Chapter 36 – The Idylls of March #8
KLEMPNER
“I worked as a hotel cleaner for a while…” Jenny sets the bottle to one side and tucks the now
unconscious Vicky into her cot. “… About one in three of the rooms would have all those little
shampoos and soaps and stuff stripped out when I went to clean.”
“Ah…” Beth nods, crosses out a figure at the head of a page, reces it, tots down the column, tapping
with her pencil tip, muttering under her breath as she goes, reces the figure at the bottom and draws
a double line under the result. “If we assume that’s typical, we definitely have a discrepancy. Michael,
want a look at what I have?”
“Sure.” Michael pulls up a chair.
Jenny watches the pair and shudders. “Sounds boring as hell,” she mutters.
“Maybe that’s why your cousin is apetent businesswoman…” I say… “… and you’re not.”
She scowls. “You think I’m notpetent?”
“I think you’re not a businesswoman.”
Michael’s head pops up. “Nearly forgot what I came over for. Charlotte, can you take over the self-
defence sses this morning? The ten and eleven o’clock sessions in the gym. Chad’s away for a few
Têxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org.
days.”
“Sure.” She nces at the clock. “I’ll get changed and head across now. Beth, you’ll be okay with
Cara?”
“No problem.” Beth regards the mayhem in wax crayon beingmitted on her discarded paperwork.
“So long as I can keep them off the wallpaper.”
Haswell appears at the door, suited, booted and briefcased. “Elizabeth, I’m going now… No…” He sets
a hand on Michael’s shoulder as he starts to rise… “… don’t disturb yourself. I can see you’re busy.” He
stoops, kisses Beth on the mouth. “I’ll see you this evening, my Love.”
“Is James going with you?”
“No, he’s working here today. If you’re looking for him, you’ll find him in the kitchen.”
He turns, makes for the door but Jenny touches him on the arm. “Richard, your tie’s crooked. Here…”
She reaches up, nudges it to one side, then tuts, unravelling it, adjusting his cor. Haswell looks down
at her, mouth twitching at the corners as she reties the knot. She stands back, examines the result.
“That’s better.”
He kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you, Charlotte.” He exits and is gone.
“I’d better go too.” Jenny follows him out.
Mitch is lost in her sketching. Beth and Michael, heads close, don’t even seem to realise I’m there.
Something’sing from the kitchen area. I amble through.
James is there, along with…
What’s her name…?
Sally…
… Michael’s chef. She’s tasting something from a tureen. “More garlic maybe?”
“Don’t you think that might be too much for the non-Spanish pte?”
“Maybe.”
They don’t notice me.
I suppose I could walk the dog…
*****
MICHAEL
“Damn!”
The breeze rises again, threatening to squall, ssic Spring weather. One moment the sunshine is
blistering. The next, clouds pile up, to sling down the kind of rain that only falls sideways.
The timber-panelled frame bnced against my left shoulder remains upright, but as the air gusts
again, the one to my right, precariously propped against me and its partner, flexes, teeters, then in
graceful slow-motion, falls…
“Ah, fucking hell!”
…Still gripping the left-hand panel, I snatch out, but toote. The breeze makes another yful flick,
tugs the remaining panel from my grip, and it too copses, the two lying t as a pair of Friday night
drunks on the grass.
The gust dies and the air falls still. Suddenly, it’s mmy. Swirls of gnats rise. Hands sped behind
my head, staring up, I vent.
Fuck... Fuck…
“Fuck!”
Then I realise I’m not alone. Silently, Klempner watches from the side-line.
"Um, sorry. Didn''t see you there."
He sucks away a smile. “I didn''t mean to disturb you. Just wanted to see what the racket was.”
“The racket is that I''m fucking busy.”
He mutters to his boots. “And vice versa...”
“What was that?”
Klempner’s face pops up. “Nothing. Would an extra pair of hands help?”
“Absolutely. If you can lift that section…” I aim a finger at one copsed sidewall… “Keep it upright long
enough for me to position the other and get a couple of mps fixed…”
“No problem. Where do you want them?”
*****
Two walls upright, mped, then bolted together, my ire fades. “Thanks.”
“You’re wee. The other walls next?”
From the stables, an excited yipping… Iugh. "Sounds like Scruffy''s rat hunting in the stables."
“I suppose he has his uses.” Klempner looks underwhelmed but nces around. “You’ve not seen
Bear, I suppose?"
"Down the fieldst I saw of him, his nose pushed down a rabbit hole…" The yipping is partnered by a
deeper baying, suggestive of Beethoven’s ‘Overture for T-Rex On The Hunt’. “… although it sounds as
though he might have found better sport with Scruffy.”
Klempner Aaahhhs, still looking unimpressed. He surveys our handiwork. “What''s it going to be?”
“Chicken shed.”
“Chickens?” His brows arch. “Dogs, horses, and now chickens? I always had you down as a city boy.”
“Yeah, born and bred. But Charlotte enjoys it. And she knows how to look after them from those years
she spent on the farm. She says it’s pretty straightforward. Besides…” I toe into the dirt… “… I
promised her a real home and she''s going to get it.”
"And a real home includes chickens?"
"Yeah…” I want something to do with my hands, and forck of anything else, shove them into my
pockets. “I''ve got this kind of image in my head. Me, strolling round the pen with Cara and Adam. Vicky
too and..." A silly grin steals my face. "… the next one... with a basket. Collecting eggs. It seemed the
sort of thing you should do with kids." Abruptly, I''m hot. "That sounds ridiculous, doesn''t it.”
Klempner shuffles his feet. "In fact, no. Now you put it that way, I’d like that for Vicky." He gazes
outward, looking… lost…
Where is he…?
Lost in time?
"Do you ever think about your own boyhood? "He stiffens, the gaze sharpening again, fixing on me.
"No." Barriers m up behind his eyes.
I pretend not to notice. "Of course, I tell everyone it''ll keep the restaurant in eggs. You too, since you''ve
developed a fetish for the things…” Klempner rxes, eyes softening. “… Ah, speaking of which, thank
you, Sally."
My hotel chef beams. "I heard you working, Michael. I thought you''d have built up an appetite by now.”
She proffers a tray. “I brought a sk of soup too, with the weather being unreliable." Her face falls and
she nods an apology at Klempner. "I''m afraid I only brought enough for one."
Relieving her of the tray, "One? Sally, if they’d served one of your sandwiches, there’d have been no
need for loaves and fishes. We’ll share it." She dimples, bobs and heads back toward the hotel.
Sally''s creation is her usual cartwheel-sized roll, spilling bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes and
eggs. Yolk trickles over the te. Fortunately, she''s cut the monster in two. I’d have needed a chainsaw
otherwise.
Klempner eyes it. "Are you nning to eat that, or incorporate it into the foundations?"
"Help yourself. Neither of us will starve."
He Hmmphs appreciation takes one half in both hands and bites in.
Magically, we havepany. Bear appears, a small molehill perched on his snout. Scruffy shoves in
front of him, dropping a limp rat at my feet.
I scratch an ear… "Good boy." … then toss him a rasher of bacon. It vanishes in mid-air with a Snap!
Bear rumbles until Klempner donates half a sausage. Chewing on the other half, he regards the dead
rodent. Lip curled, "Does that mongrel of yours think the bacon’s a reward for catching the thing? Or
does he believe you buy bacon using rats as currency?"
“Couldn’t say.” I swipe away a smear of escaping yolk and ketchup from my chin. “When he’s cadged
what he can off my brunch, he’ll be off with it. Dunno if he buries them or eats what’s left. I suppose
from his point of view, rats make good eating.”
Klempner shudders, his eyes briefly closing. “No.”
Scruffy groans, eyes and nose triangted on my sandwich.
“You’ve had yours. This is mine.”
Whining despair at my heartlessness, he shuffle-bottoms across, raising beady eyes to Klempner.
“Forget it.”
Scruffy whines, his stub of a tail disturbing a little dust, then with a detritus-scattering shake, he trots off
in the direction of the stables. Bear heaves a sigh that would be envied by any Romantic poet, then
follows.
Klempner polishes off a sausage. “That was half a sandwich? I don’t think I’ll eat again today.”
“There’s soup left.”
“I prefer to live ‘til suppertime.”
I swipe the yolk off the te with thest of my bread. “Food for body and soul.” Then, nodding toward
my remaining wall and roof panels. “If you’re at a loose end, I could use some help for an hour or so.”
His voice is dry. “I have nothing but loose ends.”