At this point Winston began coughing, but fortunately not deeply. But it was enough to make the rest of what he said indecipherable. I gathered there was some other being who held a position of great significance, from whom I had much to learn.
Winston’s spluttering subsided and his breathing became regular and gentle. A sense of tranquillity came into the room. Even though it was late in the afternoon, the light coming through the window changed in a way I would have found hard to imagine had I not experienced it for myself. It was as if we had been caught in a forest and had found our way to a clearing where the canopy above us had opened. We were illuminated in a light that had the clarity of dawn. Along with the light was an aroma I recognised, but couldn’t immediately place: the aromatic fragrance of primordial woodlands.
‘He’s come to fetch me. As I live, so shall I die,’ Winston said, quite clearly, before exhaling with a shudder.
I stared at him, knowing instinctively what had happened, but unable to believe or accept it. I willed him to breathe in again, but there was no movement in his body—only the tranquil radiance of that clear light. A sensation of boundlessness pervaded the whole room; I knew that Winston was passing. There was no time in that vivid brightness, as though it had been there all along, but I was only, for a short while, able to perceive it. Then the light began to fade.
I stared out the window. I will never know, my fellow subject, if what I saw was actually there or just a figment of my imagination. But it seemed as if the clear light was being swiftly gathered into a figure who was standing directly outside, holding Winston in his arms. With his blue eyes, snowy white hair and moon-silver cloak, I instantly recognised Michael. And it suddenly occurred to me that he might be an angel.
Both he and Winston looked at me with expressions of the deepest love and reassurance. Then they dissolved rapidly upwards.
The sky was already darkening into evening. For the longest time, the last of that bright light remained, twinkling like a star in the canopy of nightfall. It was a gleaming reminder of the wisest dog I had ever known and my dearest mentor. He was the one who had opened my eyes to mysteries and wonderment beyond anything I may have ever imagined—hidden in plain sight.
CHAPTER 9
Balmoral Estate, Scotland
It was our first summer holiday since Winston’s death and his presence had been missed by all of us. How could we not trot into the drawing room, in the direction of that particular wing chair, without remembering Winston’s triumphant vol-au-vent discovery? How could we encounter a cluster of freshly-disposed cigar stubs, without our thoughts turning to our wise and faithful friend?
The times I missed him most were when we were together as a family. In particular, going for walks on those long, Scottish evenings, far into the countryside or deep into the forests, while savouring the lingering softness of heather or feeling the crackle of autumn leaves beneath our paws. I would recollect my first experience of these vivid sensations and how Winston had been there by my side.
On one such evening, Charles, William and Harry took Margaret and me as they walked through a forest on the estate. We set out in a Land Rover with William behind the wheel, and drove some way off-road before getting out of the vehicle and making our way into the forest.
The trees were mysterious in the dusk and paths were pungent with the scent of deer, as we set off in single file. The men didn’t speak much, taking the opportunity to walk among rocks clad with the thickest moss and alongside rushing streams without the need for conversation.
At one point Charles, who was leading, paused and pointed. Through the dark limbs of trees, we spotted a herd of red deer. Upwind of us, they hadn’t noticed our approach, at least not to begin with. William looked at Margaret and me and made a cautioning gesture, before moving forward in silence and stealth.
We corgis may be very close to the ground, but over the next few minutes we crept so near to the herd that even we could make out their individual shapes. In particular, the stag who was the closest to us had massive antlers and a heavy neck mane which were silhouetted in the twilight. We all watched as he and some of the does raised their heads, noses sniffing the air, for the first time suspecting a presence. The stag turned, facing us directly, still unable to see us, but growing wary. It seemed hard to believe he couldn’t make us out, so distinct were his features, even to the fleck of silver in his eyes. Then he turned his neck and gestured the herd to move away, not in alarm, but with clear intent.
We paused, watching them vanish into the woods, their departure as silent as our approach had been.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. I remembered Winston murmuring that once, in this same forest. Ah, Winston, I thought, as we stood, motionless. How much pleasure he would have taken in that encounter with the red deer.
We continued on for a short distance, coming to a spot where there were several large boulders among the trees, at a convenient height to sit on. Charles eased onto one of them while his sons paused beside him, William producing a bottle of water and passing it round.
Looking up at where the pines soared towards a copper sky, William was the first to speak. ‘Always great to be back in the forests.’
‘Very therapeutic,’ agreed Charles.
‘Much easier to forget all about . . .’ Harry made a gesture signifying London and the constant pressures of living in the royal goldfish bowl.
‘Exactly,’ his father agreed. ‘Here it’s just us and nature. No diary full of appointments.’
Harry was nodding. ‘Whenever I’m in nature—doesn’t matter if it’s Scotland or somewhere in Africa—I wish I could spend more time there.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Charles. ‘Strange to think how, for hundreds of thousands of years, most people’s lives revolved completely around the cycle of the seasons. Now there are children who think that milk and eggs come from factories.’
‘All the more reason to get people into the wild,’ said Harry.
As the three of them pondered this for a while, I snuffled around the stones behind them, scuffing away a layer of pine needles with my paw and taking in the earthy aroma beneath. ‘I heard it suggested the other day,’ said Charles, ‘that we don’t so much come into nature, as come out of it.’
I looked at where he was sitting pensively and I immediately thought of Winston. This was exactly the kind of enigmatic pronouncement he might have made. William tilted his head, questioningly.
‘The idea being,’ continued Charles, ‘that even though we feel quite separate from nature, we are entirely a product of it. Our body is 90 percent water, all of which ultimately comes from natural sources. We are completely dependent on oxygen, produced by the trees. And we need food, which in the end all comes from the soil. Plus we depend on the sun’s heat for our body temperature, and to grow crops. So we are, in fact, an entirely natural product derived from air, water, earth and heat.’
‘The four elements,’ observed William.
Harry was nodding.