door. Mr Pocock had arrived with a boot full of yellow-leaved hostas, magnificent ferns, a tree peony, a big clump of foxgloves and a splendid goat’s beard.
‘Those six are primulas and those roots are lily of the valley.’
‘Oh, you darling, darling man. Where did you get them from?’
‘No names, no pack drill, Etta, but quite a lot from Badger’s Court. Joey doesn’t know a daffodil from a delphinium. He’s planning to knock down a major wall by a flower bed, so we’re saving them from certain death. I’ll bring you some hellebores and white primulas tomorrow.’
‘Oh, oh,’ Etta was close to tears, ‘thank you so much. Would you like some breakfast?’ Then, remembering there was only half Gwenny’s sardines in the fridge, she was relieved when he said he’d got to be at Mrs T-L’s by nine.
‘But thanks, and thanks for rescuing Gwenny. You spoiled her, she turned up her nose at cat food this morning.’
Etta felt absurdly happy. What a kind chap. What marvellous plants. The Aruncus, or goat’s beard, such a lovely name, was the tallest and had better go at the back. She was just digging a hole when Dora rolled up in the highest excitement, with Cadbury leaping and bouncing around her.
‘Mrs Bancroft, gossip, gossip, gossip. What are you doing?’
‘Putting in shade-tolerant plants.’
‘That is so perfect!’ Dora went off into fits of laughter. ‘Someone who is not Shade-tolerant is Rupert Campbell-Black. His daughter Bianca, my best friend, rang me yesterday morning to tell me.
‘Shade,’ began Dora, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating wildly, ‘had ten horses with Rupert, or rather he did have but he made the fatal error of making a pass at Rupert’s wife Taggie. Taggie wasn’t going to tell Rupert because he’s soooo jealous, but Michael Meagan, one of the Irish lads, who hates Shade, tipped him off. Anyway Shade had the temerity to roll up at Penscombe next morning and Rupert, who has the shortest fuse in Christendom, howled, “Get orf my gallops now and get your horses, all your fucking horses, out of my yard now.”’
‘Good God,’ said Etta, putting down the Aruncus and leaning on her spade.
‘Well, Shade drove off in a fury, and three hours later he got a hysterical call on his mobile to say all ten horses had been delivered to his offices in St James’s Square by high-speed lorry and were crapping everywhere. They had to be led to St James’s Park to await further instructions.’
‘Good God,’ repeated Etta, leaping forward to rescue the Solomon’s seal from Dora’s pacing feet.
‘So I rang Colin Mackenzie, and he raced back from Newbury and it’s all in the Mail today.’ Dora brandished the paper in triumph.
‘Gosh, a double-page spread,’ said Etta, examining the pictures of Shade, Rupert and Taggie. ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’
Shade is quoted as saying: ‘I kissed Taggie Campbell-Black on the cheek. I was euphoric my horse had won a race and she’s my trainer’s wife. Such behaviour is standard. I feel very sorry for Taggie, who’s a lovely woman.’
‘Shade’s threatening to sue,’ went on Dora gleefully, ‘claiming Rupert’s endangered at least five million pounds’ worth of horse-flesh.’
‘Poor horses, they must have been terrified in London. Where will they go?’
‘Well, Shade’s other ten were already with Marius, so they’ve gone there. Poor Marius has plenty of empty boxes. But Shade won’t like that because he likes to play trainers off against each other, and he likes his horses to win, and Marius is having an even worse year than Ralph Harvey-Holden.
‘Taggie’s terribly embarrassed, but Colin Mackenzie agrees with me: Rupert’s used the whole thing as an excuse to get rid of Shade, who demanded more attention than all the other owners put together. He’s known in the yard as Needy Gonzales. ‘Plants partial to Shade,’ giggled Dora as she watched Etta tread in the goat’s beard.
‘Would you like a cup of tea and some toast and marmalade?’ asked Etta.
‘Yes please,’ said Dora. ‘And now, shifting from the profane to the sacred, my heavenly boyfriend Paris is having a driving lesson, so I’ve got an hour or so to kill. Shall I take you round the church and tell you the legend of Willowwood?’
‘I must get these plants in.’
‘You can do that this afternoon.’
As they set out for the village, coming out of Badger’s Court was a Water Board van with Leakline printed on its sides.
‘I ought to drive round in that,’ smirked Dora. ‘I must say that was a brilliant scoop …’