Phobias - Fat Dogs and French Estates - page 126

Meanwhile, crooning Italian love songs in the cockpit, signore was blissfully unaware
of the interpersonal crises going on behind him. He pottered on and gently drew up along-
side an old bothy, announcing that we had arrived at the zone for “zee rabbitz.”
Nope, still not a single cottontail in sight and the reason for this soon became abund-
antly clear. Inside the shed were a dozen or so cages each containing a pair of large rabbits.
This wasn't what we'd been expecting at all so I asked what he did with them. Signore
looked at me with the kindly eyes of one pitying a very dim person.
“Ofa coursa I eata them,” he explained. “They do nota leev on the grounda, it isa too
harda I theenk, so I growa thema in herea . Buta the taste it eez still fantastico. ”
“Oh, well, yes, it is excellent meat. I've cooked the meat on several occasions. I think
our favourite way to eat rabbit is bunny burgers.”
Sensing a fellow enthusiast and before I could stop him, signore launched into a mono-
logue about the relative merits of about six different rabbit recipes and the mixings to go
with them. During this one-person discussion I was distracted by a very strange sound com-
ing from signore's laurel hedge. Taking my leave of the rabbit-pie formula (delicious as it
sounded) I went to investigate the source of the gargling noise. I came face-to-face with
Charles who emerged white as a sheet.
“I am most awfully sorry,” he whimpered. “I knew that was going to happen. But I can
assure you I am perfectly well now,” he ended gamely.
“At least you didn't throw up all over us,” Jack growled.
We were driven the mercifully short distance back to the house and signore , bounding
off his trampoline of cushions on to the drive, trilled all sorts of offers of cappuccino and
biscuits. Kind though the proposal was, Jack (whose body language was now in overdrive)
made it abundantly clear that our business was now done. He shook his head, muttered
words of thanks and started moving towards the car.
I hurriedly explained that 'due to unforeseen circumstances' we were now a little late
and would have to 'rush off'. I added that it was such a shame because his offer was so
kind. I then told Charles that our planned post-property discussion would have to wait but
that I would call him later that evening. Looking extremely relieved at the prospect of fi-
nally being left alone, he nodded weakly in acceptance.
We turned to say our final goodbyes to signore but he had disappeared again.
“Where the bloody hell has he gone this time?” said a thoroughly irritated Jack.
We hung around for a bit longer but after a further agonising five minutes we decided
that we absolutely had to go. Charles was designated as 'farewells' person and we got into
the car. Jack was just reversing when there was a terrible squawk from directly behind us.
“Oh my God what on earth was that? Have I hit something?”
Fortunately it was only signore who had skipped up behind the car, unseen. In his en-
thusiasm to hail us, he'd narrowly avoided being squashed against his garage door. Entirely