Читать книгу Secrets at Toplingham Manor - T A Williams - Страница 11

Chapter 3

‘That was your friend Duggie there. Did you see him?’

Linda rarely missed anything, while Roger rarely noticed anything. Unless it was a spelling mistake in a thousand-year-old manuscript.

Roger swung his head to the right. He just spotted Duggie sitting in his old Porsche, waiting for the red light to change. There was no sign of recognition on his face, but maybe the brand-new car Roger was driving was not yet familiar to his friend.

‘He probably doesn’t recognise the car yet.’ Linda, as usual, was on the same wavelength. ‘After all, you’ve only had it a week.’

The new car had been her suggestion. His previous one had been an accident waiting to happen; assuming, of course, that it could be persuaded to start in the first place. They had gone for a sober dark-blue model, comfortable on the inside, but not flashy externally. ‘Not like that red sports car of his!’ She settled back in her seat again. She let her eyes run over the pristine leather and walnut around her. Being with a multi-millionaire definitely had its advantages.

Duggie did not notice them pass. The early morning sun was shining diagonally across his windscreen. He was fascinated as it picked out the clear image left by a pair of bare feet, just above dashboard level. Neat, small, feminine feet, highlighted in a spectrum of colour. He smiled to himself as the lights changed to amber. Roger’s farewell bash had been a very good do, but not a patch on the energetic romp with Tina Pound that had only finished a few hours ago. He stretched and yawned. The lights changed to green, and he accelerated off in the direction of Toplingham Manor, unaware that his future employer had just passed him on his way to the RSPCA.

‘Roger, you do realise that they don’t normally have St Bernard dogs at the RSPCA, don’t you?’ Linda was not quite sure whether his suggestion the previous evening had been in fun or not. He set her mind to rest.

‘Of course. Anyway, I would never want a big dog like that. No, let’s go for a little mutt. But you can choose.’

He cast her a quick glance. She looked as lovely as ever. He actually allowed a sigh to escape his lips.

‘That was a big sigh? Are you tired after the party last night?’ There was a note of concern in her voice. ‘I thought you handled it remarkably well. Did you know? The caterers said there were almost two hundred guests.’

He did not know that. As far as he was concerned, it had been an unavoidable evil that he had survived rather than enjoyed. St Bernard had been reclusive as well. Bernard had no time for social graces. Not for the first time, Roger found himself wondering whether he, too, should have chosen the monastic life, maybe even joining the Cistercians like St Bernard himself.

The notion died stillborn. There were, after all, two major obstacles to his becoming a monk. Firstly, and this was a serious stumbling block, he did not believe in God. Another surreptitious glance across to his left reminded him of the second. Celibacy was a prerequisite for any monk. He knew all too well he would find this impossible. All the same, he reflected grimly, he had been effectively celibate for so long now, he really needed to find the courage to do something about it.

‘I must say, Linda, that the success of the evening was due to you. I would have made a complete hash of organising a do for two hundred people. You are amazing. I really don’t know what I would do without you.’

She sighed.

Their arrival at the Sunny Combe Animal Shelter prevented him from heaping any further praise upon her.

‘Here we are.’

Roger pulled into a tight parking space. They both climbed out of the car, to be assailed by an impenetrable wall of sound; barking, howling and growling. Linda gave him a reassuring smile. She would have taken his hand, except that she felt it would not have been seemly.