‘If you like.’
After spending a lifetime in a world of brick and concrete, the menagerie of farm animals was as good as a zoo to the two Londoners.
‘Try not to buy them a pony, won’t you, Charlie?’ Bobby said.
‘Very funny. We’ll see you both later.’
Charlie and the girls headed to the field where the gymkhana was taking place. Meanwhile, Bobby enquired of a steward where they might find the reporters’ tent. He looked rather bemused – people often did when they were confronted with the novel idea of someone who was both a reporter and a woman – but he pointed out a marquee and they made a beeline for it.
‘I can’t believe your Charlie bought those two little girls a puppy,’ Lilian said as they walked, simpering rather. ‘I hope that when I fall in love, it’s with a man who does things like that.’
Bobby shook her head. ‘It was a ridiculous thing to do. His brother’s going to throw a fit when they go home with a dog.’
‘Oh, come on. Don’t pretend you didn’t think it was sweet.’
‘Just because I think it’s sweet doesn’t mean I think it’s a good idea.’ She sighed. ‘That’s just Charlie all over. He’ll do anything to put a smile on someone’s face, but he so rarely remembers that actions have consequences. Then when consequences inevitably happen, he looks around him helplessly like a schoolboy who needs his mother to get him out of trouble. Well, this time I’m not getting involved. It’s high time he grew up and learned to fix his own messes.’
‘Aren’t you being rather hard on him?’
Bobby relented slightly. ‘All right, perhaps I am. It was a kind thing to do, and the girls looked so happy. It will be good for them – they’re going to feel quite bereft after Charlie goes. Still, as much as I might love him for it, he shouldn’t have done it on the spur of the moment like that. It’ll be Reg and Mary who have to care for the little thing when he leaves for the RAF in a fortnight.’ They’d reached the reporters’ tent now. ‘Hopefully there’ll be a bench or two inside. You can sit and rest your feet while I venture out into the fray.’
Chapter 17
The tent was quite crowded, with a strong odour of tobacco and beer. It was barely midday, but some of the men in there already seemed quite well-oiled – and of course those present were nearly all men. Some stood talking, a few sat around smoking on forms at the side of the tent and a handful waited in line to use the field telephone that had been set up for those with imminent deadlines to phone their stories through to colleagues in the office. Bobby noticed only one other woman present, whom she recognised: a reporter from theLeeds Mercuryshe had met while she was covering the assizes during her brief time as a reporter for theCourier. The woman, Miss Shadwick, rolled her eyes in an expression of female solidarity before pushing through the crowd to join them.
‘Miss Bancroft. Hello,’ she said, giving her hand a vigorous shake. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be here. I was sure I’d already spotted someone from theCourier.’
‘I’m not with theCourierany more,’ Bobby told her. ‘I’m reporting forThe Tyke.’
‘Is that a newspaper? I’ve not heard of it.’
‘No, it’s a rural magazine. For Yorkshire and the Dales. Our offices are nearby.’
‘Oh,’ Miss Shadwick said, with the faintest trace of pity in her tone. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea.’
‘Um, this is my sister, Lilian,’ Bobby said, anxious to change the subject. ‘Lil, this is Miss Barbara Shadwick from theMercury.’
Lilian nodded a greeting. ‘I hope it’s all right for me to be in here when I’m not a reporter. Bobby said no one would mind.’
Miss Shadwick laughed. ‘I don’t suppose any of the men will be in a condition to object. If I remember last year, most of them were staggering drunk by two o’clock. My bottom was black and blue by the time I got home, and when it’s not the reporters’ hands wandering, it’s the farmers’. Honestly, some of these country shows are like the last days of Pompeii. I don’t know why the beer tent has to be open from dawn until dusk.’
‘My editor warned me they could be a bit raucous,’ Bobby said. ‘I thought he must be exaggerating.’
‘Don’t you believe it, dear.’ Miss Shadwick nodded farewell to them. ‘I ought to go and speak to a few of those exhibiting before they’re too drunk to be coherent. Good luck in the jungle, ladies.’
When Miss Shadwick had left, Bobby looked around her, unsure what to do. Interested male eyes had already swivelled to observe her and Lilian. One middle-aged gentleman of the press with a rumpled necktie and somewhat lecherous smile – and she used the term ‘gentleman’ very loosely – even looked like he was in danger of approaching to speak to them. Bobby fished her notebook and pencil from her bag, along with her press card, and held them in front of her like a shield.
‘How are your feet?’ she asked Lilian, edging closer to her sister in the sea of slightly swaying male bodies they now found themselves in the midst of.
‘Killing me. There’s a blister on one big toe and I think I might have turned my ankle rather badly. It’s starting to swell up.’
‘Well, there’s somewhere to sit, at least.’ Bobby gestured to the forms at the edges of the marquee. ‘I really don’t want to leave you here alone though, even though I ought to get out there and speak to people.’
‘I’m not particularly keen on the idea myself,’ Lilian said, looking warily at the gangs of men sending curious looks in their direction. ‘Still, I don’t think I can walk any further, Bobby. I need to take the weight off my ankle before it swells any more.’
‘Ladies,’ a friendly voice behind them said. ‘A pleasure to see you both here.’
Bobby turned around, scowling as she prepared to rebuff whichever over-familiar reporter had had the nerve to approach them, but she relaxed when she saw who it was.
