Isabel Bogdan - The Peacock

The McIntoshes automatically shooed away the goose and didn’t find her droppings worthy of further remark or in any way tragic. This was the countryside, after all. Anyone who came here came for that very reason. If not specifically for the goose muck. The McIntoshes were considerably more concerned about the manager’s blue car, but they couldn’t very well say so. They could see that the lady wasn’t particularly well disposed towards birds just now, even if she was trying to be polite. So they began by welcoming the bankers warmly and offered up the garden hose and some kitchen roll for the manager to remedy the mishap on her shoe. She took a few steps to the side and almost stumbled over a dead animal, which immediately gave her yet another fright.

The animal wasn’t dead; it was a toy monkey which Albert and Victoria had loved to bits, almost literally. Since Victoria’s death a few weeks ago, Albert had acted out his grief on the monkey in particular, but, of course, the investment department manager couldn’t know that. She also didn’t know whether she was more disgusted by the goose muck on her shoe or by the dead monkey. Her own dog noticed the cuddly toy with considerably more enthusiasm, and the manager promptly forbade him from playing with it. The dog didn’t listen. He was called Mervyn, like the former head of the Bank of England, which might have been a coincidence but it did give the McIntoshes cause to hope that the woman might possess something like a sense of humour after all. The psychologist, the cook and the rest of the bankers stood nearby awkwardly and tried to make small talk.

The McIntoshes enquired politely about whether the group had found the place alright and whether it had been a pleasant journey. While Lady Fiona was showing the group around (and Albert was showing Mervyn everything outside), the Laird excused himself for a moment and went to look for Ryszard. To be sure, there hadn’t been any more incidents with the peacock for a few weeks. The whole thing had probably blown over a while ago, but it was possible that there simply hadn’t been any blue things around. Better to be on the safe side. Unfortunately, they couldn’t ask the manager to put her car in the garage, because all the crates, cases and bits of furniture from the west wing were being stored there.

There was no phone signal, so Hamish couldn’t simply call Ryszard, but luckily they had discussed what needed to be done that day not long before the bankers had arrived. Ryszard had planned to first deal with a blocked drain in one of the cottages before finishing some tasks in the woods, where the devastation caused by the latest storm hadn’t quite been cleared away yet. Lord McIntosh got into the car and hoped he would find Ryszard still at the cottage, but he was already finished there, and the drainpipe was fixed. The young family staying in the holiday home was full of praise for the swift – and so friendly – resolution of their problem. They offered Lord McIntosh a cup of tea and were clearly in the mood for a chat. He thanked them but refused, explaining that he really did need to find Ryszard quite urgently. This might be tricky, hopefully he hadn’t disappeared into the depths of the woods. Lord McIntosh didn’t have an overview of exactly what needed to be done in which part of in the woods, he only knew the vague direction and he wasn’t in the four-wheel-drive, just the normal car, so he’d have to stick to the road. The bankers were sure to wonder why the Laird had driven away so suddenly instead of taking his time to greet them and show them around – and on top of all this, there was the very real danger that the peacock might launch itself upon the investment department manager’s car without delay, and she was already less than happy about the goose and its droppings. All this made him thoroughly nervous. Luckily, Ryszard had run into one of the farmers from the glen on his way to the devastated woods and had pulled in briefly, so Hamish met him while he was still on the road. He asked Ryszard to tempt the peacocks far away from the house with some feed or something; he didn’t want to see them over the next few days, he said – Madame had arrived in a blue car.

Ryszard promised to deal with it.

The group from London was settling into the west wing. The single room, announced the investment department manager, was for her, the others would all have to pair up and share.

All four men hurried so as to be sure that they wouldn’t have to put their suitcases in the room with the double bed. It was bad enough that they had to share a room; having to sleep in the same bed as a colleague was out of the question – for all of them. The cook and the psychologist looked at each other, the cook rolled her eyes and the psychologist shrugged her shoulders. Rachel hadn’t counted on having to share not only a room but also a bed with a stranger around thirty years older than her, but if that’s the way things were then that’s the way things were. The cook seemed quite friendly, and the bed was wide enough. Rachel had other things to worry about this weekend.

Jim and Andrew had a room with twin beds and spotted the electric blankets straight away. Jim wasn’t particularly bothered, but Andrew eyed them with secret glee, although he didn’t show it. Jim didn’t feel the cold, he’d grown up in modest circumstances and hadn’t exactly been spoilt with warmth as a child. Besides, he was easily satisfied by nature, he tended to take things as they came. This had worked out pretty well for him over the past sixty years. Andrew was the opposite really, easily rattled when things didn’t go according to his expectations, and he was already deeply sceptical about this whole weekend. He wasn’t happy at the sight of the sagging bed but was glad to find the electric blanket, for it really was quite cold. He kept that to himself though, as was his way. Andrew didn’t speak about his inner conflicts. Jim didn’t have any.

David and Bernard had bunk beds in the next room, which Bernard wasn’t pleased about at all. He didn’t want to sleep in either the upper or the lower bunk, because he couldn’t decide whether he’d rather crash onto the sleeping David below, together with the entire upper bunk, or risk sleeping below David and being killed by him and the falling bed. Either way he was afraid of bunk beds, but he decided he’d rather sleep in the upper bunk after all, because he’d feel claustrophobic in the lower one. On top of all this, he’d been finding it tough enough sleeping alone since his breakup. Sharing a room with a colleague would surely make it even worse. He didn’t mind, he claimed patronisingly, he was happy to sleep in the upper bunk. David didn’t care as long as there was an electric blanket in his bed, and as long as Bernard didn’t notice him using it. Bernard would definitely make fun of him, but David was simply freezing.

Bernard continued to grumble. Nobody had told him they’d have to share a room, he moaned, and now this. Honestly, bunk beds, they were most definitely past that age! Besides, it was bloody cold. David didn’t say much, as usual. He took his slippers out of his suitcase, and Bernard asked snippily whether he was planning on moving in here, it looked as if he was making himself at home. He was of the opinion, he added, that they were here to work, and they could make that clear by adhering to the usual dress code. Although he had expected a proper hotel with a few more conveniences.

A similar scene had just taken place next door, where Jim had taken off his sports jacket to replace it with a baggy knitted jumper, and Andrew had silently thought to himself that this did seem a little unprofessional. He didn’t remark on it though, instead chatting about the landscape and the view from the window. At the same time, he envied Jim for his lack of self-consciousness in such matters – but personally he simply felt more at ease when he was dressed properly. Particularly in this rather tense atmosphere, which admittedly had very little to do with Jim.