Canarino. Katherine Bucknell

      There was a light clatter on the parquet in the drawing-room doorway, then the sound of desperate claws sliding and failing to grip. In the small remaining light, David saw the children’s pug right itself on the slippery floor then bound onto the sofa. The dog made a sleek black arc in the gloom, quick, coiled, darting, then stood on the priceless blue silk, snuffling like a happy fool.

      ‘Why is the dog here?’ David said out loud.

      He felt a bubble of unexpected excitement. Elizabeth must have changed her mind! But the excitement passed instantly. It was followed by a shock of fear. Where were the children? Something had gone wrong.

      Oh, for Christ’s sake, he chided himself. That’s ridiculous; someone would have phoned. He looked at his watch. After nine. They must be there already; Elizabeth will call.

      He reached down and stroked the dog. ‘I hate pets,’ he cooed at it, ‘and you are making me feel pretty fucking lonely.’ The dog whined and fawned, raking the sofa with its claws, daintily slobbering.

      Then David said, still gently, ‘I’ve got two more trips to the Far East before I quit, buddy, and meetings all over Europe, and I’m hardly ever home anyway. I don’t know what the hell you are planning to eat. And I’ll tell you what’s worse: I am not going to carry you to Virginia at the end of the summer. Those selfish little kids of mine were only pretending they loved you; that’s what I think. They obviously forgot all about you. God only knows what’s going on in their mother’s head, because she’s been telling me all she wants is dogs and horses and open fields.’ He scratched the dog’s ears and pulled them with both hands.

      ‘I think you better get off this damn sofa, for starters.’ And suddenly he picked the dog up and dumped it on the floor so that it fell on its side. It sprang up and tottered out of the room.

      ‘There has to be someone here for the dog—one of her Filipinas. She must have told me.’ David ran unyielding fingers through his hair again, as he made for the stairs following the dog.

      There were lights on in the kitchen and he could hear noises before he even got to the bottom of the basement stairs—water running, cabinet doors opening and shutting, then the roar of the garbage disposal.

      I was never alone for a second, he thought. Elizabeth has it all organized. He felt a little irritated, a little disappointed. But he didn’t feel surprised.

      ‘Yes, Mr Judd, good evening, sir.’

      She said it with a shy smile, stiffly. David was pretty certain that her name was Francine, but he wasn’t willing to risk it. She already seemed embarrassed, being there in the house with him all alone. He just nodded at her, trying not to notice. But he thought maybe she was a nice woman; she’d been around a longish time; she was, he thought, Elizabeth’s favorite. She had children of her own. Elizabeth was always saying she felt guilty taking a mother away from her family. That’s why there were three different Filipinas, more even; David didn’t know. They all wore the same blue-and-white-striped uniform which didn’t help him with telling them apart.

      ‘I have some cold drink for you, sir, if you would like a beer. I can open it for you, and I can serve it in your study before your dinner.’

      David blinked at her, trying not to look startled. ‘Fine. In my study. What’s the dinner?’

      ‘Just simple chicken, grilled plain, and some salad, sir. Maybe you like a little rice?’

      ‘A little.’

      David turned around and went back up the stairs. Usually when he arrived home, the children’s supper was long over; there might be something left out that he could pick at if he was hungry. He poured his own beer if he was having one. More often than not, he ate out, either with clients in London or in some foreign city. He hadn’t lifted a finger to cook or clean for years, but he was taken aback by the sudden attentions of a personal servant. How would he stand the scheduling? The scrutiny? The need to be polite? What was Elizabeth thinking?

      His study was another surprise. The movers had packed absolutely everything. There was not a photograph, not a book, not a paperweight in sight. Even his desk was gone. The telephone and the fax machine were sitting on the floor beside a small pink-and-green-flowered armchair that David thought might have come from a spare bedroom upstairs. The chair looked absurdly feminine in the walnut-paneled room. His computer, with the screen and the keyboard, had been transferred onto a rickety-looking work station that he’d never seen before; did it belong to the children? Had Elizabeth bought it especially? Such a cheap sort of thing? There were faint black outlines on the beige wall-to-wall carpet where his desk and his files and his various chairs had once stood, a few more on the walls where his maps of London and New York and his New Yorker cartoons had hung. He opened the paneled supply-cupboard door; it was nearly empty—just two reams of copier paper, some stationery, a few pencils. He ran a finger over a shelf in the bookcase. Already dusted. David thought he could still smell cigars, sour and fragrant. Unpackable, he said to himself, the vile, rancid cloud.

      Francine came to the door with his beer, in an enormous misty mug, on a tray. David smiled broadly, practically guffawed. A chilled beer mug? He didn’t conceal his pleasure.

      ‘That’s great, Francine.’ He took a long pull at the inch-high foam and smacked his lips.

      ‘It’s up to me, the glasses, now the house manager is off. In Peter Jones, I wasn’t sure, but maybe this one is nice for a bachelor—for just a few weeks, I mean. And I have others if you prefer it?’

      David ignored the anxiety in her voice. ‘What about the dog, Francine? Did my wife tell you what her plans are for Puck?’

      David thought Francine looked a little nervous, but right away she said boldly, ‘Don’t worry about the dog, sir. He’s my responsibility. It’s no problem with me at all. I walk him plenty and the walking is good for us both.’

      She was still gripping the tray with both hands, then she released one hand, letting the tray hang at her side for a moment before lifting it again and offering it to David.

      ‘Do you need this, for your drink, sir?’

      David looked at Francine silently and took the tray, placing it behind him on the empty bookcase. He took another sip of his beer, shifting his feet on the carpet, broadening his stance.

      Francine was definitely pretty, David thought. Her brown eyes had a soft look at the edges, gentle, lively. And actually, the uniform was appealing; it gave her that aura of sweetness and willingness that nurses sometimes have. Not an aura he felt inclined to disturb, just one he enjoyed. Women go for soldiers, why can’t men go for nurses? David mused. He could see that Francine had on some sort of thick slip underneath her uniform, displaying more modesty than most of the young English nurses he’d seen in their uniforms which were generally notably transparent.

      David liked to size people up precisely; now that he’d noticed Francine, he was curious as to exactly who she was. He concluded that the slip was a mark of her conservative background and her status as a mother; it commanded his respect. Maybe that was just what Francine had intended it to do, he thought.

      ‘How does Puck get to Virginia, Francine?’

      ‘Mrs Judd has made arrangements, sir. For the end of the summer.’ Francine glanced behind her, as if she wanted to leave. Then she smiled at David.

      ‘I think Mrs Judd wants to settle the children first. Excuse me, sir, but the water is maybe boiling now. I’ll lay your place in the dining-room?’

      David grunted, and she was gone. It made sense, settling the children, he decided. But if the damned dog could stay, why the hell couldn’t he have his desk and his files? Was there a TV in the house? Had she taken the bed?

      He took off his jacket and laid it over the computer screen, then picked up his beer again and collapsed into the little pink-and-green chair. It was a snug fit. He slopped beer over his lap as both elbows struck hard against the arms of the chair.

      ‘Well this sucks!’

      He