The next morning, Caroline checked the appointments diary on her phone and swore. She’d forgotten all about the trip to the hunt kennels that Jonathan had set up for her. She also had to make sure she allowed enough time to meet Emma formally to offer her the sous chef/front of house apprenticeship. Dragging a brush through her hair she threw on some warm clothes and programmed the postcode of the hunt kennels into her phone.
Once she’d shaken off her irritation about forgetting the appointment she quite enjoyed being away from the familiar surroundings of The Cider Kitchen. For months, she’d been working so hard that she hadn’t had much of a chance to explore the surrounding area, and it was nice, in the early autumn sunshine, to get into the country lanes of Somerset and see some new places. As she headed further south into the county she was amazed at how the wild, rocky hills of the Mendips flattened out into the glorious green expanse of the Somerset Levels. She drove through a couple of charming hamlets on her way to the kennels, which were situated just outside the picturesque small city of Wells. Perhaps if Emma accepted the job later, she’d make more of an effort to get out and about; after all, she’d moved to Somerset to experience new things and therefore she really should start experiencing them.
The hunt kennels were set back from the road and as Caroline drove up the driveway to the farm she felt very apprehensive. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected to see; huge, drooling dogs running wild, perhaps, or red faced bellowing upper class twits swigging whiskey from hip flasks. Then she chided herself; she’d assured Jonathan she’d keep an open mind, whatever her feelings and preconceptions were, so she needed to try to do that.
As she pulled up in the kennel yard a tall man came striding over. He was dressed in a green body warmer and blue jeans with dirty green wellies on his feet and a friendly smile on his face.
‘You must be Caroline,’ he said as she got out of the car. He offered her a hand which Caroline was relieved to see was spotlessly clean. ‘I’m Rob Kelloway, Master of Hounds for the Old Somerset Hunt.’ When he finished shaking her hand, he took off his tweed flat cap and raked his fingers back through his unruly mousy brown hair. ‘I gather you need some convincing that my hounds aren’t going to chase your cats and that we’re not bloodthirsty animal haters!’
Caroline smiled, despite her misgivings. ‘Something like that.’
‘You’d better come and meet them, then.’
Rob led Caroline across the yard to the stables, where an excited barking could be heard as they approached. ‘They get fed once a day,’ Rob said. ‘Would you like to see them have their breakfast?’
Caroline looked wary. ‘Depends what you feed them.’ Rob was being very hospitable but she couldn’t shake her instinct that he was the amenable face of a very violent and bloody institution. She wasn’t going to be swayed by a nice smile.
‘Mostly raw foxes,’ Rob said wryly.
Caroline felt a prickle of irritation that he could be so flippant, but when she saw he was still smiling, she relaxed. After all, it wouldn’t do to antagonise a man who had a hefty dog pack at his command. She followed Rob to the kennel building and the noise of hounds expecting their breakfast was almost deafening.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come a bit closer?’ Rob called over the increasing din from the hounds.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Caroline called back. She glanced at the bucket Rob was holding and was mildly repulsed to see it contained raw beef, bones and all. She kicked herself mentally; Gino was often chopping beef and other meats off the bone in the restaurant; this was really not that different.
‘I’m going to let them out into the yard to have their breakfast,’ Rob said. ‘You’d better get out of the way of the door unless you want to be knocked over.’
Caroline stepped hastily out of the way and watched as the hounds streamed into the yard. Having never been up close to fox hounds before she was amazed at how big they were. Each one came up to her thigh and they were solidly built and muscular. Rob strode back out of the kennel and Caroline observed as the hounds circled him, before settling in a rowdy line in front of him. As he put their feed down in a long trough in the centre of the yard, they still waited for his signal, until with a motion of his hand, they all piled in.
Caroline was grudgingly impressed. Edging round the strong backs and waving tails of the hound pack, she joined Rob in front of them. ‘They’re very well behaved,’ she said.
‘They know they won’t get fed if they aren’t,’ Rob replied. ‘They only get one meal a day.’
‘Where does their food come from?’
‘Farmers bring in animals that have died unexpectedly and we use what we can of them to feed the hounds and incinerate the rest. We will also humanely destroy and collect casualties. The local councils often ask us to collect and dispose of dead animals, too.’
‘Don’t they chase the live ones?’
‘My hounds are too well trained for that.’
Caroline was surprised; she hadn’t realised that the hunt could actually be useful. But she wasn’t prepared to let go of her principles and opinions that easily. ‘So what happens when they do, er, accidentally, end up chasing a fox?’
‘They do cross our path from time to time,’ Rob conceded. ‘But healthy foxes are quicker than you think. They’re not the defenceless animals a lot of people take them for. And,’ he paused, giving her a wicked grin. ‘I understand a lot of them have relocated to the town, anyway, since it’s better pickings for them from the bins!’
Caroline, who had the notion she was being mocked, shot back ‘And I suppose that justifies your hounds chasing the not so fast ones, does it?’
‘Of course not. We don’t chase foxes. We stop the moment we see one and redirect the hounds.’ Rob said, ruffling the head of a hound who, having finished his breakfast, was sniffing around by their feet. ‘And I do understand why you don’t agree with the practice. People sometimes can’t see the role that the hunt plays in the countryside. But I hope you can at least see that I do keep my hounds under control and no harm will come to your cats when we meet at The Cider Kitchen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to give them a bit of a run.’
‘Where do you take them?’ Caroline asked.
‘Well, they’re quite partial to the Strawberry Line!’ Rob said. ‘If I can stop them from chasing tourists on bikes, that is.’
Much against her will, Caroline was tickled by the image of a tourist clad in neon lycra being the quarry for the hounds. Perhaps she was turning into a country girl after all, she thought as she bade farewell to Rob and headed back to The Cider Kitchen.
*
Later that day, when Emma came in for the evening service, Caroline beckoned her over to the sofas in the corner of the restaurant. Emma was delighted to be offered the combined sous chef/front of house post and said she could start straight away. Caroline was pleased, too. She knew Emma was an excellent chef and she had every faith, given the girl’s lovely, calm disposition, that she’d prove to be an equally excellent deputy front of house person. And, she thought, it might actually mean she could take some time off after four months of working seven days a week.
Just before she turned in for the night, she texted Jonathan about Emma’s response to being offered the job. Hopefully, the Old Somerset Hunt meet would go without a hitch, too, and that would be the last she’d see of those bloody foxhounds.