forest and the beaters disappeared behind the hedgerow boundary of the hunting ground. The drivers knew the routine and after a few minutes they were standing beside Ditlev with their coats buttoned and their gun barrels broken open. A few had dogs trotting at their side.
As always, the last to step forward was Torsten Florin. Plaid knickerbockers and a tailored, snug-fitting hunting coat was his unique combination for the day. He could attend a formal ball in that get-up.
Ditlev looked warily at a bird dog that had hopped from the rear of one of the four-wheel-drives at the last moment, and then he scanned the faces at the gathering. There was one participant he certainly hadn’t invited.
He leaned close to Bent Krum. ‘Who invited her, Krum?’ he whispered. Bent Krum, lawyer for Ditlev Pram, Torsten Florin and Ulrik Dybbøl Jensen, was also the one who coordinated their hunts. He was a versatile man who’d been putting out their fires for years and was now totally dependent on the ample sum they transferred into his bank account each month.
‘Your wife invited her, Ditlev,’ he responded softly. ‘She said Lissan Hjorth was welcome to come with her husband. Just so you know, she’s also a better shot than Hjorth.’
Better shot? Bloody hell, that had nothing to do with it. There were plenty of reasons why women weren’t allowed on Ditlev’s hunts – as if Krum didn’t know. Thelma, that bitch.
Ditlev put his hand on Hjorth’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, old boy, but your wife can’t come with us today,’ he said. Though he knew it would cause problems, he asked Hjorth to give the car keys to his wife. ‘She can drive down to the inn. I’ll call ahead and have them open up. And have her take your unruly dog with her. This is a special battue, Hjorth. You ought to know that.’
A few of the others tried to mediate, as if they had any say in the matter. They were old-money idiots without proper fortunes. But maybe they didn’t know what that damned bird dog was like.
He kicked the toe of his boot against the ground and repeated: ‘No women. Goodbye, Lissan.’
Ditlev handed out orange scarves and avoided Lissan Hjorth’s eyes when he skipped her. ‘Remember to take that creature with you,’ was all he said. He was sure as hell not letting them change his rules. This was not going to be your average hunt.
‘If my wife can’t come with us, Ditlev, then neither will I,’ Hjorth tried to argue. He was a pathetic little man in a pathetic, worn Moorland coat. Had he not felt Ditlev Pram’s wrath once before when he’d tried to contradict him? Didn’t his relationship to Ditlev benefit his business?And didn’t he almost go bankrupt when Ditlev re-routed his granite purchases to China? Would Hjorth really want Ditlev to punish him again? He could of course do that.
‘That’s your decision.’ He turned his back on the couple and looked directly at the others. ‘Each of you knows the rules. What you experience today is no one else’s business, do you hear?’ They nodded, as he expected. ‘We’ve put out two hundred pheasants and partridges, both cocks and hens. Enough for everyone.’ He grinned. ‘OK, so it’s a little too early in the season for the hens, but does anybody care?’ He turned towards the men from the local hunting club. They would certainly keep quiet. Everyone worked for him in one way or the other. ‘But why bother discussing the poultry? You’ll score some kills, no matter what. What’s more interesting is the other game I’ve brought for the lot of you today. I won’t tell you what it is. You’ll see for yourselves.’
Eager faces followed his movements as he turned and accepted a bundle of sticks from Ulrik. ‘Most of you know the routine. Two of you will draw a shorter stick than the others. These lucky individuals get to lay down their shotguns for a rifle. There’ll be no birds for them. Instead, they’ll have the opportunity to bring home the prey of the
As always, the last to step forward was Torsten Florin. Plaid knickerbockers and a tailored, snug-fitting hunting coat was his unique combination for the day. He could attend a formal ball in that get-up.
Ditlev looked warily at a bird dog that had hopped from the rear of one of the four-wheel-drives at the last moment, and then he scanned the faces at the gathering. There was one participant he certainly hadn’t invited.
He leaned close to Bent Krum. ‘Who invited her, Krum?’ he whispered. Bent Krum, lawyer for Ditlev Pram, Torsten Florin and Ulrik Dybbøl Jensen, was also the one who coordinated their hunts. He was a versatile man who’d been putting out their fires for years and was now totally dependent on the ample sum they transferred into his bank account each month.
‘Your wife invited her, Ditlev,’ he responded softly. ‘She said Lissan Hjorth was welcome to come with her husband. Just so you know, she’s also a better shot than Hjorth.’
Better shot? Bloody hell, that had nothing to do with it. There were plenty of reasons why women weren’t allowed on Ditlev’s hunts – as if Krum didn’t know. Thelma, that bitch.
Ditlev put his hand on Hjorth’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, old boy, but your wife can’t come with us today,’ he said. Though he knew it would cause problems, he asked Hjorth to give the car keys to his wife. ‘She can drive down to the inn. I’ll call ahead and have them open up. And have her take your unruly dog with her. This is a special battue, Hjorth. You ought to know that.’
A few of the others tried to mediate, as if they had any say in the matter. They were old-money idiots without proper fortunes. But maybe they didn’t know what that damned bird dog was like.
He kicked the toe of his boot against the ground and repeated: ‘No women. Goodbye, Lissan.’
Ditlev handed out orange scarves and avoided Lissan Hjorth’s eyes when he skipped her. ‘Remember to take that creature with you,’ was all he said. He was sure as hell not letting them change his rules. This was not going to be your average hunt.
‘If my wife can’t come with us, Ditlev, then neither will I,’ Hjorth tried to argue. He was a pathetic little man in a pathetic, worn Moorland coat. Had he not felt Ditlev Pram’s wrath once before when he’d tried to contradict him? Didn’t his relationship to Ditlev benefit his business?And didn’t he almost go bankrupt when Ditlev re-routed his granite purchases to China? Would Hjorth really want Ditlev to punish him again? He could of course do that.
‘That’s your decision.’ He turned his back on the couple and looked directly at the others. ‘Each of you knows the rules. What you experience today is no one else’s business, do you hear?’ They nodded, as he expected. ‘We’ve put out two hundred pheasants and partridges, both cocks and hens. Enough for everyone.’ He grinned. ‘OK, so it’s a little too early in the season for the hens, but does anybody care?’ He turned towards the men from the local hunting club. They would certainly keep quiet. Everyone worked for him in one way or the other. ‘But why bother discussing the poultry? You’ll score some kills, no matter what. What’s more interesting is the other game I’ve brought for the lot of you today. I won’t tell you what it is. You’ll see for yourselves.’
Eager faces followed his movements as he turned and accepted a bundle of sticks from Ulrik. ‘Most of you know the routine. Two of you will draw a shorter stick than the others. These lucky individuals get to lay down their shotguns for a rifle. There’ll be no birds for them. Instead, they’ll have the opportunity to bring home the prey of the
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