Corduroy Mansions Page 0,97

Marcia. “It is. It’s it all right!”

She waited for William to say something more, but he just stood there, looking red in the face.

“Well?” said Marcia.

“I’m going over to Stevie’s place. I’m going to fetch my dog.”

Marcia got up and reached for her coat. “I’m coming too,” she said. She was secretly pleased that Eddie had taken Freddie de la Hay, not because she had anything against Freddie, whom she was nevertheless planning to get rid of sooner rather than later, but because she relished the thought of a further confrontation between William and Eddie. It would firm up matters in her direction, she thought: the more that William was freed of his son, the more he would come to rely on her. And that, at the end of the day, was exactly what she wanted.

As for Freddie de la Hay, the beginnings of a plan had already been made. Being aware of the dog’s background, she had made a discreet enquiry of a friend who occupied a senior position in catering at Heathrow Airport. Did this friend know if the sniffer-dog department was short of dogs? Would a former sniffer dog be at all welcome if there were any vacancies?

The friend reported back within a few hours. She had spoken to somebody who knew about these things and the answer was an enthusiastic yes.

“It’s been a disaster,” Marcia’s friend said over the telephone. “You know that they sacked half of the dogs in order to make vacancies for female dogs? It was something to do with equal opportunities and gender balance.”

Yes, Marcia had heard about it. William had told her about Freddie’s background and about his sacrifice on the altar of equal rights.

“Well, it hasn’t worked,” said the friend. “The female dogs are all over the place. Apparently they keep sniffing out perfume in people’s bags. And then, to make matters worse, all the male dogs proved to be more interested in the female dogs than in suitcases. So all hell broke loose, with the male dogs going after the female dogs and carrying on like nobody’s business. Now they want to try to get the male dogs back.”

This information was exactly what Marcia had wanted to hear and she filed it away in her mind. Freddie de la Hay could be quietly relocated in the fullness of time—back to Heathrow, where he belonged and where he obviously had a brilliant career awaiting him. And as for William, well, her recent victory at insinuating herself into the flat—taking her rightful place, as she preferred to call it—had demonstrated that there was no difficulty there. William could be managed.

They drove over to Stevie’s flat in Marcia’s van. William calmed down on the way but was clearly still angry. Marcia listened sympathetically, nodding her agreement at appropriate points.

“I’ve given him everything,” said William. “Everything. And now he steals my dog.”

“Yes,” said Marcia. “Typical.”

“And Freddie,” said William. “What will he be thinking? He hardly knows Eddie and I suspect that he doesn’t like him very much after Eddie kicked him. Dogs don’t forget that sort of thing, you know.”

“No, they don’t,” said Marcia. Although in fact she thought that they did. Lots of dogs were ill-treated and then appeared to forgive the humans who had subjected them to all sorts of cruelties. Dogs were like that.

They parked outside the address that Eddie had written down, a shabby terrace house in wedding-cake white, now divided into flats. William had been told that the flat was on the first floor, and he looked up to see if there were any lights on. There were not; the windows were in darkness.

They got out of the van and walked up to the front door. William saw Stevie’s name on a button: Potts. He pressed it.

They waited a minute, and then William pressed the button again.

“The pub,” Marcia muttered.

William agreed that this was the most likely place. “The Dog House,” he said. “That’s the pub they go to. How appropriate.”

He knew the way. Eddie took him there on his birthday each year—William paying, of course—so he knew where it was. Stevie went there as well, and on one occasion William had paid for his drinks too, and for the drinks of Stevie’s girlfriend, Poosie. He had ended up paying for everybody, in fact, and Eddie had said at the end of the evening, when he, William, had thanked him, “My pleasure, Dad. Any time.”

Marcia parked the van in a nearby street and they made their way to