Penny Plain, page 3
Emma, remembering her own mistakes at that age in her first post, had a sneaking sympathy with Ireen, who invariably bore the brunt of their employer's periodical ill-humour.
'She'll learn, but you can't expect experience at barely seventeen, and you frighten her to death,' she said with a grin, and Marian looked quite pleased.
'A good thing, too,' she said. 'You might do a bit of nagging yourself instead of clearing up after her.'
'Well,' Emma said apologetically, 'I'm not very good at nagging. I had a dose of it myself at her age and it only makes you stupider still.'
'Where was that? At Wentworth?'
'No, I was with the Spooners later. I was supposed to have got past the apprentice stage by then.'
'Why did you leave? I should have thought you'd have found old Holly very dead and alive after them. I always think Mr. Spooner looks a bit of a lad. Is he?'
'I wouldn't know. The kennel staff had their own quarters and we didn't fraternize ' Emma answered so shortly that Marian raised an enquiring eyebrow, but she only said:
'Oh, well, I don't suppose the poor devil has much opportunity. Mrs. S. keeps him pretty well tied to
her skirts at shows. I wonder if they'll be there on Wednesday. They were showing a rather nice little bitch at Windsor.'
Emma was looking forward to the show which, although not a Championship, was one of the bigger Open events run in conjunction with the County Agricultural. They got off to a good start in the estate car which Marian used for shows, with Flight and a couple of youngsters in the back, and when the car was finally parked and they made their way on to the showground, jostled and jostling in the chattering stream of arrivals, the old familiar nervous tension took hold of Emma.
Marian had gone on ahead, leaving Emma to get the dogs vetted, and as she moved slowly up the queue, every so often catching the eye of someone she knew, she had a sudden incongruous mental image of the stranger who had knocked her down in the village and was inadvertently responsible for this change of luck. She could see the arrogant tilt of the dark head, the beaky nose and the quizzical lift of the eyebrows as plainly as if he was standing there in the marquee where the vets in their white coats were inspecting and passing on the stream of dogs crossing the long trestles one by one. Just as she was craning her neck for a better view, however, someone prodded her again with a testy injunction to get on with it, and she found her turn with the vet had come at last. When she looked again the man had gone. Probably it was just a fleeting likeness, she thought, becoming aware of Marian gesticulating impatiently from where she was waiting at the exit.
'Come on!' she cried. 'There are only two classes to go before Novice and I want to get the dogs benched. The Spooners are here with that bitch, so I suppose they'll win the Open. They seemed surprised you
were working for me now, and she said how fortunate I had no husband, which I thought a bit catty, and –oh, yes – there's been a last-minute change of judge, isn't it sickening?'
'Oh. Who've they got?'
`Dawson. Still, it shouldn't make any difference. He once tried to buy Flight, and there's nothing here to touch him.'
They had reached the tent where the Alsatians were benched and Emma was glad that she was well occupied with settling the dogs and securing their chains. When she straightened up, rather flushed, to take the catalogue which Marian held out to her open at their classification, she said quite calmly:
'I think, in that case, you'd better take Flight in the ring yourself, Marian.'
`For heaven's sake, why?'
'I think Dawson would probably put me down.'
'Why the heck? You're only a kennelmaid handling someone else's exhibit, so there can't be any question of personal rivalry. Anyway, I thought he was one of the honest ones.'
'He's a good judge. I just think—'
'Oh, fiddle! You've just got cold feet! I'd take him in myself if I thought he'd show for me, but you know you get the best out of him, and I don't want a dog that already has one Certificate to be bumped at an Open show.'
'Well, you know, there's a feeling among some people that Certificate winners should stick to Championship shows and give others a chance,' Emma said, but Marian merely looked annoyed.
'Well, it's done, isn't it?' she snapped. 'And this is hardly like the little local shows one gets all round the country. In Varieties other breeds don't hesitate
to show their Champions, so Dawson, being an all-rounder, won't care.'
`Yes, well ...' said Emma rather lamely, and Marian began attending to her make-up and hair, already more concerned for her own appearance in the two classes in which she was to handle herself.
Emma set about preparing Jester, the young dog Marian had bred, and hoped she would have luck with him. When the dog was ready she took him up to the ringside to hand over to Marian, then sat down to watch the judging.
Frank Dawson was making a good job of it, she thought dispassionately, but then he was an old hand at the game and knew just what he wanted.... He had always known what he wanted, even to the adulation of a raw little girl who could have mattered nothing at all to him, she thought, but, like all vain men, he would not forget a slight, however little it had meant at the time.... Marian was posing Jester now, fussing him too much, murmuring self-consciously to the judge as he bent to handle her exhibit. She looked charming and expensive, Emma thought, but Dawson, if he found himself attracted, was not the man to give himself away until the moment suited. Having examined Marian's exhibit, he dismissed her to the side of the ring with the mechanical smile he reserved for everyone and went on to the next.
Emma felt herself relaxing. If Dawson had seen her, he made no sign, and indeed, she thought, regaining her sense of proportion, why should he? It was only too possible that he wouldn't even remember her after two years.
Marian was unplaced, but came third in the next class, and when they broke for lunch, she tried to waylay the judge for an opinion, but he only smiled
politely and walked away with his stewards. Emma watched him go, reflecting that he had changed very little. He was a tall, thin man, who was probably in his late forties, but his hair, which had been fair and in greying merely looked platinum blond, lent him a false air of youth, and the experienced lines in his narrow face seemed puckish rather than ageing Emma supposed he might be considered attractive by a great many women, and certainly Marian seemed to think so.
`Quite a dish, our Mr. Dawson,' she said, when she helped Emma to carry the luncheon hamper to a shady spot under the trees. 'I've never seen him close to before. Is he married?'
'I believe there was a wife once upon a time, but nobody's ever seen her,' Emma replied.
'You sound as if you know him personally. Do you?' 'Not as you mean it. I worked for him once for a short time.'
`Did you? You are a dark horse, Emma! You never told me you'd had so many jobs when I engaged you.'
'You never asked me. Anyway, I've only had three. Mr. Dawson when I first started, then the Spooners and then Holly. You only wanted one reference.'
'Oh, don't think I'm suspicious, darling, only interested. I'm really very lucky to get someone as young as you are who's had a decent training. Emma, Flight must win today. The judge for Wilchester is here and will be having a good look, and someone's been putting it about that Flight's gone shy. Oh, I know it was my own fault because I handle him badly and he did look shy at Windsor — that's why you must take him today. You can't have been serious when you said Dawson might put you down — unless, of course, you left him under a cloud or something.'
`No, I didn't leave under a cloud, and I don't
suppose it would affect his judging even if I had,' said Emma. 'Will you spread the rug, Marian, and I'll unpack the hamper.'
When judging was resumed Emma went back to the bench to get Flight ready and give him a run before going into the ring. As she exercised him loose under the trees, she experienced again that thrill which near perfection could bring her which had nothing to do with the emotional attachment she felt for the dog.
She met the Spooners exercising their bitch and would have passed by with a casual greeting, but Mrs. Spooner stopped to run a critical eye over Flight. Her husband mumbled a salutation, but did not meet Emma's glance, and Mrs. Spooner observed:
'H'm ... doesn't seem much wrong with his temperament, but you had quite a way with the shy ones, Emma, I will give you.'
'Flight isn't shy, he's only sensitive. He just got into bad habits,' Emma replied a little shortly.
'And no wonder, with that ham-fisted girl pulling him about without a clue. I was surprised to hear you're working for her, Emma, but no doubt after poor old Holly's bread-and-scrape, a bit of ostentatious luxury is a pleasant change.'
'I left Miss Hollis only because she couldn't afford to keep me any longer. I was extremely happy working for her,' Emma said, giving her erstwhile employer a very straight look, and the woman laughed unpleasantly.
'Implying, I suppose, that you were not happy with us. Well, you have only yourself to thank when things went wrong, my dear,' she said, and the knowing look she directed at her husband seemed to embarrass him further.
'We'd best be getting back to the ring, now Elsa's
had her run,' he muttered, and his wife looked amused.
'They haven't done Open dog yet, so there's no hurry for the bitches,' she said. 'It's Emma who had better be getting back if the glamorous Miss Mills is waiting to take over.'
'I'm handling today, Mrs. Spooner,' Emma said, then wished she had let the woman find out for herself when she countered meaningly:
'Of course, a change of judge! I'd forgotten that
under Dawson your chances could be said to be better than most. There are no flies on Marian Mills, even
if it does mean admitting her own lack of skill.'
Emma went back to the ring with all her restored
confidence ebbing away. The assumption that Marian
knew of that past connection with Dawson and was cashing in was as distasteful as the knowledge that, if she won, the Spooners would undoubtedly set rumours circulating, but as she walked into the ring, and saw the flicker of recognition in the judge's eyes as they rested on her for an instant, she was certain, as she had told Marian, that he would put her down. Well, it was too late now to insist on changing handlers, and she went through the familiar routine, trying to rid her mind of everything but the dog's reactions. Only when she had to pose him alone in the centre of the ring and had for those few minutes Dawson's individual attention did she feel conscious of any personal element, but he asked his questions
without a flicker of interest, made careful notes, and
when he had finished his inspection, dismissed her with the same mechanical smile he had awarded to Marian and everyone else.
Emma slipped away, and sat on one of the ringside benches to wait. The stewards were calling for puppy bitches to come into the ring, and she did not notice
Dawson get up from the judge's table and stroll towards her.
'Well, Penny Plain, so you're in circulation again,' he said, and sat down beside her.
She glanced up at him quickly, annoyed to feel herself colouring, and wished she had not chosen to wait so conspicuously by the momentarily deserted ringside. Penny Plain. . . . She remembered, as if it was yesterday, his refusal to call her Emma. A prim, dull name, he had told her with flattering consideration, and enquired if she had any others. He had shortened her second name to its diminutive, and added the rest of it with his periodical liking to tease.
'Good afternoon, Mr. Dawson. You have a nice entry,' she said, trying to sound politely casual, and his eyes silently mocked her.
'You thought I was going to put you down, didn't you?' he said.
'It was what you intended me to think, wasn't it?'
'How like a woman to harp on personalities. I wasn't averse to making you sweat a little, I must own, but I was also justifying my decision to the critical ringside. There was, of course, nothing to touch your dog when it came to movement.'
Emma was silent, feeling a little foolish. She ought to have known that Frank Dawson was much too good a judge to be swayed either by personal feelings or public opinion. Even if he had confessed to enjoying her own discomfiture, he would have been more concerned with making his placings quite clear to the ringside.
`So you've landed a nice cushy job with our latest recruit to fame and fortune — not that the fortune's lacking from all one hears, only the know-how,' he said.
`You can't come by know-how all in a minute,'
Emma replied rather sharply. 'People should be more tolerant instead of sneering at natural mistakes.'
'Very properly spoken, as becomes a loyal employee,' he said, his thin face creasing into its familiar puckish lines. 'And don't think I have any objection to the monied amateur. With a little judicious guidance, they can do a lot for the breed. She's an attractive piece into the bargain, if a trifle over-decorative for the occasion. You must introduce me later.' He got to his feet as Marian came hurrying towards them, delighted to seize the opportunity at last of speaking to him, but he waved her aside, saying that the next lass was ready for him and he would be pleased to answer any questions when the judging was finished.
'Honestly!' Marian exclaimed, affronted, as he walked away. 'It wouldn't have hurt him to be civil —he seemed to have plenty to say to you!'
'He was merely being circumspect. He's got to decide the Best of Breed yet, so it's better not to be seen hobnobbing with the possible winner halfway through the show,' Emma said prosaically, and Marian's pouts turned to smiles.
'Oh, yes, of course, how silly of me,' she said. 'I think, when the time comes, I'll take him in myself, Emma.'
It was not Emma's place to make objections, but the decision proved to be disastrous. Flight, subjected unexpectedly to inexpert handling, went to pieces, not only giving a good imitation of a dog that was shy, but straining towards the side of the ring to get at Emma who stood there watching. Marian lost her temper and slapped him across the muzzle, which completed his disintegration, and Dawson could do no other than award the supreme honour to the Spooners' bitch.
Marian came out of the ring nearly in tears, too
humiliated to care whether her behaviour should label her as a bad loser.
'It's all your fault!' she shouted at Emma. 'Why did you have to stand where he could see you? Did you want to make a fool of me? You've certainly made a fool of the dog, weaning him away from me with all this silly attention as a house pet ... he'll go straight back to kennels when we get home, and you'll forget about him till he's learnt who owns him, do you hear?'
'Be quiet, Marian!' Emma said in a sharp whisper, hoping her well-intentioned warning would not be mistaken for impertinence, but her heart was sick within her. Marian, having caught the significant glances exchanged between certain exhibitors within earshot, was already looking a little ashamed, and Dawson, choosing that moment to reward at last Marian's efforts to make contact with him, strolled across to them and observed:
'You should have let your little kennelmaid finish the job, Miss Mills. The dog dearly has a preference for her.'
Marian might act like a spoilt child at times, but her sense of occasion was never far off, thought Emma, admiring the ease with which she regained her poise and smiled up at the judge.
'Yes, I should, shouldn't I? Emma, of course, is much the better handler. I'm still very new at this game,' she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him, and he smiled.
'Are you? I shouldn't have thought it,' he replied with a slight drawl, and she coloured sufficiently to betray recognition of a possible double meaning and dimpled delightfully.
'I've been wanting to meet you, Mr. Dawson,' she said. 'You have so many irons in the fire, haven't you? Buying and selling for export and things. Perhaps
you could find me a really good bitch. Emma says—'
'Penny Plain seems full of wisdom,' he interrupted lazily. 'I'm sure she must have quoted the old saying that a kennel is as good as its bitches. It's true, you know.'
'Penny Plain? What an odd nickname. Is that what you called her when she worked for you?'
'That, among other things. Her second name happens to be Penelope and I never cared for Emma –but we're embarrassing the poor child, she never liked my pet name for her.'
'Probably because it was too appropriate, Mr. Dawson. At seventeen one is rather sensitive about one's looks,' said Emma, refusing to rise, as she once had, to his oblique methods of drawing blood, but he merely smiled and answered carelessly,
'No reference to your looks was intended, my dear, simply association with another old saying – one of my nurse's, I rather fancy. Yes, Miss Mills, I can find you a first-class brood, if you're really serious, and I think you should be if you intend to build up a top-class kennel. Come and have a drink with me and we'll work out your existing bloodlines and see what's needed.'
He did not extend his invitation to Emma and she watched them walk away in the direction of the refreshment tent. Emma went off to get herself a cup of tea, glad that the day was nearly over, glad, too, to find that she had outgrown the confusion and trepidation of early youth. Whether or not at the time, Dawson's pet name for her had been a teasing reminder of her adolescent lack of charm no longer mattered, and she thought she knew which old nursery saying he was referring to now and agreed 'with its moral. Penny plain, two pence coloured ... If, thought Emma, the apt comparison had only that
instant occurred to the nimble-witted Mr. Dawson, he had nevertheless hit the nail on the head. In every respect and without the slightest effort, the well-endowed Miss Mills was two pence coloured ...
