Penny Jordan Collection(93)

                Nothing...!

                Closing the back door, Piers had hurried upstairs. The door to his godmother’s bedroom was open, and as he’d looked into the room his heart had sunk. There was Ben, lying fast asleep on his godmother’s bed, surrounded by feathers; a torn pillow on the floor had pointed to their origins and Piers had taken a deep breath before saying firmly, ‘Ben!’

                In his sleep the dog had breathed deeply, and then wrinkled his nose as a feather landed softly on it.

                Grimly Piers had surveyed him. No way could the dog be asleep, and, as though to prove him correct, Ben had suddenly lifted one eyelid just the merest fraction and then closed it again.

                Wrathfully Piers had taken action, marching over to the bed and getting hold of Ben’s collar and yanking him firmly onto the floor.

                * * *

                Four hours later, having made do with a sandwich for his lunch, he had finally cleared away the last of the feathers, walked Ben, given him his meal and responded to his godmother’s anxious phone call that, yes, he and Ben were getting on fine, albeit through fiercely gritted teeth.

                Now, just as he was about to sit down and study the estate agent’s properties, someone was at the door. No doubt some crony of his godmother’s, who would want to have the full story of where she was and who he was.

                Irritably Piers walked towards the hall door.

                Immediately Ben got up to follow him. He was a sociable dog, and in his experience visitors to the house meant an hour or so of entertainment and the added attraction of some of Mrs Latham’s home-made cake—plus, if he was really in her good books, his own special mug of tea. Ben liked tea.

                Barking excitedly, his tail wagging furiously, he rushed past Piers, determined to get to the front door ahead of him. Well, after all, he was the main male of the household. That chancy cat didn’t count. It had a home of its own several streets away, as Ben well knew, and only came here for extra meals.

                As Ben made to barge past him Piers reacted immediately, grabbing hold of his collar and stopping him and then using it to half push and half drag the dog back into the kitchen, hauling him towards his bed and sternly telling him, ‘Quiet... Stay.’

                Unused to such cavalier treatment, Ben did exactly that for just as long as it took Piers to get on the other side of the door and close it, and the sound that greeted Georgia as Piers opened the door to her was one of heart-rending distress as Ben, recovering from Piers’s assault to his household supremacy, started to howl with a piteous and searing intensity.

                ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong with Ben? What have you done to him?’ Georgia demanded immediately, her glance going anxiously to the closed kitchen door, behind which the dog’s agonised wails were increasing in volume.

                ‘I haven’t done anything to him,’ Piers denied sharply. ‘What—?’

                ‘Yes, you have. You’ve hurt him,’ Georgia insisted, ignoring Piers to hurry to the kitchen door and push it open.

                As soon as he saw her Ben’s eyes lit up. This was more like it—a human who understood! Whining pitifully, he lay in his basket, his eyes half closed whilst he breathed arduously.

                Whilst Piers looked on grimly from the doorway, Georgia rushed over to Ben, getting down on her knees in front of him, quickly checking his pulse and then the rest of him.

                To her relief nothing seemed to be wrong, and then, disconcertingly, just as she was about to demand an explanation for his piteous cries from Piers, Ben opened one eye and started to nuzzle hopefully at the pocket where she kept her dog treats.