Page 3 of The House of Hopes and Dreams
There was no greeting, or polite wishes for his continued recovery, it simply read:
I can’t cope with Tiny any more. Circumstances have changed and anyway, he’s become quite impossible. You bought him, so it’s up to you to decide what to do with him.
It wasn’t signed.
‘Terse – and what does Daisy thinkIcan do with a dog till I get out of here?’ commented Carey, looking up with a frown. Daisy had coaxed him into buying the tiny Chihuahua puppy from a friend of hers, though his novelty had worn off even before he’d begun to show his true nature: no male legs were safe from those needle-sharp teeth. He’d also quickly outgrown the designer dog-carrier she’d bought for him, so it looked increasingly likely that his father hadn’t been a Chihuahua at all …
They’d been sold a pup.
‘She’s too self-absorbed to even think of that one,’ Nick said, then rolled up his jeans to exhibit a fresh set of pinpoint marks. ‘Tiny was shut in the kitchen and when I opened the door, the little bastard got me again.’
Carey stared at him. ‘You mean … she’s dumped him there andgone?’
‘Yep. And since I couldn’t leave him there on his own and there was a plastic pet crate in the hall, I shoved him in that and he’s in the car now. I’ve left the windows down a bit, so he should be OK till I get back. What do you want me to do with him?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to find him a good home.Youcouldn’t keep him till I get out of here, I suppose, Nick?’ Carey added hopefully.
‘Apart from not wanting my legs to look like I stick pins in them for fun, I’m out all the time, so it wouldn’t be fair.’
‘True,’ conceded Carey. ‘Look, if I give you the address of the kennels we used when we went on holiday, could you take him there?It won’t be strange to him and I’ll work something permanent out as soon as I can.’
‘Yeah, good idea,’ agreed Nick, looking relieved. ‘They’re letting you out of here soon anyway, so we’ll think of something while you’re staying at mine over Christmas.’
It was lucky Nick had a ground-floor flat. Carey still didn’t know if he’d ever be able to walk without limping, but he was determined he was leaving the hospital without crutches and would dispose of even a walking stick as soon as he could.
‘Thanks, Nick. And I’ll be staying with you only till just after Christmas. Then I’m off up to Lancashire. That visitor you so nearly knocked flat when you arrived was the bearer of some surprising news.’
‘Did he want you to makeover a cottage for him?’ Nick asked hopefully. ‘As long as you delegate all the physical stuff to other people, you could take commissions to renovate cottages again, couldn’t you?’
‘No, it was nothing like that. He was a solicitor and he’d been trying to track me down for ages. In fact, a couple of those letters you’ve brought me are probably from him. He came down himself in the end and one of the neighbours told him what had happened and where I was.’
‘Not an ambulance chaser, is he? They can’t sue anyone if they don’t know who the hit-and-run driver was, surely? Unless you’ve remembered any more details about the car that hit you.’
Carey frowned. ‘Sometimes I get a sort of flash and think I can see a big silver four-by-four … but that might be totally unrelated to the accident. Concussion can have weird side effects.’
‘So, not an ambulance chaser?’
‘No, he’s afamilysolicitor – in fact, I suppose he’smyfamily solicitor now. It appears that my father had an older brother and now he’s died and left me everything, because I’m the last of the Revells … or the last of that branch of them in Lancashire, anyway.’
‘You’re an heir!’ exclaimed Nick, his deep-set black eyes suddenly burning like coals with excitement. ‘You’re rich beyond your wildest dreams and can invest lots of lovely lolly in Raising Crane Productions!We’ll make a TV documentary series that will blastThe Complete Country Cottageright out of the water!’
Nick’s small production company, in which Carey had an investment, was doing well, but still looking for that big, elusive hit.
‘Don’t get too excited, we’re not talking millions here,’ said Carey, damping down his enthusiasm. ‘There’s a run-down house and not much money. Plus, there’s a resentful stepdaughter and her husband living in the Lodge, who expected to scoop the lot.’
‘Well, tough,’ said Nick unsympathetically. ‘How come you didn’t know you had an uncle?’
‘There was a big family falling-out and Dad ran off to be on the stage when he was still in his teens and never went back.’
The rest was history: Harry Revell, progressing via ENSA on to the post-war stage, had become one of the greatest Shakespearean actors of his generation. He’d married very late and died when Carey was eight.
‘Dad never told me anything about his family and if Mum knew, she didn’t mention it. I’ll have to ask her.’
His mother had been a young aspiring actress when she’d married Harry, and she’d returned to the stage after he died. Eventually she’d gone to America and made her name in the hit seriesThe Little Crimes of Lisa Strange. She played a terribly English spinster who travelled round the country solving mysteries, assisted by her sarky female black American driver. It had been going for years and showed no signs of ever stopping.
Carey looked Mossby up on his smartphone, though there were few pictures and little information. It was a white stucco Arts and Crafts house, linked by an old square tower to part of the original Elizabethan building at the back. It was situated on a sort of bluff with terraces leading down to a lake and woodland.
‘It’s a stately home, all right!’ said Nick.
