I broke off and came to a standstill as my cell phone rang. It was Bill.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he said with some asperity, “forty minutes came and went over an hour ago. Are you lost again? How many farmyards will I have to search this time?”
“None,” I told him airily. “Bess and I were unavoidably detained, but we’re on our way home now.”
“What detained you?” Bill asked.
“I’ll tell you when I see you,” I replied. “The story would be incomplete without arm gestures and facial expressions.”
“Must be some story,” he said.
“It’s a doozy,” I confirmed. “We’ll be home soon.”
“I’m home already,” said Bill. “I’ll have lunch on the table when you get here.”
“You are a prince among men,” I said, and after exchanging good-byes, we ended the call.
I tucked the cell phone into my pocket and resumed my homeward journey, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the Summer King. I’d become accustomed to knowing just about everything about everyone in Finch. It was unsettling to realize how little I knew about someone who lived within walking distance of the village.
Who was Arthur Hargreaves? I asked myself. Did he live alone at Hillfont Abbey or did the veritable horde of Hargreaveses live there with him? What would I see if I looked over the tall stone wall?
The story, I decided, was far from over.
? ? ?
Bill was shocked to learn that his fabulous all-terrain pram was defective, but he wasn’t shocked enough to file a lawsuit. He threatened to file one when he telephoned the manufacturer after hearing my tale of woe, but he didn’t have to employ scare tactics to stir the company into action because Arthur Hargreaves had already done the job for him.
According to a corporate minion, Arthur had kept his promise to “get on the blower and advise the manufacturer to issue a recall.” Acting solely upon my new friend’s recommendations, the company’s CEO had immediately dispatched an urgent recall notice, cut ties with the supplier who’d provided the faulty axles, and begun the process of vetting a replacement.
By the time Bill finished regaling me with the results of his phone rant, I was halfway through the fruit smoothie and the veggie-stuffed pita sandwich he’d prepared for me. Long walks always made me peckish. Bess, on the other hand, had turned down a meal in favor of practicing push-ups on her padded floor mat, watched from a distance by Stanley, who’d followed Bill into the kitchen. The sleek black cat seemed to find Bess fascinating, but he wisely kept his long, curling tail far away from her questing fingers.
“Who is Arthur Hargreaves?” Bill asked when he’d finally calmed down enough to sit with me at the kitchen table. “And why does he wield so much clout in the corporate world?”
“I don’t know and I don’t know,” I replied. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Sorry,” said Bill. “I’ve never met the man, but I’d like to shake his hand. He may have saved our daughter’s life.”
“Let’s not get overdramatic,” I mumbled through a mouthful of grilled eggplant. “It’s not as if Bess flew out of the pram and landed on her head.”
“Even so,” said Bill, reaching for his own sandwich, “Mr. Hargreaves did us a great favor. I wish I could think of a way to repay him.”
“I don’t think he’d accept repayment,” I said thoughtfully. “He seems like the kind of guy who helps people because he likes to help people.” I finished my sandwich and took another swig of the smoothie before continuing, “I can’t believe he’s flown under our radar for an entire decade, Bill. He lives next door to your father, for heaven’s sake. You’d think they’d have a nodding acquaintance, but as far as I can tell, they’ve never set eyes on each other. Don’t you find it a bit odd?”
“Not really,” said Bill. “Father’s estate is fairly large, remember. Hillfont Abbey may be next door to Fairworth House, but it isn’t next door in the same sense that Pussywillows is next door to the tearoom. Father can stroll the grounds from dawn to dusk without running into another living soul.”
“If I were in William’s shoes,” I said stubbornly, “I’d make more of an effort to get to know my neighbors.”
“Father knows quite a few of his neighbors,” Bill pointed out. “I’m pretty sure he knows every villager in Finch, whether he wants to or not. He may be relieved to have at least one neighbor who isn’t constantly dunning him for donations or recruiting him to work at the church fête.”