good bread he sold there. Still thinking of Dolores, Holly deliberately spread butter on the bread and it tasted all the better as a result.
The plumber took a good look at the boiler and pronounced his verdict. ‘I’m afraid it’s shot, definitely knackered. These oil-fired boilers don’t last nearly as long as the gas ones.’
For a moment, Holly’s heart fell at the thought of an expensive new boiler and then she remembered what, amazingly, she had completely forgotten all day until now. She was a millionaire. She could buy ten boilers. Suddenly the damage to her expensive boots seemed far less upsetting. She gave him a smile. ‘Could you get a new one for me?’
Bob Banks nodded. ‘Yes, of course. It’s Saturday today and the place I use is closed now till Monday.’ He did a bit of thinking. ‘If you’re happy for me to select the one I think’s best, I reckon I should be able to order one on Monday and pick it up and fit it on Tuesday or Wednesday.’
‘That’s terrific.’
After he had left, Holly took Stirling for a quick walk around the village and then gave him his lunch. While he was eating, she collected her things and slipped out to the car. She was pleased and relieved to find that Greta the Porsche started first time. The roads were no longer icy and the weak winter sun had dried the surface. Had the lanes been twice as wide, she would have made very good time. As it was, it took her almost forty minutes to get to the Teign Valley Store. This was housed in a big commercial unit on an industrial park to the south of the moor. As she pulled in and parked in the car park, she was surprised and perturbed to see lawn tractors and garden furniture arrayed outside. Inside, the significance of Mrs Edworthy’s dog food comment sank in. This place, far from being a shoe shop, was an agricultural store, stocking everything from saddle soap to compost.
She walked past displays of gardening implements, rolls of fence wire and everything for the horse, chicken or dog owner. Mrs Edworthy hadn’t been joking; there was indeed a massive selection of dog food. Holly resolved to return to these once she had exhausted any possibility of shoes. It took a good while but, finally, she came upon the clothing and footwear section. Clothing started with boiler suits for farmers, some of them thermal-lined, some waterproof. It then extended through body warmers to fleeces and finally the more expensive articles of countryside clothing such as tweed coats and oiled jackets. Footwear looked at first if it was going to be a choice between green Wellingtons, brown Wellingtons or pink Wellingtons with little butterflies on them. Luckily, on the very last display, she found non-Wellington footwear. She shuddered with distaste as she contemplated, for the first time since she had left university, buying shoes that were practical, rather than fashionable.
By the time she emerged from the store, she had bought a pair of lace-up walking boots, some solid trainers, a pair of yellow Wellingtons and a matching long, shiny raincoat that looked like something the lifeboat service might use, along with several pairs of thick socks. She also had a couple of enormous bags of dog food and quite a lot of food for herself. After her initial surprise that lamb appeared to be sold by the quarter, half or whole animal and potatoes by the 20 kg sack, she realised that a lot of the food on display looked really rather appetising and she managed to stock up on fruit, vegetables, cheese and all manner of other things from pork pies to frozen plaice. She also invested in a smart red collar for Stirling, a brand new lead and three packets of biscuits similar to the ones Jack had given him.
Next door to the shop, there was a wine warehouse. That morning she had searched her father’s house for a cellar, but without success. Presumably mention of it in her father’s will had been just standard legal terminology. Seeing the wine shop, she went in and invested a considerable sum in bottles of wine to create her own personal stock.
After squashing everything into the Porsche, she sat down in the driving seat and phoned Julia.
‘Hi, Jules, how did it go with Scott?’
There was a pause, long enough for Holly to start thinking the worst, before Julia replied. ‘Amazing, Hol, just amazing.’
‘You enjoyed the opera?’
‘Stuff the opera. It was what came afterwards.’ There was another pause before Julia added mischievously. ‘And, the answer to that one is… me. Quite a few times. Oh, Hol, it was fantastic.’ Clearly, the evening had been a success.
Holly was delighted to hear her friend sounding so jubilant and she mouthed a silent prayer that this relationship might last the distance. Then she told Julia everything that had happened to her since they had last spoken. Unsurprisingly, Julia was most interested in the two men, closely followed by the dog. Finally, she asked Holly, ‘So, what happens next?’
Holly had just been talking about the dog. ‘I’ll have to see whether he comes and tries to get into bed with me tonight. He’s awfully smelly.’
‘Holly! Get the man to take a bath.’
Once Holly had explained about Stirling’s attempt to throttle her earlier that morning, she managed to fend off any further enquiries about Justin and Jack and asked whether Julia was coming down to see her parents at Christmas. They lived in Exeter, which was less than an hour away. It was arranged that Julia would come to stay with her in Brookford for a couple of nights before Christmas and then go to her parents’ home. In spite of her experience with Scott the previous night, Julia sounded very keen to renew acquaintance with the two handsome men from Brookford.
That evening, Holly decided once again to go for dinner at the Five Bells. She made a resolution not to let this become a nightly occurrence or she would need a whole new wardrobe in a larger size. In fact, most of that afternoon she had been considering what items she might want to buy to add to her existing wardrobe, now that she had suddenly become super rich. Shoes, definitely. She hummed to herself as she brushed her hair and put on her Alexander McQueen heels that made her about three inches taller.
She pointed them out to the dog when she came back downstairs again, just in case he hadn’t noticed. ‘You never know who we might meet in the pub after all, Stirling.’
He leapt out of his basket and headed for the door. Was the ‘P’ word part of his canine vocabulary, Holly wondered, as she put on her jacket and picked up his lead. He was looking very smart in his new red collar and she patted him on the head. She had become unexpectedly fond of him in a very short space of time. Somehow, the fact that he was her father’s last companion made him more than just any old dog. She got the feeling it would be hard to give him away when she returned to London, but she had no choice. Then she had a sudden thought; maybe Jack might like him. They both got on so very well together. She decided to float the idea across him next time they met.
Thought of Jack reminded her of the wine. She had bought a couple of bottles of a good Meursault for him, to say thank you for his help and hospitality. She glanced out of the back window, but his Land Rover wasn’t parked behind the house. Presumably he was still out at work. Picking up a pen, she scribbled a thank you note and tucked it into the bag with the bottles. As she and Stirling left the house, she popped next door and set the bag on Jack’s doorstep. She wasn’t worried about somebody coming along and stealing it. She had already worked out that the only visitors to this part of the village after dark were badgers or foxes, neither of which were likely to have developed a taste for white Burgundy.
There was one little contretemps on the way up the dark lane to the pub. As they passed under the trees by the village green, she distinctly felt her right foot land in something soft. She checked to see that nobody else was around and then bent down to smell it. She straightened up again in annoyance.
‘Horse shit!’
The dog came back to see what she was talking about, but he had the good sense and the night vision to avoid stepping in it as well. She went over to the long grass and did her best to wipe the shoe clean. Without being able to see what she was doing, it wasn’t easy. She muttered a few unprintable imprecations directed at horses, riders, stables and anything to do with equitation as she did so. Finally satisfied, she set off once more for the pub.
The dog led her up to the door and, once inside, immediately picked out the table she had occupied the