All Things Bright and Beautiful Read online

  For about an hour I wandered among the pens of mountainous pigs and haughty sheep; the rows of Shorthorn cows with their classical wedge-shaped grace, their level udders and dainty feet.

  I watched in fascination a contest which was new to me; shirt-sleeved young men sticking a fork into a straw bale and hurling it high over a bar with a jerk of their thick brown arms.

  Old Steve Bramley, a local farmer, was judging the heavy horses and I envied him his massive authority as he stumped, bowler-hatted and glowering around each animal, leaning occasionally on his stick as he took stock of the points. I couldn’t imagine anyone daring to argue with him.

  It was late in the afternoon when the loudspeaker called me to my final duty. The Family Pets contestants were arranged on wooden chairs drawn up in a wide circle on the turf. They were mainly children but behind them an interested ring of parents and friends watched me warily as I arrived.

  The fashion of exotic pets was still in its infancy but I experienced a mild shock of surprise when I saw the variety of creatures on show. I suppose I must have had a vague mental picture of a few dogs and cats but I walked round the circle in growing bewilderment looking down at rabbits—innumerable rabbits of all sizes and colours—guinea pigs, white mice, several budgerigars, two tortoises, a canary, a kitten, a parrot, a Mynah bird, a box of puppies, a few dogs and cats and a goldfish in a bowl. The smaller pets rested on their owners’ knees, the others squatted on the ground.

  How, I asked myself, was I going to come to a decision here? How did you choose between a parrot and a puppy, a budgie and a bulldog, a mouse and a Mynah? Then as I circled it came to me; it couldn’t be done. The only way was to question the children in charge and find which ones looked after their pets best, which of them knew most about their feeding and general husbandry. I rubbed my hands together and repressed a chuckle of satisfaction; I had something to work on now.

  I don’t like to boast but I think I can say in all honesty that I carried out an exhaustive scientific survey of that varied group. From the outset I adopted an attitude of cold detachment, mercilessly banishing any ideas of personal preference. If I had been pleasing only myself I would have given first prize to a gleaming black Labrador sitting by a chair with massive composure and offering me a gracious paw every time I came near. And my second would have been a benevolent tabby—I have always had a thing about tabby cats—which rubbed its cheek against my hand as I talked to its owner. The pups, crawling over each other and grunting obesely, would probably have come third. But I put away these unworthy thoughts and pursued my chosen course.

  I was distracted to some extent by the parrot which kept saying “Hellow” in a voice of devastating refinement like a butler answering a telephone and the Mynah which repeatedly adjured me to “Shut door as you go out,” in a booming Yorkshire baritone.

  The only adult in the ring was a bosomy lady with glacial pop eyes and a white poodle on her knee. As I approached she gave me a challenging stare as though defying me to place her pet anywhere but first.

  “Hello, little chap,” I said, extending my hand. The poodle responded by drawing its lips soundlessly back from its teeth and giving me much the same kind of look as its owner. I withdrew my hand hastily.

  “Oh you needn’t be afraid of him,” the lady said frigidly. “He won’t hurt you.”

  I gave a light laugh. “I’m sure he won’t.” I held out my hand again. “You’re a nice little dog, aren’t you?” Once more the poodle bared his teeth and when I persevered by trying to stroke his ears he snapped noiselessly, his teeth clicking together an inch from my fingers.

  “He doesn’t like you, I can see that. Do you darling?” The lady put her cheek against the dog’s head and stared at me distastefully as though she knew just how he felt

  “Shut door as you go out,” commanded the Mynah gruffly from somewhere behind me.

  I gave the lady my questionnaire and moved on.

  And among the throng there was one who stood out; the little boy with the goldfish. In reply to my promptings he discoursed knowledgeably about his fish, its feeding, life history and habits. He even had a fair idea of the common diseases. The bowl, too, was beautifully clean and the water fresh; I was impressed.

  When I had completed the circuit I swept the ring for the last time with a probing eye. Yes, there was no doubt about it; I had the three prize winners fixed in my mind beyond any question and in an order based on strictly scientific selection. I stepped out into the middle.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, scanning the company with an affable smile.

  “Hellow,” responded the parrot fruitily.

  I ignored him and continued. “These are the successful entrants. First, number six, the goldfish. Second, number fifteen, the guinea pig. And third, number ten, the white kitten.”

  I half expected a little ripple of applause but there was none. In fact my announcement was greeted by a tight-lipped silence. I had noticed an immediate change in the atmosphere when I mentioned the goldfish. It was striking—a sudden cold wave which swept away the expectant smiles and replaced them with discontented muttering.

  I had done something wrong, but what? I looked around helplessly as the hum of voices increased. “What do you think of that then?” “Not fair, is it?” “Wouldn’t have thought it of him?” “All them lovely rabbits and he hardly looked at them.”

  I couldn’t make it out, but my job was done, anyway. I pushed between the chairs and escaped to the open field.

  “Shut door as you go out,” the Mynah requested in deepest bass as I departed.

  I sought out Tristan again. The atmosphere in the beer tent had changed, too. The drinkers were long since past their peak and the hilarious babel which had met me on my last visit had died to an exhausted murmur. There was a general air of satiation. Tristan, pint in hand, was being addressed with great solemnity by a man in a flat cap and braces. The man swayed slightly as he grasped Tristan’s free hand and gazed into his eyes. Occasionally he patted him on the shoulder with the utmost affection. Obviously my colleague had been forging deep and lasting friendships in here while I was making enemies outside.

  I sidled up to him and spoke into his ear. “Ready to go soon, Triss?”

  He turned slowly and looked at me. “No, old lad,” he said, articulating carefully. “I’m afraid I shan’t be coming with you. They’re having a dance here on the showfield later and Doreen has consented to accompany me.” He cast a loving glance across the counter at the redhead who crinkled her nose at him.

  I was about to leave when a snatch of conversation from behind made me pause.

  “A bloody goldfish!” a voice was saying disgustedly.

  “Aye, it’s a rum ’un, George,” a second voice replied.

  There was a slurping sound of beer being downed.

  “But tha knows, Fred,” the first voice said. “That vet feller had to do it. Didn’t ’ave no choice. He couldn’t pass over t’squire’s son.”

  “Reckon you’re right, but it’s a bugger when you get graft and corruption in t’Family Pets.”

  A heavy sigh, then “It’s the way thing are nowadays, Fred. Everything’s hulterior.”

  “You’re right there, George. It’s hulterior, that’s what it is.”

  I fought down a rising panic. The Pelhams had been Lords of the Manor of Darrowby for generations and the present squire was Major Pelham. I knew him as a friendly farmer client, but that was all. I’d never heard of his son.

  I clutched at Tristan’s arm. “Who is that little boy over there?”

  Tristan peered out glassily across the sward. “The one with the goldfish bowl, you mean?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s young Nigel Pelham, the squire’s son.”

  “Oh Gawd,” I moaned. “But I’ve never seen him before. Where’s he been?”

  “Boarding school down south, I believe. On holiday just now.”

  I stared at the boy again. Tousled fair hair, g