We're delighted to have an extract from Rohase Piercy and Charlie Raven's A Case of Domestic Pilfering today, a light-hearted detective story set in the world of Sherlock Holmes. Enjoy a hot day, a walk in the park and a chance encounter with Dr Watson.
The park was cool in the shade. The huge trees exhaled a faint green aroma, sweet and calm. Max and Guy had stopped together, looking across the scorched grass to where white parasols and floating silhouettes passed like a mirage in the sunlight.
'Hot, isn't it?' said Guy taking off his hat. The hair was dark on his glistening forehead. Max fanned him with his hat rim.
'It's just as well we're not going to your mother's,' he said. 'It's too hot to be out at all, really. I vote we gather ourselves for a quick sprint across the grass to an arbour of refreshment, and deal with a couple of ice-cold hock-and-seltzers.'
'I second that,' murmured Guy. He leaned ostentatiously against the tree, closed his eyes and muttered 'Water, water – I mean, hock, hock-and-seltzer!'
In his light suit and straw hat he should be on the river, thought Max. In a punt. Just he and I. Cool, green, glassy waters. He put out a hand and quietly touched his arm.
'Guy.'
Guy opened his eyes and smiled. He has the face of a Sun God, thought Max.
'Guy, you look just like Phoebus Apollo.'
Guy glanced quickly round. 'Oh Maxy, you are sweet. If I'm Apollo then who can you be? Daphne?'
They both shouted with laughter as they walked arm in arm into the sunlight.
Inside the bar the air was cool. A breeze slid through the open windows, and the waiters looked clean in their starched white aprons. Max was sitting back, trying not to scrutinise his own reflection in the enormous gilt mirror on the opposite wall. He lit a cigarette from his new black-and-silver case a little self-consciously. He watched the effect out of the corner of his eye.
Guy had ordered a bowl of ice cubes and was pretending to cool his face and hands at them, like a fire in reverse. The waiter who brought their drinks looked bored. It struck Max how foolish they must think their customers. They had seen it all; they remained unimpressed. What must it be like, to be a waiter?
'Your mother wasn't expecting us, was she?'
'No, no. Not in the slightest. Well, I do sometimes drop in on her at this time of day. But it isn't expected. Just once a week usually. On a Tuesday.
'But it is Tuesday!'
'Is it? Ah well. She won't worry. She'll look at the weather, and she'll think of me, and she'll say to Davies, 'No cucumber sandwiches today, Davies. Master Guy is drinking hock-and- seltzer with his friend Maximilian, that nice boy from the country who is such a good influence,' and – I declare! It's my turfy fellow!'
Max looked round, following Guy's stare. A gentleman had entered and was glancing round for a table. Guy sprang up impetuously and dashed over; Max groaned inwardly as he watched him flash his most charming smile, and indicate the way to their table. The man gave an answering smile in which Max detected some amusement, and approached their quiet corner. Max rose.
'Look who's come to sit with us Maxy!' Guy's face was alight with naughtiness, and a flush bloomed on his cheek. 'Max, Max, I must present you. Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet - and I don't know your name either - in fact, I can't do the honours at all! This is most irregular. What on earth shall we do?'
The gentleman laughed pleasantly. 'I suggest we overleap convention. My name is Dr John Watson, and I am charmed by your invitation to join you both. My thanks to you – the thanks of a thirsty man on a thirsty day.'
Max smiled. He liked the man immediately. He liked his wavy hair and the crinkles at the side of his frank blue eyes and the gentle voice which held the hint of a laugh. He is in his late thirties, decided Max as they shook hands.
'Max Fareham. Pleased to meet you, sir.'
'And I am Guy Clements,' interjected Guy; 'And we have met before!'
They all sat down, and Dr Watson gave his order to the waiter. 'So you mentioned, Mr Clements,' he said, 'but I cannot recall the meeting, I'm sorry to say.'
'Ah, but I can. It was at the races, and you gave me a lot of excellent advice, which I ignored assiduously. I lost an enormous, princely sum.'
'Ah!' Dr Watson's eyes lit up and the pleasant crinkles became more pronounced as he smiled. 'The young man with a taste for champagne! Of course. I hope you don't mind my mentioning that,' he added, glancing at Max.
'Ooh la la! Of course not!' cried Guy delightedly.
Dr Watson chuckled. 'As a medical man,' he said in his warm, friendly voice, 'I recommend champagne as a universal pick-me-up.'
'In that case,' commented Max drily, 'Guy here is in the very pink and bloom of health.'
'And so I am!' said Guy severely.
'And so I trust you both are, and will long remain,' said Dr Watson, raising his glass.
They look so young, thought Watson; and so happy. His heart went out to them, sitting in their new summer suits in the high-ceilinged room, looking slender and fresh and rather awkward. He wished Holmes had come with him. Good-humoured, outgoing youth might help him. He thought of his friend's rooms, and the darkling figure lying on the couch, fretting against enforced idleness or weaving his drug-induced dreams. Sunlight; he wished he could take Holmes some sunlight. He sighed, and put down his glass, suddenly aware that Max was talking about the delights of the seaside in summer.
'At least one always enjoys a breeze there ...'
'Oh indeed,' agreed Dr Watson. 'My wife is at the seaside now. So pleasant for her.'
'I suppose your practice keeps you in town?' asked Max. He could not disguise the flat note that crept into his voice at the mention of a wife.
'Yes, my practice – well, it's not a very demanding practice at the best of times,' said the doctor with a conspiratorial wink. 'And I have a friend who sometimes needs me.'
Guy stopped playing with the melting ice cubes, and Max hastily offered the Doctor a cigarette. Was this wife at the seaside sophisticated and understanding, he wondered, or just ignorant and rather dense?
'Thank you Mr Fareham,' said Watson, accepting. 'Also, I have work to clear which must be completed shortly, as I'm bound by contract.'
'How tedious for you,' murmured Guy.
'Medical work by contract, sir?' asked Max politely; 'I didn't know that was the custom – is it so many patients per month, or something?'
Dr Watson laughed heartily. 'Dear me, no! What an interesting proposition – a sort of piece work, you mean? A bushel of measles equals a week's rent? No, I'm afraid it's nothing so lucrative. I write a little.'
'Really?' asked Max.
'For the Lancet!' said Guy, putting his forefingers to his temples and speaking in a mediumistic monotone. 'I see a medical magazine. I see an article on - let's see now - on bunions ...'
'Shut up, Guy!' said Max, resting his chin on his hand and sighing. 'Is he right?' he asked their companion.
'Not exactly. It's a little less highbrow than that. For magazines, certainly – Lippincott's, The Strand, even Beeton's.'
'How interesting! Do you make up the stories out of your own head?'
'Not at all.' Dr Watson looked rather rueful, as though he regretted mentioning the subject. 'I may fudge the issues, but the cases are true enough.'
'Dr Watson!' exclaimed Max suddenly. 'Oh, good Lord! Of course! The weather must have hard-boiled my brain. Good grief, sir, I can't tell you how honoured I am to make your acquaintance!' He leapt to his feet, and pumped the amused Doctor's hand for a second time.
Guy looked from one to the other, agog. 'What am I missing here?'
Max's face was flushed, and his eyes shone with excitement. 'Guy, this is the Dr Watson – the friend of – of Mr Holmes. You know.' He nodded quickly at his friend, half embarrassed.
'Oh, good Lord!' echoed Guy, his voice rising up the scale. 'You mean the one you're madly – the one you admire so much? My dear sir,' he said turning to the Doctor, 'You're hardly likely to escape with your life in tact now. There is but one thing in the world that Max Fareham lives for, and that is the chance to kiss the ground that Mr Sherlock Holmes walks on.'
Dr Watson laughed. 'Oh dear!' he said.
'Shall we have another drink? Please, Doctor, you can't possibly go now!' Max ordered more drinks, eagerness overcoming his natural shyness. 'Do you know,' he said, 'I've read everything you've ever written about Mr Holmes. Tell me, is he – is he like you say he is?'
'How do you mean?' asked Dr Watson, his blue eyes twinkling.
'A – a genius. I supposed that's what I mean.'
'Well, yes. I can confirm that opinion. I've never written less than my true evaluation of my friend's genius. He is extraordinary.'
Max nodded encouragingly.
'But what's he like when he's not being a genius?' asked Guy rather insolently. 'Does he go out? Mother could invite you both to dinner, and then Maxy could swoon at his feet.'
'Be quiet!' hissed Max.
Dr Watson chuckled. 'What a kind offer. But I'm afraid he rarely dines out, and never goes into company if he can help it.'
'Ah, a recluse. How tedious he must find all this adulation,' said Guy, shaking his head sympathetically. 'But doesn't he get bored, in between cases?'
'H'mmm. Yes. I'm afraid he does.'
Dr Watson then deftly changed the subject. Max tried his best to steer it back to Sherlock Holmes, but the Doctor firmly resisted all attempts to probe.
'I must be going,' he said after a while, pulling out his watch.
'Oh, we'll walk along together,' said Guy sweetly, smiling significantly at Max.
'Well … ' Dr Watson eyed them for a moment and then smiled. 'If you like,' he said.
