Dunster by John Mortimer

bloody dog away if she’s troubling you.’
    â€˜No. It’s perfectly all right.’ I pushed away the questing mouth and crossed my legs.
    â€˜If I had my way, this wimpish government wouldn’t waste our money on universities. What the hell was wrong with National Service?’
    Beth said, ‘Come off it, Dad. You mean you’d rather I was a lance corporal for three years? Square-bashing!’ I often wondered if the Major were playing an elaborate game, designed to deter his daughter’s lovers. No one, I thought, could actually hold his opinions. In the end I had to admit that he probably could and did.
    â€˜What do you learn there, anyway, Mister Progmire? Apart from Hamlet ?’
    â€˜Philip does economics,’ Beth told him.
    â€˜Oh, yes? Are you going to be a banker?’
    â€˜I’m not sure. I’ll probably end up as an accountant.’
    For the first time Jaunty looked at me as though I were not a bobble-hatted vegetarian and hunt saboteur.
    The next day it rained steadily. Mike and I sat in the kitchen and watched as Beth and her father put their animals into the lorry to drive off to the meet. Jaunty’s mount looked enormous to me. It was a grey which snorted, tossed its head and backed in panic each time it approached the horsebox. At last Beth led the huge animal round the yard, patting its nose and apparently speaking to it in a conciliatory way. On the last lap it danced up the ramp for her. The Major slammed the door shut. For a moment he and his daughter hugged each other in triumph and I thought they looked like children after a successful game. Then they got into the lorry and drove away.
    Mike said, ‘I’m so glad Beth got to know you. It’s a thoroughly good thing.’ I was feeling a glow of appreciation when she added, ‘At least I’ll have someone to talk to when they’re out hunting.’
    We sat for a while in silence and then she said, ‘You seem so calm. Beth’s never been calm. Neither has Jaunty.’ Calm! I wondered how Beth’s mother could be so easily mistaken as I sat, a bundle of nerves, in that strange household, disconcerted by the Major, ill at ease with the dogs, deeply distrustful of the horses and even worried about the night to come, because it occurred to me that so much pleasure so easily given might vanish unexpectedly. As I thought of the future, I heard Mike’s gentle voice telling me her troubles, ‘It’s not us that’s extravagant. It’s the horses. They eat so much and they’re always ill. I can’t understand it. Jaunty and I have hardly had a day’s illness since we married. And Beth was never sick, not even as a child. But those great horses hardly draw a well breath. Their medical bills are quite terrifying. It’s not just the vets. It’s the physio. It’s the injections. The ultrasound. Sometimes I think it’s a whole lot of fuss about nothing. I think those damn horses are hypochondriacs. Jaunty’s almost dead with worry about it all.’
    â€˜But if they’re so expensive, couldn’t he give them up?’
    â€˜You don’t understand. Jaunty wouldn’t be Jaunty, not without horses. Do help him if you can spare the time, Philip. He seems to have the most terrible difficulty adding up.’
    No more was said about help for Jaunty then, or for a long time to come. I read in the kitchen, keeping warm by the cooker, and the dogs, having grown bored, no longer abused me. Mike ironed a number of Jaunty’s shirts and after tea Beth came back. Her jacket, waistcoat and even the white stock at her throat (she told me to call it a hunt tie) were spattered with mud. ‘I fancied you when you went out,’ I told her, ‘but the mud’s made it suddenly more urgent.’
    â€˜A lot of men say that.’ Beth smiled. ‘It’s really rather disgusting of them.’ Later she said, ‘I think