The Rathbones’ feisty Bull Terrier found a new boyfriend. She fell in love with Toby, the Scottish Terrier owned by Jack Stewart, who came to the rescue when a motorist ran Basil off the road and into rosebushes. Since then, every time Basil passed his house during their walks, she’d insist he pay a visit. When Jack confessed how much he enjoyed Basil’s swashbuckling films, he invited him to join him for fencing lessons. His private instructor turned out to be Ralph B. Faulkner, a former Olympic champion and Basil’s fencing master on Captain Blood. Soon, these sessions became a regular habit, forging a friendship through kismet.
Basil and Jack, both wearing traditional fencing gear, practiced on their own while waiting for their instructor’s arrival. Their two dogs flirted like lovers, with Judy taking on the role of the aggressor.
“The lady calls the shots,” Jack joked. He wiped off his neck with his handkerchief and reached for his glass of iced tea.
“Seems to be the same way in my household,” Basil remarked, in part tongue-in-cheek. “Anyway, I’ve always preferred taking the dogs all together. Saves time,” Basil explained. “Judy must have a sixth sense and wants nothing of it. If she suspects I’ll pass this way, she’ll want to monopolize the opportunity and be the only one accompanying me. She insists on having playtime with Toby all to herself.”
They barely had time to catch their breath when their instructor du jour came walking down the driveway.
In respect, Basil greeted him with a deep bow. “My word—the maestro himself!”
“Of course, you know Frederic Cavens,” Jack said. “Too busy to make house calls to teach us peons, but today’s an exception.”
“What did we do to warrant such an honor?” Basil asked.
“Your teacher had a family emergency,” said Cavens. “I promised I’d step in and substitute, but just for the day.”
“Did you sample the bottle of Scotch I sent you?” asked Basil.
Jack interrupted, in part to taunt them. “Is there something going on I don’t know about?”
“Something I’ve asked him to keep secret,” Cavens explained. “I’ve started training Basil for one of his next films. The studio’s original title was The Californian, but you know how everything changes in this industry.
“Everyone wants their say-so. Between producers, directors, publicists, and screenwriters, and the original novelist where the script adaptation came from, I suspect its title will change to The Mark of Zorro. Basil needs to be in tip-top shape. Don’t want our young whippersnapper to turn him into a shish kebab.”
Jack couldn’t follow their conversation. “Who’s that, may I ask?”
Cavens pointed to Tyrone Power, already dressed in his fencing attire, with mask and foil in hand. “The gallant gentleman joining us right now.”
“We’re all going to practice together?” Jack asked.
“Why not? But beware, Tyrone is turning into a worthy opponent,” replied Cavens.
“A great honor, no less,” said Jack.
Cavens addressed the two actors. “Even though official production hasn’t started yet, I’ve seen your preliminary test footage. What a remarkable performance! You kept a perfect distance the entire time. I loved the part when Tyrone lunged into the bookcase, breaking its glass—a good example of destroying the set for effect.” He turned to Jack and explained, “We’ve wanted this sword fight to be so perfect that we’ve hired cameramen to document it for training.”
“It’s always refreshing when my adversary isn’t an amateur,” said Basil.
“Don’t want to reveal too much before the film hits the theaters, but my son Albert will perform Tyrone’s more dangerous stunts,” said Cavens.
Power remained modest. Cavens continued his praise. “That being said, Tyrone has proved to be the most agile man with a sword I’ve ever faced before a camera. Far better than Errol Flynn.”
Jack asked, “Do you expect your project to be better than the earlier film where Douglas Fairbanks played Zorro?”
“That remains to be seen,” Basil replied. “As long as audiences crave these kinds of movies, the bar for such performances will continue to be raised. Enough of the accolades. Shall we carry on?”
A female Basset Hound ambled in from the neighboring yard. Judy and Toby ran from their play area and cut a path between the fencers. Jack withdrew his sword, almost striking Judy before he stepped backward. Basil leapt onto a piece of lawn furniture. For someone whom the instructor praised as being quick on his feet, Tyrone stumbled over a lawn ornament.
Judy continued to bark at the intruder until she alerted its owner, who scooped up the hound in his arms, apologized, and promptly left.
Jack made light of it. “Judy is rather possessive, don’t you think? Looks like she wants my Scotty all to herself.”
Basil’s response, somewhat bittersweet. “Comparable to my wife.”
“A handsome gentleman like you?” Jack asked. “How could she not sense competition might lurk around the bend?”
“I guess you’re right,” said Basil, “But living with it year in and year out gets tiring.”
Tyrone joined in on the laughter. “Isn’t that why they call them the opposite sex? Care for some manly advice?”
“Words of wisdom are like pearls from the ocean,” Basil said.
“Then listen up, Sherlock,” said Tyrone, “Because you’ll need all hands on deck.”
Basil’s wife sallied forth at a quick pace, holding the rest of their dogs on leashes and with a stern scowl on her face.
Basil rose. “Dearest, what’s the matter?”
“Someone called. Several times, in fact. He said he must speak with you right away.”
“Didn’t you take a message?” Basil asked.
“He refused to leave one. Said it was confidential.”
“He didn’t leave a number?”
She shook her head. “Maybe you should give Nigel a ring. He might know what’s so urgent. My guess is it has something to do with your next Sherlock Holmes project.”
The dogs tugged at their leashes, pulling tiny Ouida behind.
“Unhook them, dear,” Basil said. “No sense preventing them from playing with Judy and Toby.”
He helped her release the dogs. All ran off in another direction when Cavens tossed a ball.
Ouida looked at the four fencers. “It doesn’t appear like you’re practicing. What kind of conversation did I interrupt?”
“We had a rigorous workout until another bitch wandered into our yard,” said Tyrone.
Basil observed the radical change on his wife’s face.
“That’s a crude and disgusting term to call a woman,” she replied.
“A female Basset Hound, to be exact,” Basil clarified. “Judy became overprotective of Toby and wouldn’t let the newcomer get away with it.”
Ouida turned red. “Then, pardon me. I assumed—”
Basil finished her sentence. “Your devoted husband had eyes for another lady. Shame on you! How many years have we been married? You’ve been even more clingy since we had our baby daughter.”
Ouida bowed her head. “Please don’t rub it in.”
Basil asked for the time. He gave his wife a kiss and said, “I think our session has ended, anyway. Cavens, always a pleasure. Tyrone, I’d suggest ice for the nasty bruise you’ll discover tomorrow. Jack, once again, thank you for your hospitality. I hate to put an end to our dogs’ fun, but, Ouida, let’s round them up and head home.”