Home and Heart

"You are not a hippie, are you?" demanded the frail old lady.



"No," Ben Elliot assured her, putting one hand to the nape of his neck to make sure his ponytail was safely under control. "Not at all."



"Hm. I can see you are not," Mrs Bonney continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Too clean. A bit untidy, though." A grey gaze as piercing as a tungsten steel needle raked him from head to feet and back again. Ben, who considered his best jeans and green Home-Safe Pet & House Sitting fleece and polo shirt to be pretty damned smart, just offered her a placating smile.



Tiny as she was compared to his athletic six feet, Mrs Miriam Bonney could have stepped right out of the pages of Agatha Christie's Miss Marple books. She sat enthroned in an overstuffed armchair and fitted the author's written descriptions to an absolute T, something most of the TV and film reincarnations did not. Beside her, a wood fire burned cheerfully, its flames glowing on the pale yellow stone of the living room's huge fireplace. Polished wooden wainscoting and creamy-plastered walls, black ceiling beams and door-frames completed the timeless, homelike atmosphere of the old stone house nestling on the edge of Burford, a small but ancient town in the heart of the Cotswolds.



"Home-Safe's policy, Mrs Bonney," he said, still smiling. "Company shirt, and trousers or jeans. We're always prepared for hard and sometimes messy work."



"Hah!" Her snort of amusement startled him. "You will get plenty of both with Bracken. Never knew such a dog for getting himself in a state. Well, I suppose you better meet them. But if they do not like you, young man, Home-Safe can send someone else."



"Yes, Mrs Bonney." There wasn't much else he could say.



"They are in the conservatory," she said, groping for the two walking sticks propped at the side of her chair. With a barely concealed wince, she stood and hobbled slowly across the spacious room to a door. He followed on her heels, wondering if he should have offered her his arm.



The door opened onto a wide, Victorian-style sun-room, all glass and white wood. It was surprisingly warm, and jasmine scented the slightly humid air, a small corner of summer set apart from the dank winter outside. Foliage and flowering plants flourished everywhere, crowding around a small oasis. In it, comfortable chairs and a couch sat around a long, low table. Two large dogs started towards them.



"Stay," Mrs Bonney ordered. "Sit." The golden retriever immediately planted his backside on the tiled floor, his tail wagging enthusiastically. The chocolate brown, curly-coated retriever eyed Ben with cool reserve, sitting slowly enough to suggest it was her decision rather than obedience to her owner's command. "Bracken and Teazle," Mrs Bonney said. "Her ladyship is the one you will have to convince. Bracken is utterly uncritical."



"They're beautiful dogs," Ben said, genuinely appreciative. "How old are they?"



"Bracken is six, Teazle is eight. They are walked for an hour every morning. My usual walker slipped on the ice and broke her wrist and ankle, poor girl, or I would not need to call in a stranger." She glared as if blaming him and Ben revised Miss Marple to Granny Weatherwax. "Teazle, to me." The brown dog rose to her feet and strolled with leisurely, almost feline, grace to stand in front of her.



"Mrs Bonney, Home-Safe has the highest reputation," he said earnestly, "and all our staff are security-checked by the police."



"I know that, boy, or I would never have contacted your employer! Now, introduce yourself."



"Hey, Teazle," Ben said quietly, not meeting the dog's eyes but focussing on her left ear. He held out his hand, letting her sniff his knuckles. Her tail began to wag and he scratched the back of her head, sinking his fingers into the thick, surprisingly soft corkscrew curls of her ruff. Her jaw dropped open a little, just enough to show the small incisors in front.



"Good." Mrs Bonney smiled. "She likes you. Call Bracken to you." He obeyed, and the goldie threw himself eagerly at Ben's feet, rolling on his back for a belly-rub. "He is such a trollop," she said indulgently. "Now, Marge Compton comes in twice a week to dust and tidy, but everything else in the house is up to you--including looking after the conservatory plants. Come back tomorrow at ten o'clock prepared to start. Marge will give you the grand tour and show you your room. I will give you the dogs' routine and a map of the footpaths where they are walked." Two pairs of ears pricked up. They obviously recognised the word. "You will be needed in the day only, until I go into the hospital."



"Understood, Mrs Bonney. If your usual walker is hurt, would you like me to take them out now?" he offered. "I'll be happy to do it."



"Thank you, but it is not necessary," she replied, her eyes warming to a definite twinkle. "I go into hospital for the operation on Monday, so they and I have a few days to be absolutely certain you'll suit, Mr Elliot."



"Please, call me Ben," he said quickly.



"I will do no such thing. The paperwork gave your name as Benedict, a perfectly respectable name and not one to be shortened. There are some house rules you will be expected to follow, of course. There will be no overnight visitors, Benedict. And if you invite in a female friend, bedrooms are off-limit. Do I make myself clear?"



"Absolutely," he said solemnly, deciding she needn't know dates with girls weren't at all his preference. "Home-Safe has strict rules covering--um--"



"Shenanigans," she finished for him, nodding. "After I have had the hip-replacement surgery, I will be transferred to Fountain Court. It is a private convalescent home. While I am there, I will expect regular visits from you to report on the dogs. You will be able to bring one of them with you, Bracken by choice. Teazle can be standoffish with strangers, but Bracken is always happy for anyone to make a fuss of him and Fountain Court allows people-friendly animals."