Dean Spanley Page #8

side by side, heading for home, and the next...

we were not.

I cannot say what happened.

Perhaps it was a dream

and I wakened from it.

Was there any pain?

Pain? No, I cannot say there was.

All I can remember

is how clear the night was,

with the moon-cast shadows

and the earth rising underneath me,

and home in my heart

and the Master waiting.

But no, no pain.

I am most glad to hear it.

If you will excuse me.

Did I say something to upset you, sir?

No, no, no, not at all.

I am put in memory of my son Harrington.

That is all.

Erm...

Harrington was, erm...

killed in the Boer War...

returning from a patrol.

That's all we know.

The, erm... body was never recovered.

Are you all right, Mr Fisk?

He was shot.

Yes.

Oh. There, there.

Better late than never, Mr Fisk.

Come with me.

In you go, Mr Fisk.

Sit yourself down.

He does mither on, that dean of yours.

I do hope whatever I said

did not upset him.

Excuse me. I was talking

to Mrs Brimley about the old days.

Thank you, Dean, for coming.

It was a memorable evening.

No, thank you, sir.

I fear the Tokay

rendered me somewhat unsociable.

It has a tendency

to make me withdraw into myself.

Not at all. You were all

that could be hoped for in a guest.

You know your way home from here?

Just turn towards it

is the best way, I'm told.

I'm going in the dean's direction.

I'll see that he gets there this time.

- Good of you to come, Mr Wrather.

- Wouldn't have missed it for the world.

- Good night, sir.

- Good night.

You know, Mr Wrather,

I have the most persistent notion

that we have met before.

One often feels that about colonials,

Dean.

Yes, I have heard that said.

Nevertheless...

You're not in the market for a new rug,

are you? I've this good friend in Marrakesh.

Marrakesh?

Colourful, exciting place,

if you know the right people.

- I know the right people.

- Something of an adventure, I imagine.

He can put away the Tokay,

I'll say that for the dean.

I thought for a moment

we might have had to open the third bottle.

Oh, two was ample, I think.

He goes on a bit

when he's in his cups, though.

Thank you, Father.

One moment you are running along,

the next you are no more.

Well...

- I will see you next Thursday.

- Or any day that suits.

Mustn't get too set in our ways.

Good night, Henslowe.

Good night, Father.

God knows

what they were on about.

Something about rabbits tasting better

with their fur on.

You won't catch me cooking them,

that's all I can tell you.

Then, he comes in here.

First time in God knows how long.

And he stands...

looking at that photograph,

sobbing his heart out.

Morning, Mrs Brimley.

- It's not Thursday, you know.

- No, I know.

- How's Father?

- Well, I don't know, really.

Here, boy!

Wasn't my idea, you know.

The day after that dinner,

he sent me round to see

that friend of yours, the one who was here.

- Mr Wrather?

- Sent me round with a letter, he did.

Next day he shows up with a dog.

- What kind of dog?

- Oh, one of those, erm...

- Oh, like before.

- A spaniel?

Must be one of the seven.

Clever boy!

One's quite enough

in this house, thank you very much.

It's already chewed a cushion.

He's in the garden.

Imagine, Mr Fisk in the garden.

He'll be growing roses next.

Twist!

That was the end of my talks

with Dean Spanley,

although my father

sometimes saw him at the club.

Don't know what they talked about,

if anything.

As for the question of reincarnation,

I resolved to wait and see,

albeit with more anticipation

than hitherto.

And should I find myself

in the form of a dog,

I trust I will be so fortunate

as to belong to a master

as kind as my father.

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