‘Right. Are you in the antiques business?’
‘I supply pretty much anything and everything for film and television sets.’ Sam pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her.
‘Cool.’ Now she sounded like an idiot. ‘I’ll look out for Murray’s foot stool in the next Hollywood blockbuster.’
‘It’s actually going to be used in a wartime saga the BBC are filming in the new year,’ said Sam.
‘That is actually very cool,’ said Blythe, wishing she could come up with something more intelligent to say. The other men came down the path carrying Murray’s sofa and Blythe felt a little pang of sadness. She’d had a connection with Murray – he’d been like an adopted grandfather – and she was also very fond of Turpin, but this was where she needed to walk away. And if she didn’t go soon she was in danger of getting a bit emotional. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I hope you’ll be very happy here.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ said Sam, looking over his new home with pride. They smiled at each other before Blythe got in her car and Sam went inside.
A thought struck her; she’d meant to explain about Turpin so she waited for Sam to come out again. He appeared carrying Murray’s coat stand. Blythe buzzed down her window and called over. ‘Sam! I forgot to mention. Look out for Turpin.’
Sam paused and frowned hard. ‘Who’s Turpin?’
Blythe didn’t like the look on his face. If he didn’t like Christmas who knew what else he wasn’t in favour of. Perhaps it was best if she let him discover his squatter for himself. ‘I left you a note but you’ll find out later tonight.’
Sam put down the stand and held up his hands in confusion. ‘Is Turpin a neighbour?’ She shook her head. ‘A highwayman’s ghost?’ he asked, looking a little wary.
‘You’ll see,’ she said, and she drove off.
*
Blythe wasn’t sure why she was walking an overweight Shih Tzu at seven o’clock that night but Vicky had rung her in a bit of a flap as a client had been delayed getting home from work and they didn’t want their dog having to cross its legs. As Eden was in her pyjamas and about to go to bed Vicky could hardly take her out on a walk, so she’d called on Blythe. She’d been slightly put out Vicky had assumed she had nothing better to do on a Friday night but the reality was that she really didn’t.
It was a nice evening. There was a gentle breeze but it wasn’t too chilly and Vicky had said once around the village would be enough. Blythe decided to stroll past Murray’s and see what Sam was up to. It would always be Murray’s in her mind. Sam was standing next to another removal van. Darn it, if she’d been a few minutes earlier she might have got to gawp at his furniture. She walked across the green and watched the van drive off. Sam was just going inside the front door.
‘How’s your day gone?’ she asked, walking up the path, her chubby charge waddling along beside her.
‘Tiring but I’m in,’ he said. ‘I’m already getting junk mail – I had a letter about joining some committee.’ Blythe’s stomach clenched; she knew exactly what that was and Sam wasn’t going to like it one little bit. He crouched down to the small dog and gave it a fuss. ‘Is this yours?’
‘No, long story.’ They smiled at each other and Blythe felt suddenly self-conscious under his gaze – or was that some remaining guilt seeping out? ‘Anyway, I’m glad the move has gone well and that you’ll be very happy here. Bye.’ She made her way past the cottage and the little dog started to pant as he shot her accusatory looks. ‘It’s for your own good,’ she told it.
She was level with Murray’s garden gate when she heard Sam yell. ‘Help!’ He sounded distressed.
She instantly opened the gate and went down the side of the garage with the poor little dog’s legs going super-fast to keep up with her. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she called.
‘I’m being attacked. Come quick.’
She dashed into the back garden. The sight that met her was a surprise and she had to work hard not to burst out laughing. Sam was bent over with Turpin standing on his back.
‘He just leapt on me and he won’t—argh!’ At the sight of the small dog Turpin clearly felt the need to cling on a bit tighter.
On seeing the cat the little dog started to bark excitedly. This was not a good situation. ‘Hang on,’ said Blythe. ‘I’ll work something out.’
‘Hang on?’ repeated Sam, incredulous.
‘I was talking to Turpin.’
‘That’s what he’s doing very effectively. I can’t shift him.’
Blythe took a garden chair and walked around to the side of the house so that Sam and Turpin were no longer in view. She tied the lead to the chair, patted the little dog and then rushed back to Sam.
As she approached Turpin hissed at her. ‘Come on, it’s me. I’m not scary,’ she told him.
‘Maybe just a little,’ muttered Sam.
She ignored him. She tried to stroke Turpin but he cowered and dug his claws in a little more, making Sam flinch. ‘I’ve got an idea. Back in a mo,’ she said.
