Chapter 21 Tuesday 18 June 2024 Sally
Sally
“All right, we’re sorted,” says Corinne, looking triumphant.
The two helpers who made breakfast trail in behind her.
They drift over to the table and, without making eye contact or any sound at all, start to clear away the plates as if they’re auditioning for dramatic roles as servants who later turn out to be ghosts.
Sally has eaten a few bits, as much as she could manage.
Everyone else has finished what was on their plate.
Champ is asleep in his Donut dog bed in the corner of the room, between the tall white dresser and the wine rack, his flamboyantly bushy tail sticking out at an odd angle.
His unusual tail style—more like what you’d expect to see on a squirrel—was his groomer’s idea: “It’s not the standard Welshie look, but I thought it might be nice to make him look a bit different from Furbert.
He’s such a playful little character that I decided a more frivolous tail would suit him, and it’s not as if you’re planning to enter him for Crufts or anything,” the groomer said.
Sally agreed and left an extra-large tip; she is always ready to love anybody who thinks about Champ or Furbert in more than a cursory way.
“So. Today we’re going to Norfolk,” Corinne announces quietly. It’s definitely an announcement, though, not a just-happening-to-say. “Start packing. Let’s aim to set off in half an hour.”
“What, really? Tobes and I wanted to watch more movies in the hot tub,” says Ree.
“This isn’t a holiday,” Mark tells her.
Half an hour? thinks Sally. With her children involved, that’s impossible, unless Corinne has arranged for some masked gunmen to appear and chase them through the corridors.
Ree will need to do at least twenty minutes of sighing before she moves, and Tobes will want to interrogate the proposal rigorously from every angle (the more mature equivalent of “But why?”) to check there are no holes in it that might enable him to head straight for a luxury Jacuzzi instead, as he’d hoped to.
“Where in Norfolk?” Sally asks.
“It’s a dog day-care and boarding kennels called West Acres, near Weybourne on the coast. It’s a good, high-end place: soft, snuggly dog beds, real wool blankets. Owners receive regular postcards from their pets while they’re away, with photos of them doing fun activities.”
“No,” says Mark. “I’m sorry, Corinne. I know you’re trying to help, but I’m not prepared to keep—”
“We’re going,” Sally says flatly.
“Mum, you have to let Dad speak, even if you don’t listen to him,” says Ree, for which consideration Mark thanks her.
“Champ and I are going,” says Sally. “No one else has to come if they don’t want to.
” She hasn’t heard the plan yet, but her trust in Corinne has been consolidated, thanks to the exchange of messages with Lesley Gavey she has just read on Corinne’s phone.
Corinne handed it over without delay or protest, which allowed Sally to see that what had passed between the two women was anything but friendly:
Lesley: Hi, Corinne, it’s Lesley Gavey here from the Stables, Bussow Court.
Avril Mattingley gave me this number, so I hope it’s the right one to use for you.
Both she and Jemima Taggart have told me, separately, that they saw Sally Lambert in your car yesterday, and now it looks like no one’s in at the Hayloft, even though Mark and Sally’s cars are both there.
You should be aware that the Lamberts’ dog has bitten my daughter, Tess, and there’s barely anything left of her arm.
I think the doctors are afraid she might lose it, though they’re not saying that because they don’t want to frighten us.
Anyway, that dog needs to be put to sleep, obviously, and the police are on it, but I’m concerned that the Lamberts have taken it into their heads to run off somewhere to protect their animal, because that’s exactly the sort of stupid, arrogant thing they would do.
If by any chance they’re with you, Corinne, you need to get on the right side of this one and tell them to come home and face up to the damage they’ve caused.
Are they with you? Jemima says you’ve got houses all over the country.
I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how bad it would look if the papers got hold of a story about a billionaire using her immense privilege to give shelter to criminals.
Are the Lamberts with you right now, Corinne?
If they are, you really do need to ring me immediately and help to sort this out. Yours, Lesley Gavey.
Corinne: Hi, Lesley. Champ Lambert didn’t bite your daughter. I’m not quite a billionaire, though I’m looking forward to achieving that within the next seven to ten years. You’re a liar and an unhinged psychopath. Corinne.
Sally feels awful for having doubted Corinne even for a second.
“Did you tell the people in Norfolk that I won’t let Champ out of my sight?
” she asks. Presumably most dogs who go to West Acres Boarding Kennels stay there without their owners.
They must, if sending postcards is part of their itinerary.
“First thing I said.” Corinne beams proudly. “You can be with Champ the whole time, sleep side by side as usual.”
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not sleeping in a kennel.” Mark has never sounded more dogmatic.
“No one’s trying to make you.” Sally sighs. “Seriously, Champ and I will be fine. I’m happy to sleep with him in a luxury kennel. How long will it be for?”
“I’m definitely up for it,” says Tobes. “Kennel party! It’ll be crease. We can get some beers in, play a few tunes—”
“No, Toby, we can’t,” says Sally. “We’d wake up all the other dogs.”
“And you’re supposed to let sleeping ones lie,” Ree quips.
“We need to be as silent and invisible as possible.” Sally turns to Corinne. “How’s it going to be safe? Didn’t you have to give them Champ’s name and ours?”
“I told them enough but not everything. Don’t worry, Sal. It’s risk-free. It’s my son and his wife’s place.”
“Oh. Okay.” This sounds more reassuring.
“And…there’s safety in numbers and crowds,” says Corinne. “A kennels with dozens of dogs in it is a great place to hide a dog.”
Either that or it’s the very worst place; Sally can’t decide.
“Maybe we can have a kennel each, if they’re not too busy?” Ree says hopefully. “I’d love that if it’s possible. I’ve shared hotel rooms with Toby in the past. He manages to destroy them beyond all salvation within, like, ten minutes of entering.”
“I’m not prepared to go along with this anymore,” says Mark.
“Be quiet,” Sally orders.
“No, I won’t.” He stands up. “We’ve only just got here.
You said we’d be safe here, Corinne, and now you’re deciding we’re not?
Now you’re asking us to do another…what?
Six- or seven-hour drive? Corinne, no one knows we’re here.
What, just because Lesley Gavey sent you that message?
That doesn’t mean she knows we’re here, does it? ”
“It’s just about possible she could find out that I own this house,” Corinne says. “I know Sally doesn’t want to take that risk. If the police turn up with a warrant—”
“A warrant? You’re mad. You’re all mad!” Mark grabs at his hair with both hands.
“Please sit down and listen,” Corinne says calmly.
“Let’s be honest: None of us knows anything about how the police handle dog-bite allegations.
A warrant sounds absurd, I agree. And yet.
I did a bit of Googling, and…well, some people’s dogs do get seized by the authorities and put down, Mark. It happens.”
“And so we’re going to Norfolk, because that is not happening to Champ,” Sally says emphatically, imagining a world in which she, Sally Lambert, has the power to take Lesley Gavey to Vets4Pets in Newmarket and request that the lovely staff there inject her with something lethal…
“Sal.” Mark is waving his hand in front of her face. “Get it together, okay? This has to stop now. We need to go home, face the music—”
“No. West Acres in Weybourne, in Norfolk,” says Sally. “That’s where I’m going. Me and Champ.”
“And me and Tobes,” says Ree. “So go home if you want, Dad, but it’ll be just you.”
“And then what?” says Mark. “What happens after Norfolk? How long does our little…excursion around the country last? How do we ever solve this if all we do is run away? When do we get to go home?”
“I don’t know!” Sally bursts into tears.
“I’ve got an idea,” says Corinne.
“Oh, I just bet you have,” Mark snaps.
“Dad, you oaf, quit being rude to Corinne,” says Ree. “She’s trying to help us.”
“It’s fine. Be rude to me if you want to; I don’t mind.” Corinne sounds unruffled. “Let me tell you my suggested plan. You never answered my question before: Is Champ microchipped?”
“Yeah, he is,” says Sally.
“Okay. First step: We get you to West Acres, get you all settled in—”
“Just us, not you?” asks Mark. “I don’t suppose you’re going to be sleeping in a kennel, are you?”
Corinne laughs. “No way in hell am I doing that. No.”
“But we are, and it’s fine,” Sally insists, shooting a desperate look at Mark: Please stop resisting. “It’ll be…an adventure.”
“Where will the nearest bathroom be?” he says. “Or are we expected to do our business in the corner, on some straw?”
“You are so embarrassing,” Ree tells him.
“You’ll have an en suite bathroom with a shower and a loo,” says Corinne. “That do you?”
“Oh, really?” Mark shakes his head. “These kennels are so luxurious they have en suites for humans attached to them too?”
“Here’s a promise,” says Corinne. “If you don’t have an en suite you’re happy with, I’ll give you a hundred grand. How about that?”
“Done!” Tobes extends his hand for Corinne to shake. “Agreed. My bank account’s happy to be the initial recipient.”
“Let Corinne tell us her plan,” Sally says quietly, wondering how Mark can summon the energy to argue about trivialities in a world that contains people who won’t rest until Champ is killed.
“We get you settled in at West Acres,” Corinne starts again from the beginning. “After a few days, once you’ve rested and recovered, you leave Champ at the kennels with me—”
“No,” says Sally.
“—and go back home. While you’re away, I get his microchip removed.
You, meanwhile, go straight to the nearest policeman you can find.
You lodge a serious counter-accusation. You say Champ’s missing, and you’re sure the Gaveys have stolen him and harmed him.
You won’t be able to prove it, but a good half of the village will believe you, I reckon.
The Gaveys are not well liked in Swaffham Tilney.
Then weeks pass, and Champ is never found—and then a few weeks later, your ‘new’ dog appears.
A dog-lover like Sally Lambert wouldn’t ever choose to be without a dog, would she?
Except this time, it’s not a puppy that arrives.
Instead, it’s—Ta-da! Surprise!—a Welsh terrier from a rescue center.
You’ll be able to prove he’s not Champ, if necessary, because Champ’s microchipped and this dog won’t be—except he will, of course, be Champ.
You’ll have to call him Fred or Bartholomew or something, and you’ll need to explain that this time you didn’t want a puppy because blah blah, whatever… adopt, don’t shop…”
Corinne stops for breath. “What do you think? I think it’s the perfect plan.
How will anyone be able to prove it’s Champ under a different name?
And what did you do when Furbert died? Immediately went out and found another dog who looks exactly like him, right?
So…to everyone else, this’ll just look like you’re doing the same again. ”
The Lamberts stare at Corinne—all except Champ and Furbert. Actually, Sally could swear that Furbs’s spirit is by her side and as horrified as she is.
Corinne looks hopefully at them. “Solid plan, no?”
“No. I’m not doing that.” Sally has started to shake. “He’s Champ. He will always be Champ Cuthbert Lambert and no one else. I’m not changing his name, ever. I’d rather…flee the country, start a whole new life abroad—”
“Florida? Hawaii?” says Tobes.
“I’d change our name, our address, our jobs, before I’d—”
“We can’t change the Lambert part of our name,” Ree says. “Furbert Herbert and Champ Cuthbert don’t work without the Lambert part.”
All Sally knows is that she’s unwilling to pretend her darling boy is someone else.
The way he looks up happily when she says “Champ!” Or “Champy” or “Chample-moose Pamplemousse”…
He’d be devastated if he didn’t hear her call him Champ anymore.
The story of his name is his favorite thing in the whole world to listen to.
And she won’t deprive Furbs of his rightful surname either, especially not when he’s already been deprived of his life.
“No,” she tells Corinne firmly.
“Okay. I understand.” Corinne puts her hand on Sally’s shoulder. “Forget I suggested it.”
“So what, then?” Toby asks. “Do we have a plan B?” He looks hopefully at Corinne.
“Yes. We have a brilliant plan B. Even better than plan A,” she says. “I can’t wait to tell you all about it on the way to Norfolk—just as soon as I’ve worked out what it is.”