leading up to Christmas had proved boring for both Myers and Nell. He was still unable to work because of his injuries; neither could he give his dog the exercise she needed.
His most adventurous outings were both to Netherdale Hospital. The first was to have his dressings changed, the second for the removal of the stitches. The staff nurse on the ward professed herself satisfied with the way the wound was healing. The visit to the hospital reminded him of his promise to the detective. A promise he’d not yet kept. He felt guilty at breaking his word, but eased his conscience by telling himself she’d have forgotten about him by now.
On Boxing Day morning he and Nell were collected early by Barry, en route for Winfield Manor. They found Sir Maurice and several members of his household, including the impressive Falstaff, directing the small army of keepers, under-keepers, beaters, loaders, end stops and pickers-up. In an unoccupied stable, tea, coffee and bacon sandwiches awaited them. Competition to work on Sir Maurice’s shoot was fierce, the principal reasons being the food, and Sir Maurice’s attitude to those he employed.
‘Treat them as servants and they’ll act like servants,’ he’d told one of his neighbours. ‘Make them part of a team and they’ll give you more work than you pay for. What’s more they won’t resent you.’
Barry parked his Land Rover and opened the tailgate. Nell jumped athletically down and dashed off to renew old acquaintances, both human and canine. Sir Maurice noticed the dog before he spotted Myers. ‘Andy, how goes it?’ the baronet asked.
‘Fine, Sir Maurice,’ Myers responded.
‘Your injury healing OK? Nasty things, chainsaws.’
Myers nodded. ‘I’ve had the stitches out and the hospital gave me a clean bill of health.’
‘Excellent.’ Sir Maurice beamed. ‘As long as you’re not going to sue me. Barry tells me he’s managed to persuade you to come to the shoot supper. I’m pleased about that; you’d be very much missed if you weren’t there.’
‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ Myers told him, whilst trying to ignore the faces Barry was pulling behind the baronet’s back.
‘We can’t have you turning into some sort of latter day St Anthony, can we?’
‘I think Godric might be nearer the mark, Sir Maurice.’
The baronet looked at him in mild surprise for a second, then blinked. His shoulders quivered with laughter as he replied, ‘In that case I’d better keep Lady Winfield and my daughters out of your way.’ He was still chuckling as he turned to greet a couple of new arrivals.
‘What was that St Anthony and Godric stuff about?’ Barry asked.
‘St Anthony was one of the earliest Christian hermits,’ Myers explained. ‘He was very pious and extremely chaste. By contrast, Godric was a self-confessed lecher, despoiler of virgins, adulterer, rapist and thief. Even after he became a hermit he continued his wickedness, but only in his dreams and memories.’
‘Sounds like the wife’s brother,’ Barry remarked sourly. ‘Now, about this supper. Shirley’s volunteered to drive so we can have a few pints. If we pick you up at your cottage about 7 p.m. how will that suit?’
‘That’ll be fine.’
The keeper’s attention was claimed by one of his deputies, who needed to consult about sending the end stops to the first drive. As he was discussing it, Barry wondered what it was from Myer’s past that he remembered in the style of Godric.
‘Mr Brown?’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Mr Jones, secure name Harry.’
‘Yes, Mr Jones.’
‘Can you give me a progress report? The first part of the payment has been transferred.’
‘I’ve researched the item you enquired about, and your order will be dispatched by Monday – at the latest. The delivery address is a town called Netherdale.’
‘That is excellent news. Once I have confirmation I’ll be able to place my next order, will that be acceptable?’
‘Quite
His most adventurous outings were both to Netherdale Hospital. The first was to have his dressings changed, the second for the removal of the stitches. The staff nurse on the ward professed herself satisfied with the way the wound was healing. The visit to the hospital reminded him of his promise to the detective. A promise he’d not yet kept. He felt guilty at breaking his word, but eased his conscience by telling himself she’d have forgotten about him by now.
On Boxing Day morning he and Nell were collected early by Barry, en route for Winfield Manor. They found Sir Maurice and several members of his household, including the impressive Falstaff, directing the small army of keepers, under-keepers, beaters, loaders, end stops and pickers-up. In an unoccupied stable, tea, coffee and bacon sandwiches awaited them. Competition to work on Sir Maurice’s shoot was fierce, the principal reasons being the food, and Sir Maurice’s attitude to those he employed.
‘Treat them as servants and they’ll act like servants,’ he’d told one of his neighbours. ‘Make them part of a team and they’ll give you more work than you pay for. What’s more they won’t resent you.’
Barry parked his Land Rover and opened the tailgate. Nell jumped athletically down and dashed off to renew old acquaintances, both human and canine. Sir Maurice noticed the dog before he spotted Myers. ‘Andy, how goes it?’ the baronet asked.
‘Fine, Sir Maurice,’ Myers responded.
‘Your injury healing OK? Nasty things, chainsaws.’
Myers nodded. ‘I’ve had the stitches out and the hospital gave me a clean bill of health.’
‘Excellent.’ Sir Maurice beamed. ‘As long as you’re not going to sue me. Barry tells me he’s managed to persuade you to come to the shoot supper. I’m pleased about that; you’d be very much missed if you weren’t there.’
‘I’m really looking forward to it,’ Myers told him, whilst trying to ignore the faces Barry was pulling behind the baronet’s back.
‘We can’t have you turning into some sort of latter day St Anthony, can we?’
‘I think Godric might be nearer the mark, Sir Maurice.’
The baronet looked at him in mild surprise for a second, then blinked. His shoulders quivered with laughter as he replied, ‘In that case I’d better keep Lady Winfield and my daughters out of your way.’ He was still chuckling as he turned to greet a couple of new arrivals.
‘What was that St Anthony and Godric stuff about?’ Barry asked.
‘St Anthony was one of the earliest Christian hermits,’ Myers explained. ‘He was very pious and extremely chaste. By contrast, Godric was a self-confessed lecher, despoiler of virgins, adulterer, rapist and thief. Even after he became a hermit he continued his wickedness, but only in his dreams and memories.’
‘Sounds like the wife’s brother,’ Barry remarked sourly. ‘Now, about this supper. Shirley’s volunteered to drive so we can have a few pints. If we pick you up at your cottage about 7 p.m. how will that suit?’
‘That’ll be fine.’
The keeper’s attention was claimed by one of his deputies, who needed to consult about sending the end stops to the first drive. As he was discussing it, Barry wondered what it was from Myer’s past that he remembered in the style of Godric.
‘Mr Brown?’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Mr Jones, secure name Harry.’
‘Yes, Mr Jones.’
‘Can you give me a progress report? The first part of the payment has been transferred.’
‘I’ve researched the item you enquired about, and your order will be dispatched by Monday – at the latest. The delivery address is a town called Netherdale.’
‘That is excellent news. Once I have confirmation I’ll be able to place my next order, will that be acceptable?’
‘Quite
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