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There’s no reply. It strikes me that there’s no sign of Archie either and there’s no way that the cat would be out in this cold by choice.
‘Dominic! Dominic!’ Panic is rising now in my chest. I fly out of the house and go next door to Mike’s place. But there’s no one home. His cottage, too, is in darkness. ‘Jesus Christ,’ I mutter. ‘What now?’
I go back to Little Cottage and get a torch. I’m going to have to look around the village to see if Dominic is anywhere to be found. I’m worried to see that his new coat is still on the peg by the door.
Out in the darkness in the lane, I switch on the torch. ‘Dominic!’ I pace towards the centre of the village, shouting as I go. Fear has gripped me. Where can he be? Where can he have gone? I even try my Maasai noise and whistle the 24 ringtone as I walk, even though my mouth is dry. Nothing. It might be of some use in the wide open plains of Africa, but here, where everyone is shut in their own little homes, it seems pointless.
As I get to the post office-cum-village store, Mrs Appleby is just closing up for the night. ‘All right, dearie?’ she asks.
‘I’m looking for someone,’ I pant breathlessly.
‘Dominic?’
I take a step back. ‘You know Dominic?’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘What a lovely man. I’m so pleased for you.’ She smiles as she touches my arm, then notes my puzzled face. ‘He came into the shop today and introduced himself. Caused a bit of a stir yesterday going through the gardens in the wee small hours. I don’t think Mrs Peterman will ever be quite the same again.’ Mrs Appleby giggles. ‘He’s the source of a lot of gossip.’
‘I’m sure he is.’
‘Is he not at home?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m really worried about him.’
Mrs Appleby purses her lips. ‘I did see him going off arm-in-arm with Mrs Duston, but that was hours ago.’
Arm-in-arm with Mrs Duston? She’s the rather frosty lady who heads up The Nashley Church Flower Committee, one of the top positions of power in the village. What the hell is she doing with Dominic?
‘I’d check her house, dearie,’ Mrs Appleby advises. ‘He might still be there.’
With renewed energy and armed with Mrs Appleby’s information, I head off to the neat cottage where Mrs Duston lives. I open the gate in her immaculate white picket fence then, in the darkness, I rap on her front door. A moment later she opens it to me, all smiles.
‘I’m looking for Dominic,’ I say, anxiously. ‘Mrs Appleby says you might have seen him.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she says. ‘Come on in.’
‘He’s here?’
‘Yes, yes. Your young man has kept us entertained all afternoon.’
‘He has?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Mrs Duston titters girlishly. ‘He’s quite the one.’
Bemused, I step through the neat porch and into the living room. There, in the middle of half a dozen elderly ladies, my loved one is holding court. He’s wearing his traditional clothing and has a glass of milk in his hand. In front of the fire, Archie is stretched out, sleeping contentedly on the rug.
‘Just Janie.’ He stands up when he sees me and whacks his head on a beam.
‘I was worried about you,’ I tell him.
‘You should not be.’ He surveys the room. ‘These very nice ladies have made me feel at home.’
There’s more girly tittering from women who are, quite patently, old enough to know better. These are the ladies of the village who have lost their husbands, the elderly widows who have replaced the loves of their lives with carnations and chrysanthemums and cut roses. The love and attention that they would have lavished on their men folk now go on the flowers for the church. But how can that hole in your life ever be filled by a few pretty floral arrangements? It’s no wonder that they’re keen to embrace my handsome Maasai warrior.
‘Dominic has agreed to do a talk in the village hall,’ Mrs Stevens says, hands fluttering to her throat excitedly. ‘All about his life in the Maasai Mara, and the wild animals he has wrestled.’
I raise my eyebrows at him, but he does nothing but grin. You flirt, I think.
‘He’s going to look after us all,’ says Mrs Peterman, the woman who complained about him to the police. ‘I’ll sleep happier in my bed knowing that Dominic is around.’
I swear that she bats her eyelashes at him.
‘Oh, really.’ I give him a look, but his face is completely guileless. ‘Well, thank you for looking after him, ladies. That was very kind of you.’
‘Oh, no trouble,’ Mrs Duston assures me. ‘No trouble at all.’ Then to Dominic, ‘Drop by any afternoon, dearie. I’m usually here. It’s so lovely to have you.’
