Now it was mid June and she was back in Lower Oddington with Hepzie and a bag of clothes and books, for the whole week, while Umberto Kingly went to Germany to sell old cameras.
She got out of the car and pushed a button on the keypad; then waited twenty seconds for a voice to crackle out at her, and then click the mechanism to let her in. While she waited, she examined her immediate surroundings, the same phrase as before echoing in her head. The same only different.
It applied very aptly to Lower Oddington; it was indeed ‘the same only different’. Every Cotswold village was different from every other, and a single glance could effortlessly distinguish Chedworth from Snowshill or Daglingworth from Cranham. Then there was lovely Naunton, and overrated Broadway, and tiny Hampnett and tourist-ridden Bibury. The list grew longer with every passing month, as the Slocombes made new discoveries. None of them had even registered the existence of the Oddingtons until a few months ago, which was not unusual. When twelve-year-old Stephanie had mentioned Hillesley the whole family had stared at her blankly. When nine-year-old Timmy checked it on a map, they all decided it was too far south to properly count as Cotswolds. ‘But don’t tell anybody we said that,’ cautioned Drew, their father. ‘It might hurt someone’s feelings.’
People’s feelings were sacrosanct, as nobody could deny, and Drew found himself the main enforcer of sensitive behaviour. His work as an undertaker gave him special powers in that respect.
Umberto was looking much smarter than before and the house was tidier. He quickly took her out to see the dogs, and repeated his earlier instructions. ‘I’ve written it all down for you,’ he said. ‘The main thing is exercise, really. You need to throw things for them, and run around with them, two or three times a day. If it’s fine, you might want to sit out here with them.’ He indicated a swinging hammock, big enough for a person and three – even four – somnolent dogs. ‘They should be fine with your spaniel, once they get to know her,’ the man added for good measure.
The dogs looked bigger than Thea remembered, which she observed aloud. ‘They’ve filled out a bit,’ Umberto agreed. ‘And they’re even more playful than ever. I love them as if they were my children.’ His eyes were moist with Latin sentiment. Thea could only suppose he had not heard about her past record with other people’s dogs – which was a shameful one. There had been deaths and damage, desertion and disasters. But for some reason he had wanted her specifically, and the set-up here in Oddington looked to be almost completely foolproof. The spaniel would, as Umberto predicted, cause no difficulties. Hepzie was skilled at winning over affection, whether human or canine – even salukis, which were essentially hunters, and might be tempted to view her as prey. ‘You will have to keep a very close eye on them, and keep the front gate locked,’ he emphasised. ‘Don’t forget about the cameras upstairs. There aren’t so many now, but there’s still about ten grand’s worth.’
‘They’ll be fine,’ said Thea.
‘I’m waiting for one of the girls to come on heat,’ he went on. ‘I won’t breed from any of them this year, of course – but early next year it’ll be time for the first one.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll need my sister’s help with that. But if it goes to plan, I should be able to boost the coffers quite nicely, even with one litter a year.’
Thea swallowed back the cautionary tales she could tell him about the perils of relying on animals to boost the coffers, as he charmingly said. ‘Let’s hope it works,’ she said.
‘Even if they paid for my council tax, that would be a huge help,’ he said with a smile that suggested such modest aspiration was absurd. With a decent amount of good fortune, he obviously expected the pups to cover quite a number of essential bills.
Thea forced a confident smile, and willingly redefined her role as dog warden, rather than house-sitter. Umberto apparently cared rather less for his inanimate property. The interior of his home did not suggest much in the way of domestic pride in any case. A good proportion of the ground floor was available to the dogs, with a large comfortable area at the back of the house furnished with saggy chairs and warm sheepskin rugs. It opened directly out onto the back garden and field, and had a small scullery with a sink and doggy feeding bowls. Throughout the house, the furniture was nothing special, apart from the old-fashioned mahogany desk in the study. ‘I work from here, obviously. I used to have to go to auctions all over the country, but now I can do most of it online. I still like to go to the viewings, though.’
‘Who minds the dogs?’
‘Usually my sister Imogen. Sometimes my nephew lends a hand, and there’s a local chap who’ll give them a game outside. We muddle through. Once in a while I take them with me, if it’s somewhere nice. We went to a funny little place in Herefordshire last month.’
‘I thought they never left these premises?’
‘Hardly ever,’ he nodded, apparently unconcerned at his own inconsistency.
They both knew that now he was leaving there could be no turning back from the arrangement. Any hint of anxiety or second thoughts must be quashed. The plan was for Umberto to transport an impressive number of antique cameras in a slightly battered Bedford van, across France and into Germany. His dark eyes were focused on schedules and paperwork, the dogs a box already ticked.
Thea made no attempt to hide her surprise when she realised how he would be travelling. Umberto laughed. ‘You think I’m dodging the export tax?’ he said. ‘Well, I’m certainly going to try. There’s a risk I’ll be searched and required to explain myself, but it’s a risk worth taking. You would never believe the bureaucracy involved if I try to send it all by plane. It’s not so much the tax I want to avoid as the paperwork. Not that there’s any real escape. Just getting myself and the van across is bad enough. The truth is, I really love driving and this is a perfect excuse.’
‘I see,’ she said, wondering at his frankness. How many people knew what he was doing – and wasn’t there a fear that one of them would report him?
He caught her expression and laughed. ‘Please don’t worry about it. Now – be sure not to get bored, won’t you? Go and have a look at the old church. It’s well worth it. The weather looks reasonable. Help yourself to any books – and the TV’s all set up for streaming and so forth. There’s a list of instructions taped to it. You won’t be bothered by any neighbours. They’re all off on cruises at this time of year – those that do actually live here, that is. There’s some building work on the way up to the church, but they haven’t been too noisy up to now. There’s a chance my sister will call in. You never really know with her. She’s called Imogen Peake. Oh – and she’s got a daughter by the name of Kirsty who comes and goes. They take it for granted they can just drop in whenever they like. They only live in Lower Swell, just the other side of Stow. The dogs are very fond of them. By rights they should be doing your job, but Immy said she couldn’t make the commitment. I explained all that before, didn’t I? She took our mother’s death very hard and still isn’t over it. It makes her somewhat unreliable, I’m afraid.’ He sighed, as much from impatience as compassion.
Thea frowned as she tried to remember what he had said six weeks earlier. ‘Does that mean they could turn up without any warning?’ The prospect of sudden unannounced invasions by relatives was somewhat concerning.
‘I’m afraid so, although from what Immy said last week, she’s very much tied up with her business troubles just now, so it’s not very likely. I’m just letting you know it’s possible. We’re a big family, all very close. It’s the Italian influence, still lingering on after two generations.’
‘Yes, you said,’ Thea told him impatiently. ‘And they all live around here, do they?’ That struck Thea as improbable. Despite his old clothes and badly kept house, Umberto was clearly middle class – and middle-class families, in her experience, tended to disperse around the world. Or at least around the country.
‘More or less. If you want the full story, there’s a booklet you can have a look at. My oldest sister’s husband, as well as her mother-in-law, does genealogy in a big way. Between them they tracked everybody down and wrote it all up. Victor fancies himself as a bit of a writer, apparently, and he did do a pretty good job, to be fair.’ He snatched a slim paperback from the top shelf of a little bookcase standing in a corner. ‘This is it.’
Thea took it automatically, trying to process this new twist, while mentally drawing up a family tree that included a sister’s mother-in-law. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. She read the title and author aloud. ‘One Family Among Many by Victor Rider. Nice title.’
Umberto shrugged and then gave himself a shake. ‘All this is making me late. It’s a long drive to Folkestone. Just don’t worry about anything. You’ll like Immy, if you see her, and Kirsty’s mostly harmless. They’ve got keys but they won’t just march in. You’ll get a warning at the gate, anyway. You have to buzz people in. That won’t be a problem, will it?’ He eyed her suspiciously, and she could tell he was wondering whether she intended to pursue activities that unexpected visitors might upset. He might even be suspecting her of inviting unsuitable friends into his house.
‘No, no. It’s your house,’ she said inanely.
‘It is, and I’m paying you handsomely to keep it safe, because of the dogs. That’s not complicated, is it?’
‘Not at all,’ she relied firmly. ‘Have a good trip.’
And with a departing purr from his van’s engine, he was gone.
Boredom was always a hazard for a house-sitter. Thea had dodged it on past occasions by embarking on unofficial and often intrusive amateur investigations into local crimes. The departure of the owners of the various properties she had been in charge of had sparked bad behaviour of extreme proportions at times. She was well known to the police, and had a prominent reputation across the region. She regularly bumped into people she had encountered on previous commissions.
But somehow she doubted this would happen in Oddington. Perhaps if she ventured into Stow-on-the-Wold, only a few miles away, she would see familiar faces. But here, as Umberto Kingly had pointed out, there did not seem to be any people to bump into, apart from some builders. Nobody would complain if the dogs barked or if she played loud music. She could take Hepzie out for short walks and probably not see a soul.
The salukis themselves would have to provide both Thea and her spaniel with entertainment. She had learnt their names and how to tell them apart. Dolly had darker ears than the others; Gina was the smallest and that left Rocket, the affectionate one. The names, Thea realised, had been carefully chosen to sound as different as possible from each other. Umberto had joked that Rocket was in fact rather slow, by saluki standards, but was the one he was planning to use first for breeding. ‘She’ll be a rather young mother, but I think she’ll be up for it,’ he said fondly.
The field used by the dogs looked to be two or three acres in size – more than enough to provide space for a good run, but surely very limited as far as variety and interest went. There was something unkind, and definitely unnatural, about keeping these lovely creatures imprisoned here, presumably for fear that they would be stolen if their existence were to be revealed in the wider world. The sturdy wooden fence on two sides was impossible to look through or over, while the other two sides bordered farmland and were therefore less likely to be used by potential thieves – or so Umberto apparently believed. There were thick and well-kept hedges forming the boundary on those sides. Thea imagined drones flying overhead and filming the dogs. Or cunningly disguised felons tramping across a neighbouring field pretending to be farmers or hikers gone astray. She had instructions to take the dogs indoors at night, or if she went out. If it rained, they had a sort of open-fronted summerhouse to shelter in. But her main task was to make sure they exercised, in particular by being organised into races, like greyhounds. This, she had been shown, was associated with feeding time and involved two or three processes in which they had to run for snippets of food.
The presence of Hepzibah was sure to complicate the procedure and Thea had been surprised at Umberto’s ready acceptance of her. ‘She’ll add variety,’ he had said, with a grin. Later, Thea had wondered whether he expected the salukis to catch her and tear her apart like a rabbit or a hare. A flicker of chilly humour made the idea credible. Hepzie was going to be kept away from the field unless under supervision, Thea resolved. They would go for sedate little walks around the village instead.
It was only just past ten on a Monday morning. Outside it was June, not far off the longest day. Thea could hear her father’s voice telling her not to waste it. Richard Johnstone had always been acutely aware of the seasons and their rapid passing. He had died too soon, his urgent attitude to life amply justified with hindsight. All his offspring missed him with a perpetual dull ache.
It was not of course necessary to remain indoors. The field behind the house was in fact her primary area of responsibility and she could sit there all day, guarding the precious dogs, reading a book, dozing in any sunshine there might be, ignoring the rest of the world. Her family were reconciled to her absence and need cause her no concern. She had nothing to feel guilty or anxious about. With a bit of effort she could imagine herself on a Caribbean beach, provided it didn’t rain.
But there was no way that Thea Slocombe could remain idle for more than about ninety minutes. Even that would probably be a record. There would have to be a project of some kind if she was to remain sane for five whole days. And the only thing she could think of was to organise the dogs into something that would entertain them all.
She went out through the sliding doors, which opened from the living room onto a patio. This was the closest there was to a proper back garden – six stone tubs containing begonias and lobelia and a shameful number of weeds. There was no sort of barrier between the edge of the patio and the field, and the dogs freely gambolled across it and into the house when they noticed the open doors.
‘Hey!’ shouted Thea. ‘You’re not supposed to go in there.’ Umberto had clearly laid out the rules – dogs in their own room next to the kitchen, and nowhere else in the house, unless one had special dispensation of an evening. ‘It goes against the grain,’ he admitted. ‘But I was forced to the conclusion that three large dogs are too much for any room that wants to stay halfway civilised. I probably wouldn’t stick to it if it wasn’t for Imogen. She keeps me on the straight and narrow.’
It seemed to Thea that such rules spoilt much of the pleasure in having dogs at all; a thought that must have shown on her face. ‘I do sometimes let them onto the couch one at a time,’ the man confessed. ‘Especially in the winter.’
Hepzie detected the chance of some excitement and began to yap in the mindless way that Thea found particularly irritating. ‘Shut up!’ she said. ‘You’ll just cause more chaos.’ Hepzie sat down and drooped in a shameless display of pained reproach.
‘Gina!’ Thea ordered at random. ‘Come out of there.’ The smallest of the three salukis turned her head, ears up, eyes bright. Thea could see her thinking This is going to be fun. ‘You heard me. Out – all of you!’
The tone was evidently well chosen and all three good-naturedly trooped through the patio doors, which Thea quickly pulled shut behind them. ‘Good dogs!’ she applauded. ‘Very good dogs. Now let’s go and play outside.’ She tried to remember everything Umberto had told her about the doggy games. Then she realised she had left the spaniel in the house, and opened the doors again. ‘Come out, you fool,’ she said fondly. ‘You’ll be all right while I’m here.’ Hepzie trotted out, avoiding her owner’s gaze, and stood watching the salukis. ‘You’ll soon get used to them,’ Thea told her. ‘They’re really going to be excellent company for us, you see.’
She spent the next hour throwing toys, exploring the various contraptions designed to occupy the dogs, and giving Rocket so many cuddles that Hepzie almost exploded with jealousy. The objects scattered around the field suggested both the gorilla section of a modern zoo and a carelessly arranged circuit at a gymkhana. There were tunnels, jumps, seesaws, a hammock and even a paddling pool, although it was devoid of water. To Thea’s eye, it all looked rather ramshackle. She imagined Umberto acquiring most of the equipment second-hand at his auctions, or through an outfit such as Freecycle. She had an idea that he had embarked on some kind of agility training and then quickly abandoned it as too time-consuming or effortful. As far as she could recall, she had never seen salukis in that kind of activity anyway. They probably lacked the right skills or motives. But she saw Dolly wriggling through one of the tunnels, as if the animal simply enjoyed the experience for its own sake.
Thirsty for a mid-morning coffee, she left the dogs to rest and went back into the house with Hepzie. There were clouds gathering and the temperature had dropped to a level that made sitting outside unappealing. She settled down on the couch in the living room and took up Umberto’s family history with a lukewarm curiosity. Such volumes tended to be poorly written and sadly dull.
Neither proved to be the case in this instance. The first chapter launched into a vivid account of a sea voyage to India in 1859, rapidly followed by a detailed description of the birth of a baby who turned out to be Umberto’s great-grandfather. Lengthy quotes from letters and diaries gave credence to the narrative, and Thea was hooked. The writing was good and the structure blessedly clear. There was never any doubt as to which generation was being described, despite the hectic pace that rushed from 1850 to 1920, back to 1900 and on to 1960. Themes were followed – seafaring, childbearing and dogs were predominant. The final chapter came all of a sudden, with a summary of how the family stood at the time of writing. Umberto was one of four siblings, with a generous helping of cousins – one of them still in India and several in Italy.
The last lines held her attention most of all.
Ours is a family of violent feuds and sentimental reconciliations, up to and including the present day. I end this volume with the hope that current animosities will quickly be resolved.