Alexander McCall Smith - The Dog Who Came In From The Cold

The conversation continued in this vein until just outside Chipping Campden, when Lennie told them all to start looking out for Terence’s Porsche. “We’ll just cruise through,” he said. “Then if we don’t find it, we can start looking along some side roads I know. Good places for stolen vehicles, those side roads.”

They drove slowly. There was a Porsche parked outside a newsagent’s premises, but it was the wrong colour. Then, as they made their way into the main square, Lennie gave a low whistle. “See over there?” he said. “See?”

“My car,” said Terence. “What a nerve.”

“They’re in that hotel,” said Lennie. “Probably having lunch. Stuffing their faces.”

“Shall we call the police?” asked Terence.

Berthea shook her head. “The police will complicate matters. All those forms. The police have bad karma, Terence.”

Terence nodded. “I just want to give Rog and Claire a piece of my mind. That’ll be worse for them than being arrested. I can get jolly cross, you know.”

“You’re right,” said Berthea. “That’ll teach them.”

Lennie Marchbanks parked his car and they went into the hotel. Roger and Claire were seated in the dining room, perusing the menu. They looked up, and were surprised when they saw that Terence was accompanied.

“We thought it was just us,” said Roger, rising to his feet.

“Well, you thought wrong!” snapped Terence. “You Sam!”

Roger frowned. “What?”

“You Sam!” repeated Terence. “You great Sam!”

Roger looked angry. “You’re calling me a Sam? What have I done to deserve that?”

“You stole my Porsche,” spluttered Terence. “We saw it outside.”

“Yes,” crowed Lennie Marchbanks. “Fine pair of car thieves, parking the car in broad daylight.”

Roger looked at Lennie in astonishment and then turned to Berthea. ‘But you told me to take it,” he said. “You said that Terence had said …”

“Delusions,” said Berthea.

Roger let out a cry. “Delusions? You told us! Claire heard, didn’t you? You told us that Terence wanted to meet us here.”

“A likely story,” interjected Lennie Marchbanks.

Roger spun round and glared irately at Lennie. “You shut your face! You Sam!” he shouted.

“You calling me a Sam?” Click . Lennie voice was filled with anger, and his teeth, dropping forward, made a familiar clicking sound. Click .

“It’s jolly rude to tell somebody to shut his face,” said Terence. “You shouldn’t say things like that in public. You shouldn’t.” He turned to Berthea. “Did you tell them that, Berthy? Did you tell them to take my car?”

Berthea swallowed. “Of course not, Terence. Have I ever lied to you? Ever? Once? And have I ever let you down? Ever? Even when Uncle Edgar accused you of eating those sponge finger biscuits of his when you were eight. Remember? And I said that you hadn’t, although I knew you had because I’d seen you.” She paused, adding under her breath, “And what did the Green Man say?”

“I didn’t eat all of them,” said Terence. “The dog had four.”

“For heaven’s sake,” snapped Claire. “This has got nothing to do with biscuits.”

“Indeed it hasn’t,” said Berthea coldly. “But it has everything to do with the theft of a Porsche. Give me the keys, please.”

“No,” said Roger.

“Then I shall call the police.”

Roger hesitated, and then handed over the keys to the Porsche.

“Now we can go home,” said Lennie Marchbanks. “And these two can make use of public transport to get back to Cheltenham.”

Berthea looked at the dejected fraudsters. “You’ll find your cases with all your possessions at the front gate,” she said. “You may remove them without entering the property.”

They left. Terence drove back with Berthea in the Porsche.

“I’m really grateful to you, Berthy,” he said. “There was something about that couple that I didn’t quite trust. I saw it all along, you know.”

Berthea nodded. The delusions of which the human mind is capable are manifold and varied, she thought. We are imperfect creatures in every respect, and it was her job to lend wholeness to those who were shattered and unhappy. Not every mission ended quite as well as this one, but that did not mean that one should not try. Every day we should try, she said to herself; we should try to make life better for those around us, and for ourselves. We should try to be kinder. We should try to control our impatience with people like Terence – and others.

“Dear Terence,” she said fondly. “Now you have your car back.”

“Thanks to you,” said Terence. “Dearest Berthy.”

If it is the case, and it undoubtedly is, that all business start-ups are fraught with fret and worry, then the bottling and marketing of Dee’s Sudoku Remedy was very atypical.

The task of designing the packaging for the remedy had been referred to a client whom Dee knew to be a graphic designer. He had produced a label within a matter of days and had also been able to find a sympathetic and cheap printer. After that had been done, all that was required was to purchase a large quantity of Gingko biloba in pill form and have these pills put in bottles to which the label had been affixed. Again Dee had a contact who was able to arrange for this to be done on very favourable terms, and quickly too.

“Simple, isn’t it?” Dee remarked to Martin. “Now we do a bit of advertising.” She paused. “Your five thousand pounds, Martin …”

Martin had been impressed by the speed with which the project had progressed. “No problem,” he said. “It’s ready.” He looked away. It was his entire capital, and he was not sure how, if the money were to be lost, he would explain this to his godfather, who had given it to him. His godfather, who had a minicab firm in Essex, was short-tempered and, in Martin’s view, rather too close to certain criminal elements in Romford. He imagined that his godfather might, as he occasionally put it, “wish to have a fireside chat” with him if Dee’s scheme did not work out.

But now there was no going back. An advertisement was booked in a puzzle magazine and in a daily newspaper. Want to improve your Sudoku performance? it asked. The Sudoku Remedy, an entirely herbal product, increases the supply of blood to the brain, thereby enhancing your skill at solving even the most complex sudokus. Also contains anti-oxidants.

“I hope it works,” said Martin.

“Hope what works?” asked Dee. “The product or the advertisement?”

“Both,” said Martin. “But especially the product.”

“Of course that’ll work,” said Dee. “We all know that

Gingko biloba increases the supply of blood to the brain and improves mental performance. If it does that, then you’ll be able to do a sudoku better. Stands to reason.”

Martin still looked concerned, and Dee tried to cheer him up. “Come on, Martin,” she said. “You have to have confidence in business. If you just sit on the sidelines and worry then nothing ever gets done. This is our big chance.”

“Maybe,” said Martin. “It’s just that …”

“Just that nothing,” said Dee. “This is going to work, Martin. You’ll see.”

The product was launched on a Monday. The advertisement in the newspaper had listed the telephone number of the shop for orders and had also given a website address. By nine-thirty in the morning, when Dee and Martin turned on their computer in the shop, there were already over four thousand email orders.

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” said Martin, looking over Dee’s shoulder as she scrolled down the list of emails. “Maybe it’s a virus.”