Country Wives (16 page)

“I’ve quite enjoyed myself, actually. I’ll be sorry to go. But then Colin does take a lot of looking after. He’s very demanding with the hours he has to keep.”

“Thanks for all your help; it’s been much appreciated.”

“Any time you have a problem you can rely on me.”

Over my dead body
, thought Joy.

So just when Joy thought Christmas was going to be a complete nightmare because of Letty, it looked to be plain sailing once more. They began the new regime when Annette started work, and Stephie and Kate agreed they liked it better. Annette proved to be a pleasant person to work with, and Joy found herself with a happy team, well integrated and working with a will, though the hoped-for increase in clients had not yet materialized.

Then Dan came up with another idea. He broached it one
afternoon when only Joy and Kate were on duty, and he’d finished his list and was waiting around in reception in the hope of a call. Eyeing the space between the main door and the chairs in the waiting area, he said, “That piece of wall there is a waste.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. I have an idea.”

Joy pointed the pen she was holding in his direction. “Look! The last time you had an idea all hell broke loose in here.”

Dan smiled. “But you have to admit it all turned out well, didn’t it, in the end.”

“After a lot of suffering, I admit it did.”

“Well, I was thinking the other day, more revenue needed, more ideas. So how about…”

“Kate, are we ready for this?”

“Not really, but let him tell us.”

“Selling approved things for small animals.”

“Approved
things?”

“Items we as a veterinary practice approve of. The right kind of tinned food, or dry if preferred. The right kind of collars and leads for dogs. The right kind of grooming products …”

“Stop right there!”

“The right kind of bedding, treats, toys for budgies, toys for hamsters, the list is endless.”

“But my patience isn’t. There is no way I’m going to be involved in that kind of thing.”

“But we’re supposed to be really into this business of keeping animals usefully occupied so they don’t develop behavioral problems through boredom. We should be leading the way. I can just see Barleybridge Veterinary Hospital at the forefront in the field of animal behaviorist knickknacks—”

Joy banged her fist on the desk. “
Go away!
Go on, wait somewhere else. I mean it.”

Dan winked at Kate and made his escape into the back,
deliberately pausing to study the space beside the main door before he finally disappeared.

“He could be right, you know. It could be a nice little earner. We’re always getting asked if we sell things, or for advice, and we’ve nothing to show people. It might be an idea,” said Kate.

“On the grounds that the work and the accounting for it all would far outweigh the profit, I have nothing more to say on the matter.” Joy did a final flourish on the computer and left Kate on her own.

Kate’s mind raced through all manner of notions in support of Dan’s idea and came to the conclusion that it was a very worthwhile scheme. She mentioned it in passing to Stephie, who immediately took the idea on board and couldn’t wait to get it all set up.

“Joy disapproves, though.”

Stephie’s face fell. “Aw! Does she? I just fancied having a go at selling those dinky budgie bells and mirrors and things. It’s all the rage now, isn’t it, activities to stop the poor things from going stir crazy? I reckon we’d be doing them a good turn. Things for hamsters and gerbils, toys for dogs and cats.”

“So do I. But—”

“Course, it would mean we’d be approving of Dan.” Stephie turned down the corners of her mouth to show her reluctance to give him credit for anything.

“So … why not, for heaven’s sake? He works so hard for this practice, and you have to admit you’re getting to like him just a little teeny bit.” Kate measured about half a centimeter between her thumb and forefinger, and made Stephie laugh.

“OK. OK. Yes, I am. He’s kind of growing on me, I admit. We’ll make our plans tonight over a meal, shall we?”

“Right. We could have a look around the pet shop in the mall and see what’s on the market.” They gave each other the thumbs-up.

Deviousness wasn’t in Kate’s makeup really, but it occurred to her that getting Miriam on their side might be a good thing and, when she broached the idea to her one afternoon while she was helping to put up the Christmas decorations in reception, she found Miriam was entirely enthusiastic. “Is it your idea?”

“No, Dan’s.”

Miriam raised an eyebrow. “Oh, dear. We could be stirring things up again. But I’ll talk to Mungo.”

“Thank you. I’m sure it would be a good move.”

“So do I. It will be storage of the stock that will be the problem and making sure people don’t slip things into their bags on the way out.”

“Exactly. Well, Stephie and I think just by the door isn’t quite the best place.”

“Pass me those red balloons; they’ll look good in this corner.” Miriam had climbed to the top of the ladder and was balancing precariously, waiting with outstretched hand for the bundle of balloons. “I think it’s a brilliant plan, and if someone is needed to take charge of ordering and checking the stock, I’ll take that on board. Thank you, Kate.” She took the bundle and secured it into the corner of the reception ceiling, climbed down, folded the ladder and said, “So if I do that, no one can complain about the extra work, can they?”

“Absolutely not.”

They stood together, admiring their hard work: the heavily decorated real Christmas tree with its beautiful fairy lights; the paper bells and silver balls strung across the ceiling; the nativity scene Miriam had bought in Germany for her children and which she insisted must be on view for their sakes on the central windowsill; the silver tinsel bordering the desk and, best of all, the artificial snow on the window panes, which Mungo always mocked, but which Miriam loved because it made her
feel all Dickensian. She squeezed Kate’s arm. “Thank you. You’ve been such a help.”

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“I shall miss you next Christmas.”

“If I’ve finished college—that is, if I get there—I could come in and give you a hand.”

“You could. That would be lovely. Never fear, you’ll get in if I have to throw myself on the admissions tutor’s floor and offer myself to him.”

“Miriam!”

“You’ll see. And about selling things, leave that with me.”

J
oy, incensed by the maneuvering which had been going on behind her back, complained bitterly to Duncan. “I mean, who is in charge of the practice? Tell me that. Am I the manager or not?”

“Joy, for goodness sake, calm down.”

“They’ve even worked out how to alter the chairs round to make space for the shelves.” She pointed angrily to herself. “Ask me? Consult me? Oh, no! I’m very upset.”

“When it was first broached, what did you say?”

“I said … all right … I said to Mungo ‘over my dead body.’ ”

“Did he try to persuade you?”

“Yes, he did. He turned on his charm as only he can, and I refused to listen. He said how much he wanted to go along with Dan’s suggestion—more money in the coffers, you know. Then he smiled and that did it. I thought not again, Mungo, you’re not getting your own way any more with that celebrated smile of yours.” Her eyes went dreamy and Duncan sighed within himself.

“Ask yourself why?”

She came back from musing on Mungo’s charm. “Why? Why what?”

“Why you have set your mind against it.”

Joy thought for a moment. “Because I can’t stand any more controversy.”

“Who’s objecting?”

“Letty for starters, despite it being none of her business now.”

“Well, you can forget her.”

“Miriam for jumping in when she shouldn’t. Mungo because he thinks he only has to smile at me and he’ll get his own way. Dan because he’s Dan.”

“You’re being petty.”

“I am?”

Duncan nodded. “Yes. But thanks for resisting Mungo’s charm … at last.” He reached toward her with a gentle hand and stroked her cheek. “Why don’t you go in tomorrow and start straight in planning everything as if you’ve never objected. Give them all a shock.”

“Think so?”

Duncan’s hand cupped her chin and turned her face toward him. “With Christmas coming on we don’t want trouble, do we? Spirit of goodwill and all that.” He smiled at her with such tenderness that it brought tears to her eyes.

“I don’t deserve you loving me.”

“You do.”

Joy shook her head. “No, I don’t. Though by resisting Mungo’s charm I could have made my first major step forward, couldn’t I?”

“Indeed.”

“I wish you wouldn’t get more computer work. You’re so much more
here
when you’re not totally absorbed in it. I don’t
even exist for you when you’re working. Do you know that? It is hard.”

“For you I won’t, then. The next project which comes in I shall send straight back by return mail.”

“Oh yes, I bet!”

“I will if it means so much to you.”

“What would we live on?”

“Love?”

They both laughed, Joy with abandon, Duncan with a sad guardedness that hurt. Joy’s glance slipped past him to come to rest on the flames dancing in the hearth. She began to despise herself for so lightly dismissing Duncan’s love and, instead, snatching at morsels of Mungo’s, which in reality didn’t belong to her and never would. How much longer would she keep chasing shadows? Joy reached out and touched his lips with her fingers. “I’ll take your advice and go in tomorrow and begin to plan.”

He kissed her fingers as they lingered on his mouth. “I love you,” he said, but she didn’t respond in kind.

D
AN
was delighted to find his idea had been taken up with such enthusiasm, mainly because he’d decided, yet again, that if he possibly could, he’d definitely stay. He liked the people, he liked the clients, he liked the countryside and Barleybridge and … well, for the first time in years he felt “at home.” Before he put his things into the Land Rover, he shaded his eyes and looked up at Beulah Bank Top. One day soon he’d walk up there, right to the very top, and survey his kingdom. He turned round and looked down into the town, a town unspoiled by twentieth-century buildings and looking as it must have done for centuries. The spires, the colorful roofs, the lovely mellow stone buildings, the shining band of river wending its way through and the beautiful arching trees, devoid of their summer
plumage but still beautiful, made his heart sing. He’d buy a house and settle into the bustling life of Barleybridge.

Superimposed on his view of the town, without warning, came Rose, with her long fair hair hanging loose, inviting him to touch it, love in her eyes and on her lips, that teasing grin of hers, teasing him into making love, giving him everything there was of her … the thought of her wrenched at his heart so viciously he almost doubled up with the pain, and his life turned to ashes in that moment.

He flung his bag and telephone onto the passenger seat, stuck his list on the dashboard and drove wildly out of the car park, missing the bench at the back door by a cat’s whisker.

His first call was Porter’s Fold, so he took the steep road to Magnum Percy, turning left before he reached the village itself. This was scarcely more than a narrow cart track with tarmac, which had fallen away at the edges, leaving great water-filled hollows on either side. The only passing places were where a field gate happened to be and Dan hoped he wouldn’t meet another vehicle coming the other way. The landscape became increasingly harsh the farther he drove, till he finally saw the house and the farm buildings. The land looked barely fit to support even sheep.

Hanging lopsidedly at the top of an old post was a sign saying
PORTER’S FOLD.
It actually said
POTER OLD
, the other letters having been obliterated by years of weather. The gate was open, propped back by two stones taken from the wall. He drove in, parked, put on his boots, picked up his bag and wandered toward the farm buildings, in no mood this morning to tolerate anyone at all.

Tad Porter came out to greet him. He was an exceptionally tall gray man, sparse of flesh, with a big hooked nose emphasized by his overhanging forehead and abnormally thick, bushy gray eyebrows shading a pair of morose gray eyes. He wore an
old bowler hat on his gray hair, completely at odds with the corduroys and layers of holey sweaters on his body. All Dan got as a greeting was a jerk of his head toward an open stable door; it suited his mood, so he didn’t even try to make conversation. There were two heifers in the stable, one looking well, though her eyes lacked sparkle, the other looking as though death was snapping at her heels. Tad pointed with his boot toe at the sick one. “Acting drunk.”

“You mean her movements are uncoordinated?”

Tad nodded. The heifer was tied up so Dan undid the rope and tried to get her to walk for him back and forth, but she slipped wildly about, her legs out of her control, almost going down as he turned her back toward her stall.

Dan took her temperature and, while he waited, asked, “Scouring at all?”

Tad shook his head.

“Eating?”

Another shake.

“No temperature. Could be one of several things. Obviously some problem with its brain. Tapeworm cyst, tumor, lead poisoning …” Dan looked round the stable for anything at all which the heifers might have got at, but saw no tractor oil or windows where they could have reached the putty, nor old flaking paint. “Seems unlikely in here. Whatever it is, it’s well advanced. I’ll take blood samples. The other showing any signs?”

Yet another shake of that head.

He took the blood samples, packed his bag and said, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I don’t like the look of her at all.” Dan stood looking at the two cows, his mind ranging around several possibilities, unable to put his finger exactly on the problem. “She hasn’t been out in the field these last few weeks?”

Tad shook his head.

“I see. Keep an eye on her. Ring if she gets worse later today
and I’ll come out. It’s puzzling, very puzzling. In any case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Tad. Good morning to you.” Dan touched his cap, gave a final look round the stable and left. It was the first time in his working life that he’d managed to conduct a visit with so few words being exchanged. What a strange man. What a farm. A funny mixture of farm and scrapyard, with the remains of cars and lorries and vans strewn in corners of the yard and in the adjacent fields. Not modern vehicles, but old nineteen thirties and forties ones, beaten into submission by the weather and total neglect.