Читать книгу The Peacock - Isabel Bogdan - Страница 11

And then it was Thursday already. The manager of the London private bank’s investment department and her Irish setter arrived in a brand-new, metallic blue sports car, while the rest of the group drove up in sedate black. With her very first step out of the blue car, the investment department manager trod in some goose muck. She was, of course, still wearing her elegant city shoes and, of course, wasn’t overly amused; in fact, she was extremely vexed. Long car journeys didn’t exactly relax her, and she could hardly be said to have a relaxed attitude at the best of times. She made an effort to maintain her composure, but really she was of the opinion that when guests arrived, the property owners should make sure there was no excrement lying around where they’d have to park, thank you very much. While she was still trying to wipe the worst of it off on the lawn, the goose waddled towards her at surprising speed, gobbling noisily with its neck outstretched towards her. Few people tended to consider the goose’s greeting as particularly friendly. She had never hurt anyone, but her aggressive demeanour thoroughly startled most people. The goose was certainly a considerably better guard dog than Albert, who did usually bark when greeting guests but wagged his tail with joy while doing so. The investment department manager would never have admitted to being scared of a goose, but to be honest, the attack hardly improved her mood and merely confirmed her reservations against such large birds. She had had a fright and quite an adrenaline surge and had broken out in a sweat. She was a little scared of the goose, had goose muck on one of her expensive shoes, and on top of everything else, it was damn cold. This was off to a great start!

The McIntoshes automatically shooed away the goose and didn’t find her droppings worthy of further remark or in any way tragic. This was the countryside, after all. Anyone who came here came for that very reason. If not specifically for the goose muck. The McIntoshes were considerably more concerned about the manager’s blue car, but they couldn’t very well say so. They could see that the lady wasn’t particularly well disposed towards birds just now, even if she was trying to be polite. So they began by welcoming the bankers warmly and offered up the garden hose and some kitchen roll for the manager to remedy the mishap on her shoe. She took a few steps to the side and almost stumbled over a dead animal, which immediately gave her yet another fright.

The animal wasn’t dead; it was a toy monkey which Albert and Victoria had loved to bits, almost literally. Since Victoria’s death a few weeks ago, Albert had acted out his grief on the monkey in particular, but, of course, the investment department manager couldn’t know that. She also didn’t know whether she was more disgusted by the goose muck on her shoe or by the dead monkey. Her own dog noticed the cuddly toy with considerably more enthusiasm, and the manager promptly forbade him from playing with it. The dog didn’t listen. He was called Mervyn, like the former head of the Bank of England, which might have been a coincidence but it did give the McIntoshes cause to hope that the woman might possess something like a sense of humour after all. The psychologist, the cook and the rest of the bankers stood nearby awkwardly and tried to make small talk.

The McIntoshes enquired politely about whether the group had found the place alright and whether it had been a pleasant journey. While Lady Fiona was showing the group around (and Albert was showing Mervyn everything outside), the Laird excused himself for a moment and went to look for Ryszard. To be sure, there hadn’t been any more incidents with the peacock for a few weeks. The whole thing had probably blown over a while ago, but it was possible that there simply hadn’t been any blue things around. Better to be on the safe side. Unfortunately, they couldn’t ask the manager to put her car in the garage, because all the crates, cases and bits of furniture from the west wing were being stored there.

There was no phone signal, so Hamish couldn’t simply call Ryszard, but luckily they had discussed what needed to be done that day not long before the bankers had arrived. Ryszard had planned to first deal with a blocked drain in one of the cottages before finishing some tasks in the woods, where the devastation caused by the latest storm hadn’t quite been cleared away yet. Lord McIntosh got into the car and hoped he would find Ryszard still at the cottage, but he was already finished there, and the drainpipe was fixed. The young family staying in the holiday home was full of praise for the swift – and so friendly – resolution of their problem. They offered Lord McIntosh a cup of tea and were clearly in the mood for a chat. He thanked them but refused, explaining that he really did need to find Ryszard quite urgently. This might be tricky, hopefully he hadn’t disappeared into the depths of the woods. Lord McIntosh didn’t have an overview of exactly what needed to be done in which part of in the woods, he only knew the vague direction and he wasn’t in the four-wheel-drive, just the normal car, so he’d have to stick to the road. The bankers were sure to wonder why the Laird had driven away so suddenly instead of taking his time to greet them and show them around – and on top of all this, there was the very real danger that the peacock might launch itself upon the investment department manager’s car without delay, and she was already less than happy about the goose and its droppings. All this made him thoroughly nervous. Luckily, Ryszard had run into one of the farmers from the glen on his way to the devastated woods and had pulled in briefly, so Hamish met him while he was still on the road. He asked Ryszard to tempt the peacocks far away from the house with some feed or something; he didn’t want to see them over the next few days, he said – Madame had arrived in a blue car.

Ryszard promised to deal with it.