[Churchminster #3] Wild Things (29 page)

Her mobile was ringing as she walked back into her study. Frances carefully deposited the tea tray on a nest of tables and picked it up.

‘Princess, it’s me.’

‘Oh, hello!’ Frances lowered her voice, just in case a member of staff was walking past outside. ‘Have you seen the papers?’

Devon groaned. ‘Tell me about it! It was on local radio this morning as well. I can’t believe people are making such a fuss!’

‘You are Gloucestershire’s most famous rock star,’ Frances pointed out. ‘People are terribly excited to know you’re back.’

‘As long as you’re excited I’m back,’ he told her. ‘I need to get out of here, all this genitalia is making my eyes hurt. Can I come over and see you?’

‘I don’t know if it’s entirely appropriate.’

‘Let’s go for a walk then, get some fresh air.’

Frances felt anxious. She was nearly as well-known in the Cotswolds as he was. ‘What if people see us together?’ She sighed. ‘If only one could take an invisible potion or something! It would be so nice to go out and not have to worry.’

Devon paused, thinking. ‘I’ve got an idea! I’ll be over
in
an hour to pick you up. The code word is …’ He searched round for a word. ‘Red apples.’

‘What on earth are you on about?’ she exclaimed, but he’d already hung up.

At first Frances thought she’d misheard Hawkins.

‘Could you repeat that?’

‘I said, there’s a large panda on the doorstep to see you, your Ladyship,’ the butler said sonorously, as if he were announcing the arrival of the Prince of Wales.

Frances stared at him from behind her desk. Had her normally sane butler gone completely mad? ‘Hawkins, please explain yourself. I haven’t got time for tomfoolery.’

He said with exemplary patience, ‘There is a woman on the doorstep in what seems to be some kind of panda costume. She declined from giving me her name, but insisted on seeing you. She said you’d know what it was about, your Ladyship.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Frances got up. If this was another one of those cold-calling marketing firms, she’d give them what for. She’d already encountered a full salsa group jiggling on the doorstep last summer, trying to sell her some sort of new alcopop.

But as she got to the front door, Frances was confronted by the astonishing sight of a six-foot panda. It stuck a huge paw up in greeting.

‘Hello, my dear!’ a falsetto voice said from somewhere within. ‘Are you ready?’

Frances looked uncertainly from the bear to Hawkins, who had followed her down the hallway, and back
to
the panda again. She recognized that voice. But it couldn’t be …

‘I’ve packed us a splendid picnic for afterwards,’ trilled the voice. ‘Some lovely red apples.’

Frances’s jaw slackened. Devon! She looked quickly at Hawkins to see if he’d caught on, but as usual, the butler’s face was calm and inscrutable.

‘Hawkins, this is er …’ she said, desperately hoping Devon would save her.

‘I’m Geraldine Moffat-Lowley, one of Frances’s old friends! We’re going on the animal rights protest today in Chipping Campden.’

At this announcement, Hawkins’s right eyebrow rose a millimetre.

The panda turned round. ‘I’ll wait for you in the car, my dear! Don’t be long.’

In silence, Frances and Hawkins watched the creature shuffle towards a clapped-out old three-wheeler van painted in lurid rainbow colours.

‘Geraldine’s rather eccentric,’ Frances said desperately.

Hawkins nodded solemnly. ‘She seemed like a very nice lady, your Ladyship.’

‘I’d better shoot off, then,’ Frances said. ‘Don’t worry about afternoon tea, Hawkins, I’m not sure when I’ll be back.’

Hawkins bowed. ‘As you wish. Enjoy the march.’ As he closed the huge door behind her, a smile twitched on the butler’s face. He’d wondered how long it would be before his mistress met up with Devon Cornwall again.

‘Devon! What on earth is going on?’ Frances exclaimed as they bumped back down the drive. She looked up at a pair of furry pink boobs hanging from the rear-view mirror.

‘Where on earth did you get this thing?’

‘It’s Snorkel’s, found it rusting in one of his garages along with a Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow and a 1956 vintage Harley.’

‘Is it roadworthy?’ she asked anxiously, as the engine spluttered alarmingly.

‘Probably not, the tax disc ran out in October 1978!’

‘Oh dear,’ said Frances faintly. She still hadn’t asked the most obvious question, why had Devon turned up in a giant panda costume? She soon found out.

‘Snork used to put on these mental fancy-dress parties! Found a whole room full of stuff like this.’

‘You still haven’t explained
why
, though.’

The panda, or rather Devon, turned to look at her. It was rather disconcerting. ‘We wanna meet up without being hassled, don’t we? It was just by chance I heard about the animal protest on the news this morning.’

‘Oh, for heavens sake, I’m not going on any such thing! Especially with you dressed like that. What on earth would people think?’

Devon chuckled. ‘They’re not going to think anything, because they won’t know it’s you, princess. Your beaver costume’s in the back!’

Frances could feel a trickle of sweat rolling down her back. Even though she had taken her cashmere cardigan
off
, it was still stifling hot inside the costume. Through the tiny eyeholes she could hardly see where she was going. As they passed a shop window, she caught sight of herself. A brown furry rodent, complete with outsized front teeth, looked back. The beaver even had a little bow tie round its neck and was wearing a badge saying ‘Beaver Fan’ pinned to the front.

‘This is utterly absurd!’ she exclaimed aloud, crossly. She couldn’t believe Devon had talked her into this!

He turned to her. ‘What’s that, Frannie? Having fun?’

‘I most certainly am not!’ she said, but her objections were drowned out by the protesters’ shouts.

‘Down with animal cruelty! Stop this inhuman abuse!’

There had been a meagre turnout for the protest, but they were more than making up for it with their chanting and vigour. Besides Devon and Frances, there were two pigs, one elephant, four monkeys, three dogs, and a rather incongruous woman dressed as a tree – who had mistakenly thought it was an environmental march, but had decided to stay on anyway.

‘Nice weather,’ Devon remarked cheerfully, as if it was perfectly normal to stroll down the road dressed as a giant bear.

Frances ignored him. They’d both been given flags by the procession’s leader, but she had refused to wave hers, holding it limply in her paw as though it wasn’t there. Devon however, was getting into the spirit of things. As they traipsed down the charmingly quaint High Street, he started running up to people, shaking
his
flag. ‘Gerbils have rights, too!’ he yelled at a group of bemused shoppers.

‘Bunch of nutters,’ one of them muttered.

Frances knew what they meant. She was going to kill Devon! Out of the corner of her eye she suddenly saw one of her society friends, watching the procession with evident distaste. ‘That’s Adelaide Horsworth!’ she whispered frantically at Devon.

He looked over at where she was pointing. ‘She a mate?’

‘More of an acquaintance, she’s a bit po-faced really. What are you
doing
?’

Frances watched in horror as Devon ran over to Lady Horsworth, picked her up and swung her round. ‘Woo hoooo!’

Lady Horsworth was thunderstruck. She hadn’t been touched so intimately since conceiving her third daughter, Eleonora, on the first day of the 1974 Cheltenham races.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ she said, voice shrill. ‘I command you to put me down!’

But the more she struggled, the more Devon twirled her round. Noticing the kerfuffle, one of the pigs and the elephant ran over and, to whoops and shouts from onlookers, hoisted Lady Horsworth up on to their shoulders. Huge handbag dangling, she looked round wildly for someone to get her down, but the crowd laughed and cheered instead.

In spite of herself, Frances started to giggle. Lady Horsworth looked so funny! In all the time Frances had known her, she’d never known Adelaide Horsworth to
have
a hair out of place, nor a smile on her stony face. Yet here she was, like some undignified Glastonbury reveller, being swept down Chipping Campden High Street. Gloucestershire society would be talking about this for months!

By the time Lady Horsworth finally managed to attract the attention of a dozy looking policeman, she was apoplectic with rage and shock. ‘I want these hoodlums arrested!’ she shouted, as the bobbie helped her down.

‘For what?’ the pig asked innocently. ‘You asked us to pick you up. Didn’t she, Tom?’

The elephant nodded his trunk enthusiastically.

The policeman shrugged. ‘It’s your word against theirs, ma’am.’

‘This an outrage!’ Lady Horsworth thundered and stormed off.

Frances and Devon witnessed the whole thing.

‘I can’t believe you did that!’ she gasped. ‘Oh Devon, did you see her face!’

He laughed. ‘Thought she needed cheering up a bit.’

Music started up from someone’s stereo and a party atmosphere took over. People started dancing, and not just the animal protesters. As she marched along, waving her flag properly, Frances felt a huge sense of liberation. She’d never done anything like this in her life: abandoned her social code and not cared what people thought. It felt
wonderful
. She linked arms with Devon, one arm aloft.

‘A beagle’s for life, not just for Christmas!’ she shouted.

Afterwards, bonded by a new-found camaraderie, the group retired to a nearby pub, still wearing their costumes. Frances couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a public house – had she ever patronized one? – but she loved the chatty, sociable atmosphere and cosy furnishings. Devon bought her a half of cider, and with some difficulty she sucked it through a straw. The appley liquid felt wonderful going down her dry throat.

Devon clinked her glass with his. ‘Cheers, Frannie.’ He leaned back against the bar. ‘Aah, this is good. Can’t remember the last time I was in the boozer without people asking for me autograph.’

He sighed theatrically. ‘Or telling me my music was complete horseshit.’

Frances giggled. She sucked the last of her cider up noisily.

‘That’s my girl.’ Devon put a furry arm around her furry shoulders. Frances nestled in beside him, basking in a glow of pleasure and contentment. Despite the incongruity of the situation, she felt happy, excited, normal. With a sudden rush of insight, she realized she felt like
herself
.

She realized Devon was looking at her. Very slowly he leaned forward and rubbed plastic noses with her. She could hear the ‘tap tap’ as they rubbed one way, and then the next. All around them there was noise and laughter, but the two of them were lost in a private moment. For a reason she found hard to justify, Frances found the moment unspeakably erotic.

‘You wanna get out of here, princess?’ Devon’s voice was even more gravelly than normal.

She felt a jab of excitement in her stomach. ‘Yes, please.’

Without finishing their drinks, they left.

By the time they’d got back to Devon’s house, the erotic undertone had been replaced by a more humorous mood. On their way back to the car Devon had tripped over his massive panda feet and gone flying into a greengrocer’s display, scattering cucumbers and oranges everywhere. After trying unsuccessfully to pick them up with their huge paws, they’d run off giggling, as the furious grocer had come out and shaken his fist at them. Now Frances was having trouble getting her huge beaver’s bottom out of the car seat.

‘Devon, I’m stuck!’ she cried, helpless with laughter. He tried to pull her out, guffawing.

‘Shit, Frannie, you are as well!’

With one final effort, he yanked her out and she fell straight on top of him. Anyone driving up and seeing a giant beaver seemingly wrestling with a six-foot panda would have taken one look and called for the men in white coats.

‘Oh, Devon, this is ridiculous!’ Frances’s stomach was hurting from laughing so much. With some difficulty they managed to get up, wiping the tears from their eyes.

‘I’ve done some mad things on tour in my time, but this takes the biscuit.’ Devon unlocked the front door
and
they went in, Frances almost shutting it on her tail as she closed it behind her.

In the hallway Devon pulled his panda’s head off. Underneath his face was red and hot. ‘I must have lost about two stone in sweat! Here, I’ll help you.’

He grasped hold of Frances beaver’s head and pulled it off. It was a wonderful relief, but Frances felt wet hair stuck to her forehead and became very self-conscious. She must look dreadful.

Devon guessed what she was thinking. ‘You look sexy, princess,’ he said, and meant it. ‘It’s good to see you a bit messed up for once.’

Frances didn’t agree. Her back was wet with perspiration and the crotch of her pants felt disagreeably damp. She couldn’t go back to Clanfield like this.

‘Would you mind if I had a shower?’ She flushed as she said it. She would never have dreamt of being so forward and inappropriate normally, but she really did feel unpleasant.