Helen was impressed by Stan’s ethics. ‘You say all but one; why is that?’ she asked, watching him lean over and pick up a puppy that stood out because of a black eyepatch and one black leg.

  ‘I like to think this one here is the future of the breed. I plan to always keep one from every litter, not that I have many. That way, come the end of the war – whenever that will be – I’ll have stock to keep my bloodlines running, and the breed won’t die out.’

  ‘I had no idea so much thought went into dog breeding. When she’s older, will you take her to dog shows?’ Helen asked, thinking of the pretty rosettes and numerous prize cards she’d seen in his library.

  ‘Owning a pure-bred dog is not all about exhibiting our stock, although you wouldn’t think it from some of the young upstarts in the game right now,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘I’d love to know more,’ Helen said. ‘Are there any books I could borrow?’

  ‘I’ll dig some out for you. I look forward to teaching you all about it, but now I must get on, as the other dogs need feeding.’

  Effie stood up and brushed the straw from her knees. ‘Other dogs? Are they boarders?’

  Stan rubbed his bristly chin as he chose his words. ‘In a way, you could say that. These are the ones I’ve taken on when people can no longer care for them. Do you want to see them?’

  ‘Yes please,’ the children chanted together, putting down the puppies they were holding and watching them run over to their mother, who had settled in the straw bedding.

  ‘Follow me, ladies,’ he said, closing gates behind them as they left the barn. They walked down a cinder path away from the house to where a long concrete building was set in the corner of a paddock. ‘It’s likely to be noisy. This crowd aren’t as well-mannered as the Bobtails,’ he said as he opened the door at one end of the building.

  ‘They certainly are noisy.’ Helen put her hands over her ears as a cacophony of high yaps and deep barks filled the air.

  ‘They are shut in for the night. I let them out into the pens through those doors,’ he said, waving his hand towards small metal gates in each pen. ‘They have the paddock to run free as well, but we have set times for that. I don’t like the Bobtails in with them because they keep herding them, and not all of the newer visitors appreciate it,’ he grinned.

  ‘You say visitors. Do they still belong to someone?’ Effie asked, enchanted by all the expectant faces looking towards Stan. They seemed to adore him, she thought.

  He started to point at various dogs before saying, ‘Those have been abandoned, tied at the gate. These two belong to someone who has joined the army and has no one to care for them.’ He stroked the heads of two adult Saint Bernards. ‘I’ve promised to keep them safe until he returns; if he doesn’t, well, it’s only two more mouths to feed. They can live out their lives here; they are no trouble at all.’

  ‘They’re pretty large mouths,’ Jane said in a serious tone.

  ‘Can we help you look after the dogs?’ Dorothy asked expectantly.

  Stan looked between the pair of them. ‘You look old enough to learn a bit about life here at The Grange. As long as your mum says it’s okay, you can take on some chores to help with the dogs. I’ll give you pocket money for helping out.’

  He held his hands up to silence her as Effie started to protest that he’d been more than generous already.

  ‘No, I insist, but be warned we start working early,’ he said, giving the girls a stern look. ‘After the first chores of the day, you come to the kitchen where Jean gives us all breakfast, every one of us,’ he said, looking at Effie, Helen and the children in turn.

  ‘I think we’ve landed on our feet here,’ Effie grinned. ‘So much better than where I used to work,’ she added, before giving Helen an apologetic look.

  ‘I agree with you,’ Helen said. ‘It feels as though a new chapter in my life has just begun. Stan seems to have adopted us just like his stray dogs.’

  Helen watched as the children helped Stan by scooping out cooked meat from large pans and dividing it out into row upon row of dog bowls before carrying them into each kennel that housed half a dozen small dogs or several larger ones. They watched as the bowls were quickly emptied and heads turned to lap up water from galvanized buckets. Effie collected the empty bowls, taking them to a stone sink at one end of the kennel and washing each one carefully before leaving them to dry on a wooden draining board.

  ‘This must cost you a bomb,’ she said to Stan, who’d been distributing fresh straw in the bed area of each kennel. ‘However do you cope?’

  ‘Well, friends muck in, and there’s also the hunt.’

  ‘The hunt? Haven’t they got dogs of their own?’ Helen asked, thinking of the various people on horseback that they’d seen at the front of The Grange when they’d visited on Boxing Day. She’d been quite disappointed that the motley crew of people on horseback had looked nothing like the smart prints her mother had hanging on the wall in the dining room. Apart from one man in the traditional red jacket, to her they had looked more like farmers and riders out for a hack, rather than what she’d expected of a hunt.

  ‘It’s like this; I let them use my fields to hunt, and in return they keep me in horsemeat. You’re not squeamish, are you?’

  ‘I never have been, but it depends what you’re going to tell me next.’

  ‘When horses die, they’ve got to go somewhere. They’re not buried in the back garden like a family cat or dog would be. The pack of hounds disposes of most of the horsemeat, although they keep some back for me. The local butcher rides out as well, and I look after his animals and he drops off tripe, offal and the like. It’s the way of the countryside,’ he said, watching Helen’s face closely as she did her best not to grimace. After a moment he let out a large guffaw. ‘You’ll do,’ he said.

  They left Effie and the children to clear up, and headed back to the house and into the messy library. As they worked, Helen told Stan a little about her late husband’s work for the Ministry of Food and plans he’d mentioned about rationing, as well as about educating the people of Great Britain to grow their own food.

  Stan scratched his head. ‘That gives me an idea. There’s a two-acre patch of ground that stands on its own just up the lane from here. I won it years ago in a game of cards at the pub. I’ve never gotten round to clearing it. But it might be something we could organize and turn into allotments for locals to use.’

  ‘I see you have an eye for business,’ Helen said, admiring the way he’d come up with a solution for the local community.

  ‘Oh, I’ll not charge anyone. We could ask for a basket of veg every so often as payment.’

  Helen smiled. Stan Trentham was a gem of a man who seemed to think of others much more than himself.

  ‘By the way, there’s that box that was delivered here for you earlier,’ he said, pointing to a chair close to the side door where the box rested.

  ‘I wonder who it could have come from, and what’s inside?’

  ‘You won’t find out standing there staring at it,’ he laughed. ‘Be assured I don’t think it’s horsemeat or tripe, so you’ll be okay. It was delivered here by some young RAF chap who seemed disappointed you weren’t here.’

  Helen felt her cheeks start to burn and turned away to open the box. Pulling back the flaps, she spotted an envelope on top of parcels wrapped in brown paper. Thinking it must have been Richard who had delivered the box, she opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. A few lines inside confirmed her guess. The words stirred butterflies in her stomach as she read them:

  Please accept this gift for you and your friends as you move into your new home. I would like to call on you tomorrow at eleven a.m., but will understand if you’re busy. If it’s not convenient, please leave a message for me using this telephone number.

  My fondest regards,

  Richard Gladstone

  ‘Going by the colour of your cheeks, I’d say you have an admirer.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing like that. I’ve only been widowed these past three months. I can’t even think of such things,’ she said as she started to poke amongst the parcels. They were labelled: she could see dried fruit, sugar, flour, and underneath, bottled fruits. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she whispered as, digging deep, she came across several boxes of sweets and a bar of chocolate. The dear, dear man, she thought to herself – what a considerate gesture.

  The next morning started early, as they all tracked off to help out in the kennels. Helen thought it seemed rather too early to go into the office to start work, so decided to give Effie and the girls a hand. They walked down the track towards the orphan dogs, as the children had named them, and spotted Stan already there.

  ‘We’re not late, are we?’ Effie asked. ‘We’ll have to try harder tomorrow morning,’ she told the children.

  ‘Not at all; I wanted to be here to show you the ropes. You can devise your own routine. As long as the animals are fed, watered and their kennels cleaned out before nine, it doesn’t matter what you do first. I’m grateful to have such willing workers. I have this for you, Helen,’ he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key. ‘It opens the side door in the passage next to the office – that way you can come and go as you please. I have left a contract of sorts on the desk for you to check your hours. If you disagree, we can alter them. As I’ve said before, I’m an easy-going chap. Just remember that come nine o’clock, Jean expects us all in the kitchen for breakfast.’ He glanced from Helen to Effie, who both nodded to show that everything was clear. ‘I’ll be off now, as I’ve got the Bobtails to sort out. I’ll catch you later.’

  Helen continued helping Effie and the girls for another fifteen minutes before heading up to the office, letting herself in by the side door. She decided to sort out the paperwork scattered all over the desk and chair to begin with; at least then she’d have somewhere to sit while she sifted through the rest.

  She’d not been there five minutes when Jean came in through the other door. ‘I’ll just leave this for you, my love,’ she said, placing a cup of tea on the corner of the desk. ‘Don’t forget to come in for breakfast,’ she added, before leaving Helen alone.

  Helen checked the clock on the wall. She had an hour – it should be possible to wade through quite a bit by then. She reached for a heap of papers, dividing them into one pile for invoices and payment requests, another for letters and enquiries about the housing of dogs, and a third for the personal paperwork that seemed to be left willy-nilly all over the desk. As she came across books, newspapers and magazines, she moved them over to a side table, not knowing where else to put them. ‘Stan will have to sort these out for himself,’ she muttered. The desk was quite dusty, so after breakfast she would see if Jean had any cleaning materials she could use.

  Amongst the piles, she found more of the pretty prize cards that marked the names of dog show societies and the placement of winning dogs. She could see Stan’s name was on them, along with some unusual names of the dogs. These must be their pedigree names, she thought as she read a couple aloud: ‘Trueblue That’s the Ticket Boy . . . Trueblue Mummy’s Boy.’ Most had the name ‘Trueblue’ at the beginning of the official titles. ‘I’ll have to ask Stan what that means. It’s obvious I have a lot to learn about the dog world.’

  She got up and moved to a bookshelf where there were several books about the breed, pulling out one that had been published twenty years earlier. She was still reading when Jean shouted ‘Breakfast’s up’ from the kitchen. Reluctant to stop halfway through a chapter and also having numerous questions, she slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan and headed through to the large kitchen. Effie and the girls were already seated at the table along with several other people and just then Stan joined them, rubbing his hands together.

  ‘It’s getting chillier out there. Make sure you light the fire in the library, Helen, you’ll get frozen to the bone sitting still for so long otherwise. Did you happen to look at the contract I left for you?’

  ‘I did and it’s very generous; are you sure you don’t want me to work longer hours? There’s quite a lot for me to do, and I’d also like to learn more about your world,’ she said, taking the book from her pocket.

  ‘Ah, you found the Tilley book. It’s one of the best. Take it with you, and borrow any others that catch your eye.’

  Effie helped Jean carry food to the table and placed plates of fried bread, eggs and sausages in front of everyone.

  Stan introduced them to a couple who’d joined him at the table. ‘This is Jake and Sarah, they’ve come to collect one of my boys to take back with them.’

  Without thinking, Helen said, ‘Oh, how can you bear to give them away, especially the older ones?’

  Stan and the couple laughed. ‘No, he’s only going with them for a couple of weeks,’ he explained. He glanced over to the two girls, who’d started eating their food, before whispering, ‘It’s easier if he goes to stay with them to serve their bitch, rather than bring her here at the moment, as we have so much going on. It should be a good mating, as the bitch also comes from my lines going back a few generations. Their place is a good fifty miles from here, so it makes sense for them to stay over and then leave with the boy after breakfast.’

  Helen was embarrassed. ‘I have so much to learn,’ she said as she looked back at the book where she’d marked several pages with slips of paper. ‘Perhaps when you have a little time you can answer some questions and explain about the show world?’

  ‘Oh, he will find time,’ Jake said as his wife agreed. ‘He’s always ready to chat about dogs.’

  As talk turned to other subjects, Helen started to eat her meal. ‘This is delicious, Jean, thank you, but surely we should be contributing something?’

  ‘Didn’t you read your contract properly?’ Stan asked, looking up from where he’d been buttering his toast. ‘Meals are included in your employment – that includes you, Effie – and of course the children are more than welcome. They’ve worked hard this morning, don’t forget. I’ll be giving you pocket money come Friday afternoon,’ he reminded them, much to the girls’ delight. ‘Don’t forget to ask Jean for your contract too, Effie.’

  ‘There is no need, sir, I don’t usually have one.’

  ‘In this house, no member of my staff works longer than the hours they are supposed to. I do not do it myself and I don’t expect anyone else to. Now, Jean tells me that the pair of you take part in the sewing circle down at Dalton Court with that Canadian couple. It would make sense if Jean used the truck to take you, as you’re all travelling in the same direction. And you two are going to start at the little school in the barn, I hear?’

  Dorothy looked up with egg yolk around her mouth. ‘Yes, we’re looking forward to it. The teacher is lovely and it’s better than being evacuated. We like it here,’ she grinned before returning to her meal.

  ‘One of us will drive them down, if you don’t have a meeting. We can work it out between us,’ he said.

  ‘But I planned to walk them down there,’ Effie said.

  ‘And I said I’d collect them in the afternoons,’ Helen added.

  Stan wouldn’t hear of it. ‘It’s a nice walk in the summer, but at this time of year it’s a bit of a bugger.’

  The children giggled, but stopped when they saw Effie frown. ‘Eat up, girls, then you can go back to our place and read your books until I’m finished helping Jean.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ Jean said. ‘The drawing room is warm and cosy, they can go in there for now if they want to read. When I’m done in the kitchen I’m off to feed the chickens and see to the kitchen garden, they can come and help if they want?’

  ‘But . . .’ Effie started to say. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Jean started to explain about cleaning the bedrooms and the other rooms in the house.

  ‘You’ve no need to clean the library,’ Helen interrupted them. ‘If I can take some cleaning items back to the room with me, I can do it as I sort out the paperwork. It won’t take long.’

  ‘If you’re sure, it will be one less job for us,’ Jean grinned, nudging Effie with her elbow.

  ‘Will it be all right if I pop back to our accommodation? Someone is coming to see me at eleven. I’ll only be half an hour or so?’

  Stan sighed. ‘Oh, you women! You seem to worry about so many things. Take all the time you want, I don’t care. I know you’ll do your jobs, so stop your worrying. There’s a war going on outside this house, so let’s at least try and stay happy here at The Grange, shall we?’

  12

  ‘You’re dead on time,’ Helen said, opening the door to Richard just as the small clock on the mantelpiece of her new home chimed the hour. She cringed and could have kicked herself for saying ‘dead’ – it was one of those words people avoided using at funerals, or when they met the recently bereaved and tried to make small talk. For her to use the word would remind him that she was a widow, and possibly remind him of that inappropriate kiss.

  She’d had time since leaving the dusty library for a quick wash and change into one of her cotton day dresses. Feeling chilly, she’d pulled on a cardigan, added a dash of lipstick and run a brush through her unruly curls, and she’d been ready to greet him seconds before he knocked on the door.

  ‘It’s my RAF training. However hard I try, I can’t be early or late, if that makes any sense?’

  ‘It would make more sense,’ she said, stepping back to let him in, ‘if you could explain to me how you can be a police inspector and in the RAF? Surely the two careers are separate?’

  ‘To a civilian, it may seem so. Every service has its police division. Because of your late husband’s position, and also him once serving in the RAF, I was called in to investigate his death. I’m also known to people in the cabinet, so it made sense for me to take on the investigation.’

  ‘That seems sensible when you put it like that. I’m sorry to question you about it, but it has been on my mind for a while,’ she said, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. Opening a small tin, she took out a few biscuits and put them on a plate next to the cups and saucers. ‘Please do take a seat,’ she added, realizing he was still standing, and nodding to a couple of armchairs placed either side of a log-burning stove. ‘Oh, and let me take your coat.’ She felt a little flustered, and wondered what had happened to her social skills in the few months since she’d left London. ‘I’ve not long got back in myself,’ she continued as she took the coat and hung it on the coat stand beside the door. ‘I must thank you for the gift you sent – it was most appreciated, but you really shouldn’t have done it.’