Myrtle Parker picked up her clipboard and eyed the list of jobs still to be done. The past week had been frenetic to say the least and now the competitors were arriving in their droves. Thank heavens the locals had got behind her and the Show Society Committee. There had been numerous offers of accommodation and Professor Winterbottom had agreed to hand over the dormitories at Fayle. Unfortunately, Ophelia Grimm had been unwilling to do the same, insisting that it was simply too disruptive for the girls, who also had a wedding to attend on Sunday afternoon. As she studied the plan for the layout of the hall, a man with a huge camera and another fellow holding a boom pole wandered into her peripheral vision. Myrtle’s head snapped up, her pupils narrowing in on the intruders.
‘Excuse me, what are you doing in here?’ she called out, marching towards them. ‘I said excuse me, who gave you permission to film in here?’
‘Cut!’ the cameraman yelled, visibly annoyed by the interruption. He turned to glare at her, revealing a third man with a microphone in his hand.
‘Sorry, madam, but who are you?’ the man with the microphone asked.
‘Who am I?’ Myrtle scoffed. She stared at him, thinking he looked vaguely familiar. ‘I asked you first.’
‘I’m Darius Loveday and we’re filming for Dog Days,’ the man said.
Myrtle blanched. ‘Darius Loveday? The Darius Loveday, investigative reporter for Prime Time Crime?’
The man nodded.
‘What are you doing working on a silly show about dogs?’ she asked. Several of the Chudleigh’s team shot the woman snarky looks. ‘I mean, isn’t that something of a step down for a journalist of your stature?’
Darius sighed and ignored her question. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’
‘I’m Myrtle Parker, President of the Winchesterfield Show Society,’ the woman said importantly.
Darius smiled at her with his eyes and commenced his charm offensive. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs Parker. You’ve certainly got your hands full, taking on Chudleigh’s at such short notice.’
Myrtle’s lips twitched into a grin. There was a rugged handsomeness about the fellow. He looked like a very well-bred man of the land in his moleskin trousers and checked shirt. She assumed him to be in his mid-forties, although his tanned face could have belonged to someone at least ten years younger. ‘What are you doing filming in here?’ she asked, softening. ‘I’d heard that Dog Days was all about my neighbour, Roberta Dankworth, and her hounds.’
‘We’ve got permission from the Chudleigh’s team to film the show as well,’ Darius said. ‘We thought we might get some shots of the setting up to use as a bit of a montage.’
Myrtle’s lips tightened and she looked as if she’d swallowed something unpleasant. ‘It would have been nice if someone had told me that.’
‘My sincerest apologies, Mrs Parker, I thought they had,’ Darius said smoothly. ‘We’ll get out of your way. You must have a lot to do.’
‘Will I be on the show?’ Myrtle asked.
‘Well, I imagine so, if we continue filming,’ the man said.
Myrtle smoothed her skirt and checked her curls. ‘Would you like me to give you a tour?’ she asked. She was warming to the idea of gatecrashing Roberta Dankworth’s star turn.
Darius glanced at his crew, who were standing behind the woman and wildly shaking their heads.
‘It’s going to be much easier if I take you around, otherwise I just don’t know if it’s convenient, really,’ Myrtle said with a pinched smile.
The cameraman and sound engineer’s shoulders slumped.
‘Thank you, Mrs Parker, that’s very kind,’ Darius said, plastering a grin on his face. ‘We’ve only got about half an hour, though, as we have to pay a visit to Becca Finchley.’
‘Is she part of your show too?’ Myrtle asked. ‘Poor dear, losing her husband like that and then her dogs too. It wasn’t a very welcoming introduction to the village for her, was it? I’ve called on her a couple of times in the past few months but I can’t be responsible for everyone’s welfare, can I?’
In truth, Myrtle had dropped by once and left a casserole for the Finchleys at their front door but she’d never heard a word of thanks from the woman and so hadn’t been again. If only Myrtle had known that the note she’d left wedged under the dish had flown away into the garden and Becca had no idea who the kind soul was who had left it for her.
‘I heard that Mrs Finchley has one dog left that she’s entering in the competition,’ Myrtle said.
Darius nodded. ‘Yes, and from what I hear she’s a shoo-in for Best in Show.’
Myrtle’s face split into a broad smile. ‘Really? So you don’t think Mrs Dankworth’s hound will take out the top spot?’
‘It’ll be close I’m sure but, let’s face it, people will be glad to see Mrs Finchley,’ Darius said.
‘So you think she’ll get the sympathy vote from the judges?’ Myrtle said.
Darius frowned. ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ Myrtle beamed. ‘I’d love to see her win. It would be wonderful.’
Myrtle Parker returned home at the end of the day exhausted. Reginald was nowhere to be found in the house, so she tripped along the garden path to the shed. ‘Reginald, I’m home,’ she called.
Her husband stuck his head out the door. ‘Hello dear,’ he said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Oh, that would be lovely,’ Myrtle replied.
‘I’ve just made one for Barry and me,’ he said.
Myrtle’s face fell as she reached the shed and poked her head inside. ‘You’re here. Again.’
‘Hello Mrs Parker,’ Barry said with a grin. ‘I just popped down to bring Reg’s drill back.’
‘Oh well, that does make for a nice change – a neighbour who actually returns things,’ Myrtle said, noticing that the man hadn’t come alone.
Farrah Fawcett was gambolling about, hoovering up the crumbs from the biscuits Reg and Barry were eating.
‘How’s everything going at the showground?’ Reg asked. He’d offered to help but Myrtle had insisted that he’d only get in the way.
‘Busy, busy, busy, and then would you believe I had Darius Loveday there for half the day too?’ Myrtle began.
‘Really?’ Barry said. He’d been quite glad that the man and his crew had disappeared after breakfast as Roberta was getting more and more uptight about the show and really needed some time with Citrine on her own.
‘Yes, he asked me to give him a tour, and afterwards I took him over to look at the schools so they could see how things were progressing there too, although I must say Miss Grimm and Professor Winterbottom were less than welcoming,’ Myrtle fussed.
‘You have to remember, Myrtle, Chudleigh’s is not their primary concern – and they have been generous helping out,’ her husband said.
‘I know that, Reginald. But surely having the children miss a lesson or two wouldn’t be such a big deal. Anyway, Darius and his crew left me to go and film Becca Finchley,’ Myrtle explained.
‘I wonder how she’s going,’ Barry said, taking a sip of his tea.
‘Apparently she’s doing very well,’ Myrtle replied.
‘Do you know who’s going to be parading her dog?’ Barry asked. He’d thought about that the other day when Alice-Miranda had mentioned she was entering the show.
‘I’m not sure, but Darius thinks she’s a shoo-in for Best in Show,’ Myrtle said, enjoying the look of horror on the man’s face.
‘Did he really say that?’ Barry asked.
Myrtle nodded. ‘He said that everyone is going to be so happy to see her, there’d have to be something terribly awry with her dog not to win.’
Barry set his teacup down, his complexion suddenly pale.
‘Are you all right, Barry?’ Reg asked.
‘I’d better be going – I said I’d help Roberta this afternoon,’ the man said. He gave a wave and disappeared out the door.
‘You shouldn’t have said that, Myrtle,’ Reg chided.
Myrtle looked at her husband blankly. ‘What did I say?’
‘You know full well that Roberta takes her showing very seriously and now poor Barry will be in an even bigger spin, worrying about how things will go for her,’ Reg said.
‘I was only telling him what Darius had told me,’ Myrtle insisted.
Reg frowned at his wife. ‘Gossiping.’
‘That wasn’t gossip, Reginald. I was just repeating what I’d been told. Now, did you manage to get dinner started while I was out working? I’m starving and I shouldn’t have to make our tea on top of everything else there is to do.’