Saturday, 15 January 2011
“Marek is a good person, Mr Greig,” said Mistress. “I mean Mr Czcibor …”
As she spoke, she fell off the arm of her chair onto the floor.
“Dearie, dearie, me,” Archie growled at me. “Your owner is making a spectacle of herself. This is not the way to behave!”
Mr Greig crossed his arms. They were so long, I had an idea that he could stop traffic.
“Mr Czcibor is involved in pornography on the internet and not only that, he is forging notes like this one.”
He held out another of those hundred pound notes.
“All true,” muttered Archie. “You’ve been bewitched by your new friend, son.” Archie stared down his snub nose at me. “Marek’s a bad egg and he is playing with fire if he thinks he can use that currency. Even the Council are on to him.”
I felt a distant thumping between my ribs and the heat of centuries rising in me.
Mistress got up slowly. She looked like a mad woman with her hair streaked across her face. She needed my aid and I had to come up with something. Archie wasn’t going to help me.
“He plays games, Mr Grig,” hiccupped Julia.
“Mr Greig, if you don’t mind, Miss Taylor.”
“Mr Greig, then,” said Julia. “Marek is a Surrealist in the real sense of the word. He painted those notes for fun! People misunderstand him, that’s what I say. Marek wouldn’t defraud anybody. Least of all, Mr Grig, someone like you who is very important and a member of the Council.”
Mistress sat down with a bump on the chair that Lesley had just vacated.
“If you don’t mind, Miss Taylor, I will wait for Mr Czcibor until he comes home,” Mr Greig said.
The heat was ringing in my ears. I leapt as only a pug can in a moment of stress and aimed for Mr Greig’s right ankle. Then I sank my teeth into a sour lemon stench of sock and found his skin.
“AHHHHH!” screamed Mr Greig. “Take that dog off me..!”
I kept my teeth where they were and closed the gap. On the right occasion, I was a pug with iron jaws.
Friday, 7 January 2011
Mr Greig had shed himself of his coat and stood right beside Archie and me in the sitting room, though he didn’t notice us.
“What can I do for you, Mr Greig?” Mistress asked.
Her voice wobbled and she had a hard time keeping upright.
“I’m looking for Mr Marek Czcibor,” Mr Greig replied.
He kept rubbing his hands as he spoke. They moved like large weights and to my delicate nose, smelt of cheap soap. I could see from Archie’s expression that he was not impressed. Mr Greig was one of those men who had been built too tall for his own good. His eyes were everywhere. Finally, he looked down at the pair of us and gave his trousers a flick as if to rid himself of any canine evidence.
Lesley was now flat out on the sofa. She waved a hand in Mr Greig’s direction.
“I expect Marek’s gone to the pub,” she slurred. “Being the holiday season and all that.”
Mr Greig stood stock still.
“I wish to talk to him about a few matters,” he said.
Archie and I peered up at Mr Greig, the man from the Council. As we did so, he shook his mop of hair and tiny white specks fell towards us.
“Dandruff!” groaned Archie.
By contrast, the room had gone dark in the space of minutes.
Outside the window, the snow was falling fast.
Was it pugs to the rescue yet again?