'Yeah, well, it's all your fault. You shouldn't have dropped them. Penis-brain!' Danny added snidely, in the safe knowledge that their companion would protect him.
Harding watched tears of humiliation gather in the older boy's eyes. It didn't take much reading of the references to 'nudie,' 'better look,' 'binoculars,' and 'penis-brain' to come up with a close approximation of the facts. 'I hope she was worth it,' he said matter-of-factly. 'The first naked woman I ever saw was so old and ugly, it was three years before I wanted to look at another one. She lived in the house next to us, and she was as fat and wrinkled as an elephant.'
'What was the next one like?' asked Danny with the sequential logic of a ten-year-old.
Harding exchanged a glance with the elder brother. 'She had nice tits,' he told Paul with a wink.
'So did this one,' said Danny obligingly.
'Except she was dead,' said his brother.
'She probably wasn't, you know. It's not always easy to tell when someone's dead.'
'She was,' said Paul despondently. 'Me and Danny went down to get the binoculars back.' He unraveled his bundled T-shirt to reveal the badly scratched casing of a pair of Zeiss binoculars. 'I-well, I checked to make sure. I think she drowned and got left there by the tide.' He fell into an unhappy silence again.
'He was going to give her mouth-to-mouth,' said Danny, 'but her eyes were nasty, so he didn't.'
Harding cast another glance in the older brother's direction, this time sympathetic. 'The police will need to identify her,' he said matter-of-factly, 'so they'll probably ask you to describe her.' He ruffled Danny's hair. 'It might be better not to mention nasty eyes or nice tits when you do it.'
Danny pulled away. 'I won't.'
The man nodded. 'Good boy.' He took the binoculars from Paul and examined the lenses carefully before pointing them at the Beneteau in Chapman's Pool. 'Did you recognize her?' he asked.
'No,' said Paul uncomfortably.
'Was she an old lady?'
'No.'
'Pretty?'
Paul wriggled his shoulders. 'I guess so.'
'Not fat then?'
'No. She was very little, and she had blond hair.'
Harding brought the yacht into sharp focus. 'They're built like tanks, these things,' he murmured, traversing the sights across the bay. 'Okay, the bodywork's a bit scratched, but there's nothing wrong with the lenses. Your dad won't be that angry.'
Maggie Jenner would never have become involved if Bertie had responded to her whistle, but like all dogs he was deaf when he wanted to be. She had dismounted when the noise of the helicopter alarmed the horse, and natural curiosity had led her to walk him on down the hill while the rescue was under way. The three of them rounded the boat sheds together, and Bertie, overexcited by all the confusion, made a beeline for Paul Spender's crotch, shoving his nose against the boy's shorts and breathing in with hearty enthusiasm.
Maggie whistled, and was ignored. 'Bertie!' she called. 'Come here, boy'.'
The dog was a huge, fearsome-looking brute, the result of a night on the tiles by an Irish wolfhound bitch, and saliva drooled in great white gobbets from his jaws. With a flick of his hairy head, he splattered spittle across Paul's shorts and the terrified child froze in alarm.
'It's all right,' said Harding, grabbing the dog by the collar and pulling him off, 'he's only being friendly.' He rubbed the dog's head. 'Aren't you, boy?'
Unconvinced, the brothers retreated rapidly to the other side of the police car.
'They've had a tough morning,' explained Harding, clicking his tongue encouragingly and walking Bertie back to his mistress. 'Will he stay put if I let him go?'
'Not in this mood,' she said, pulling a lead from her back trouser pocket and clipping one end into the collar before attaching the other end to the nearest stirrup. 'My brother's two boys adore him, and he doesn't understand that the rest of the world doesn't view him in quite the same way.' She smiled. 'You must have dogs yourself, either that or you're very brave. Most people run a mile.'
'I grew up on a farm,' he said, stroking Sir Jasper's nose and studying her with frank admiration.
She was a good ten years older than he was, tall and slim with shoulder-length dark hair and deep brown eyes that narrowed suspiciously under his assessing gaze. She knew exactly what type she was dealing with when he looked pointedly at her left hand for the wedding ring that wasn't there. 'Well, thanks for your help,' she said rather brusquely. 'I can manage on my own now.'
He stood back immediately. 'Good luck then,' he said. 'It was nice meeting you.'
She was all too aware that her distrust of men had now reached pathological proportions, and wondered guiltily if she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. 'I hope your boys weren't too frightened,' she said rather more warmly.
He gave an easy laugh. 'They're not mine,' he told her. 'I'm just looking after them till the police get back. They found a dead woman on the beach, so they're pretty shook up, poor kids. You'd be doing them a favor if you persuaded them Bertie's just an overgrown hearth rug. I'm not convinced that adding canophobia to necrophobia all in one morning is good psychology.'
She looked undecidedly toward the police car. The boys did look frightened, she thought, and she didn't particularly want the responsibility of inspiring a lifelong fear of dogs in them.
