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‘Storm Minnie has been upgraded from a yellow to amber weather warning, wind gusts of up to 80 miles an hour are expected,’ the announcer said, and everyone in the bar glanced at one another. Not that the locals were too worried. This was coastal Devon, after all. High winds and rain were nothing they couldn’t sit out.
Monty returned from the kitchen with Jowan’s sandwich and stayed to prop up the bar. ‘Someone should tell your Borrower about Storm Minnie,’ he said.
‘He’s from Iceland,’ Jowan reminded everyone. ‘Surely he’ll be used to worse than this.’ Jowan took a bite, making Marie Rose sauce and frilly lettuce ooze out between the bread.
‘Hardy, Icelanders are, I imagine,’ Finan added.
‘Still, we should pop in and see him, shouldn’t we?’ Jude told Elliot, placing her fork down on their now empty plate. ‘Make sure Magnús has everything he needs?’
‘That’ll be our cue to leave,’ Elliot announced, lifting his long, athletic body off the bar stool as the pub door opened and everyone turned, expecting the mysterious, grumpy Icelander to step inside as though just talking about him had summoned him.
Instead a dripping hooded Barbour rustled through the door, and somewhere underneath it was Minty. Behind her, shaking a green golf umbrella, was Bovis, her red-faced estate manager.
Elliot threw Jude a look that begged her to hurry up with her coat and scarf. Now they definitely weren’t hanging about.
Minty marched up to the bar, passing her coat to Bovis to deal with. Everything she did was brisk and clipped, as though she permanently had a debutante ball to attend in the next ten minutes and the whole thing would fall apart without her.
Bella set down a double gin and tonic for her without Minty having to ask. Bovis never drank anything on these visits. He leaned on the counter behind his employer, watching everyone talk. It was extremely disconcerting.
‘Bally donkeys!’ Minty said, smoothing her yellow-blonde bob before taking a long drink.
‘Everything all right?’ Jude asked, making Elliot wince. He’d thrown on his coat and was making for the door already. Any longer and he’d be inveigled in another of Minty’s barmy local traditions and he’d had enough of them to last a lifetime, but Jude was forever interested in the local goings-on.
Minty continued. ‘Do you think that raggedy old Moira will get out of her stall when the wind’s up? No she will not!’
‘Umm?’ Jude was at a loss for how to respond to this.
‘She needs to get to the chapel with the rest of the creatures,’ Minty added.
Jude tipped her head to the side, hoping it would make sense any second now.
‘For the donkey blessing? On Wednesday?’ Minty threw in, before taking another long drink. She was always conspicuously exasperated at Jude’s lack of understanding.
Jowan took over, thankfully. ‘Long ago, the village donkeys were walked to the little chapel on Minty’s estate for a Christmas blessing, a way of thanking them for their hard work dragging the shoals and the coal up and down the slope. Our Mint had the idea of bringing it back, since the donkeys are just as much a part of village life now that they’re rescues up at the sanctuary. They’re quite the tourist attraction.’
‘Ah! OK, that sounds like a nice idea. So what’s the problem?’ Jude asked, and she was sure she heard Elliot exhaling sharply by the door. His hand had been almost on the latch.
‘Well,’ Minty said. ‘It’s all organised. The school children have been practising “Little Donkey” on the recorder all month long and the minister’s had his orders about the service.’
Nobody seemed to hear Elliot mutter, ‘I bet he has,’ under his breath, except for Bovis who kept his narrowed eyes fixed on him.
Bovis was Minty’s eyes and ears around the village. Any trouble, he’d spot it. He was in a state of permanent subservience and suspicion. It made Elliot shudder.
Minty talked on. ‘Moira and a couple of the other donkeys don’t like walking out in the bad weather, and you can’t blame them, really. Mr Moke from the sanctuary’s on leave to visit family for Christmas or else he’d help. I’ve got some of the estate men tending to their feeding and exercise, but they’re no donkey-whisperers. How will they get to the chapel for my candlelit service to celebrate them when the brutes won’t set hoof out of their stalls in a squall?’
With that she threw her head back and drained her gin as though it were water. When she clinked her glass back on the bar and straightened her green body warmer she seemed to have regained her usual poise. ‘What’s needed is an animal expert. Someone who can coax the donkeys out on a dark night.’
All eyes turned to see the back of Elliot’s head and his broad shoulders in the door frame as they slumped in resignation.
Jude said, ‘If that’s all, I’m sure Elliot doesn’t mind helping. He is the village vet, after all.’
With a thin smile of acceptance from him – met with Minty’s triumphantly sparkling eyes – Elliot Desvaux found himself involved in Clove Lore estate’s great Christmas donkey-blessing ceremony. Ticketed of course, and with all proceeds going to restore the estate chapel roof. The words ‘not for profit’ meant nothing to Minty.
‘And there’s a cocktail party,’ she added to soothe the blow. ‘Christmas drinks for a select few in the ballroom afterwards. You will all join us, won’t you.’ It wasn’t a question.
Once outside and on the tramp up the cobbled slope to the visitor centre car park where Diane, Jude’s trusty old van, was waiting, Jude tried to encourage Elliot to see the bright side.
‘It’ll be nice to experience another local tradition brought back to life, won’t it? You don’t get many donkey blessings in the Borders, so it’ll be a first for me.’
