Up Close and Personal (18 page)

Bear looked down at his chest. ‘What is it?’ he said, frowning. ‘Have I dropped some ice cream on myself?’

‘No,’ Nicole replied, forcing herself to look away. ‘I was just, um, admiring your T-shirt.’

Bear looked slightly bemused. ‘I see.’ He smiled at Juliet. ‘This is a fantastic fête; you’ve done Loxwood proud.’

‘Oh, I can’t take all the credit,’ Juliet replied. ‘I had a lot of help.’

‘She’s just being modest,’ Yasmin piped up. ‘I’ve seen
how hard she’s worked to pull all this together.’ She held her hand out to Bear. ‘I’m Yasmin, by the way.’

‘Ah, the showbiz queen,’ Bear said, shaking her hand. ‘Nicole’s told me a lot about you.’

Yasmin arched a well-shaped brow. ‘Has she now?’

Nicole nodded energetically. As she did, she felt slightly dizzy. It seemed as if her head were no longer securely attached and might be about to roll off her shoulders and land at Bear’s feet. All at once she started giggling uncontrollably. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said as her giggles turned to snorts. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I’m not myself today.’

‘I think the poor love’s got a touch of sunstroke,’ Juliet said, taking Nicole’s arm.

Bear’s eyes filled with concern. ‘In that case, you’d better get her into the shade. Sunstroke can be a nasty thing.’

‘We will,’ Yasmin said, taking Nicole’s other arm. ‘Come on, Nic, let’s go and find a nice big tree.’

The two women started leading Nicole away before she could embarrass herself further.

‘Bye, Bear!’ Nicole yelled over her shoulder. ‘See you soon!’

‘Bye, Nicole,’ Bear said, shaking his head in amusement.

12

Inside Ashwicke’s elegant drawing room Dante was kneeling in front of a baroque bureau, where earlier that day he’d placed a secret stash of clothing. Until two days ago, Dante had never even heard of the Best Dressed Pet competition. It was Nathan who’d mentioned it as he delivered coffee to the Betjeman suite, where Dante was painting the skirting boards.

‘I thought you could do with some refreshment,’ the general manager had said, placing the mug on the floor beside Dante.

‘Thanks,’ Dante replied, leaning back on his haunches.

Nathan, who seemed in no hurry to leave, went to the window. ‘I expect you’re looking forward to the fête on Saturday,’ he remarked as he gazed out across the lawn.

Dante cleared his throat. Ever since their bizarre confrontation in Gus’s dressing room a few days earlier, he’d felt awkward around Nathan. ‘You bet,’ he said.

‘The weather forecast looks promising.’

‘Yeah?’ Dante said. ‘That’s good.’

Nathan turned away from the window and leaned against the sill. ‘Were you thinking of taking part in any of the events?’

Dante shrugged. ‘To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Nathan murmured, shaking his head. ‘
From what I’ve heard, Mr Ingram always liked to join in. One year he did a performance with the local Morris dancers. Apparently, he was so good he got a standing ovation.’

Dante felt a twinge of irritation. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to join in,’ he said, picking up the paintbrush, ‘but I don’t have any talents: I can’t act; my singing’s lousy and as for my Morris dancing … well, I don’t even know what that is.’

‘That doesn’t matter. You could always offer to man one of the attractions – the tombola, perhaps, or how about the welly-wanging?’

Dante shook his head. ‘I’d rather not commit myself to helping out for a whole afternoon. I want to spend some time with Juliet.’

‘Yes, of course you do. It was silly of me even to suggest it.’ Nathan straightened up as if he were about to go. ‘There’s always the Best Dressed Pet competition,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘That wouldn’t take up much of your time. All you’d have to do is parade Jess round the ring a couple of times and you’d be done.’

Dante looked over at Jess, who was lying on the floor beside the bed, eyes half closed. Over the weeks, he’d grown fond of the gentle pointer – and, given that she now followed him everywhere like a shadow, the feeling was apparently mutual.

‘It’s up to you,’ Nathan continued. ‘But it might be a nice idea. If nothing else, it would show people you’re keen to be part of the community.’

Dante thought for a moment. The general manager had a point: if his frosty reception at the golf club was anything
to go by, he needed to ingratiate himself with the locals somehow. In any case, the competition sounded like fun – and Jess would certainly enjoy showing off. ‘So what would I have to do, exactly?’ he asked.

‘It wouldn’t require much effort,’ Nathan reassured him. ‘The rules are very simple: owner and pet have to wear coordinating costumes; each competitor parades round the ring a couple of times and then a team of judges decide the winner. That’s all there is to it.’

‘It’s a neat idea, but how am I going to pull a costume together at such short notice?’

‘Why don’t you head up to the attic? There’s bound to be some dressing-up things in the store room.’

Dante frowned. ‘The store room? I don’t even know where that is.’

‘Third floor, the little room under the eaves. It was servants’ quarters once upon a time, but now it’s used for storage. I haven’t been up there in a while, but I’m sure you’ll find all sorts of interesting bits and pieces.’ Nathan gave an odd, lopsided smile. ‘Anyway, I mustn’t keep you from your work. Don’t forget to drink your coffee before it gets cold.’

With nothing better to do after lunch, Dante found himself climbing to the top of the house with Jess to see what, if any, treasures were waiting to be unearthed in the attic. The first door he tried led to a tiny room, sparsely furnished with an iron bedstead and a desperately unfashionable avocado sink unit. The door on the other side of the landing gave onto a larger room with a sloping ceiling and a handsome cast-iron fireplace. The air inside was muggy and smelled of mothballs, and the rosebud wallpaper was
yellowed with age. There was no furniture in the room, save for a chipped mahogany wardrobe squatting under the eaves, and every available inch of floor space was crammed with packing crates and boxes.

While Jess began exploring the boxes, pushing her long nose into the crevices between them, Dante’s eye was drawn to a stack of framed film posters that were propped up against the wall. He began flicking through them. They were all classics:
True Grit
,
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
,
For A Few Dollars More
. They looked like originals and, Dante supposed, would probably be worth something to a collector.

He pushed the frames back against the wall and walked over to the wardrobe, which seemed an obvious place to start hunting for potential costumes. There was a brown felt Stetson hanging on one of its polished wooden doorknobs. Almost without thinking, Dante picked it up and put it on his head. To his disappointment, there wasn’t much inside the wardrobe – some long evening dresses, covered in transparent plastic sheaths, a mink coat, a tailored tweed riding jacket, some well-worn jodhpurs and, hanging at the end of the rail, a pair of soft leather chaps. Lifting the chaps off the rail, he held them against his legs, checking them for size. He looked over at Jess, who was wrestling with something behind one of the packing cases.

‘What have you got there, girl?’ he called out.

At the sound of his voice, Jess emerged from behind the crate and came over to him, dropping her find at his feet. Dante bent down and picked it up. It was a large stuffed teddy bear. Jess had all but chewed one of its legs off and both its button eyes were hanging by a thread. ‘I sure hope
this isn’t a family heirloom,’ Dante said, as he inspected the damage. The bear was dressed, somewhat incongruously, as a Red Indian in a fringed suede waistcoat and a red-and-white feather headdress which, miraculously, had escaped Jess’s attack relatively unscathed. As he set the bear on the windowsill, out of harm’s way, he caught sight of a Zorro-style eye mask, hanging from the catch of the sash window. He picked it up and looped the elastic over his finger.

‘You know what, Jess,’ he said, breaking into a smile. ‘I think I’ve got an idea.’

The rest of the costume was easy. Dante already had jeans, cowboy boots and a denim shirt, and he managed to find a red scarf in one of Juliet’s drawers that, when folded double, made a good neckerchief. Together with the chaps and the Stetson and the mask, he looked every inch the Lone Ranger. Jess, meanwhile, was a canine version of his trusty sidekick Tonto. Amazingly, the teddy bear’s fringed waistcoat fitted her lean body perfectly, while the feathered headdress only required a length of string, tied to her collar, to stop it slipping off her sleek head.

As he left the drawing room with Jess, both newly outfitted and bound for the terrace, Dante couldn’t help chuckling to himself as he imagined his wife’s reaction when she saw them. He hadn’t told her he was entering the competition, wanting to surprise her instead.

Outside, lots of people were congregated around the hay bales that marked out the arena. The Best Dressed Pet competition was always one of the day’s highlights and generally gave rise to a good deal of merriment. At the appointed hour, the event’s compère – retired Royal Navy
captain Robert Lundy – emerged from the tent where all the competitors were waiting, clipboard in hand.

‘Good afternoon, everyone,’ Captain Lundy began in his booming voice. ‘I know you’re all looking forward to the Best Dressed Pet competition, and you certainly won’t be disappointed because there are some spectacular entries this year. However, before we begin could I ask you all to bow your heads for just a moment as we remember our dear friend Gus Ingram, who died last year in terribly tragic circumstances. With his wonderful sense of fun and mischief, Gus always added an extra splash of colour to the fête and I’m sure there are many of you here today who feel his absence keenly.’ Captain Lundy paused and bowed his head respectfully, as did those in the audience. As she dropped her own head, Juliet raised a white cotton handkerchief to her face and slowly dabbed each eye.

‘And now, without further ado,’ Captain Lundy continued, ‘I would like to welcome our first contestant into the arena – Mrs Lydia Ormerod with Precious.’

As the Captain stepped aside, a stout woman in her early fifties strode purposefully into the arena. She was wearing a purple bra top, trimmed with gold brocade, and matching silk harem pants, over the top of which a sizeable muffin-top bulged. Her long, dark hair was piled into an elaborate beehive, decorated with shimmering, multicoloured jewels, and the lower part of her face was covered by a lilac veil, from which ersatz coins dangled. Accompanying her was a four-year-old springer spaniel clad in a miniature version of the same outfit, minus the beehive. As the eye-catching pair set off round the arena, enthusiastic applause broke out. Behind her veil, Lydia smiled, certain as she could be
that victory was hers. Everything seemed to be going according to plan but then, as Lydia rounded the second corner, she realized that Precious was no longer beside her. Turning over her shoulder, she saw to her horror that the spaniel was sitting down and scratching furiously at her veil with her hind leg.

‘Bad girl!’ Lydia cried shrilly. ‘Come here this instant.’ The dog ignored her and continued scratching. The next moment her sharp claws ripped through the gauzy veil, sending gold coins skittering across the ground. ‘Naughty girl, now look what you’ve done!’ Lydia cried as she marched over to the dog. There were titters and good-natured catcalls from the audience as she wrenched what was left of the veil from Precious’s head and flung it at the nearest hay bale.

‘That poor mutt,’ Nicole said. ‘Imagine living with someone as bad-tempered as Lydia.’

‘It’s her husband I feel sorry for,’ Yasmin replied. ‘He’s so henpecked that the last decision she let him make was whether to wash or dry. Look, that’s him, over there.’ She nodded towards the contestants’ tent. Outside was a tall man with sloping shoulders, dressed nondescriptly in beige cords and a white shirt. At his feet was a large portable stereo.

‘That’s Lydia’s husband?’ Nicole said disbelievingly. ‘I expected him to be more flamboyant; he’s an art dealer, isn’t he?’

Juliet nodded. ‘And a millionaire several times over.’

Nicole’s mouth dropped open. ‘No wonder his wife can afford to blow a grand on fancy dress.’

‘Mind you, it looks as if it was a spectacular waste of
money,’ said Yasmin as she watched Precious break free from her owner before sinking her teeth into the silk pantaloons that covered her back legs.

‘Stop that!’ Lydia cried, smacking the spaniel on the nose. ‘Now heel!’ She started walking again, with a cross-looking Precious trailing several paces behind.

Each competitor performed two circuits of the arena. During the first, they were only permitted to walk with their animals, but the second could incorporate tricks or dance routines. As she completed her first circuit, Lydia waved at her husband, who was staring disconsolately into the middle distance. ‘Arthur!’ she screeched. ‘Cue the music.’

At the sound of his wife’s voice, Arthur’s body jerked as if he’d just received ten thousand volts. Collecting himself hurriedly, he bent down and pressed a button on the stereo. As jangling, middle-eastern music blasted through the speakers, Lydia extended her arms outwards and began undulating her soft stomach in an amateurish belly dance. Precious, meanwhile, skulked behind her, head bowed in embarrassment. After shimmying in front of her stunned audience for a full minute, Lydia dragged a reluctant Captain Lundy into the arena and began performing a series of excruciating hip bumps against his crotch and buttocks. At this juncture, Connor covered his face with his hand.

‘This is hideous,’ he said to Nicole. ‘Has that woman got no shame at all? If I had a body like that, I’d keep it well covered up.’

‘I think she’s very brave,’ said Nicole, her hand straying to her own spare tyre.

Connor looked at his wife and frowned. ‘Are you all right, Nicole? Only your eyes look a bit glazed.’

Nicole’s hand went to her head. ‘Actually, I am feeling rather peculiar.’