Page 49 of A Change of Location
Martin wasn’t involved with his estate manager. A potent combination of relief and two pints of Milverston Gold cider was making Hannah giddy.
“This place was my dad’s preferred local. In this country, at sixteen you can serve alcohol. Soon as I was old enough, I got a job here. Jack and his wife were already separating when I—when I starting liking him. Their divorce was amicable. She has a job in Bristol, and their daughter attends a school there. He visits Chloe often, and she comes here at half-term and for every other bank holiday weekend.”
She remembered something Martin had told her. “Why do you always go to The Huntsman’s Horn instead of coming here?”
“My pash is one-sided. Being around Jack makes me uncomfortable.” Peering into her empty glass, Poppy added, “I keep schtum about it, so Mart doesn’t know. And if I hadn’t been drinking on a very empty stomach, I wouldn’t have blabbed to you.”
“Let’s order food.”
“I might not be able to keep it down. One doesn’t win a man’s heart by retching in his lavatory.” Poppy rested her chin on her hand. “As for Mart, he’s had no better luck in love. Too bad for the Latimers and their assorted kindred. I reckon they’re impatiently waiting for Lord Cary.”
“Who’s he?”
Poppy’s smile was sly. “Ask my boss.” She looked down at her phone. “Shit, I’m late feeding Millie. I left her at home, and my car’s at the office. Not that I’d risk driving it. The local constabulary is awfully strict.”
“I’ll walk you to your house,” Hannah offered. It would clear her own head.
On their way to the door, she saw Jack raise a hand in farewell and responded in kind. Holding Jewel’s leash, she guided her unsteady human companion across the car park.
Abruptly halting, Poppy faced her. “Mart isn’t bothered by what they think. The relatives. You needn’t worry about that.”
“I don’t. Because I’m heading back to Boston. Soon.”
A car horn made them flinch. Jewel responded with a sharp bark.
“Speak of the devil,” Poppy caroled.
Hannah giggled as they staggered towards the Vauxhall.
“Can I give you ladies a lift?” Martin called.
“Come on.” Poppy grabbed Hannah’s arm. She opened the front passenger door and climbed in. “Home, please.”
Jewel, as if aware that the back seat was allotted to canines, hopped in without hesitation, and Hannah followed her.
“Who’s your furry friend?”
“Jewel of Holly Cottage,” Poppy told him. “She adopted Hannah. You two are taking her to Stanwell so she can dine on a superior brand of dog food. Take the bends really slow,” she advised him, sinking lower.
“She’s drunk,” Hannah contributed.
“Hannah’s a bitch.”
She let the insult pass without comment.
Like her father before her, the estate manager occupied a Georgian-style dwelling beyond Milver Cross, technically located within the parish of Milver St. Mary. Martin supported her along the front walk and unlocked her door.
Hannah remained in the rear seat, reluctant to remove the dog stretched across her lap. She stroked the velvety fur of one dangling ear.
Shortly before Martin turned off onto Home Farm Lane, she said, “When Poppy sobers up, she’ll be asking you to foster Jewel. Until a suitable home can be found.”
“I’ve no objection, though Ariel might—at first. I’m counting on you to help me sneak your friend into the house.”
Jewel trotted into the kitchen as though she owned it, and sat politely next to the Aga while Martin prepared her meal.
“No telling when she last had food,” Hannah pointed out. “Don’t give her much. And limit her water intake. According to your vet, she weighs eighteen kilos. How much is that in pounds?”
“About forty.”
