I'm sure you are anxious to know how Helena Ruby and her team fare, and what befalls the hapless dog, so on with the story where we find ourselves in the Raddled Beanpole ....
The affable but anxious landlord, Corby, had suggested that the Leek over Partridge Hunt having exercised their hounds, and quite unable to prevent their accidental savaging of some unfortunate wildlife in their path, could not really be accommodated for post mortem drinks due to the darts match taking place that evening and because Jolyon Urquart was providing corporate entertainment for his city friends within the delightful surroundings of the sixteenth century coaching inn. However Roger Whittingly-Beargarden, who took it upon himself to be master of ceremonies on this occasion, browbeat Corby into providing at least one snifter for his fellow huntsmen before moving on to the Goat and Crowbar. It was agreed that the biddable Gloria would serve drinks from a tray to the Leek over Partridge contingent in the car park in an attempt to maintain a modicum of order. Sherry, beer and wine was duly provided, but this could not satisfy the more strident members who demanded whisky - and what sort of a hostelry did this fellow think he was running anyway?
The hapless Denholm was by this time a quivering, scratching bundle of abject misery and the paintwork of Helena Ruby’s car was rapidly losing its lustre as the hounds reared up and pressed their noses against the windows to eye up their potential prey.
Within the sixteenth century walls of the Raddled Beanpole bonhomie flowed freely and although Mrs Tremble had every intention of taking water out for Denholm, she was currently engrossed in a lively discussion with Martha Crenshaw of the opposing darts team about third world debt and the ethics of airfreighting exotic fruit and vegetables to supermarkets. It was announced that the match would commence in five minutes if the ladies would be good enough to rally themselves. This served as a timely reminder to Helena Ruby that she should check on Denholm and take him some water.
The scene which greeted her upon emerging from under the honeysuckle laden arch with a bowl of water caused her to drop it in sheer disbelief. Not normally given to public displays of disapproval, Mrs Tremble was consumed with rage at the sight of her car being subjected to a form of canine vandalism and she could only guess at the distress being caused to Denholm. She inhaled deeply and quivering with fury yelled with all the force she could muster - “Get your bloody dogs off my car NOW.”
Roger Whittingly-Beargarden sauntered over on his mount and said from his vantage point, “Good gracious, is that your car? I’ll see if we can’t get the hounds away.” He half turned in the saddle and called - “I say, Purvis call them off would you.” He turned back to Mrs Tremble saying, “A trip to the carwash will soon put things right,” then returned to join his colleagues, leaving Mrs Tremble scarlet and speechless with rage and impotence. She did not trust herself to speak and rushed to the car that she might comfort Denholm. The smell with which she was greeted confirmed her worst suspicions, but she did not hesitate in scooping up her pet and transporting him swiftly to the relative safety of the Raddled Beanpole. The Hake on Spinach Ladies’ Darts Team were most supportive of their distressed colleague and insisted Corby supply a large vodka and lime to help calm her. The captain assured her that she could have a lift back to the lodge at Hake Hall in her spacious vehicle, and she was sure that they could find something for Denholm upon which to lie.
Murderous anger rendered Helena Ruby’s aim straight and sure and her team emerged victorious. Denholm, feeling far more relaxed now, snoozed on a broad windowsill in remnants of late evening sunlight while the victors imbibed amicably with the cheerfully vanquished. The consensus of opinion amongst the ladies was that if only the idiot menfolk could conduct themselves with equal magnanimity, there would be an awful lot less unpleasantness in the world.
This convivial crowd gradually percolated into the part of the bar occupied by Jolyon Urquart and colleagues who were by this time all in particularly mellow spirits and more than happy to engage in social intercourse with the ladies. Such diverse subjects as field drainage, haute couture, veterinary practise, coiffure, inner city decay, financial markets, the European market, publishing, fast food, plumbing, horticulture, satellite television, wine tasting and carpets arose during the evening, all very good-humoured. As the protagonists began to feel they knew each other better, it seemed quite natural that Damien Fitzherbert should have his arm around the waist of Mary Petherbridge and that Jolyon should have his arm around Helena Ruby’s shoulders. Indeed, even ‘though Pam was limited to drinking pineapple juice and sparkling mineral water, she found herself sitting very amiably on the knee of Charles Enderby, who ventured to place his hand on her knee: he was not rejected.
Last orders were called and Jolyon, by now full of affection for his fellow humans, instructed Corby to pour drinks for everyone in the Raddled Beanpole, and he should have one himself, together with the delightful Gloria. Jolyon would pay. The exercise was duly achieved, and Gloria, having served the drinks, was invited to join the assembled bon viveurs while a rather disgruntled Corby commenced clearing operations.
As the Hake on Spinach Ladies’ Darts Team was rallied for the homeward journey, Jolyon leant into Helena Ruby’s neck and said thickly in her ear, “I really think we should get together again soon, my dear - I think we could have a lot of fun.”
Helena Ruby had difficulty believing what she was hearing - she flushed and said hoarsely, “But - I - it’s - well, there’s my husband ......” (although if questioned closely she would be at a loss to explain quite what relevance Ron had to her life these days).
Jolyon slipped his card into Helena Ruby’s moistening palm and said, “Ring me if you get the chance - I mean it.”
The rest of Helena Ruby Tremble’s evening took on a dream-like quality, and it was only Pam’s diligence which ensured Denholm’s inclusion in the homeward journey, suitably installed on an old towel, although he was not particularly keen about staying put on it - there were too many interesting new smells to explore. Thus for a majority of the journey he was anchored firmly by the collar (perhaps a little too enthusiastically) by Mary, much to his chagrin.
As Denholm and his owner alighted from Pam’s people-mover, there were muted but cheery goodbyes, and Mary took the opportunity to shake the towel out of the open door before Helena Ruby closed it firmly behind her. Pam offered to take Helena Ruby back to the Raddled Beanpole to collect her car at lunch-time tomorrow as she had to drive to Mackerel for a dental appointment, and the offer was gratefully accepted. Even the thought of what awaited her in the car could not dampen Mrs Tremble’s spirits as she attempted to gain ingress to the Lodge as quietly as possible, although she did inadvertently step on Denholm’s front paw which caused him to yelp.
Helena Ruby sat at the kitchen table cradling a cup of tea whilst Denholm settled himself in his basket. She was blissfully indifferent to the fish and chip wrappings screwed up on the draining board and the squeezed tea bags sitting in a dark circle on the work-surface which was sprinkled liberally with salt and vinegar. She breathed into the steam rising from the mug and kept running over the evening’s events in her mind, and could not help but smile. She was still smiling as she trod carefully up the stairs, even though she was faced with the prospect of laying beside the man she must call her husband.
Sweet dreams Helena Ruby