Neill, if he returns the money he has stolen from our bar till I shall of course ask the police to treat him leniently.”
“On their way,” called Fenella, as she walked back from the public telephone booth.
“Felix Forrest is with the PGA tour. He’s ranked number four in the world and has come to present the awards this evening,” announced Harper, quite factually.
“But he’s not supposed to be here until tea-time and he’s not supposed to be …”
“Be what?” asked Felix, who already knew the answer.
“You’re early!” accused Bunnie.
“Mister Forrest is an American and when he was told tea-time, thought we meant afternoon tea.” Harper seemed to be enjoying the situation but noticed that Felix was making his way towards the door. He was also talking on his mobile telephone and seemed to be losing some of the coolness he had maintained while being addressed by Bunnie.
“What’s he doing now?” asked Bunnie.
“Probably calling the police on you,” said Harper, with a smirk that told Bunnie exactly what he thought of her.
“Oh look!” said Fenella, while pointing toward the flashing blue lights that could be seen through the tall manicured hedge that bordered the golf club.
“Mister Forrest!” called Bunnie, who could see that he was about to step through the door.
Forrest stopped.
“You’re not supposed to be here until after six o clock this evening,” Bunnie had emphasised ‘this evening’. Americans knew nothing about etiquette.
Neither it seems did the members of the local constabulary who at that moment burst through the door of the clubhouse. Three burley, male, police officers, one holding his truncheon thingy, plus one female officer with a large slavering Alsatian which, the moment it saw Forrest, reacted as if fifty thousand volts was passing along its lead.
Forrest froze to the spot.
“Is this him?” asked one of the male officers, who, grabbed Forrest by his right wrist and in one flowing movement, had secured both of Forrest’s wrists behind him in a pair of handcuffs made from the finest Sheffield steel. Forrest’s mobile phone spun to the floor and was then trampled by an enormous black boot.
“Would you mind taking that dog out of here!” snapped Bunnie, who could see that someone, in authority, would have to take over the situation.
The female officer seemed to ignore Bunnie but gradually reigned in the dog, calmed it down and coaxed it from the room. Rupert appeared to be the only person in the room who didn’t want the dog to leave.
“Who’s the senior man?” boomed Bunnie, trying to be heard above the dog, which although now outside was still howling and snapping. Bunnie hoped it had seen a rabbit in the car park and had not taken a fancy to another club member.
“I am madam,” admitted the officer who had handcuffed Forrest, and who with a nod of his head had the two other male officers position themselves behind Forrest and await instructions.
“Can I have a word please officer?”
“It’s Sergeant mam,”
“Very good Sergeant, if you wouldn’t mind.” Bunnie indicated the seat beside her.
“Take these off,” insisted Forrest, at which Harper began to walk over adding, “Yes. It’s all a mistake. He…”
Harper stopped dead in his tracks as the policeman with the truncheon had now raised it and was growling. “Stand back! Stand back!”
Forrest pulled himself away from the officers and turned to face them.
“Take these cuffs off me!” he yelled, while experiencing his first ever, illegal, rugby tackle.
“Steady on,” called Harper, who went as close as he dared to the ruck.
Bunnie was standing, indicating to the Sergeant that he should remain seated, hoping that the noise levels would recede and praying that she could begin to organise things properly when Ginny Duffield, in a lovely pink woollen two-piece, came through the door, screaming. Ginny’s husband was the club treasurer. Her normally perfectly styled hair was tousled. The strap on her left shoe was loose and flapping about and the nylon above was in shreds. Ginny clasped a large handbag to her chest. Two dark, uneven, lines of mascara ran down each side of her face indicating that she had been crying
Ginny stopped and turned to her left, screamed, stopped again, then turned to her right. Screamed, then stopped. Ginny, for no apparent reason and with a huge first step, almost clawing at the air with her left foot as if she was digging spuds, began to run again but ran straight into the three men wrestling on the floor and found herself skittering over bodies while her bag glided across the carpet ahead of her, like a curling stone on course for the house.
Bunnie sat herself back down while the Sergeant stood.
“This is all a terrible mistake,” announced Harper, making his way towards the Sergeant. “That man is no criminal, he’s actually Felix Forrest, the fourth best golfer in the world who has come here to present some awards this evening.”
“You know I think he’s right Searg,” said the officer with the truncheon, who was holding Forrest off the floor by his shoulders so that he could get a good look at him.
Bunnie thought that the situation had calmed sufficiently for her to intervene. She stood and was about to ask the police Sergeant to sit when Ginny, who by now had managed to stand, was stamping on the spot screaming and pointing at her handbag.
“Ginny!” shouted Bunnie, who knew that this woman needed snapping out of whatever was affecting her.
Harper moved over and held Ginny by her shoulders. He shook her gently, then brought her in to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Ginny sobbed and was coughing and spluttering with all the emotion she was experiencing.
“What’s the matter Ginny?” asked Harper, who from the way he held and spoke to her, suggested that this was not the first time they had been this close.
“The police…!” Sobbed Ginny, who tried to speak between the gulps of air she was taking. “After me...!” Ginny was pointing randomly around the clubhouse with much of what she said being unintelligible. “And I’ve got Charlie,” sobbed Ginny, who completely disintegrated as the policeman with the truncheon was now twisting her left arm behind
her back and snapping on one end of a pair of cuffs.
“I’m arresting you for the possession of a class A drug madam,” said the policeman, in such a matter of fact way that it’s meaning was completely lost on Ginny. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not ……….."
Ginny began to sob so loudly that the policeman couldn’t be heard. Harper didn’t know whether to offer to help Ginny or Felix. Fenella knew that she had to get to Bunnie; she would know what to do. Bunnie had always said Ginny had too much money for an accountant’s wife. And Rupert. Rupert was enjoying the way the seagulls hovered then
seemed to bounce off the roof of the garages.
“Aggh!” screamed Fenella, “A rat!”
Most people followed to where she was pointing. Surprisingly it was Rupert who sprang into action. A long handled plastic broom had been left propped against a chair. Rupert collected it and made his way to the area Fenella pointed at. Ginny’s bag moved and as Rupert raised the broom as high as he could it was Ginny who uttered a scream so terrible
that he halted his swing and brought his attention to Ginny.
“It’s Charlie. It’s Charlie!” she sobbed, before slumping against the policeman who had arrested her.
Staggering out from the large Gucci bag was a tiny Chihuahua. Its ears were down, its tail was between its legs, it’s tiny little body shook. It looked like a half starved naked sailor on a Friday night.
“Oh you poor little thing,” called Fenella, who immediately went towards it.
Harper had managed to get a chair under Ginny, who, even with her delicate white wrists secured by bracelets she would never dream of buying, held her hands out for her Charlie to be delivered to her. Fenella brought the dog over to her and stood and sighed as Ginn
y held and hugged Charlie.
Rupert felt a bit daft standing there, in the middle of the clubhouse with a blue plastic broom over his head, so he lowered it. He would have collected Ginny’s bag for her but the policeman who had arrested her had picked it up and was scrimmaging about inside. The Sergeant had been talking into the electric broach on his shoulder, while the third policeman
seemed to be quite comfortable as he rested on Felix with his right knee firmly placed in the centre of Felix’s back.
“I take it Charlie is the dog’s name?” asked the Sergeant, to Ginny, who seemed to be settling down.
“Of course it is you stupid man!” snapped Ginny, who didn’t really seem to be that interested in anything other than the dog.
“I see the bitch is better,” whispered Bunnie, as Fenella drew up alongside her.
“I thought it was a boy dog?” replied Fenella.
“Who’s talking about the dog,” sighed Bunnie, who nudged Fenella and indicated that she should turn and watch, as the policeman emptied the contents of Ginny’s bag onto a table. The usual collection of keys, purse, compact, perfume and tat scattered over the table but the one item that stood out was a tiny pink purse.
“Golly!” said Rupert, stepping forward and trying to be helpful as always. “The money from the bar till.”
Rupert held the tiny pink purse up as if he were posing for the press.
“I demand that you release me,” said Felix, who had been waiting for his opportunity. The policeman came off Felix’s back and lifted him to his feet. Felix