Country Wives (8 page)

Kate felt sad and it showed in her face. Dan glanced at her, taking in her almost classical profile, and he wondered where she had got that from. “What does your father do?”

“He’s sales manager for the biscuit factory the other side of town.”

“And your mother?”

Kate corrected him. “My stepmother, Mia, she’s a miniaturist.”

“Wonderful talent.”

“It is. She’s becoming quite well known. Never without work.”

“That’s good. How long has she been your stepmother?”

“Since I was eighteen months old, or thereabouts.”

“Your mother? Where is she?”

Kate looked up at him. “I’ve no idea. She walked out on us.”

Dan replied, “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“How could I be hurt when I’ve never set eyes on her and don’t even know her name. My dad finds it all too hard to talk about. Thinks it doesn’t concern me, that only he has the right to suffer; but everyone needs to know their origins, don’t they? I know I wish I did.”

Kate was appalled by the change which came over Dan. Whatever had she said to have brought such an anguished look to his face? She’d always thought of him as having emotion tightly under control, if indeed he had any at all; but here, surprisingly, there appeared to be a totally unsuspected secret, which obviously lay painfully deep.

To give him space, Kate remained silent, watching people and observing the very differing fashions the women guests had chosen to wear. She looked down at her own black number, which Mia had run up for her after she’d got Dan’s invitation. It was elegantly simple and just sufficiently detailed to bring it way up from downright ordinary without being ostentatious, and she knew she looked good in it. Hang not knowing her birth mother; Mia more than compensated.

Dan tossed down his G&T and abruptly said, “Another orange? Then we’ll take a look at the buffet. Eh? Should be time for the auction soon.”

“Right.”

“You buying anything?”

Kate had to laugh. She looked at the auction catalogue. “Well, I certainly haven’t enough money to buy anything at all and, what’s more, I don’t want corporate entertaining at Formula One in Monaco with last year’s championship winner no matter who he is, or a ghastly weekend in Scotland shooting grouse on Lord Askew’s estate, or an evening with a third-rate pop star at the Café de Paris, or a day as an extra on a film set no matter how prestigious the stars.” She paused for a moment while she thought of the worst thing possible and came up with “And I definitely do not want the cricket bat signed by the entire English team.”

She managed to bring a smile to Dan’s face. “What
do
you want, then?”

“That’s easy to answer. To be a student at the Royal Veterinary College next October, that’s all.” She checked the catalogue again. “But I don’t see that here, or have I missed something?”

“You a vet! I’d no idea. What do you need to get in?”

“They’ll have me if I get a grade A in chemistry. That’s all I need now.” She clenched her fist and struck the air. “I’ve got biology and physics, so it’s only one small hurdle and I’ll be there. Well, not so small, actually.”

“That’s brilliant. I’m so pleased. It’s five years’ hard work, believe me, but you’ll never regret it.”

Kate risked another look at his face. It had regained its normal inscrutability. “It’s worth it, isn’t it?”

Dan nodded. “Wouldn’t be doing anything else on earth. Constant challenge, ever changing work, out in the open air in
wonderful countryside. What more can a man ask? Or a woman for that matter.” He laughed and added, “And the best of it is the patients can’t argue about the treatment.”

The orchestra played a great flourish, and the chairman made his speech and the auction began. Dan found them each a chair in the back row, and they prepared themselves to be entertained. Halfway through, Dan felt a touch on the back of his chair. He half glanced round and saw it was Lord Askew’s great hand resting there. Tactically he knew it was good sense to ignore it. But they’d just reached the exciting part where the auctioneer announced the big prize of the evening, the weekend in Monaco at the Grand Prix. The noise mounted and the auctioneer had difficulty in getting silence.

“I say, Brown, come out. I need to talk.” Lord Askew was incapable of speaking quietly, and his request boomed out just as silence had fallen. The auctioneer gathered everyone’s eye yet again and began the bidding.

Dan stood up and followed his lordship, who took him to a quiet corner on the balcony where the orchestra had been playing. “I say, where did you learn about horses?”

“In Dubai.”

Lord Askew raised his eyebrows in surprise. “With a sheikh?”

“Yes.”

“Price has never had a proper equine vet, you know.”

“He told me.”

“Plenty of experience, then?”

“Some experience mixed with a lot of instinct.”

“Instinct. Hm.” Lord Askew pushed his hands in his pockets. The noise from the auction couldn’t be ignored. He raised his voice a little. “That roan, my daughter’s, don’t you know. Stickler for the horse being in tip-top condition.” He raised his voice a few more decibels. “Don’t suppose you would come to
take a look? Private, don’t you know. Nothing to do with the practice.”

“I am surprised, my lord, that a man of principle like yourself would make such a request.”

Lord Askew edged nearer and in a loud stage whisper said close to Dan’s ear, “Don’t push
me
. I don’t bargain. But I would pay twice the going rate for your opinion.”

“I’m sorry. I am going to pretend this conversation never took place. Please excuse me.” Dan walked away back to Kate and took his seat again, a grin on his face like that on the proverbial Cheshire cat.

J
oy called out from her office, “It’s the first Monday. Have we got the fire bucket ready?” She got no answer and wondered why. It was five minutes past eight, so Kate should be on the desk. “Hello! Anyone there?”

Getting no reply, Joy went to see why. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw that Stephie was back from New Zealand. But where had her long, lank brown hair; her sallow skin; her expressionless face gone? In their place was short, bouncy hair with blond highlights, a tanned face and a bright, bubbly expression. “Stephie! You’re back!”

Kate said, “I’m speechless. I didn’t recognize her when she came in.”

“I can’t believe this. My dear. Welcome back. So this is what New Zealand has done for you. I think I’ll be on the next flight. Book me a ticket, quick.”

Kate nodded in agreement. “Me too. God! What a change. You look fabulous.”

“You like my new look, then?”

“Like it! We’re dead envious, aren’t we, Kate?”

“We most certainly are.”

Stephie explained. “It was my cousin; she persuaded me. I feel a fool, really.” She looked at Kate for reassurance.

“You don’t look it. You look great.”

Joy asked her if the wedding went off all right.

“Well, apart from a massive rainstorm while we were in church—thunder, lightning, the works—it went off fine. Except the best man couldn’t find the ring, and the prawn cocktails were off so we couldn’t eat them, and the bride’s father got the worse for drink and gave a hilarious speech. Yes, it all went well.”

Kate asked her what the best man was like.

“He was superb! In fact…”

Joy and Kate prompted her to continue. “Yes?”

“He’ll be over here at Christmas.”

“Will he indeed!” Joy wagged her finger at Stephie. “Coming to see you, is he?”

“Well, I might see him; might, you know. But he is writing.”

Joy gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you had such a wonderful time. Sorry to bring you back down to earth, but we must press on.” She retreated to her office, smiling to herself, thinking what an amazing effect an interesting man can have on a girl.

Stephie filled Kate in on the details between dealing with clients and answering the phone. They had a busy morning ahead of them with a full appointment list for the general clinic and a full one for Mungo’s orthopedic clinic too.

Stephie put down the receiver after battling to fit in yet another client for the small animal clinic and said, “Don’t you think we’re busier than ever?”

“I’m certain we are. I’ve been working whole days while you’ve been away because of Lynne.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

“Virus.” A man was standing at the desk, a long-haired ginger cat in his arms. “Good morning. How can I help?”

“I’ve found this cat by the side of the road, laid in the gutter. I think it’s been run over.”

Kate felt Stephie give her a slight kick with her foot. “I see. Where?”

“Near the precinct, by the parking garage. It was crying; that was why I noticed it.”

Kate leaned forward to look more closely at the cat. “Poor thing. Lucky you found it. It looks very unkempt, as if it’s a stray. Look, put it in this box and I’ll get one of our vets to attend to it. I can’t take it in unless I have a name and address. Really, the RSPCA would be the best place.”

Quickly the man said, “Can’t get there; no car. Too far out.”

Kate nodded. “I see.” Stephie passed her the clipboard, and Kate picked up her pen. “Right, sir. You’re Mr …. ?”

“ … Thomas.”

“And your address?”

The man hesitated, then said, “This cat’s not mine, you know, not mine no, no.”

“But surely you’d be interested to know how it gets on?”

“Oh yes, yes. It’s … 43 Oakroyd … Gardens.”

“And your phone number?”

“Not on the phone.”

“Perhaps you have a phone number at work?”

“No, that wouldn’t do. They don’t encourage private calls.”

Stephie asked, “Just a minute. Where did you say you found it?”

“Like I said, on the slope up to the parking garage.”

Kate, intent on the cat’s suffering, said, “It’s very good of you to bring it in.”

Stephie said, “We’d really prefer a phone number, Mr. Thomas. Perhaps a neighbor’s? Or a friend’s.”

Mr. Thomas turned on his heel and left before they could
stop him. Stephie dashed into the laundry room to watch the car park and was in time to see him get into a little Ford parked as close to the exit as he could get, start up, back out and drive away at high speed.

She raced back into reception and wrote down his registration number. Kate, smoothing the cat’s head with a gentle finger, asked, “What are you doing?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday; that chap
has
got a car, and I’ve written down his number. I was suspicious of him right from the start.”

“What do you mean?”

“Honestly, you’re too good to be true, you are. That’s his own cat.”

“No, it’s not. He said he found it in the gutter. Obviously, it’s been run over, or at least collided with a car or something.”

“Kate Howard! You’re not fit to be let out. I’d bet a million dollars on it being his own cat.”

“Well, why didn’t he say so, then?”

“Because he’s too mean to pay for it.”

“Well, honestly! I don’t believe it. Anyway, I’d better get some help. It looks in a bad way.”

“I’ve come back not a moment too soon. Gullible, that’s what you are.”

“OK, OK. Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you looked at.”

“Mungo’s free for half an hour; his last client didn’t get here.”

“Right.”

Kate watched Mungo’s sensitive hands delicately examining the cat. She marveled at the way they appeared to be “reading” the cat’s injuries. “Broken left hind leg—make a note—fairly certain a crushed pelvis.” The cat yowled. “Sorry, old chap. Fleas—look here—several ticks. God, what a state it’s in. Look at this!” Mungo held the fur of its throat between his fingers exposing the flesh. He carried on parting the fur all the way
round its neck and found a nasty red weal encircling it, with raw flesh and dried blood in several places. “Goes all the way round. It’s a wonder its throat hasn’t been severed it’s so deep in places. As if someone’s tried to throttle it with a cord. That’s not a car accident, is it?”

Kate felt sick. “The chap, Mr. Thomas, left an address.”

“Did he? Got all this down?”

“Yes.”

“Look at his pads. As if he’s been dragged along the road and had the skin seared off. I’ve seen that before with a car accident.”

The door opened and in came Dan. “Mungo I … Oh! Sorry!”

“Come and look at this, Dan. What do you think?” Together they reexamined the cat.

Dan straightened up and asked Kate who’d brought him in. She explained.

“Check to see if his address is genuine. Please.”

Mungo asked him what he thought. “It all appears consistent with a car accident, but the neck injury … We both have been vets long enough to know how cruel people can be. I wonder if this cat has been tied by the neck to a car bumper, or a bike possibly, and dragged along the road. See his claws, almost pulled from their beds; friction burns on his pads and they’re bleeding in places. This isn’t a normal car accident, is it? I reckon this is a cruelty case. But the cat could have been dumped, and he genuinely has picked it up.”

“So why run off?”

“Frightened he might get blamed?”

“But it’s unlikely he would know what we’ve found out about the cord round its neck. Its fur is so thick he’d never notice it without close examination. If he was innocent, what has he to be afraid of?”

Kate, feeling even more sick than she had been when listing the injuries, came back in and said, “Must be a false address. I’ve looked in the street directory, and there’s no such road in Barleybridge.”

Mungo shrugged his shoulders. “We shouldn’t be surprised. Right. He needs a painkiller, rest and quiet, and a drip and antibiotic. We’ll leave him to sleep and get some strength back, then we’ll X-ray later today. He’s too bloody thin as well. Get Bunty for me, Kate, please.”

When she’d left his consulting room, Mungo said, “I’m not letting this go. I’ll get him for this, so help me.”

As Mungo washed his hands, Dan commented, “I thought I’d seen everything there was to see out in the Caribbean and in Dubai, but this … in a country which prides itself on being compassionate, it takes some beating. But we’ve nothing to go on. False address, wrong name too, I suspect.”