up a handful of earth and drop it into the grave, I suddenly felt an arm around my shoulders. A flask of brandy was pushed into my hand. I took a mouthful and turned to see him; a mane of black hair and a beard and moustache like one of the Merovingian kings.’
There was a pause, during which both Linda and Duggie waited for him to veer off, and take refuge in his own private medieval world. But, to their surprise and gratification, he persevered in the modern era.
‘He gave me a hug and told me he was the black sheep of the family. That’s what he said, “the black sheep”. He said he had loved his sister very dearly and regretted the fact he had seen so little of her. Then he kissed me on both cheeks and left without another word. Can’t have been with me for more than thirty seconds. It was only that night I found the hipflask in my pocket. It had McKinnon Marine etched in the side. That was my mother’s maiden name: McKinnon.’ He paused awkwardly, as if regretting this rare glimpse into his personal life.
Both Linda and Duggie, who knew him so well, were struck by this rare insight. This was, however, the end of the revelations. He fell silent. His mind was clearly already heading back to the Middle Ages when Duggie stepped in.
‘A toast.’
He held up his glass in their direction. The erstwhile university professor raised his glass absently. Linda snatched a mineral water from a passing waitress and joined in, unaware of the regret in Roger’s eyes as her hand was removed from his arm. Duggie waxed lyrical.
‘Here’s to your life at Toplingham Manor. May you find happiness and success. No, hang on a minute. You already have. How stupid of me to forget. So, here’s to your life at the manor and happiness and success to the rest of us. All right?’
Their glasses touched, and they drank the health of the lucky man. Then, remarkably, Roger Dalby stayed in the present day. Looking up, he asked the question that had been on his mind since seeing the manor for the first time, a few weeks before.
‘Now what do I do with a damn great house like the manor? Linda and I only need a couple of rooms at most.’ Oblivious to her surge of hope, he continued. ‘And another couple for me to sleep and eat in. I’m still left with over thirty spare rooms, and some of them are huge, as big as this ballroom.’
The crest of the wave of Linda’s emotions crashed back into its trough again. ‘Why don’t you start some kind of business?’ Her voice gave nothing away. ‘Maybe a hotel?’
But she tailed off, realising that even Basil Fawlty would make a better hotelier than Roger. He would no doubt be able to take an order for dinner, but would then most probably disappear into his study for the rest of the day. The customers would be left to starve. Hours later he would be found, looking up some arcane fact to do with his beloved saint. Duggie, however, had a practical solution.
‘A club. That’s what the old place would lend itself to. A private club with leisure facilities and entertainment. After all, there is a decent golf course hidden away in the grounds. All right, it’s a bit overgrown and only nine holes, but even so… And the old squash courts won’t need too much to get them back in operation. Toplingham Country Club. I can see it now.’
His arms were spread out wide, his eyes screwed shut, as he visualised the scene. A tasteful gold-lettered sign, pinned to the stone pillars outside the manor, floodlit at night, naturally. As he did so, his outstretched right hand brushed against something reassuringly warm and soft. He was delighted when he opened his eyes to see Tina Pound, coming over to offer her congratulations to Roger. He treated her to his most engaging smile.
‘Hello again. You’ve come back to me. I assume you know our illustrious host and hostess?’
Linda reddened, but managed a smile at Tina. They knew each other well from the university. ‘Hi, Tina. I didn’t know you and Douglas were friends.’
Duggie was quick to reply on her behalf, his hand catching hers and drawing her closer. ‘We may only have met a few minutes ago, but I feel we know each other so very well already.’ He kissed her bare shoulder affectionately.
Tina gave Linda a smile in return, while gently fending him off. ‘Half man, half octopus. Just my type.’
Linda watched their easy exchange enviously. Somehow they made this relationship thing look so very easy. She glanced across at Roger. As far as establishing a relationship with him was concerned, easy it most certainly wasn’t.
Roger nodded absently towards Tina. His mind was still on the manor, and Duggie’s suggested change of use.
‘All very well, Duggie. The club’s a great idea, but who could run it for me?’ He seemed unexpectedly taken with the idea. ‘Now that I am finally able to concentrate on the definitive history of St Bernard, I can hardly find the time to run a club. I might as well have stayed on in the department. Unless…’ His eyes met Duggie’s and, with an unusual degree of perspicacity, he immediately saw the answer to his question. ‘Unless you would feel like doing it – as a favour to me, Duggie? After all, your background in estate agency is sort of the same field, isn’t it?’
Duggie felt there was little to be gained from pointing out the many differences between selling houses and hospitality management. He settled for a broad smile of acquiescence, and the chance to run his right hand lightly down across the taut buttocks of Tina Pound. She didn’t slap him and he took that as a good sign.
‘Do you know? I think I might well be up for it.’ He sounded very keen.
Tina glanced across at him, a delicious feeling of anticipation warming her. He certainly wasn’t backwards at coming forwards.
‘Does that mean you’d consider giving it a try?’ Roger Dalby was genuinely pleased that his oldest friend might be prepared to help him out. For her part, Linda, despite her reservations about Duggie as a bad influence, could see that he would be a natural for the position.
‘The more I think about it, the better it sounds.’ Duggie was definitely warming to the idea. ‘I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.’
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted. Linda’s smile faded as she saw the scruffy figure of Edgar Lean stagger into view. The grubby lapels of his suit had clearly absorbed almost as much wine as he had. Any inhibitions he might have had, had been drowned by the alcohol.
‘Linda. You’re lovely. Give us a kiss.’ He lurched towards her.
‘Mr Lean, really!’ She affected her sternest voice as she addressed him. He chose to ignore her, raising his hand unsuccessfully to his mouth to stifle a burp.
‘Go on, darling. You know you want to.’
‘Bloody hell, Edgar. What do you think you are doing?’
Linda was impressed by the way Roger sprang to her defence. He gave Edgar Lean an icy glare.
‘Behave yourself, please.’
‘Keep your shirt on, Prof.’ He leered malevolently at him. ‘Only you get to touch the lovely Linda, is that it?’
Roger took a step forward, his temper rising.
Duggie felt it incumbent upon himself to intervene, before the host got embroiled in the fracas that the other man was clearly trying to provoke. Regretfully relinquishing the warmth of Tina Pound, he slipped swiftly across to position himself between the two men. With his broad shoulders turned towards Roger, he spoke to Lean in a friendly voice.
‘I think it might be best if you were to leave now, don’t you? I think you have maybe taken advantage of the hospitality a little too much.’
In return, Lean re-directed his hatred towards him. He hissed. ‘I’m not drunk, you twat. This is between me and?’ Duggie did not let him finish.
‘I’m a peace-loving person. But it’s only fair to warn you that the last person to talk to me like that ended up with a broken jaw.’ He moved a few inches closer and lowered his voice into a confidential whisper. ‘So why don’t you be a good boy and get the