Isabel Bogdan - The Peacock

It took a while for the ambulance to drive the fifteen miles from the hospital into the glen. Aileen made it into an armchair with the help of the Lady. Her arm now lay on a cushion on top of the armrest, and it hurt so much that tears kept welling up in her eyes. Lady Fiona prescribed her a painkiller. She also offered her a whisky, but Aileen didn’t want one, she didn’t drink – ever – and Fiona McIntosh knew that. Anyway, it was possible that she might need an operation, and in that case it certainly wouldn’t be a good idea to arrive at the hospital drunk. The Lady promised to look after Aileen’s dog, Britney, until she got out of hospital. And yes, she would also look by Aileen’s cottage a few miles up the glen, would water the flowers and check the post. Aileen’s parents had moved into town a few years previously, after her father’s driving licence was revoked when he was caught drink-driving yet again. In town he could use public transport to get around and didn’t need to be constantly chauffeured by his wife. Since then, Aileen had lived alone in her parents’ house. At the time, she’d been working in a restaurant along the road to the next village and saw no reason to move away with her parents. Quite the contrary, she was old enough to live alone and was pretty happy to. She loved the glen and the house. She had had a thorough clear-out, painted everything in light colours, and made a cosy, bright home out of the gloomy and cluttered cottage. She pitied her father for his alcohol consumption and her mother for putting up with it and for being just as powerless against it as her father was. But Aileen couldn’t help her parents out of the situation either and now only had sporadic contact with them.

Anyway, said Lady Fiona, Aileen definitely wouldn’t have to stay in hospital long with a broken arm – she would probably get a plaster cast and then be sent back home. Aileen should simply call when she wanted picked up. And Fiona was sure Ryszard would be happy to take care of the cottages while Aileen’s arm was in plaster.

Oh yes, he’d manage, Lady Fiona assured Aileen. Yes, he’d cope with the cleaning too. Secretly she wasn’t quite so sure, for in all honesty she was just as convinced as Aileen that no one could clean as well as Aileen did, but she reassured her as best she could. Aileen had a soft spot for Ryszard, he was big and strong and hardworking and kind, and he loved nature. But as far as cleaning was concerned, she didn’t trust him much at all. Aileen would never have admitted the former, but she was quite frank with the Lady about the latter. Lady Fiona confessed that she wasn’t really convinced of Ryszard’s cleaning talents either, she considered him more of a handyman, but she’d certainly come up with some kind of solution. Aileen wasn’t to worry about it and was to give her arm time to heal. If necessary, Lady Fiona would simply dance through the cottages with Henry herself. Aileen didn’t quite know whether she was allowed to laugh at this image or whether Lady Fiona would be offended, so she concentrated instead on dictating to the Lady what still needed to be done: which cottage had a broken kettle, where the cutlery drawer needed to be refilled, and which beds needed to be made up. Luckily, the cottages weren’t all continuously occupied at this time of year, so one or other of them could go a few days without being cleaned. Being able to at least think about work distracted her, and when the charming paramedics arrived, Aileen almost felt up to flirting. If only it weren’t for the pain.

Subsequently, Lady Fiona McIntosh was doing overtime too. She could have done without Aileen breaking her arm right now – various bits and pieces still needed to be done in the west wing, and Aileen was simply more practiced at that kind of thing.

Frustratingly enough, Aileen’s arm was put in an impressive plaster, and she was sent straight back home, where she couldn’t even open the front door, because to do so you had to hold and turn the key with one hand and turn the handle with the other. Lady Fiona decided on the spot that Aileen should come and stay with her for now. Without the use of her right arm, she was in rather a fix after all. So instead of Aileen looking after the west wing and Fiona McIntosh developing a concept for a new wind farm, Fiona was instead looking after Aileen, the west wing and her own household, and developing the wind farm concept on top of that. Really her work should have required her complete attention. She normally started getting ready for Christmas around now too – Lady Fiona was very organised when it came to that sort of thing – but this year it would have to wait. When the children came home before Christmas they’d just have to help. They’d never known it any other way, everyone always had to pitch in around here.

Lady Fiona had got one of the children’s old rooms ready for Aileen, and together they fetched some clothes and everything else Aileen needed from her cottage. Then they went into the west wing, and Aileen explained in detail what still needed to be done. She apologised at least a thousand times for breaking her arm and stressed how embarrassed she was that she was now giving the Lady instructions instead of the other way round. Lady Fiona countered that Aileen presumably hadn’t broken her arm on purpose, so it wasn’t her fault and she should stop apologising. It wasn’t as if Fiona hadn’t ever cleaned or done any other kind of work herself, so it really was all absolutely fine. And of course Aileen knew that Lady Fiona didn’t think such menial tasks beneath her, she used to cope without her after all. She had cleaned and rented out the cottages alongside her work, had managed the whole estate, and had brought up the children on top of that. Back then she’d only worked part-time though. The fact that she was long since back in full-time work as a senior engineer commanded Aileen’s total respect. Aileen might have been 25 years younger than the Lady, but in many ways she was considerably more conservative. She had assumed for a surprisingly long time that Lady Fiona’s main job was being a lady – but that was before she worked for her, when she only knew her in passing, the way you know a person who lives in the same glen.

And then it was Thursday already. The manager of the London private bank’s investment department and her Irish setter arrived in a brand-new, metallic blue sports car, while the rest of the group drove up in sedate black. With her very first step out of the blue car, the investment department manager trod in some goose muck. She was, of course, still wearing her elegant city shoes and, of course, wasn’t overly amused; in fact, she was extremely vexed. Long car journeys didn’t exactly relax her, and she could hardly be said to have a relaxed attitude at the best of times. She made an effort to maintain her composure, but really she was of the opinion that when guests arrived, the property owners should make sure there was no excrement lying around where they’d have to park, thank you very much. While she was still trying to wipe the worst of it off on the lawn, the goose waddled towards her at surprising speed, gobbling noisily with its neck outstretched towards her. Few people tended to consider the goose’s greeting as particularly friendly. She had never hurt anyone, but her aggressive demeanour thoroughly startled most people. The goose was certainly a considerably better guard dog than Albert, who did usually bark when greeting guests but wagged his tail with joy while doing so. The investment department manager would never have admitted to being scared of a goose, but to be honest, the attack hardly improved her mood and merely confirmed her reservations against such large birds. She had had a fright and quite an adrenaline surge and had broken out in a sweat. She was a little scared of the goose, had goose muck on one of her expensive shoes, and on top of everything else, it was damn cold. This was off to a great start!