Page 13 of The Secret Christmas Library
Ignoring Theo, she looked up towards the road, not even worrying for once about whether they were getting collected or whether they were stuck out here.
‘I wonder if we’re stuck out here,’ said Theo, staring at his phone, and shaking it, as if that would help him get a signal. ‘Because I would have some doubts about Uber.’
But at that very moment Mirren exclaimed and pointed. Along the narrow track road that led up the valley and into the rolling hills before the house was a tiny, moving dot, heading straight for them.
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The tall, diffident chap Mirren had met in London appeared much more at home on this territory, as he pulled up in a filthy old Land Rover with canvas sides. A small black and white sheepdog leapt out like a flash, and Mirren oohed and smiled.
‘Hello, sweetie pie! Hello, gorgeous!!’
The dog didn’t approach her at all, and Mirren crouched down. ‘Hello, lovely!’ she beckoned.
‘Actually, he’s a working dog,’ said Jamie.
Mirren fell silent.
‘Hi,’ said Jamie, clearing his throat. ‘I see you guys made it.’
Mirren was feeling squashed, but she still couldn’t help herself. ‘Your train is awesome,’ she said.
Jamie smiled. ‘I know. We don’t have a lot of perks left, but . . . ’
‘It’s amazing, having a whole carriage to yourself!’
‘Well, they got a big streak of our land, so I guess it works out. And you must be Theo Palliser?’
Theo stuck out his hand. ‘Nice to see you.’
‘I thought you two knew each other?’ said Mirren, and they both turned round to look at her. Jamie was broader, with sandy brown hair, and a little older; Theo a little taller, with the black hair and the pallor. He didn’t even look embarrassed.
‘Oh, we’ve been at some of the same events.’
‘Have we?’ said Jamie.
Mirren felt quite pleased. Obviously this was not going to be as much of a shoo-in for Theo as he’d thought.
‘Well, anyway,’ said Theo, rubbing his long fingers together. ‘It’s pretty chilly – shall we?’
Inside the Land Rover was not noticeably warmer than outside. The dog took a crouching position by the open flaps at the back, scanning the horizon, it seemed, for any threats it might need to intercept. Mirren looked at him rather longingly. He was such a beautiful creature; she would love to pet his soft fur and scritch behind his ears, but she assumed that wouldn’t go down well at all.
‘What’s his name?’ she asked.
‘Roger,’ said Jamie briefly.
‘Roger the sheepdog? Are you sure?’
‘All our sheepdogs are called Roger,’ said Jamie. ‘Since about 1840, I think.’
‘What . . . one dies, and you call another one Roger?’
‘Yes,’ said Jamie. ‘They’re working animals; they just need to be identifiable.’
‘Oh, my God,’ said Mirren, quite horrified. ‘Poor Roger.’
Roger turned his head immediately.
‘I mean, I suppose Roger to him just means “dog”,’ mused Mirren.
