“I’m glad you’re keeping in trim,” Moggerhanger said, “but I don’t like you turning my hideaway into a bed and breakfast establishment. Where were you when I phoned yesterday? Twice, if I remember.”
“I must have been out jogging. I got soaked, but it didn’t bother me, because I like to keep physically fit.”
“Next time the phone goes, answer it, even if you’re in bed with some fiery little tart, as I expect you were.”
“Yes, sir, but I wasn’t.” Then I decided to be conciliatory. “Is it all right if Bill Straw stays the night here? He was very useful to us in Greece.”
“Keep him with you. I’ll need both of you soon.” He put the phone down, and I told Bill what he’d said.
“Michael, you’re a brick. I knew you’d put in a good word for me. I’ve always liked working for Moggerhanger. But I wonder what he’s got in mind?”
So did I. “I don’t know about you, but it would be healthier in the long run to pack up, get in the car, and flee to where not even Moggerhanger can get at us.”
He sorted the provisions to decide what we’d have for supper. “Such an idea coming from you doesn’t seem right. Where’s the old Michael Cullen, to say a thing like that? Did that advertising agency break your morale? In any case, where would we go? We might get as far as Land’s End, but what then? Chuck ourselves off the cliffs and swim to America? It’s a long way to New England, and the water’s rough. The sad fact is, Michael, that both of us are marked men by the Green Toe Gang, so the only thing to do is get in with Moggerhanger, the deeper the better.”
“Self-preservation tells me to cut and run,” I insisted.
“Michael, nobody knows more than me that self-preservation is no bad thing, because it always means a more exciting life, but we’re in a situation where there’s a bit more to it than that. Apart from anything else, think of the financial advantage after a stint with Moggerhanger. Another thing is that, in my humble opinion, anything’s preferable to staying in this so-called cottage. Look — no, listen — the rain’s doing a fandango on the slates, and though it’s only five o’clock it’s already getting dark. In fact it hasn’t been properly light all day. As soon as it’s dark I either feel like going to sleep, or I get hungry, usually both, so I end up eating till I’m so tired I fall asleep. There’s got to be more in life than that. I don’t lack guts, Michael, but if I had to stay here long I’d chuck myself in that stream with the greatest pleasure.”
He picked up a crystal from a heap near the wall, and was about to taste it for sweetness. “That’s rank poison. A chap came today and set it out for the rats. Do you want to die?”
He looked between his fingers as if at a scintillating diamond, and threw it away. “Thanks for saving my life, but do you really think it would kill me? I don’t look like a rat, do I? Did you see that one that just ran off with a bit in its mouth? They’ll be queuing up all night for a takeaway.”
He spooned five tins of meat and vegetables into the biggest saucepan. “In a miserable place like this you’d go off your batch if you didn’t eat. I hope you’ve got enough fags and cigars to last the night.”
“Just about.” While I washed knives and forks he set on the biggest pot of water to boil four tins of steamed pudding, which I knew came from Upper Mayhem. “Four’s too many.”
“No they aren’t. One’s for you, one’s for that dog’s supermarket stomach, one’s for me, and one’s for second helpings.”
“You must have cleaned my place out.”
“I did. Clegg advised me to. He filled the pack till he couldn’t get anymore in. He said the thought of you on short commons made him cry. He’s a very compassionate batman, is Clegg, when it concerns you. But I left enough iron rations for him to live on for a couple of days.”
I opened tins of anchovies and a jar of Mrs Ellswood’s, carved up a loaf, and bubbled out some vodka. I’d no sooner taken a swig than the phone belled again. I snatched it up: “Peppercorn Cottage. Michael Cullen speaking.”
“That’s better,” Moggerhanger said. “Now listen, and this is an order. In the morning I’m going up to Spleen Manor in the Rolls Royce, which will be towing the horsebox. Alice Whipplegate, my secretary, will be with me. We will arrive about sixteen-hundred-hours. Pay attention carefully to what I say. I want you and Bill Straw to drive over during the day and meet me there. Take your time, if you like, but as long as you arrive at Spleen Manor by six o’clock it’ll be all right. Is that clearly understood?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Don’t let me down, or the least I’ll do is skin you alive.”
I made myself sound offended. “You know I’ve always followed your orders to the letter, Lord Moggerhanger. When have I not come up to scratch?”
“Don’t take it personally, Michael. I’m only having a laugh,” and he had another on hanging up, me hoping a time would come when he would have a laugh too many at my expense.
“I can’t wait,” Bill said at the news. “Maybe there’ll be a slice of action. You can never tell with Moggerhanger.”
He regretted not having emptied the contents of more tins into the stew, though by the time we’d done eating he was farting and belching fit to bring a gaze of wonder even from Dismal, possibly also from the rats, who were a lot more lively in playing around the heaps of crystals. “That was a blow out.”
“Eating so much must make you fit for anything,” I said.
He stood. “I’m the fittest man in the world. There’s nothing wrong with me. Every night on my way to sleep I think about what I’m going to have for breakfast. I ate so much just now I think I’ll take the flashlight and go for a stroll as far as the road, otherwise I shan’t sleep.” He picked up the airgun. I wanted him to take Dismal, but he said a dog would spoil his luck with the rabbits. “I’ll pot one in the beam and we’ll have another course with our breakfast.”
I plucked a Sidney Blood from a shelf on the wall, and settled by the fire for a read, but after a few minutes fell into a doze.
More than an hour later I went out to the stream, and saw Bill’s light flickering on his way down the track. “That was a long walk,” I said.
“It was. I nearly got to the town. Such a lovely night, I couldn’t stop. And I dawdled coming back, to get this.” He held up a good sized rabbit. “I’ll skin and butcher it before going to bed, then it can simmer all night on the embers.”
He heaped a plate with fresh pink meat, chopped a couple of onions and put the lot in a stewing pot half full of water, then laid it on the fire with a solid lid on top. “That way the rats won’t get at it. I’ll sleep nearest the hearth, and keep a slug in the airgun. We might have rats for breakfast as well, like the Chinese.”
The three of us lay in a row, Dismal in the middle. I expected the luxury of undisturbed rest, but with the smell of cooking it was like sleeping in the kitchen of a restaurant. Then I was awakened several times by Bill letting off the airgun at rats carrying away the crystals to put in storage for next winter’s famine. He would occasionally pull Dismal out to look at the stars, knocking my shoulder while stepping over the paillasse. The noise of the running stream permeated every cranny of the house, so that I had to answer the call half a dozen times as well, and when at last the dim light of dawn showed the squalid kitchen I knew it was time to get up, make tea, and start the day which I hoped would turn out to be a good one.
We made a breakfast of tender rabbit and delicious bacon. Bill crashed three fried eggs each, saying we might as well finish them off, since they’d only get broken in the car. After our smokes he turned into a dynamo for cleaning the house, packing our gear, and loading up. “Never leave an untidy billet,” he said, “so give a last check that everything’s shipshape — otherwise you’ll be on a charge.”