Rachel's Coming Home (9 page)

As she rounded the corner she saw the white van, stationary now and slewed across tarmac. A red car that had obviously been travelling in the opposite direction was stopped so close that Rachel could only assume the two vehicles had hit. She pulled out her mobile and was dialling 999 even as she hurried forward. She gave the location and was able to report that nobody seemed to be hurt. Certainly the two drivers were already climbing out of their cars and launching into a heated exchange.

‘Women drivers!' shouted the man who had been driving the van. He was older than Rachel had expected, a heavy-set man in his fifties. ‘What were you doing on my side of the road? Never look where you're going.'

‘I wasn't on your side of the road,' said the woman, far more quietly. She was Rachel's age or a little older and looked very shaken. ‘And I wasn't driving too fast, either, which you certainly were.'

‘Are you both all right?' asked Rachel, dropping her phone back into her pocket.

The man had opened his mouth to launch into another tirade, but paused when he saw her. He glanced quickly up and down the road. ‘Yes, ah, fine, no problem. If this little lady will just move her car out of the way I'll be getting on.'

Rachel was close enough now to see that the cars had touched, but only slightly as they had both swerved. The bumper of the red car was dented. Rachel peered inside and was relieved to see that there were no passengers. Likewise in the van, although she could see a cage in the back, which might have held a dog.

‘I'll need to take your name and phone number, contact details,' said the woman, shaking her head to clear it. ‘My car's damaged, my insurers will want to contact yours.'

‘It should also be reported to the police,' said Rachel. She was beginning to feel angry on the woman's behalf. The accident could have been far worse. She was glad she had already called the emergency services, clearly this man had no intention of doing so.

‘No need for that,' said the van driver, just as she had expected.

‘I'll just get my handbag, I think I've got a pen in there,' said the woman, but she didn't move. Instead she put her hand against the bonnet of the car and swayed slightly.

Rachel jumped forward. ‘You need to sit down,' she said, trying to support the woman and not get tangled in the dogs' leads. The dogs had been trying to make friends with these strangers but now they seemed more interested in whatever was in the van.

Rachel pulled them over and got the woman to sit on the grass verge. ‘Put your head between your knees,' she said. She wasn't sure if the woman was actually going to faint but better to be safe than sorry.

She turned back to the man who had closed the door of his van and was glaring at her dogs. ‘I need to get going,' he said. He indicated the woman with a jerk of his head. ‘Can you get her to move her car?'

‘Not right now,' said Rachel firmly. ‘I don't suppose you've got one of those traffic triangles in your car, have you? You're stopped a bit close to this corner and we don't want the next car that comes round to hit you both.'

‘Traffic triangle?' he said blankly.

‘I have,' said the woman faintly. ‘It's in the boot.'

Rachel went to fetch it, still towing the reluctant dogs behind her. Once she had put the sign out to warn any approaching traffic of a hazard ahead she felt a bit calmer. The road in the other direction was straight, so any vehicles would see them and be able to slow in time.

‘I really need to get going,' said the man. He was assessing the two cars and Rachel guessed he was trying to see if he could get past if he reversed his. She wouldn't put it past him to drive away and leave the two of them. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be enough room, but, just in case he managed it, Rachel took a mental note of his number plate.

‘I'll get my bag in a minute,' said the woman. Colour was coming back to her face. ‘Sorry about this.'

‘I don't think you're the one who needs to be sorry,' said Rachel, and then was distracted by a volley of barks from the back of the van. ‘You've got a dog in there,' she said to the man, unnecessarily.

‘Aye. So?'

‘Don't you think you should check it's all right? You must have had to brake pretty hard.'

‘It'll be fine,' he said, making no move to open the door.

Rachel was standing near the back of the van and peered in through one of the little windows. As far as she was concerned, it was worrying that the dog had only just started to bark. Was it, too, in shock?

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she saw a small Westie in the metal dog cage. The dog was shaking and very definitely unhappy. Without another thought she opened the rear door and bent to have a closer look.

‘Hey!' shouted the man, rushing to her side. ‘I'm not having this. Interfering busybody …'

The dog quietened as she saw Rachel and put her nose to the bars of the cage. The collie-cross rose on her back paws and greeted her through the bars and Rachel put out her fingers, not quite touching, but showing she was friendly. The little dog was a beauty, well groomed and in excellent condition. Not at all what Rachel would have expected from this unpleasant man.

‘See, she's fine, leave her be,' said the man, trying to pull her back so he could close the door.

‘I know that dog,' said Rachel slowly. She lent closer, trying to see if there was a name tag.

‘No you don't. That's my dog.' The man pulled her roughly this time but Rachel was angry now and shook herself free.

‘That's Jinty,' she said in disbelief. ‘I know her owners. They're very protective of her. What on earth is she doing here?'

‘You've made a mistake. She belongs to a friend of mine,' said the man. Rachel immediately noted that he'd changed his story. He moved forward and the dog shrank back. That was enough for Rachel. The driver of the red car had come to stand behind them and she hastily handed over the leads of the other two dogs. ‘Hold these, will you?' She reached forward to open the cage. ‘Here, Jinty girl, come on now.'

At the sound of a familiar voice the little dog crawled forward, almost on her stomach, still eyeing the man fearfully. Rachel whisked her into her arms and held her close. The dog wore no collar but there was no mistaking her beautifully-trimmed coat and gleaming eyes.

‘Give her back,' said the man, making a grab for the animal.

‘Oh no you don't,' said the woman, now apparently fully recovered. Rachel took advantage of the distraction to step away and the woman continued. ‘I don't think that is your dog at all. In fact, I think you have dog-napped her. I happen to know that quite a bit of this has been going on in the area recently. In fact, I've been researching it for my job.' She had found her handbag now and produced a notepad and pen. ‘Now what do you have to say about that?' she said expectantly.

For once in her life Rachel was speechless and had never been so glad to see another car as she was when the police car drew up behind her.

‘You're famous,' said Anthony with something between a grin and a sneer. ‘Quite the local heroine.'

Rachel groaned. ‘How was I to know she was a journalist? I would have been more circumspect if I'd realised.'

‘Excellent publicity for the kennels,' said her father, massaging his leg just above the plaster. ‘And Mr and Mrs Johnston are delighted, they can't say enough in your praise.'

‘I'm just glad I got Jinty back for them.' Rachel shuddered. ‘You know they think the man was heading for the ferry at Stranraer? If he'd got across to Ireland they might never have seen her again.'

Chapter Seven

Philip Milligan liked to be right about things, but sometimes it would be easier if he wasn't. Looking after Amelia was just as inconvenient as he had feared. It wasn't that the child was troublesome in herself – quite the opposite, in fact. Most of the time she was as good as gold. It was just that he was all too aware he was supposed to be looking after her. There was only so much television she could be allowed to watch, and there weren't many games a seven-year-old could play alone either inside or outside.

In retrospect it might have been a good idea to take up Rachel Collington's offer of an introduction to local children. At the time, however, he had been too set on proving he didn't need her advice. She was a rather bossy young woman despite her fairy-like appearance. And she made mistakes too, look what had happened to Ben when she was in charge of him. Although he had to admit the dog wasn't badly hurt, and the woman did have a lovely way with both animals and children.

He sighed. Amelia shot him a worried glance. That decided him. The child shouldn't be that anxious, he wasn't really an ogre.

‘Would you like to phone your mum in a little while?' he said. Alison had been flown over to Dubai a few days earlier and appeared to be doing well.

The child nodded.

‘Good, we'll do that. Then how about a visit to the Galloway Country Fair? It takes place not far from here and they have lots of things to see, archery and birds of prey displays and … other things.' Philip had seen the advert in the local paper and it had looked as though it might be interesting. It wasn't his normal sort of pastime but maybe it would be good for him to take an interest in country pursuits, now he was living out here.

Amelia looked confused rather than enthusiastic, but he felt proud of himself for making this decision. They would have fun. He would make sure they did.

‘Can we take Bill and Ben?' she asked quietly. That was the one real plus of her visit, the way she had bonded with the dogs.

‘I don't see why not, as long as we keep them on the lead. You can hold one if you want.'

The child's smile was genuine this time.

The good weather was holding and the Country Fair was packed with a mixture of what Philip thought of as ‘real' country people in their tweeds, farmers with their open-necked shirts and ruddy faces, and rather too many tourists. There was so much to see that Amelia was flagging before they were half way round. He bought her an ice-lolly and they paused to watch a man demonstrating the handling of ferrets.

Philip hadn't realised what impressive little creatures these were.

‘Do you like them?' he said to Amelia, who was watching avidly.

‘Yes. They're cute.'

‘Don't get too keen, I can't see your mother letting you have one.' Philip had meant this as a joke but the child's face fell. She hadn't really been thinking of getting one, had she?

The demonstrator brought over a pure white female, known as a jill, to let the audience touch her. Philip had to admit she was a beauty.

Amelia leant over to stroke the soft head, giggling as the animal nuzzled her. She was so distracted she forgot the rather expensive ice-lolly she had been holding and it fell to the ground.

‘Oh no! I hadn't finished it.'

‘Never mind, you can't eat it now.'

‘But I wanted it.' The child's lip began to quiver and Philip sighed.

‘You should have been more careful, shouldn't you? Although I think Ben's quite pleased you weren't.' He gave the collie a nudge out of the way so that Bill could have his share.

‘I really liked it,' said Amelia with a sniff.

‘Too bad.' Philip was determined not to buy another. She needed to be more careful.

‘Hello there,' said a new voice and Philip swung around to see Rachel Collington approaching, accompanied by a man who looked vaguely familiar. She was already crouching down beside the child. ‘How are you, Amelia? How's that finger? All healed? That's excellent.'

‘Hello,' said Philip, trying not to sound as disgruntled as he felt. Amelia had cheered up immediately when she saw Rachel.

Rachel rose to her feet. ‘Hello, nice to see you both again. I think you know Charlie McArthur, don't you? He's the vet who's been looking after Ben.'

Of course, that was why he looked familiar. Philip shook hands with the man who previously he had found very pleasant. Now, for some reason, he was irritated by his presence.

‘How's Ben doing?' asked the other man, patting the dog's head.

Philip was surprised he could tell the two apart: not many could, and Ben was no longer limping. ‘He's fine, thanks. No lasting damage.'

‘Thank goodness,' said Rachel and pulled a face. ‘I'm so sorry it happened …'

‘Yes, so you've said.' Philip didn't know why he was being so abrupt, he had long-since forgiven her.

‘Any new television programmes in the offing?' asked the vet, seemingly oblivious of the atmosphere. ‘I was quite a fan of your last one, makes you think, doesn't it, how much history there is all around?'

Philip couldn't help but be flattered. ‘I'm glad you liked it. We're considering a new series later in the year, but just now I'm working on a book.'

‘Fascinating. Same kind of subject?'

‘Yes. I'm writing up a couple of the houses we researched, and also showing people how they can do their own research. What architectural and landscape clues to look out for, where to find land records, that kind of thing.'

‘I'm impressed you find the time to do anything, with your niece staying,' said Rachel. ‘Although I have to say she's very well behaved, aren't you, sweetie?'

Philip was torn between admitting it was a struggle to work just now and the desire to show what a good uncle he was.

‘Uncle Philip lets me watch lots of television,' said the child, immediately debunking that myth. ‘Much more than I'm allowed at home.'

‘A little television isn't a bad thing,' said Rachel cautiously.

Philip felt criticised. OK, so he didn't know much about children, but he was well aware that too much television was frowned upon. But he was doing his best, wasn't he? He took the child's hand.