Chapter 6
6
Tristan Ashcombe wasn’t having a good day. In fact, if he was being honest, the whole week hadn’t been that much cop, either. Or the month. Or the year to date. And now, what was supposed to have been a brief recce of the Observatory Field site to double check a couple of details before the final planning meeting on Monday had turned into a rout of yet another trespasser. Why couldn’t they just leave this bloody place alone?
‘Oi!’ he shouted again. ‘Can’t you hear me? The observatory is out of bounds.’
Striding through the long grass, his jeans-clad legs that were tucked into Wellington boots made short work of the fifty yards between himself and the interloper. In irritation, Tristan swept his curly light-chestnut hair out of his eyes, which were now fixed on the figure who was struggling, seemingly caught between the gate and the fence. As he drew closer, to his further annoyance he realised there was a small, scrappy-looking dog gambolling around the entrance to the observatory building.
‘I suppose that animal belongs to you, too, does it?’ he snarled as the blasted dog began to yap. ‘Can’t you shut it up?’
The woman, who was still struggling to free herself from the two halves of the fence, turned furious eyes to him. ‘He’s protective,’ she snapped back. ‘He doesn’t like it when people shout. Especially dickheads who appear to be threatening me.’
Tristan stopped a couple of yards in front of her. ‘Well, maybe you shouldn’t be trespassing, then,’ he retorted. It was bad enough that he’d been dragged down here on a Sunday morning, and now he had to deal with some hippy-dippy walker, who, from the look of her, probably believed she and her dog were entitled to roam anywhere they chose.
‘I’m not trespassing,’ the woman, whose auburn hair had caught in the links of the fence, retorted. ‘I just wanted to take a look.’
‘Well, you’ve no right to be here,’ Tristan replied. He paused. ‘You or your badly behaved dog. Don’t you know there are hazards behind that fence where idiots have been fly tipping for years? Both of you could end up injured.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ she replied. ‘I hadn’t been intending to go anywhere near the place. Comet wriggled his way through the gap in the fence, and I was trying to rescue him before he got hurt.’
Tristan’s irritation subsided fractionally when he heard the concern in the woman’s voice and saw the way her eyes suddenly glistened at the thought of her dog suffering a mishap. He gave a deep sigh. ‘Well,’ he said after a beat or two, ‘it’s a bloody good job I brought the keys along with me, then, isn’t it?’ Briskly, he unhooked the key holder from his jeans and hurried forward to unlock the padlock that kept the thick steel chain in place. As he did so, he caught the warm scent of a floral perfume emanating from the woman’s body. Fumbling slightly with the padlock, he pulled it away and the chain slithered to the ground, landing coiled and snake-like in the long grass.
‘There you go,’ he said, pushing the gate open. ‘Now you can get your dog back.’
‘Thank you,’ the woman replied stiffly. She looked up at him, and her clear blue eyes, the same colour as the sky above them, showed appreciation along with some residual discomfort.
‘Comet!’ she shouted, moving away from him. She went to go further into the compound where the observatory building was.
‘Stop!’ Tristan said quickly. He’d noticed, as she’d moved away from him, that she was only wearing a pair of Grecian-style flat sandals on her feet. Open toes and thin soles were no match for the potential dangers embedded in the long grass. ‘Like I said, there’s all kinds of stuff in there. You’re not exactly dressed to get through it.’ He looked down again at the woman’s denim shorts and insubstantial footwear. ‘You don’t want to get stabbed by broken glass, barbed wire, or worse.’
‘What about Comet’s paws?’ the woman replied. ‘I can’t just let him run around in there.’
Tristan sighed again. ‘Give me his lead. I’ll get him.’
‘He won’t come to you,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t like strangers.’
‘Have you got any treats?’ Tristan replied. ‘My gran’s old Labrador would go with anyone if they offered him a gravy bone!’
‘Spaniels aren’t the same,’ the woman replied, slightly mutinously. Nevertheless, she passed him the lead and a pouch of small, savoury scented miniature bone-shaped treats.
‘Won’t be a tick,’ Tristan replied. For some reason, he wanted to find this dog, and it wasn’t just because animal and woman were trespassers. He could see the concern in her eyes, and her very real worry for her pet. He suddenly wanted to bring the dog back to her.
‘Comet, did you say his name was?’ Tristan asked.
The woman nodded.
Tristan smiled for the first time since they’d encountered one another. ‘Leave it to me.’ He glanced down at himself. ‘After all, I’m more sensibly dressed for walking through a junkyard!’ He wanted to say more to reassure her, but he realised that the best thing to do would be to get her dog back.
Striding off, Tristan took a left to follow the side wall of the building and called Comet’s name once, then twice. Frustratingly, there was no response, not even a whimper. At least that hopefully meant the dog hadn’t fallen foul of a rusty nail or bedspring to the paw, Tristan thought. Eyes peeled for the sight of a small black dog in the shade of the building, he glanced back behind him and could just see the woman making her way gingerly, footstep by careful footstep, through the unkempt grass.
‘Stay there!’ he called back to her. ‘Honestly, you don’t want to be wandering around here if your shoes aren’t armour-plated.’ He was only half joking. The first time he’d visited the site after the planning decision had been made was on a grim mid-November day. He’d been wearing brogues with virtually no grip on the soles. Not only had they ended up covered in mud and rendered unwearable, but when he’d removed them that evening, he’d found a rusty section of barbed wire embedded in the heel. A tetanus jab hadn’t been on his list of things to do when he took on this job, and so he’d been careful ever since to avoid wearing anything other than stout boots when he’d come to Observatory Field, whatever the weather.
‘Comet!’ he shouted, feeling irked now. Where was this bloody dog? From behind him, he could hear the woman shouting the dog’s name, too. She clearly hadn’t trained the spaniel very well: his recall was shocking. Continuing on, turning another corner so that he was at the back of the building, he suddenly caught sight of a pair of black furry haunches, wriggling frantically and whimpering in fear and frustration.
‘There you are,’ he murmured, picking up the pace. Raising his voice, he called back to the woman. ‘It’s all right. I’ve found him.’
Hurrying towards the dog, it didn’t take Tristan long to realise that the stupid thing had got its head caught inside a cracked and mould-ridden plastic drinks bottle. Unable to see where he was going, Comet had jammed the bottle between the bricks of the foundations of an old shed and was struggling to free himself. Despite his earlier irritation, Tristan’s heart sped up with a mixture of alarm and sympathy.
‘It’s OK, boy, I’ll get you out.’ Speaking softly, keeping his voice low, he approached the dog carefully. Even the most docile of canines could get aggressive and snappy if it was afraid, and Tristan didn’t want a nasty bite. Stooping down, he reached out a hand, and ran it along the dog’s silken black back, muttering soothing nonsense as he tried to get the dog calm enough to begin the process of removing him from the jammed bricks, and then the bottle.
‘It’s all right, Comet, easy now,’ he said as he carefully manoeuvred the bottle out from the gap between the bricks. That was the easy bit, he thought. He didn’t want to risk getting a nasty nip from the frightened animal. Smoothing down the dog’s fur with one hand, he tried to remove the bottle from the dog’s head, but it was jammed over his ears. If the lid had still been on it, the poor creature would have suffocated. Tristan felt a flare of anger at people’s thoughtlessness and carelessness. Did those idiots who blithely dumped their rubbish here ever think about the consequences of their actions?
Mindful that Comet might bolt if he took his hands away, Tristan clipped the lead the woman had given to him to the dog’s collar. Then, slipping the loop of the lead over his wrist, he reached into his pocket to retrieve the penknife he always carried with him on his visits out in the field. Flipping the blade out, he made an incision into the plastic, worryingly aware of the dog’s flesh and Comet’s panicky wriggling. He kept up the flow of gentle chatter as he slowly sliced through the bottle until, with relief, he’d cut it enough to pull it from the dog’s head and free him. Breathing out fully, Tristan ruffled the dog’s ears.
‘You don’t look like you’re hurt,’ he said, ‘but I bet your mistress will be checking every inch of you over. Let’s get you back to her, shall we?’
Not wanting to risk the dog’s paws on the ground, Tristan scooped Comet up in his arms. The dog smelt a bit whiffy from whatever moulds and cultures had been residing in the bottle, and Tristan grimaced as Comet pushed his face upwards and gave his rescuer a stinky lick of gratitude.
‘Thanks,’ he said dryly, wondering how many washes it would take to get the mud and mould stains out of his green polo shirt. ‘Perhaps I’ll send your mistress my laundry bill!’