Catch Of the Day

Mrs. Lockhart, supervisor of nurses at the local hospital, had been avidly pursuing Siegfried for weeks. Tristan had bailed us out of a scrape, partly by playing on her obvious infatuation with his brother. He had even led her to believe that Siegfried might enjoy being chased about by a stalwart soul such as herself, implying that his brother was “a bit timid”. Tristan was now enjoying the fruits of his labor immensely. I have to admit, so was I.

Siegfried, never shy about making his presence known, was now slinking about town like a wanted criminal. He'd even given up his favorite hat in favor of a battered workman's cap he'd filched from the neighbor's dustbin. “Perfectly serviceable. Disgusting how wasteful people have become,” he'd said, giving it a quick dust off.

“Charming effect”, Tristan had replied, surveying him critically. “I know where you could find an equally objectionable jacket to complete the ensemble.”

“You would, wouldn't you. You're a repository of information on less than wholesome things. Including those filthy cigarettes forever dangling from your lips.”

“Perhaps if you took up smoking, you'd discourage your current paramour.” Tristan took a long drag, inhaling blissfully.

Siegfried studied him for a second. “Why do I feel your hand in this somewhere? Oh, never mind. That was a foolish thing to say. At any rate, I'm off on rounds. Do try and remember to attend to surgery this morning; I know it's a struggle for you to fit it into your schedule.”

And off he'd gone, moving quickly, staying close to the wall, then dashing for the car, jumping in, and roaring off down the road.

Later that day, I'd stopped in town to pick up a few things. As I stepped from the shop onto the sidewalk, I saw the unmistakable hulk of Gladys Lockhart across the street. Strangely enough, she didn't appear to be doing much of anything. Then, as she turned to look down the street, I saw a disheveled, hunched over figure shoot out of an alley and into the bakery. It stood in the front window, beckoning me. Not sure what to do, I stood rooted to the spot. What did this strange figure want with me? The figure appeared at the door again, took off it's hat and waved frantically.

“Siegfried!” I called, realizing too late that he was desperately trying to shake a pursuer. Mrs. Lockhart raised her head, like a wolfhound sniffing the air for it's quarry. I started across the street, but I was no match for the woman's giant strides.

“Naughty boy! I've been looking for you. We hadn't quite finished our discussion of Puss's troubles. Of course, I understand you're a very busy man, so you needn't apologize. We'll just continue it over lunch, shall we?” She patted his cheek. “You're a little peaky looking. What you need is a good woman to make sure you're eating properly. And you simply must call me Gladys.”

Siegfried shot me a look of pure misery. “James, I'm sure you're exhausted after being up half of the night, and then several cases this morning. I'd be happy to take the rest of your rounds.”

“Actually, I feel rather chipper,” I replied, “and I've finished morning calls.” I was toying with the idea of abandoning him altogether, but the sight of any suffering creature, even my mercurial boss, always brought out my soft heart.

“Suppose we all have lunch at the Drover's,” I suggested.

Siegfried looked somewhat relieved, while Mrs. Lockhart gave me a murderous glance. I made a mental note to stay out of range of those large hands in the immediate future.

At the Drover's, a game of musical chairs commenced, as Siegfried and I fought for an opposing chair from Gladys. Siegfried stealthily tried to use his body to block the coveted seat, but I managed to slither behind him and into it, which left him with the one next to Gladys. He sighed and pulled out Gladys's chair for her, then seated himself.

“Such a gentleman,” she simpered.

She placed her hands in her lap, and Siegfried suddenly jumped. His face turned white, then red.

“Oh dear, I'm so sorry. I was reaching for my napkin. It must have fallen on the floor.” Gladys produced her napkin with a little wave. “Here it is.”

I was biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, and wishing with all of my heart that Tristan could join us, to see his brother's discomfiture. My glass of bitter tasted extraordinarily good.

Gladys had ordered an orange squash and was sipping at it daintily, eying Siegfried over the glass. Thankfully, our sandwiches arrived quickly, which allowed us an excuse for limiting conversation.

Gladys consumed half of hers in several large bites, then daintily dabbed her lips with her napkin. Siegfried, seeing the napkin, was already sliding halfway off his chair to avoid another “inadvertent” leg grab under the table.

I hadn't had such an entertaining lunch in months.

Then, inspiration struck.

“Siegfried, you know, the Hunt Ball is coming up. Have you invited anyone yet?”

The results of my little sally went far beyond my expectations. Siegfried, caught off guard, choked on his mouthful of beef sandwich. Gladys immediately yanked him out of his chair (no small feat, but then she looked to be about six feet tall, and considerably heavier than him) and wrapped two enormous arms around him. She gave him a mighty squeeze, as he struggled vainly to escape. The sight of my partner, head disappearing into that mighty bosom, the rest of him engulfed in those arms, was just too much. I started to laugh.

“You beast. He could have died.” She glared at me, then placed Siegfried's rather limp form back in his chair. “There, there, lamb. I'll take good care of you.”

“I think James had best take me home,” said Siegfried hoarsely.

“Now, you've had a nasty shock. I'll just go along and...”

Enough was enough, at least for the day.

“That's good of you, Mrs. Lockhart, but really, you know how tongues will wag. It wouldn't look...shall we say...appropriate for you to spend too much time at Skeldale. You know, alone there, with three men. And Siegfried is very concerned about your appearance. I mean, appearances.” I called over one of the locals from the bar. “Here, Tom, just give me a hand with Mr. Farnon.”

Tom, and a few other bar patrons, had been watching the proceedings with interest. Tristan would soon get a full account of his brother's travails. Together, we helped Siegfried out the door, down the steps, and into my car.

“I'll be bringing Puss to surgery tomorrow!” she called as we were leaving.

Siegfried groaned. “I wonder if Tristan would take morning surgery again tomorrow.”

“Probably not,” I replied, knowing Tristan.

“Then, God help me.”

Siegfried missed breakfast the next morning, which was highly unusual. Tristan had finished his, and was enjoying the newspaper and a smoke.

“Siegfried out already?” I asked, assuming he'd bolted early to avoid Mrs. Lockhart, and leaving Tris and me to battle over morning surgery.

“I doubt it. I turned the clock in his bedroom back two hours last night.” He delicately licked a finger and turned a page. “He's probably still in bed, dreaming away,” he continued, turning another page. He looked up, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I stopped for a pint last night. There's some interesting tales circulating these days.”

I smiled. “You mean your brother's most recent female conquest.”

“Possibly his last, by the sound of things. Shhh...” he said, cocking his head. “I think I hear some faint rumblings.”

There were footfalls on the stairs, the sound of the door opening in the surgery, a few muffled coughs. Tristan leaped off the chair and into the hallway. “Siegfried! Good morning! Glad to see you up in time for surgery. In fact,” he said, pointing at the hall clock, “for someone who's forever lecturing me on the evils of lying abed, you're rather late in greeting the morning.”

There was a moment of silence. “Blast! The clock in my room must have stopped. Why in bloody hell didn't you wake me?”

“I'd sooner poke a viper with a stick,” replied Tristan. “Besides, I've been very busy this morning. In fact, I was just leaving.” He caught up his bag and opened the front door. “By the way, perhaps we'll have lunch together someday at the Drover's. Feel free to bring a lady friend,” he flung over his shoulder on his way out.

Siegfried aimed a solid kick at the door.

I felt it best to disappear into the surgery. Siegfried followed close behind. “James, a word if you please. I've just remembered...” He was interrupted by a tap on the waiting room door. I was pretty sure he was about to try to slip away, and leave me to face Gladys and her spoiled, overfed cat. I busied myself with my bag, keeping an eye on Siegfried. He sighed heavily, put on his glasses, and visibly gathered himself; then he opened the door.

There stood a little girl, with something wrapped in a towel. My relief at the non-appearance of Gladys was replaced by a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Siegfried knelt down and pulled a corner of the towel away.

“Hmmm, I see.” He looked over my way, and arched an eyebrow. There was just the hint of a smile, and I felt immediate relief. A form wrapped in a towel or blanket usually contained a traumatically injured animal of some sort, but apparently this wasn't the case.

“Have a look, James,” he said quietly.

For a second, I thought it was a real cat; but on closer inspection, I could see that it was a stuffed toy. It had obviously been chewed up by a dog, who'd been delighted to get it's paws on a cat without teeth and claws.

“You'd like me to fix him for you?” asked Siegfried.

The little girl nodded, and wiped away a tear with a grimy fist.

“Tell you what. You leave him here until dinner time, and I'll see what I can do. And you mustn't cry. Here, have a sweet.” He pulled the usual assortment of candy, string and loose change from his pocket, sorted through it, and gave her a peppermint. “Go on, off with you,” he grumbled in mock ferocity. She gave him a toothy grin and scrambled out the door.

Siegfried scratched his head thoughtfully. “Well, this is a first. What do you make her, James, five, six years old? Of course, imaginary things are very real at that age. But fancy a child having the intelligence to bring it here.” He turned it over, checking the extent of the damage. “It'll certainly be one of our more tractable patients.” He grabbed a chunk of cotton wool and some suturing material.

It might seem rather odd, Siegfried taking on a repair job that should have been left to the child's mother, but then again, if one word had to be chosen to sum up his character, it would have to be contrary. The man who once lectured me on the evils of waste in the business was now prepared to use suturing materials to fix a grimy, slightly sodden, child's toy. I liked him all the more for it.

He had already gotten to work when I heard someone else come into the waiting area. “Won't be a minute,” he called. “Right, James, we'll just wrap this up quickly.” I saw a figure out of the corner of my eye.

“Ummm, Siegfried,” I started.

“Yes, yes, I know,” he replied, “the damned thing's lost half it's insides.” He snatched up the cotton wool. “Here, we'll just stuff it with this, and no one will be the wiser.” He pummeled another wad in. “There, now a few stitches,” he bent his head down a moment, “and voila!” He picked the toy up and tossed it to me.

At which point Gladys, who'd been standing at the door, let out a scream.

“Cruel! Cruel, horrible man! How could you!” She was already out the door, no doubt headed for the police station.

Siegfried had collapsed into a chair, laughing. “Did you see her face, James? Priceless, absolutely priceless. My own dear brother couldn't have orchestrated things better. I imagine hordes of villagers will be descending on us shortly, with torches and pitchforks.”

I laughed as well. “I believe they used them up at Christmas, chasing Tristan in his camel costume. Still, it should brighten the day for Constable Warren. Things have been a bit dull lately.” I went over and wrung his hand. “Don't take it too hard, losing the lovely Gladys. I'm sure your one true love will be along eventually.”

“One thing's for sure, James. Here at Skeldale, things are never, ever, dull.”