***chapter 34***

***London, 17 May 1955***

They referred to him as The Old Man at Hepplethwaite Riding Stables. Not without reverence. There was a quiet, grandfatherly air about the man with the thatch of snow white hair, something deep within his blue eyes that inspired trust. The Old Man first visited one sunny but bitterly cold day, when frost sparkled on the grass like diamonds, and droplets of sleet dripped slowly down through the trees, as if they were comparing the heavy snowfalls of the previous month with the sunshine of today and mulling over the vagaries of winter. He came often afterwards though he spoke little about himself.

My father told me when I was very small and timid of a big dog that those who learn to love animals learn to be at one with every living creature. At such a tender age I barely understood, and yet I sensed something magical happen as I clung to my father's reassuring hand and tentatively patted the elderly Labrador, who immediately returned the greeting with a large, friendly lick.

Those who worked at Hepplethwaite's never questioned The Old Man. It made them smile to see how, from the very first, tails swishing, ears pinned back, their charges whinnied with joy whenever they saw him as though they had known him forever. The horses liked him and that was testimony enough.

XXXXX

One afternoon on his way back from the stables, Jimmy was surprised by young Jack Stanford coming to meet him on the narrow road. Motorways were still a handful of few years in the future and roads in the capital then were not as thick with traffic as they are today so only one or two cars passed leisurely by the grass verge that pedestrians could, and often did, stroll along. He had only had to walk a few miles to reach Hepplethwaite's, for even in a congested city like London, smoke and fumes could quickly be left far behind and give way to vast expanses of greenery.

"Wotcher, Jim!" Jack drew the Rolls to a smooth halt and pulled down the car window to yell through it.

He knew of his colleague's love of animals and of his visits to the nearby riding stables. Jimmy had taken him into his confidence some time ago, explaining how Prudence's hatred of horses had come about, and how greatly he missed the old days of Follyfoot Farm. Jimmy had asked the Maddocks whether he could keep a dog or a cat in the cottage, but, while Arthur may have eventually been swayed, Prudence fell into a near swoon at the request, although she later conceded a parrot or budgie might just about be acceptable. But Jimmy believed no bird should ever be caged and so the cottage remained occupied only by himself.

"'Op in, quick!" Jack invited urgently, throwing the car door wide open. "I've been sent specially to fetch yer. There's a right bleedin' two 'n' eight at the 'Ouse and they need yer there at once!"

"Is it Lord or Lady Maddocks who's ill? How bad is it? Can anything be done?" Jimmy sat down, small flakes of snow flying inside with him, and falling off his clothes and boots. His mind raced with scenarios, from Arthur or Prudence, or both, being at death's door, to the house burning down, to the Maddocks losing all of their vast fortune on stocks and shares and being left penniless. "For pity's sake, Jack, drive as fast as the law will allow. They've been very good to me and I'll do whatever I can to help." And he looked askance at his companion, wondering why they had not sped off immediately.

"Steady on, mate," Jack said calmly. "I'm not at liberty to say what's goin' on seein' as 'ow the gaffer wants to tell yer 'imself. But I can promise yer, it ain't bad news."

Jimmy heaved a huge sigh of relief and sank back in the car seat. "Thanks be to God! But what has happened?"

A broad grin spread across Jack's genial face and his eyes flashed with sudden mischief. "Can't tell yer more than that, me ole china, but what I can tell yer is, it ain't a puppy or kitten or even a flamin' foal, that's for bloody sure!" He winked, tapped the side of his nose and revved up the engine,

Jimmy, having no choice but to contain his curiosity, sat in baffled silence, watching the snowflakes flutter lightly down from the sky and sinking into a carpet of thick white snow, for the whole of London had been covered that morning by the unseasonable weather in the middle of May. He had been woken last night by a commotion outside and had glanced out of the cottage window just in time to catch a very fleeting glimpse of Jack driving the Maddocks off somewhere. Assuming it was some political event, he had very quickly gone back to sleep. Tuesday was now his official day off and after a leisurely breakfast and tending to the flowers and vegetables he grew in his own little garden, he had gone for a brisk walk to Hepplethwaite's and not called at the House at all that day. Perhaps, he guessed, trying to make sense of Jack's mysterious speech, Arthur had finally persuaded his wife to keep horses again. Not a foal, Jack had hinted, so perhaps…

But the sudden wailing, screaming and sobbing that assailed their ears as they approached the Maddocks residence sent shivers of alarm down his spine.

"Oy!" Jack said, clapping a hand on the older man's shoulder as Jimmy made to jump swiftly out of his seat. "Good news! Remember?"

Jimmy nodded, his heart in his mouth, and hurried on to the living quarters. Calling out a loud but uncertain "Mr Maddocks, sir?" he rapped on the door to the parlour and Arthur opened it so swiftly he must surely have been standing directly behind.

The sight that met Jimmy's eyes was so surreal that for a moment he wondered if he'd been transported into some parallel universe, as often happened in the sci-fi paperbacks that Jack had lately introduced him to.

"But I don't know what to do with her!" Prudence stood in the middle of the room, holding at arm's length, although she had, at least, the sense to clasp the child's head, a tiny, wrinkled, red-faced, screaming baby, who was clad in a pretty lilac bodysuit and struggling desperately to break free.

"In Heaven's name, Prudence, surely a mother…a mother's instincts and all that…" Arthur, keeping a safe distance from this pocket-sized, unpredictable human being, mopped the beads of sweat on his forehead with a large cotton handkerchief, looked imploringly at Jimmy, and downed another large gulp of whiskey…