Rose and bent his mind to solving his problem.
Whom to ask to go with him? Not Bunty, nor Sarah One or Two, no, he’d ask Kate. Yes, Kate. He liked Kate, liked her straightforwardness and her no-nonsense manner; and he knew she liked him, which was more than could be said for any of the others.
He pulled into the yard at Tattersall’s Cop with his mind made up. Definitely Kate. He was sure she’d say yes, if only for the chance to see the wealthy at play, and he guessed they’d derive the same kind of amusement from it too.
T HE auction was to be held in the newly named Lord Henry Askew Hall, a splendid edifice built at the height of the Arts and Crafts movement, with wonderfully ornate decoration, richly painted walls and dramatic paneling that required none of the specially installed lighting or the drapes with which someone had seen fit to embellish it. Vast flower displays burgeoned in every corner; and the general impression was of an overdressed, very rich, stately old lady. Originally it had been the town hall, and out of a kind of ingrained stubbornness the majority of the inhabitants still called it that. Lord Askew, however, was inordinately pleased to have the hall named after himself and made a point of attending every possible event ever held in it.
Dan and Kate arrived just after seven. They each left their overcoats in the cloakroom and emerged into the hall to find a receiving line awaiting them.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Dan murmured, “I bet Mungo never thought Lord Askew might be here.”
“Oh no! I’ve never met him. Where is he?”
“The last in the receiving line.”
“That’s him? He doesn’t look much like I imagine a lord should.”
“But he is. Here goes.”
They shook hands and introduced themselves as they went down the line, meeting the chairman of the charity and his wife and various other officials. Then finally came the moment for Dan to face Lord Askew. He took the bull by the horns saying, “Dan Brown, my lord,
He drank down the last of the coffee, put the empty mug on the tray, said, “Thanks. Be seeing you” and left to shouts of gratitude from Blossom and Phil.
As he drove to his next call, he thought about the charity auction Mungo had asked him to attend in his place. He was obliged to go but would have preferred someone to go with. High-profile animal charity event, lots of country people there, no doubt, so whom should he ask? It would have to be someone from the practice because he didn’t know anyone else. If only Rose were here …; but she wasn’t and wouldn’t be, and he’d better close his mind to her because wishing would achieve nothing at all. Unbidden, a picture came into his mind of her striding beside him along that magnificent beach, very early one morning, almost before the sun was up … the fine, silvery sand filtering up between his bare toes … her slender fingers entwined in his, swimming naked in the sea, the chill waterrippling against his skin … breakfasting on the beach afterward. He could still smell the ripeness of the peaches she’d brought with her, and even now his forearms could feel the roughness of the sun-dried towel she lay on … pain shot through him at the thought of her. He quickly closed the door on Rose and bent his mind to solving his problem.
Whom to ask to go with him? Not Bunty, nor Sarah One or Two, no, he’d ask Kate. Yes, Kate. He liked Kate, liked her straightforwardness and her no-nonsense manner; and he knew she liked him, which was more than could be said for any of the others.
He pulled into the yard at Tattersall’s Cop with his mind made up. Definitely Kate. He was sure she’d say yes, if only for the chance to see the wealthy at play, and he guessed they’d derive the same kind of amusement from it too.
T HE auction was to be held in the newly named Lord Henry Askew Hall, a splendid edifice built at the height of the Arts and Crafts movement, with wonderfully ornate decoration, richly painted walls and dramatic paneling that required none of the specially installed lighting or the drapes with which someone had seen fit to embellish it. Vast flower displays burgeoned in every corner; and the general impression was of an overdressed, very rich, stately old lady. Originally it had been the town hall, and out of a kind of ingrained stubbornness the majority of the inhabitants still called it that. Lord Askew, however, was inordinately pleased to have the hall named after himself and made a point of attending every possible event ever held in it.
Dan and Kate arrived just after seven. They each left their overcoats in the cloakroom and emerged into the hall to find a receiving line awaiting them.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Dan murmured, “I bet Mungo never thought Lord Askew might be here.”
“Oh no! I’ve never met him. Where is he?”
“The last in the receiving line.”
“That’s him? He doesn’t look much like I imagine a lord should.”
“But he is. Here goes.”
They shook hands and introduced themselves as they went down the line, meeting the chairman of the charity and his wife and various other officials. Then finally came the moment for Dan to face Lord Askew. He took the bull by the horns saying, “Dan Brown, my lord,
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