Bertie and the Hairdresser Who Ruled the World (22 page)

Bertie took it all in. This was a very pretty place. The trees reminded him of the jungle back in Brazil. Not quite as dense, of course, but quite acceptable nonetheless – and the sun above was most agreeably warm on his back. He floated on air both warm and sweetly scented, drifting at leisure, then saw the old lady returning with fruit. He descended in a stately manner to land on the back of his chair again in a rush of air, then sidled up to the bowl and got stuck into an apple, trilling happily to himself as he peeled off the skin. Yes, perhaps she wasn't so bad after all.

Celeste stroked him gently. She stared around at the Hall and its exquisite gardens. ‘How on earth do you pay for all this? Sorry to bring up something so mundane as money, but I just can't see how it's done.'

‘Well, for a start we don't pay any salaries,' said Cutie, ‘which is why Gaia still owns her own hairdressing salon. This is a vocation, not a career. Also, in an organization as old as ours, we have accrued substantial resources over the centuries by the simple process of natural accumulation – if you invested a few pounds each year starting at the end of the English Civil War then the compound interest over the best part of four hundred years would now make it many hundreds of thousands of pounds. In addition, the Home Farm attached to Temple Hall has always been extremely profitable, so that takes care of our everyday needs and gives us all a share of the surplus at the end of the year. None of us need much to live on. Our board and lodgings are free, the food is home grown and there's always the Pythia's betting tips to top up the kitty, keeping me in clothes and paying for Mama's weekly lessons at Grumpy College!'

Doreen gave Celeste a speculative glance. ‘All these questions. Yes, I can understand your desire to know more, but I think you've been procrastinating. There's one question you haven't asked, yet it's the most important.'

Celeste nodded. She felt a growing admiration and respect for this Doreen. ‘Why now?' she asked.

‘Because we have to help you fight this conspiracy. You're family now, Celeste, and we protect our own. That attack on James was just the beginning. You and Bertie are now also under immediate threat and we can't allow that. You're too important, and not just to us. Your husband is on the verge of changing the political landscape of this country – and for the better. That process has to continue at all costs and this will be the only chance we have of stopping those who oppose him. Do not underestimate how far they'll go to preserve their influence and fortunes.

‘There is also a danger to the Sisterhood. Should these men achieve their goal, then our influence in this country will be severely diminished. Left unchecked, who knows what catastrophes these idiots will lead us into. Consequences could ripple out across the world, setting us back for decades. There's a lot at stake here, Celeste, and we will do our best to help. Our resources may seem scanty, but my girls all punch above their weight, as you will find out when you're Gaia. However, it also appears we have a champion.' Doreen pointed at Bertie, who sat on the back of the chair opposite the table and watched proceedings with his usual lively attention, the half-eaten apple still in one claw.

‘Hello,' he chirped conversationally, aware that he had suddenly become the centre of attention. ‘Buy one, get one free!'

‘Maggie's quite certain. Bertie has an absolutely vital role to play in all this, even though it's obvious we don't know what that role is precisely.'

‘Bertie!' exclaimed Celeste, finally descending into a splendid state of total confusion.

‘Yes. Bizarre, isn't it. Somehow, somewhere, and very soon, something is going to happen that only Bertie can resolve, and if he fails, it seems certain this resurgence in democracy, your life with James – and our legacy – will be utterly destroyed!'

Two hundred yards away, hidden in a copse, the man watched through field glasses. My, this target got about. All these locations she was visiting. This place was something else, mind you. Very pretty – but also nicely isolated. Miller would be tactically interested in that, but not as interested as knowing exactly why she and the bird were here. Something was definitely going on at this Hall.

His notebook was filling up fast.

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘Where the hell have you been?' ground out Wilf as Celeste breezed through the front door, Bertie waddling along beside her, chattering happily to himself.

‘At the hairdressers, where else – and I'll thank you not to take that tone with me,' she said primly.

‘With Bertie?'

‘Of course not. I found him perched in a tree down the lane. Didn't you notice he was gone?'

‘I – er, well, he may have given me the slip.'

‘I warned you about leaving windows open. Didn't do a very good job, did you. Fine minder you turned out to be, letting my baby roam around outside on his own. If I didn't know better, I'd say you fell asleep.'

‘Um … I might have dozed for a while,' admitted Wilf with, it has to be said, a hangdog expression of guilt.

‘Wilf, I'm disappointed. Surely you're not so old you need to have a catnap every afternoon.'

‘I am certainly not,' he replied indignantly, then regarded her with a narrowed expression. She was uncharacteristically calm. Experience had taught Wilf that when it came to Bertie, Celeste veered towards passionate, to say the least. ‘Have you been somewhere?' he asked suspiciously. ‘Somewhere without me? You've been gone a long time.'

‘Of course I've been somewhere. I visited the bank, shopped a little and had a coffee. I've spent the rest of my time at the hairdressers. Honestly, Wilf, you can tell you're not married. Any husband will tell you this is a serious business.'

‘Anywhere else?' he probed. Her explanation, although reasonable, was not entirely satisfactory. Wilf had been around for long enough to sense when something didn't add up. For her part, Celeste was determined not to lie. Wilf deserved more, but there was no chance she would ever tell him of her trip to Temple Hall. She suddenly began to realise the enormity of the responsibility Doreen had laid on her and its implications with regard to her personal relationships. The thought of keeping this from James did not sit comfortably.

‘You have to understand it takes me longer at the salon than most. I have my image to maintain.' She tossed her head in the manner she'd seen on those black and white shampoo adverts where moody models smouldered in wild and windswept locations, then threw in a generous amount of pouting for good measure. ‘And you haven't even complimented me on my hair.'

Wilf sighed heavily, admitting defeat. ‘It looks very nice,' he said wearily.

‘Too late,' she sniffed. ‘You had your chance.'

‘Get that, would you, Wilf,' called Celeste from the depths of the cottage. ‘Might be someone you recognise.'

Wilf considered this highly unlikely as he put down his newspaper, levered his lanky frame off the sofa and went to the front door. He was still in the doghouse from the previous day, but whether for letting Bertie escape or for not noticing her hair was difficult to tell. He knew precisely no one in Gloucestershire so had little confidence this situation was likely to change. ‘All right, I'm coming,' he muttered in response to another heavy knock. ‘Keep your hair on.'

If only he had been able to follow his own advice.

‘Hello, Wilf. It's been a while.'

Wilf gaped, then grinned with delight. ‘Colin! This is a surprise.'

Colin Kynes pumped his hand enthusiastically, a happy smile splitting his narrow, restless face. ‘How the devil are you? Still catching crims?'

‘Fine and yes, or at least for the next few days.'

‘Retirement, eh. Good man.'

‘Not particularly happy about it, but there isn't a lot I can do.'

‘You'll survive,' replied Colin unsympathetically. ‘Great to see you again. Lovely place, isn't it?'

‘Very nice,' agreed Wilf. Best keep his real reasons for visiting quiet. ‘What on earth are you doing here?'

‘It's a regular trip for me. And for her,' Colin added, stepping aside to reveal a large cage supported on a wheeled frame. Inside, haughty and aloof as ever, sat a magnificent hyacinth macaw.

‘Milly?'

‘That's right.'

‘You're not going to bend my ear again, are you?' asked Wilf cautiously. He had first-hand experience of just how acid-tongued Colin could be, particularly when some randy bird flies in and vigorously shags his prize virgin macaw.

‘Not this time, Wilf, but you may remember what I said to you at the time.'

‘If I recall correctly – and I do – you said quite a lot of things to me, some of which could have got you arrested.'

‘Yeah, well, I was angry.'

‘You don't say. I'd never have guessed, and were you upset because hyacinths mate for life and that Bertie and princess here had tied the matrimonial knot? Till death do us part.'

‘I was, they do, and yes, and as a result I have to bring Milly here for regular spells of love leave.'

‘So Bertie's a dad.'

‘Twice over. She and Bertie have been good parents and the chicks are strong and healthy. We're hoping for a third this year, which is why we're here.'

‘Why doesn't she just come and live here with Bertie? asked Wilf, helping Colin to wheel the cumbersome cage into the lounge.

‘The zoo authorities won't allow it. Milly is far too valuable a specimen to simply give away. Besides, she's become a bit of a celebrity herself as a result of her association with Bertie, boosting attendance to the aviaries at Regent's Park.'

‘Milly!' Bertie scampered into the room, his claws clicking on the old oak floorboards. He squawked discordantly, head bobbing, calling out happily.

‘Dogger,' announced Milly in a distinct voice. ‘Moderate or good, occasionally poor.'

Whether this was a comment on Bertie's performance was not clear. ‘Never mind,' he replied.

‘Hello, Colin. Lovely to see you again.' Celeste appeared, kissed the slightly embarrassed aviarist on the cheek and turned her attention to the cage. ‘Hello, Milly, how are you?' She opened the cage door and drew Milly out on her wrist. Milly's claws were considerably smaller and less needle-tipped than Bertie's, but she was careful nonetheless. Milly was still quite capable of drawing blood. She was deposited on top of her cage and stroked affectionately.

‘Shall we, gentlemen? Tea in the kitchen, I think. Let's give these two a little privacy. From past experience, this shouldn't take long,' she added wryly. The kitchen was typically country cottage, with a stone flagged floor and old-fashioned oak cabinets. An Aga the size of Doncaster dominated the room. Some of Celeste's unique mementoes had made the trip from London, including, perched up on a shelf, Brazilian Big Boy and his unfeasibly engorged fertility phallus. Wilf smirked. Now, there was a bloke who could boast proper wood!

They sat around the table listening to the muffled sounds of raucous squawking coming through the closed door. Bertie was doing his ten-second thing again. Celeste brewed and handed around the dunkers. Digestives. Plain ones. The supreme dunking biscuit, requiring skill to prevent soggy collapse, yet unsurpassed in texture and taste. The little ritual was held in silence, but much appreciated by all.

‘Where's James?' asked Colin eventually.

‘He's tied up in London,' replied Celeste, ‘and before you ask, I had nothing to do with it this time. He's got an important vote in the House tomorrow afternoon.'

‘Still observing the will of the people.'

‘Absolutely.'

‘I'm full of admiration. Wish we had an MP like him.'

‘Well, Colin, if you feel that strongly about it why don't you stand at the next election. All it'll cost you is the deposit. You could join my husband's little band of rebels. What's your constituency?'

‘Chipping Barnet.'

‘That would make you a CHIMP.'

‘Perhaps not,' he chuckled.

‘Will you be staying long? You're welcome to join us for dinner.'

‘I'd love to, Celeste, but I have to get back to work. I've an unwell military macaw that needs some TLC.'

‘How long will Milly be with us this time?'

‘We can spare her for a week if that's OK with you, although judging by the post-coital silence, I might as well take her home now.'

‘At least give them some time together. Bertie does enjoy her visits. Well, he does most of the time, but I don't think it's wise to leave her any longer.'

‘Why? Does he get fed up with her conversation?' asked Wilf, smiling.

‘Yes!' replied Celeste and Colin simultaneously.

Miller drove up and down the lane, checking out the old timber-framed building partially hidden amongst the trees to supplement the information he'd downloaded in London. He loved these new mapping apps. As a cautious man, he'd always appreciated the importance of good information, but visiting a location vicariously was still no substitute for giving it a good old eyeball. Having pretended to visit the church next door, he now had a good idea of the lie of the land. He parked the nondescript Transit nearby, tucking it under the branches of an old chestnut overhanging the modest church car park. He got out and had a look around. Birds chirped happily in the hedges, a squirrel bounced across the road, tractors rumbled in the distance. Quite a change from London. There was no one in sight so he crept across Buttercup's field, slipped through the stile in the hedge and secreted himself in a furry part of Timbrill's garden, flitting from bush to bush. The cottage was less than fifty yards away across a striped lawn. He hunkered down behind a tree and peeped around the trunk, confident his camo gear made him virtually invisible.

He'd picked his time carefully. With Timbrill at Westminster for the vote tomorrow, the only occupant of the house should have been his wife. She of the eccentric sexuality. Never liked leather much, had Miller, apart from a good pair of gloves to protect the knuckles when fighting, of course. However, there was an unexpected vehicle in the driveway, a small van. He knew ginger's car would be there, but the presence of this other had not been expected. Still, he was a seasoned expert in field surveillance and refused to panic. Back to the trunk, relaxed and resting on his haunches, he pulled out his smartphone, scrolled to games and opened
Katapult Kanaries – The Yellow Peril
. He thought this an appropriate way to while away the time, considering the task in hand. Three figures could be seen through the kitchen window. Too many to tackle. Patience, my boy, he told himself. Give it half an hour. See what happens. Country folk are always popping in and out to borrow a cup of sugar. Why the hell they couldn't just put sugar on their shopping lists like everyone else was a mystery to Miller. Unless it's a rural euphemism, of course. He pondered on that while running up a decent score on his game. Presently, Miller heard the van engine start. He glanced around the trunk and saw it crunch down the gravel drive and accelerate away along the lane.