A Bitter Feast(75)
Reaching the pub, he’d seen Gemma coming towards him across the car park, the pretty black-and-white collie at her heels.
“Are you okay?” asked Gemma when she reached him. “I was getting worried about you.”
“Fine. Just needed some air.” Across the car park, he saw Booth, now in rolled-up shirtsleeves, standing by his Volvo with his mobile to his ear. “What’s going on?”
“Booth is organizing a house to house along Jack Doyle’s route and calling in help to take official statements from the pub staff. I’ve rung Kerry Boatman and she’s agreed to check some things in London. And I’ve rung Melody to say we’re staying over, but I had to leave a voice mail. She must be busy with the kids.”
Kincaid started to tell her he thought he’d seen Andy, but Gemma went on, “Viv says Mark Cain texted her that he’s home now but he can’t fetch the dog. I’ve promised Kit I’d help out in the kitchen but I can’t do it with the dog in tow,” she added, sounding exasperated.
The dog in question sat patiently at Gemma’s side, her head tilted as if wondering what these two unfamiliar humans were going to do with her next. She was a beauty, Kincaid thought. His mother had always favored the classic black-and-white coats in her border collies, and these were the dogs he’d grown up with.
“You are a love, aren’t you?” he said to the dog, holding out his uninjured hand for her to sniff, then stroking her head.
“I was just going to take her up to Cain’s myself,” said Gemma.
“I’ll take her,” Kincaid offered. “I wanted a word with him about Nell, anyway.”
Gemma frowned at him. “You sure you’re up to it?”
“I’m fine. I’m perfectly capable of walking a dog.”
Her eyes widened at his tone. “I know, love. It’s just—take it easy, will you?” She handed him Bella’s lead. “You know where it is, right? You’ve been to Nell’s cottage. Viv says Mark’s farm is the first place on the right after that.”
“I can find it,” he said, and knew he’d sounded cross again. He didn’t understand why he felt so irritable. Reaching for the dog’s lead, he leaned in and kissed Gemma’s cheek. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to be snappy. Don’t worry, okay?” He gave her his best effort at a cheeky grin and walked away, the dog trotting at his side.
It was a good thing, he thought a few minutes later, that Bella had been trained to heel properly on the left, and to walk calmly. He couldn’t have managed with his right hand. Once he had made the turn across from the mill and was well into the lane, the sun felt warm on his head and shoulders, and the scents from the hedgerows were heady. There were still blackberries among the brambles and he stopped to pick one. It was tart on his tongue, a tangible memory from his childhood.
When they neared Nell’s cottage, Bella began to pull a little, but he tightened her lead and talked to her soothingly. There was no sign of activity at the place. Bella relaxed when they had passed the drive. The lane began to climb more steeply and trees filled in the hedgerows, shading Kincaid from the sun. When Bella’s ears pricked up and her pace quickened, he began looking for the entrance to Cain’s farm, although a drive seemed unlikely among the thick growth. But Bella whined and bumped his knee as she tried to cross in front of him, and then he saw it, a break in the trees. A barred gate was set just off the road, and beyond that a raised causeway crossed a deep, leaf-filled rill. On the far side of the rill, the belt of trees gave way to an open pasture, and on either side of a curving drive sat a substantial stone farmhouse with a wooden barn and outbuildings.
The gate, Kincaid saw, was only loop latched, so he opened it and led the excited dog through, then made certain it was fastened behind him. There was a tractor in the farmyard, and an older-model Land Rover with a light trailer attached.
Kincaid had nearly reached the yard when Bella yipped and two other black-and-white collies came streaking out of the barn, barking madly. He stood still as they circled round him, greeting Bella and sniffing him enthusiastically as well.
“Wally! Sprig! What the hell are you doing?” Mark Cain came out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag. “Oh, it’s you,” he added when he saw Kincaid. He nodded at Bella, who was quivering, her swishing tail beating against Kincaid’s leg. “You can let her loose. She’s fine in the yard. I just like to keep an eye on her in case she decides to scarper back to Nell’s.”
Kincaid managed to unhook the lead with his left hand and Bella joined the other dogs in a race round the farmyard.
“She’s still a pup, really,” said Cain as he watched the dogs. “Thanks for returning her. I told Viv I had to get the hay unloaded from the trailer before I could fetch her.” He gestured at the trailer, which still held a few bales of hay.
“I didn’t mind. She’s a lovely dog. And I wanted a word with you anyway.”
Studying him, Cain said, “Well, I could use a break. You’d better come in.” He led Kincaid round to the back door of the farmhouse and exchanged his boots for slippers before inviting Kincaid inside. The dogs came with them, heading straight for their water bowl and lapping noisily.
It was a big, stone-flagged kitchen, with a center island and sleek fittings. After washing his hands, Cain opened the fridge and pulled out two unlabeled brown bottles with stopper-sealed tops. He held out one to Kincaid. “Have a cider. It’s a gift from my friend with an orchard up Stow way. Presses and bottles it himself every year.” When Kincaid accepted, Cain clicked his bottle against Kincaid’s. “Cheers.” Taking a long swig, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned against the work top.