Frank was right, Deano, her current boyfriend, was definitely bad news, but he'd tried several (unsuccessful) times to let her know.
Trouble was, their personalities clashed, as they were too alike.
They disagreed on everything.
So, he devised a plan to get Brooke and Alec together. They'd met only briefly, and he was impressed at how polite and modest Alec was, despite his obvious wealth. But Brooke wasn't having it. She declared that Alec was 'dull' and boring. They had nothing in common.
And besides, he was her boss, and there were certain 'rules' in the workplace about dating fellow workers.
But Frank was totally unfazed by all this. By hook or by crook, he was going to separate Brooke from that greasebag Deano and hopefully set Brooke and Alec on the route towards wedded bliss.
But things didn't exactly go as planned. Brooke stormed out of the house in a real nasty mood. Frank realised that this didn't bode well for his matchmaking plans, but kept unusually quiet about it all, preferring to read the newspaper instead.
After a particularly enthralling piece of news concerning the local Garden Club, Frank realised that Brooke hadn't returned home yet. He glanced at the clock and frowned.
He understood that she was capable of looking after herself, but he was getting a little concerned at how long she'd been out of the house. Surely it wasn't to avoid him? He wasn't that insufferable....
Was he????
Sighing heavily, he neatly folded the paper and placed it symmetrically on the coffee table and eased himself out of his favourite recliner. His hip protested, giving him some jarring pains, but he grimaced, grit his teeth and managed to stand upright.
Wobbling unsteadily, he shuffled his way to the window and looked out. The weather looked promising, with just a few looming black clouds ahead.
Perhaps he could manage to take himself off for a walk? It's not as if his doctor had banned him completely from exercise.
"Once you feel up to it," she said, peering over her glasses at him, "you can do some gentle exercise. Slow, gentle walks, as long as they're not too far uphill. Or too great a distance. You're hip needs time to heal properly, and falling again just won't help in that procedure."
He recalled the day he met Dr Lisa Wells. He was prepared to hate her on sight as she'd taken over from Dr Ronnie Sugar, his old family doctor, who'd reached retirement age.
But she had such a no nonsense approach, and quite a winning smile, that he'd soon forgotten his prejudices about female general practitioners.
Besides, she was literally 'onto the case' when he broke his hip, getting him into the operating theatre almost immediately.
Stretching awkwardly, and feeling his other joints popping, he stuck his hands in his pockets and slowly made his way outside.
At first glance, the terrain seemed a little hilly and daunting, but those inclines were gentle ones, and not too strenuous on his muscles. He glanced critically at the garden, but smiled to himself. She'd made such a beautiful job of tending to everything.
Looming in the distance, was an apartment block. It was a blot on the landscape, that's for sure, and stuck out like a sore thumb.
---------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, in the eager rush to get to his destination, Father Thomas had forgotten a few pieces of vital paperwork. These were the case studies of a couple of new boys, due to be integrated into the boarding school.
It wasn't until lunch time, that the Bishop found them. Sighing heavily, he decided to make a stop over at the forwarding address Father Thomas had left him.
Pulling up in the car, he groaned at this bright, modern, monster apartment block.
Hopefully, he'd catch Father Thomas in time.
He'd already called the boarding school, but the caretaker told him that Father Thomas hadn't arrived yet.
Climbing the steps, he was greeted by a soft purring, and looked down, to see a sleek Siamese cat, weaving it's body around his black trousers.
Growling with irritation, he took a hefty kick at the cat, who, after emptying his bladder, instantly turned on him, scratching him deeply on the arm, before fleeing yowling into the apartment.
Frank just happened to arrive at that precise moment, to witness the event.
Sickened to his stomach, he hobbled up the stairs, his face pale with anger, strode up to the Bishop.....
.... and promptly slapped him in the face.
"I don't care if you're a man of the cloth and you hide behind God's work!" he cried, shaking with rage, "that was a cruel act you just did there and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You wicked man."
Unfazed, the Bishop leaned forward in a threatening manner. By now, he was tired from travelling, hungry because he'd missed lunch. And irritated because a feeble old man was threatening him for taking his foot to a rather annoying cat. And to top it all, Father Thomas wasn't at the apartment after all. So basically, it had been a wasted journey.
"Oh yeah?" he growled, "what are you going to do about it?"
"Are you threatening me?" Frank retorted, but his bravado was failing fast. His health was poor and he knew he couldn't stand a chance against this, possibly, much healthier, stronger man.
In the meantime, inside the apartment, Pistachio, his pride and his ribs, bruised, sped around the floor, swatting anything with his paws and tearing around like a looney.
How dare that man kick him so brutally. After that lovely greeting he gave to him. The self same one he gave to everyone new.
And the indignity of having his bladder emptied so unceremoniously....
.... in public too, not a single litter box in sight.
He had a reputation to maintain. And having publicly wet himself, he was sure that that reputation was totally shot. What would everybody else think? He shook himself, his soft fur rippling, shuddering at the thought of losing face.
Ohhh, he'd soon show them who was boss. Especially that man in the funny black outfit. He'd claw his hands to shreds if he came any closer.......
Besides, that man in the funny coloured pants, who smelled like soil and soap....
... now he was Pistachio's hero.
He waited patiently as this gentle old man, made his way slowly up the steps towards him, before winding himself around those tartan pants, purring contentedly.
Frank reached down and petted Pistachio, scratching behind his ear.
"There you go, you silly old cat," he murmured, "that'll teach you to be over friendly to strangers."
Pistachio just looked up at him gratefully.
His hero.
