friends of Ailsa? The only time she ever spoke to you was when she was after money for her charities. Eleanor was always complaining about what a scrounger she was. I remember how mad you both were when the paper said she'd left £1.2m. Why did she ask us for money, you both said, when she was rolling in it?"
Prue ignored the remark. "You still haven't explained why you were phoning James."
"Travelers have taken over the Copse," he grunted, "and we need a solicitor to get rid of them. I hoped James would put me in touch with his."
"What's wrong with ours?"
"On holiday till the second."
Prue shook her head in disbelief. "Then why on earth didn't you phone the Bartletts? They have a solicitor. What possessed you to phone James? You're such an idiot, Dick."
"Because Julian had already passed the buck to me," hissed Dick through clenched teeth. "He's gone to the Compton Newton meet, dressed up like a dog's dinner, and he thought they were saboteurs. Didn't want to get his blasted clothes dirty, as per bloody usual. You know what he's like… lazy as hell and didn't fancy a run-in with some thugs… so ducked the whole damn issue. It makes me mad, frankly. I work harder than anyone in this valley but I'm always expected to pick up the pieces."
Prue gave a scornful snort. "You should have told me. I'd have sorted it with Ellie. She's perfectly capable of putting us in touch with their solicitor… even if Julian can't."
"You were in bed," Dick snapped. "But be my guest. Go ahead. It's all yours. You and Eleanor are probably the best people to deal with invaders, anyway. It'll scare the living daylights out of them to have a couple of middle-aged women shouting abuse at them through a megaphone." He stomped angrily from the room.
It was Mark Ankerton who answered the peal of the old-fashioned brass bell that hung from a spring in the Manor hall and was operated by a wire pull in the porch. He and James were sitting in front of a log fire in the paneled drawing room, and the sudden noise caused them both to jump. Mark's reaction was relief. The silence between them had become oppressive, and he welcomed any diversion, even an unpleasant one.
"Dick Weldon?" he suggested.
The older man shook his head. "He knows we never use that entrance. He'd have come to the back."
"Should I answer it?"
James shrugged. "What's the point? It's almost certainly a nuisance ring-usually the Woodgate children. I used to shout at them… now I don't bother. They'll grow tired of it eventually."
"How often?"
"Four or five times a week. It's very boring."
Mark pushed himself to his feet. "At least let me take out injunctions for that," he said, reverting to the subject that had brought on the long silence. "It's easily done. We can stop them coming within fifty yards of your gate. We'll insist that the parents take responsibility… threaten them with jail if the children continue with the nuisance."
James smiled faintly. "Do you think I want accusations of fascism added to all my other problems?"
"It's nothing to do with fascism. The law puts the onus on parents to take responsibility for underage children."
James shook his head. "Then I haven't a leg to stand on. Leo and Elizabeth have done worse than the Woodgate children will ever do. I won't take cover behind a piece of paper, Mark."
"It's hardly taking cover. Think of it more as a weapon."
"I can't. White paper. White flag. It smacks of surrender." He waved the lawyer toward the hall. "Go and give them a tongue-lashing. They're all under twelve," he said with a small smile, "but it'll make you feel better to see them run away with their tails between their legs. Satisfaction, I find, has nothing to do with the caliber of the opponent, merely the routing of him."
He steepled his fingers under his chin and listened to Mark's footsteps cross the flagged stone floor of the hall. He heard the bolts being drawn and caught the sound of voices before the black depression, his constant
Prue ignored the remark. "You still haven't explained why you were phoning James."
"Travelers have taken over the Copse," he grunted, "and we need a solicitor to get rid of them. I hoped James would put me in touch with his."
"What's wrong with ours?"
"On holiday till the second."
Prue shook her head in disbelief. "Then why on earth didn't you phone the Bartletts? They have a solicitor. What possessed you to phone James? You're such an idiot, Dick."
"Because Julian had already passed the buck to me," hissed Dick through clenched teeth. "He's gone to the Compton Newton meet, dressed up like a dog's dinner, and he thought they were saboteurs. Didn't want to get his blasted clothes dirty, as per bloody usual. You know what he's like… lazy as hell and didn't fancy a run-in with some thugs… so ducked the whole damn issue. It makes me mad, frankly. I work harder than anyone in this valley but I'm always expected to pick up the pieces."
Prue gave a scornful snort. "You should have told me. I'd have sorted it with Ellie. She's perfectly capable of putting us in touch with their solicitor… even if Julian can't."
"You were in bed," Dick snapped. "But be my guest. Go ahead. It's all yours. You and Eleanor are probably the best people to deal with invaders, anyway. It'll scare the living daylights out of them to have a couple of middle-aged women shouting abuse at them through a megaphone." He stomped angrily from the room.
It was Mark Ankerton who answered the peal of the old-fashioned brass bell that hung from a spring in the Manor hall and was operated by a wire pull in the porch. He and James were sitting in front of a log fire in the paneled drawing room, and the sudden noise caused them both to jump. Mark's reaction was relief. The silence between them had become oppressive, and he welcomed any diversion, even an unpleasant one.
"Dick Weldon?" he suggested.
The older man shook his head. "He knows we never use that entrance. He'd have come to the back."
"Should I answer it?"
James shrugged. "What's the point? It's almost certainly a nuisance ring-usually the Woodgate children. I used to shout at them… now I don't bother. They'll grow tired of it eventually."
"How often?"
"Four or five times a week. It's very boring."
Mark pushed himself to his feet. "At least let me take out injunctions for that," he said, reverting to the subject that had brought on the long silence. "It's easily done. We can stop them coming within fifty yards of your gate. We'll insist that the parents take responsibility… threaten them with jail if the children continue with the nuisance."
James smiled faintly. "Do you think I want accusations of fascism added to all my other problems?"
"It's nothing to do with fascism. The law puts the onus on parents to take responsibility for underage children."
James shook his head. "Then I haven't a leg to stand on. Leo and Elizabeth have done worse than the Woodgate children will ever do. I won't take cover behind a piece of paper, Mark."
"It's hardly taking cover. Think of it more as a weapon."
"I can't. White paper. White flag. It smacks of surrender." He waved the lawyer toward the hall. "Go and give them a tongue-lashing. They're all under twelve," he said with a small smile, "but it'll make you feel better to see them run away with their tails between their legs. Satisfaction, I find, has nothing to do with the caliber of the opponent, merely the routing of him."
He steepled his fingers under his chin and listened to Mark's footsteps cross the flagged stone floor of the hall. He heard the bolts being drawn and caught the sound of voices before the black depression, his constant
Similar Books
