Animal Instincts Read online

  Jinty came and knelt at his feet. “Sometimes, Uncle Roly, you really surprise me.”

  “Only sometimes?” Roly ruffled her short fair hair then drained his glass.

  Jinty turned her gaze once more to the fire, her mind a jumble, and through the flickering flames she thought she saw Kit’s face – the wayward curls, the puzzled look. But deep down in the embers, the image of Jamie Bickerstaffe refused to grow dim.

  Chapter 28: Pissimire

  (Taraxacum officinale)

  Arthur Maidment was late. Kit had arranged to meet him where the daffodil field joined the Combe at Grappa Point. That was where Maidment had said he would be working. Although his lease was up, Maidment was not relinquishing his hold on the land that still carried his bulbs. He’d been quite pleasant on the phone when Kit had expected a rather more cantankerous reaction – he had made his approach rather late.

  A quarter past ten. Fifteen minutes late. At least the weather was fair. The sea, calm and glittering, shone below him like a field of diamonds and the tussocky grass on the sloping cliff-top was freshly carpeted with dew. He perched on a lump of rock and looked out to sea, then turned and surveyed the nature reserve behind him. How had his situation changed so quickly? He had been so convinced that he wanted a life on the other side of the world, but the irresistible pull of home had been too much for him. And it was not all because of Jinty. He’d thought he had grown out of it, grown away from it, but he must have been fooling himself. Something so deeply buried within him told him that this was where he was meant to be. Melodramatic, maybe, but it was not as if he seemed to have any choice in the matter. A calm acceptance was taking over and it worried him a little that he had given into it so easily, especially since the financial side was unresolved.

  But his main worry was Jinty. He had never believed in love at first sight, even less in overwhelming passion. There was lust and there was love: one was rapid, all-consuming and irrational, and the other was slow-burning, sure, steady and logical. So what was this? Love or lust? Whenever she was near him he felt an overwhelming thrill and a desire for physical contact. His stomach churned whenever he saw her. When she had lain in the hospital bed hovering between life and death, and he had prayed with all his might that she would pull through, there was no thought of sex then, just a deep anxiety that she would survive to be with him.

  But when it came to his feelings about West Yarmouth she seemed not to understand the pull of the place. She loved hunting and he did not, but that could easily be got over if they loved one another. Something was stopping him from going the course. What was it?

  Was there a middle ground between these two extremes? Was there a state of mind and heart where friendship and passion melded into one and became true love, deep love, where spirituality and physicality assumed equal importance and combined to make something bigger, more powerful than either? Or was that the wishful thinking of an incurable romantic? He had never thought of himself as a romantic, just someone looking for something he had never been sure existed.

  His reverie was interrupted by a shout. Arthur Maidment had arrived. Kit got up from the rock and walked across the rough turf to the fence.

  “Grand mornin’,” offered the farmer.

  “Yes. Grand.”

  “Rain later, though.”

  “Really?”

  “Always.” Maidment winked.

  Kit thought he had better get down to business.

  “About the land.”

  “Aye?”

  “Are you still interested in it?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “The arrangement.”

  “Yes. You said. It’s just that I’m in a difficult sort of position.”

  “No sale, then?”

  Kit was stopped in his tracks. “I’m sorry?”

  “No sale to yon golfer.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Never mind.”

  Kit scratched his head then carried on. “I’ve decided to stay. But I might be prepared to sell the land at the right price if you’re still interested.”

  “Ah, yes, well, change in circumstances. Daughter marryin’. Missus not keen.” He looked embarrassed at having to explain.

  Kit’s heart sank. His one possibility of gaining some revenue had evaporated as quickly as sea-fret.

  “But you’d still be willing to rent?”

  “Only if the terms are right.”

  He had not expected Maidment to be so perverse. He had expected a hard bargain to be driven but this was confusing. Perhaps Maidment’s cock-eyed politeness was a softener before he dug in his heels about the organic farming and insisted on the terms Kit knew were coming: a return to chemical fertilisers and the use of herbicides.

  “I’ve thought long and hard about it, Mr Maidment, and I simply can’t go against Dad’s wishes.”

  “I see.” Maidment’s tone was noncommittal.

  “He worked all his life to leave this land in good condition and I simply can’t let all that go just to make more money. I’d like to, but I can’t.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I think your dad would’ve bin proud.”

  By now Maidment must have been able to read the confusion on Kit’s face.

  Kit continued, because he felt it safer to do that than to begin trying to understand Maidment’s logic. “So if you’d like a renewal under the same organic terms as before I’d be happy to agree to it.”

  “Fine.”

  This was the last straw. “But before you seemed adamant that you couldn’t go on farming like that. That you couldn’t make a profit.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So why are you happy to do it now when you weren’t then?”

  “Because of the lease.”

  Kit looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “The lease. Have you read it?”

  “Well, not in detail, no.”

  “Did yon solicitor tell you to?”

  “Well, he pointed out to me that it was coming to an end, which is why I spoke to you.”

  “Did he not tell you to read it?”

  “Well, he might have done, I can’t remember, with everything else that’s been going on.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “Well, I don’t. What do you mean?”

  “There’s a clause in yon lease. If you hasn’t given me three months’ notice to quit by the time the lease is up, then I has a right to carry on for another five years at the same rent. ’Tis a ten-year tenancy with a breaking clause after five years.”

  “But nobody told me . . .”

  “Well, it’s there in black and white. Of course, if you didn’t know that and you wants to contest it?” Arthur Maidment looked at Kit in his quizzical way. Kit met his eye and saw the potential can of worms opening.

  “The same rent?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But I thought you said you couldn’t afford to carry on under this arrangement.”

  “Nor could I, if there were a rent increase.”

  “And if there isn’t?”

  Maidment shrugged. “I might just manage . . . somehow.”

  Kit tried to find words, but failed. He sighed. “OK. Same terms. Five years.”

  The farmer spat on his hand and held it out. Before he had time to think what he was doing, Kit had grasped it. The farmer released his vice-like grip, raised his cap and turned on his heel. “Good to do business with you, Mr Lavery. Be seein’ you.” And he strode back over his field whistling and knocking off daffodil seedheads with his walking-stick.

  Kit rubbed his damp palm down the leg of his jeans and stared after Maidment. Five minutes ago he had stood a chance of selling his land and maybe struggling to make ends meet. Two minutes ago he might at least have been able to negotiate a rent increase to help fund the bankruptcy into which he was surely heading. Now he was back to square one. If this was how he was goin
g to fare as a businessman in Devon, things did not bode well.

  It was late afternoon when Titus turned up unexpectedly. Kit was in the old orchard, rounding up Wilson and heading her in the direction of her sty. With a stick in one hand and his other arm flailing, he ducked under the gnarled branches of Bramleys and Worcester Pearmains, whose fat, downy buds were just beginning to break. Blossom-time could not be far away, and he looked forward to seeing the reserve in all its glory, with the waterfalls of may blossom he remembered from his childhood, and the fresh green of spring foliage being buffeted by sea breezes.

  The freshness of the air, the scent of new growth gave him a thrill he had not experienced for years. It was different in Australia – the whirring noises of the bush, the acrid perfume of eucalyptus and the feathery flowers of wattle. Here the foliage was softer, more delicate, subtly perfumed. There was nothing quite like an English spring.

  “There y’are. Been lookin’ for yer.” Titus ducked under a low branch, encouraging Nell to follow him with a gentle tug at her lead.

  As he came up, Kit could see the worried look on his face. “You OK?” he asked.

  “I think so. Bit of a shock, though. Got five minutes?”

  “More if you like, once I’ve got this old lady home.”

  Titus helped with the directional control of the pig, Nell warily keeping her distance, until Wilson was safely tucking into a trough of vegetables in her enclosure.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Can we walk down there?” Titus tossed his head in the direction of the Yar valley. “Quieter, like.”

  Kit was puzzled. There was little activity around the pig-sty, but Titus wanted to be further away from the house. They walked in silence down towards the tumbling waters of the slender river, across the bridge and up the other side of the little valley. Only when they had reached the grassy, thrift-studded knoll of Grappa Point did Titus begin to unburden himself.

  “Just ’ad a bit of a shock.”

  “What sort of shock?”

  “Well, you know when the dogs were attacked – Lady Billings-Gore’s dogs?”

  “Yes.”

  “I found out who it was.”

  Kit felt a nervous twist of his stomach. “Who?”

  “Becky. My kennel lass.”

  “What?”

  “She weren’t on her own, though. Got into bad company – them as ’ad done it before.”

  Kit looked Titus straight in the eye. “Not Jess?”

  Titus stared back at him with his one good eye. “Noo.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Not Jess. Her sister.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “I am. What the ’eck made Becky join ’em I just don’t know. Well, I do, because she told me, but I still can’t believe it.”

  “She told you?”

  “Aye. Came back this afternoon in tears. Cryin’ ’er eyes out, in a right old state. Took me ’alf an hour to calm ’er down before I could get out of ’er what it was.”

  “And?”

  They perched on a low, flat boulder with Nell lying at their feet and Titus explained, his brow creased with a mixture of anxiety and disbelief. “You know ’ow she packed up wi’ me – said she couldn’t stand to work for the ’unt any more, cruelty an’ all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, she gets in wi’ a group over in Totnes – back-to-nature lot, hippies or whatever they call ’em now. Gets involved with some lad called Dave who’s into hunt saboteuring. Falls in love with ’im. Crackers about ’im. Only she isn’t the only one. Some lass called Philippa Wetherby’s mad on ’im, too.” Titus groaned. “What do women see in men like that? Anyway, ’e tells ’er that she ’as to prove ’erself. Show ’im ’ow serious she is about ’im. So ’e sets ’er this task. She ’as to go with ’em on one of their days out and join in. She thinks she’s just goin’ to be wavin’ a placard and shoutin’. Maybe sprayin’ stuff around to put t’ounds off the scent. Then ’e tells ’er she ’as to spray Lady Billings-Gore’s dogs. Doesn’t tell ’er what’s in the can, so she thinks it’s Antimate or summat. Tells ’er to spray it in their faces.”

  “So she did?”

  “She refused. So Jess’s sister grabs the can off ’er and sprays their faces ’erself.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Titus nodded slowly. “Yes, I do. Becky might be easily influenced, a bit daft, but I know she’s not cruel. Even if she is in love.” He corrected himself. “Was in love.”

  “She’s seen sense, then?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you don’t know why?”

  “Shock, I suppose. When she realised what she’d done.”

  “I think she had a helping hand.”

  Titus looked at Kit, clearly baffled. “Did you know about this, then?”

  “Not entirely. Only I’ve just put two and two together.”

  He explained Jess’s week-long absence and the conversation the two of them had had – that Jess knew who was responsible but wasn’t saying.

  “Honour among thieves, then?”

  “That’s a bit unkind.”

  “Sorry. Just a bit shocked, that’s all.”

  “I think Jess was brave to do what she did. It must have taken her the best part of a week to track them down. They move about a bit, I suppose?”

  “Apparently.”

  “This Dave. What’s he like?”

  “Good-lookin’ but a bit of a bad ’un, Becky said. ’E was fine for a while, then when he’d ’ad a few drinks, and a few other things besides, ’e started knockin’ ’er about a bit. Frightened ’er, I reckon.”

  “He did the same to Jess.”

  “What?” Titus looked surprised.

  “He’s the guy she used to be with – when she was a saboteur.”

  “Well, I’ll be buggered.”

  “I didn’t know about her sister, though. She didn’t tell me that.” Kit looked thoughtful. “Anyway, she reckons that she’s sent him on his way, and her sister presumably. And, anyway, now that the season’s finished there shouldn’t be any more trouble.”

  “I bloody well ’ope not.”

  “So what’s happening to Becky?”

  “Wants to know if I’ll take ’er back.”

  “And will you?”

  “I don’t know if I can. Nobody knows except me and you. I don’t know whether I want that sort of secret ’angin’ over me.”

  “I see what you mean.”

  “ ’Ow could I look Sir Roly in the face? And Lady Billings-Gore? Knowin’ that I knew who’d done for ’er dogs and that she were still working for me.”

  “Not easy. But look at Jess. Look at what she’s made of herself.”

  “I know. Grand lass.” Titus gazed out to sea. “There are some things I just can’t fathom you know. I don’t think I’ll ever understand folk.”

  Kit smiled ruefully. “You and me both.”

  Chapter 29: Maid in the Mist

  (Umbilicus rupestris)

  “I don’t really know if I can.”

  The voice at the other end of the the telephone was insistent. “Oh, go on. It’s only for a couple of days. Do you good.”

  Jinty hesitated. “But there’s so much to do here and . . .”

  “With a broken arm? You could do with a break. Oops, sorry! No pun intended.”

  Thoughts swam around Jinty’s head. What if Kit called and she was not there? Why could she not shake off Jamie Bickerstaffe? Why did he seem to follow her everwhere? It had been days now since she and Kit had spoken. She had come so near to ringing him, or even calling in on the off-chance, but had put it off. It was his place to apologise, not hers. He must see that. And yet the gnawing feeling that she had been unreasonable, selfish even, would not go away.

  But supposing she offered an olive branch and he refused it? What then?

  Sarah Wakely called her about twice a year. They had been at school together in Ireland and both were besotted by ho
rses. Sarah had married a racehorse trainer and lived at Lambourn, surrounded by beautiful horses and equally beautiful downland.

  “I won’t keep you away long. Just come for the weekend – a couple of nights. Then you can get back to sunny Devon. We’re both dying to see you. Especially Johnny. Says he’s missing you. Dirty old man.”

  Jinty laughed. Johnny Wakely was a roguish sort, devoted to his wife but a great flirt. He always made Jinty laugh. She could do with a laugh right now. And it was only for a couple of days. “Oh, all right, then.”

  “Marvellous. Look, get somebody to put you on the train at your end and ring me on your mobile to let me know when you want picking up here. I’ll have a car full of kids but – Jamie, put that down!”

  The name made her start. Then she remembered Sarah’s youngest child.

  “Little buggers,” muttered Sarah. “I’ll have them under control by the time you arrive. Huh. Says she hopefully.”

  Jinty thanked her friend and looked at her watch. “I’ll probably be there around eight, then.”

  “Perfect. Just in time for supper. Hopefully these little mites will be in their jim-jams by then, though there’ll be no chance of getting them to bed once they’ve heard you’re coming. I’ll give strict instructions that they’re to mind your arm. And if you don’t stop pulling Jemima’s pants down, Jamie, you’ll be straight to bed now!”

  Jinty winced and bit her lip. “Glad I’m coming later.”

  “I bet you are. See you about eight, then – and don’t forget to ring.”

  “ ’Bye.”

  She put down the phone and leaned back in the chair. A feeling of unease swept through her, but the break would do her good, take her out of herself. She walked quietly up the curving staircase of Baddesley Court to pack her overnight bag.

  By late afternoon he had made up his mind to go and see her, to apologise for being wrong about Jamie Bickerstaffe and to ask her out to supper. He also wanted to set his mind at rest: to convince himself that she hadn’t meant it when she said she cared little for the reserve. Surely she understood, really. Charlotte met him at the door of Baddesley Court.