Angel Hunt (26 page)

‘Marzipan?'

‘For the dogs. It masks scent.'

I'd heard that from my friend Trippy, whose one remaining ambition in life was to be the first drug-smuggler through the Channel Tunnel. And he was going to do it using a birthday cake with lots of marzipan on to fool the sniffer dogs at the Customs posts.

‘What about your … your allergy? Won't the dogs affect you?'

‘Yes,' she said coldly. ‘But we must learn to overcome physical weaknesses.' I wondered if that was part of her Kateda mantra. ‘I have taken the appropriate drugs and I have my inhaler and we will all wear masks.'

She held up a white gauze mask on a metal frame, the sort that house painters and Japanese commuters use.

‘Do you have one?'

‘No.'

‘We'll get you a scarf.'

‘Is it really necessary?'

‘Oh yes. Sometimes the Special Branch have people there taking photographs of us.'

I looked at her in the mirror and she stared me out, deadpan.

I felt a twinge of sympathy for her, but only a twinge. In her case, it wasn't just paranoia; they really were after her.

 

We made the Reverend Bell's rectory just after 9.00. A weak and watery sun had given up the job of trying to shine, and the frost was shimmering across the fields. Our breath steamed. It was what the hunters would call a good day for it. The foxes probably disagreed.

There was a motley collection of vehicles parked outside the rectory. Several motorbikes, a clutch of Citroen 2CVs, a minibus and two Morris Minors. Exactly what you might expect. All of them had stickers on the bumper or in the back windows, ranging from ‘Stop The Bloody Whaling' to ‘One Planet, Don't Abuse It.' I bet none of them ran on unleaded.

Lara was out of Armstrong, bag over her shoulder and marching towards the front door before I'd killed the engine. I muttered, ‘Thanks for the lift,' to myself and followed her.

Despite the weather, the front door was open and there was a general hubbub coming from the big, empty ballroom. Except it wasn't empty, there must have been 40 to 50 people in there, of all shapes, sizes and ages. They were all white, I noticed, and almost certainly all middle-class. Two couples were clearly pensioners, which probably explained one of the Morris Minors outside; they'd bought it new. All of them were dressed in jeans and bungy coats against the cold, all had scarves or masks of some sort – in a couple of cases, Batman ones – hanging round their necks. As far as I knew, I was in the middle of the Second Regiment of the Queen's Own Hunt Saboteurs.

There was a trestle-table by the French windows with two tea urns, and young Stephanie was dispensing cups of something hot and brown from them.

‘Hello,' she said with a genuine smile. ‘I'm glad you could come. You're fun.'

Which was the nicest thing anybody was to say to me all day.

She leaned over the table and offered me a chipped white mug.

‘It's coffee, I think. Got any vodka?'

‘Not this early,' I said. ‘Won't your father go ape-shit if he finds you with this mob?'

‘Sole purpose of exercise,' she said primly.

Lara had disappeared, so I circulated aimlessly, clutching the coffee mug in my palms for warmth. It was freezing in the ballroom, but nobody seemed to mind.

The saboteurs were greeting each other like long-lost friends, which they probably were. For many of them, it was the height of their social calendar. Some had placards, mostly homemade with a lot of red paint for effect. The best I saw said, ‘If you can't eat it, don't torture it,' and the weirdest one said, ‘Librans Against Slaughter.'

I caught snippets of conversation such as: ‘… did David ever get that hoof print out of his car door?' and ‘… the hounds always go for salami if you can't get authentic biltong …' And several of them smiled at me and said hello. They all had bright, expectant eyes and shiny, excited faces. They at least were ready for the chase.

Through the open front door, I saw two more bikes draw up, and these were The Business. One was a Harley, I could tell even from that distance, and the other a smaller BMW. Both riders dismounted and hung their helmets over their handlebars. Both had full leather riding gear and both wore balaclavas, which they stretched and pulled off as they walked to the door.

Lara met them in the hall, and I watched in case she threw up at the sight of so much leather. She didn't; instead she reached up and kissed the first one and then shook hands with the second as he was introduced to her. Then she led them into the milling throng.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, something that always turns my spine to jelly.

‘Roy! Good of you to make it. And thank you for bringing Lara.'

It was Bell in full cleric gear, including dog-collar and cassock, which stopped just above his Doc Marten's.

‘Did I have a choice?' I asked cheekily.

‘Probably not. Lara is very single-minded. I see her friends have arrived.' He didn't sound too pleased about it.

‘Nice disguise,' I said, indicating the cassock.

‘Even our boorish local hunters think twice about riding down a man of the cloth, especially if they have to come to see me next week about their daughters' weddings or their grandchildren being christened. And anyway, it looks good on television when a vicar gets bullied.'

He was serious about this.

‘Are you expecting a TV crew?'

‘I shouldn't think so, not on Boxing Day. But we'll be taking our own pictures.'

‘Billy's video camera?'

‘Er … yes,' he said, and flushed slightly. ‘Billy's.'

He caught someone's eye across the room and headed off, saying, ‘Sandra, how nice of you to turn out.' I shuffled over to where Lara was talking to the leather-clad Harley rider. His biker friend was busy introducing himself to a pair of pinch-faced young blondes, both wearing CND badge earrings.

Lara glared at me as I approached, and not even my 100-watt smile melted her expression.

‘Hello, Roy,' she said reluctantly, and as if it was at least a year since she'd seen me last. ‘Meet Tony.'

Tony pulled off a gauntlet with his teeth and we shook hands.

‘Hi-de-hi,' he said, in a voice that sounded as if he'd never had the silver spoon taken out of his mouth.

‘Nice bike,' I said, watching Lara slide away towards Bell. ‘Touch of the Electra Glides.'

He looked blank at that. ‘Oh, she shifts all right. Made it here in eight minutes under the hour. No traffic, of course.'

‘From where?' I asked innocently.

‘Ah-ha! Nice try.' He tapped his nose with his forefinger. ‘But we mustn't say, must we? Rules of the game, and all that. No surnames, no addresses. In case the Boys In Blue are around.'

‘Dead right. Just checking. First time?'

He nodded and grinned inanely.

‘First time this side of the tracks,' he whispered, touching his nose again. ‘To be truthful, I've changed sides today. My father does a spot of hunting in Leicestershire and I have been known to jog along behind. In my younger days, natch.'

‘Oh, natch.'

If he'd told me his father owned Leicestershire, I wouldn't have been surprised. From his age, accent, the haircut and the ‘eight minutes under the hour from here,' I had him down as a newly-commissioned lieutenant, almost certainly based in Colchester (as Aldershot was too far), and I'd even guess at the regiment: Devon and Dorsets. That was a decent enough billet for someone whose dad hunted in Leicestershire.

‘So why are you turning traitor?' I asked.

‘Oh, Harry and I –' he indicated his companion now deep in discussion with the CND ladies ‘– thought it might be a giggle.' He lowered his voice again. ‘Couldn't give a tinker's toss about old Brer Fox if truth were known, but it's a good way to bugger up the fat Burghers of Cambridge, isn't it?'

‘Absolutely. All good, clean fun.'

He looked at me like a fellow conspirator.

‘Lara said you were the chap with the taxi. Bet you've had some laughs in that, eh?'

He flapped his gauntlet against my chest. I was having trouble taking this guy for real.

‘You wouldn't believe what I've got to up in that old bus,' I said, and meant it. ‘The number of women who flag you down begging for a lift is incredible.'

I said it with as much corny innuendo as I thought I could get away with, and he lapped it up.

‘Have you managed to get Lara in the back seat yet?'

‘One of my regular rides, you might say.'

I thought he might seize up at that. He giggled and nudged me with his elbow, then punched me lightly on the shoulder.

‘Good man. Never dared myself, though always fancied her. But not good form to mess with a chap's …'

‘Sister?'

‘Peter's sister, of course. Don't tell me you don't know Peter?'

‘Okay, I won't tell you, but I don't. Is he here?'

Tony didn't need to look around.

‘Uh-huh. Lara says he's away for a few weeks. We don't see him much these days, of course, but it's not like him to miss a shindig like this. O-oh, watch out. Stand by your beds. Looks like the Vicar-General is calling us to order.'

‘That was very good,' I said.

‘What was?' asked Tony, bemused.

‘Vicar-General. Wish I'd thought of that.'

‘Really?' He was genuinely taken aback. ‘Oh, thanks. I'll tell Harry.'

I left him to it and shuffled off to the side. If the defence of our realm was being left to Tony and Harry, I'd better learn Russian fast.

Bell moved into the centre of the room and clapped his hands twice for order.

‘Thank you all for coming,' he boomed in his best pulpit voice. ‘At this very moment, our local worthies are stretching last year's red coats over yesterday's turkey and plum pudding.' There was a ripple of polite laughter. ‘Some of our less worthy locals will be getting their horses ready for them, and within an hour they'll assemble at Caxton Gibbet for the traditional Stirrup Cup. That will almost certainly go on for another hour. They need Dutch Courage to do what they do.'

Murmurs of approval at this as well as more laughter.

‘So we've plenty of time to get in position. The word in the village is that there are foxes in Knapworth Woods. That means the hunt will come towards us on the Elsworth road and then go into one of the fields to their right, over towards Cambridge. Everyone with banners will concentrate on blocking the road. But be careful. There will be police on duty, and remember, we're not out to hurt the dogs, and if you frighten the horses, they could hurt you.

‘Lara here will be in charge of scenting the gateways and the entrances to the field to confuse the hounds. Do we have any volunteer runners this year?'

A pair of gangling hippie types – authentic ones, not the fashion crazed ‘New Hippies' doing the rounds of the acid house parties in London – stepped forward.

‘We've left our bait outside,' said the tallest, in a West Country burr. ‘It's mostly pretty high pheasant, and it makes us not very pleasant to be near to.'

‘We haven't washed for weeks in honour of the occasion,' said the other, scratching his beard.

More laughter.

‘Well done, you two,' smiled Bell. ‘Now then, Edna and Albert – ‘ he indicated the couple I'd identified with the Morris Minor ‘ – have the boot of their car absolutely stuffed with anti-hunt literature. Anyone who wants an armful of pamphlets, please see them before we set out.

‘Remember, there will be lots of spectators there and we just might make a few converts. But no aggro, please. No pushing things down people's throats.

‘Lastly, we have two newcomers in the shape of Harry and Tony, or maybe it's Tony and Harry. They'll have the video camera with them and they'll be filming us. But please – don't provoke anything violent just because the camera's there. Tony will be on the large motorbike, so he can make a quick getaway.'

More laughter, including a guffaw from Tony.

‘So, good luck, everyone. Let's go make ourselves heard.' A wave of applause started, but Bell held it down. ‘And then back here this afternoon for baked potatoes, roast chestnuts and soup. Not necessarily in that order, of course.'

Bell came through the massed ranks, being patted on the back and having his hand shaken and giving the thumbs-up sign, until he got to me.

‘Roy, could we borrow you to transport the advance party?'

‘Certainly. What do I have to do?'

Lara appeared at his shoulder.

‘Get me and two or three others and our stuff as close to the meet as possible,' she said.

‘Won't I be a bit obvious?'