Part 20 (2/2)

All was quiet when I reached the buildings and the first thing I noticed was that between Basil's cottage and the calf house stretched a long expanse of unbroken snow.

I knocked at the door and Basil answered, as cheerful and full of bounce as ever.

”Come in, Mr. 'erriot! How ista this mornin'? Missus is upstairs makin' the beds. Ah'll shout 'er down and she'll get ye a cup o' tea.”

”No thanks,” I replied. ”I just dropped in to see those calves. How are they this morning?”

”Oh, about t'same, ah reckon.”

”And you've given them the granules?”

”Oh, aye, I 'ave. Gave 'em before breakfast.”

I beckoned him to the kitchen window. ”Come over here, Basil.”

Together we looked out and he stood very still as he gazed at the carpet of virgin snow.

”You've never been out there at all, have you?” I said. ”And you weren't out last night, either. That snow stopped at nine o'clock and you were to dose them just before bedtime.”

He didn't say anything, but his head turned slowly towards me, and it was as though a mask had been stripped from his face. The jaunty smile had gone, leaving a terrible defencelessness. He looked at me with haunted eyes.

The transformation was so dramatic that my first anger dissolved. We stared at each other in silence for a few moments, then I spoke slowly.

”Now look, Basil, I'm not going to tell your boss about this, but you've let me down badly. Will you promise me you'll do your job properly in the future?”

He nodded dumbly.

”Right,” I said. ”Let's get over to the calves now.”

He sat down and began to pull on his Wellingtons, then he looked up at me with a haggard expression.

”Ah tell ye, Mr. 'erriot, ah don't mean no harm. Ah don't want to neglect them calves, but it's like me heart's not in the job. Ah'm not a proper farm man-never will be.”

I didn't say anything and he went on.

”Ah've spoken to t'boss about it and ah'll be leavin' soon.”

”Have you got another job to go to?”

”Aye...aye...ah've got summat in mind. But till ah go, you don't 'ave to worry. Ah'll look after them calves.”

He did, too. From that day the little creatures began to improve and on my final visit there was the warming sight of all sixteen of them, frisky and upright in their pens, poking their heads out into the pa.s.sage as they looked for their food.

Shortly after this, Basil left the district, but the reputation of ”Professor Baz” lingered on, and his departure was bemoaned among the farming community. One cowman expressed the general sentiment to me.

”By gaw, he was a rum feller,” he said, ”but we 'ad some fun with 'im. You couldn't help liking 'im.”

I nodded. ”Yes, that's how I feel. I wonder where he's gone.”

The man laughed. ”n.o.body knows, but I expect it'll be ” 'ere and there.' ?

I thought I had seen the last of Basil, but I was wrong. One night, Helen and I drove through to Brawton to celebrate her birthday. We had booked for dinner at one of the fine hotels in the town and the festive feeling was strong in us as we sat in the pillared splendour of the dining room, lapped around by the Victorian opulence that is one of Brawton's lasting charms.

It was a special treat for us and we enjoyed every bite of the meal, but as we sat over our coffee I noticed Helen staring intently across the vast room.

”That waiter, Jim, working right at the far end. You've had your back to him, but...”

I turned and looked. ”My G.o.d!” I said. ”It's Basil!”

I s.h.i.+fted my seat so that I could observe properly and there was no doubt. Basil it was. He was unbelievably elegant in white tie and tails and as he bent to serve an elderly couple it struck me forcibly that with his dark good looks, his courtly manner and his natural grace he was everything that a waiter should be.

I watched, spellbound. He was turning to the lady now, proffering vegetables with that inclination of the head I knew so well, smiling and bowing as she made her choice. He was talking, too, and I could imagine the effortless flow that had entertained me so often in the cow house. The old couple were nodding and laughing, clearly captivated by him. I wondered what he was telling them. Was it about his colourful past? It looked very like it.

The coffee in my cup turned cold as I sat there. The more I watched him the more convinced I was that Basil had found his niche at last. The graceful way in which he glided among the tables, balancing plates along his arm as though he had been doing it all his life, his happy relaxation, his obvious delight in dealing with his guests, this was really him. I found myself hoping, quite fervently, that there would be no further convolutions in the career of Professor Baz.

”Are you going to speak to him?” Helen asked.

I hesitated. ”No...no...better not.”

As we left we pa.s.sed within a few feet of the table where he was again attending the white-haired couple. They were all laughing, and the old gentleman raised a hand.

”By the way,” he asked, ”where was it that you were doing this?”

”Oh, 'ere and there,” Basil replied, ” 'ere and there.”

Chapter 30.

CALUM GAVE ME A friendly dig in the ribs. ”I wish you'd come with me to watch the deer one morning, Jim. I keep asking you, but I can never pin you down.”

We were sitting over a couple of pints in a cosy corner of the Drovers', and it was comparatively peaceful now that the regulars had become accustomed to the badger. At first, going for a beer with Calum almost caused a riot, because he always insisted on slinging Marilyn over his shoulder first and the entire population of the bar would converge on us, but the situation had settled down to amused glances and cheerful greetings. The ”vet wi' t'badger,” as the farmers called him, was part of the local scenery now.

I took a pull at my gla.s.s. ”Oh, I will, Calum, I will. I promise you.”

”That's what you always say. Why not tomorrow?” He trained his dark-eyed stare on me and I felt trapped.

”Oh, I don't know. There's a lot doing tomorrow.”

”No, there isn't really. Doug Heseltine cancelled his tuberculin test, and it's left a big gap in the morning. It's an ideal chance.”

I didn't know what to say. Part of me wanted a glimpse of Calum's world of nature-he spent all his spare time roaming the countryside, studying the plants and flowers, observing the habits of the wild creatures-but I felt woefully ignorant by comparison. I had grown up in the big city of Glasgow and though I had fallen in love with the Yorks.h.i.+re countryside I knew that a deep knowledge of flora and fauna was something best acquired in childhood. Siegfried had it, both my children had it and were always trying to educate me, but I knew I'd never be an expert. Certainly not like Calum. He was steeped in the things of the wild. It was his consuming pa.s.sion.

”Tomorrow, eh?” As the level of my gla.s.s went down, my doubts began to evaporate. ”Well, maybe I could make it.”

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