Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (10 page)

“It is. But you’ll be fine,” Lynn assured her as she saw the stricken look pass over Marianne’s face. “You’re a quick learner. You’ve done a great job so far.” She got up and thrust a folder into the file drawer. “So, what do you say? Are you in?”

“Okay.” Marianne welcomed the thought of a bit of relaxation and fun after the past tumultuous week. “Yes. I’m in.”

They closed up the clinic promptly at four-thirty, and Marianne accompanied Lynn out to the car park just before five o’clock that evening.

“No use in both of us driving,” Lynn said as they climbed inside her Golf. “Matthew and Aiden have a couple of things to finish up in the surgery. But they said they’ll be along in a bit and we’re to grab a table. I’ll drop you off back here afterwards.”

“Does the pub in Carywick get busy?”

“Does it! On a Friday night it’s usually heaving by six-thirty, and by seven you can’t find a place to park outside – or to sit inside.”

“Goodness,” Marianne murmured.

When they arrived at the Black Lion twenty minutes later, Marianne took out her mobile as Lynn manoeuvred the car into a parking space along the main road and called to let her mother know she’d be home late.

“A pub, you said?” Mrs Holland said doubtfully.

“I’m with my work mates, mum – Dr Brandon and Aiden and Lynn. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will. Just don’t drink too much; you’ve to drive yourself home later, you know. Oh…and have fun.”

“I will,” Marianne promised. “I won’t be too late. I’ve got work again tomorrow, after all. Bye.”

The Carywick pub was loud and welcoming and, as Lynn had predicted, already crowded with a mix of farmers, locals, and a rowdy group of college-aged students playing darts. Lynn and Marianne found a table in the back left corner and took seats.

“You should see it when the sheep shearers are in here,” Lynn told her. “A rowdier bunch of men you can’t imagine. But they’re good blokes, for all that.”

“I’m sure,” Marianne agreed. “I’d love to be here to help during lambing time.”

“It’s amazing, but exhausting. Most of the farmers and their wives hereabouts are dead on their feet before the season’s over.” Lynn touched her on the shoulder and stood up. “I’ll spring for the first round.” She turned back towards the bar. “What’ll you have?”

“A half pint, please. Thanks.”

Somewhat self-consciously Marianne glanced around her at the oaken beams and rough, plastered walls. She didn’t know a soul. And her work outfit of twill slacks and white blouse didn’t exactly scream ‘let’s party’.

Which is just as well
, she scolded herself.
You’re not here to party, anyway, you’re here to send Lynn off with a couple of farewell drinks and a laugh, that’s all –

“Miss Holland.”

She turned, startled to see Aidan Wilson, the clinic’s assistant veterinarian, taking a seat next to her. A smile unfurled on the Australian’s face as she bid him a polite hello.

“Hello, Dr Wilson.”

“Aidan, please. No need to stand on ceremony here.” He was attractive, with dark blond hair and an open and uncomplicated face, and his eyes danced with amusement. “I’m on my way over to fight the crowd at the bar. Can I get you something?”

“Thanks, but –” she broke off as Lynn returned bearing two half pints of lager and set one before her. “It’s already taken care of,” Marianne added, and grinned as she turned back to Aidan and lifted her glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. And hold that thought.”

With that, he stood and clapped her on the shoulder and made his way through the throng to the bar. He’d barely left when Matthew Brandon arrived and pulled up a chair across the table from her.

“You can bring me a pint,” he called out after Aidan.

Aidan didn’t look back but held up his thumb as he worked his way to the bar.

“Hello, ladies.”

Dr Brandon’s lab coat and stethoscope were gone; now he wore a T-shirt and jeans, and his dark brown hair was freshly combed.

“Hello, yourself.” Marianne blushed and dived into her pint, and hoped she hadn’t sounded flirty or forward. God knows, that’s all she needed, to have Matthew Brandon think she was after him –

“So you made it through your first two days.” He eyed her with that flinty grey gaze that held so much and yet gave away so little.

“And a fine job she’s done so far, too,” Lynn pointed out. “She’s picked up the filing system, not to mention the idiosyncrasies of the switchboard – and she knows who not to put through to you and which animals to keep apart.”

“Good work.”

And although he gave her the briefest of smiles, Marianne couldn’t help but feel that Dr Brandon had yet to be convinced of her suitability for the job.

“Here we are, Matt – a pint for you and one for me.”

With a slosh of beer and a cheery grin Aidan returned and thumped their drinks down on the table.

Brandon drew his glass forward. “About damned time, too.”

The talk turned to other things. The controversy over badger culling, an issue of contention elsewhere in England, had recently reared its head in County Durham and Northumberland as well.

“It’s completely unnecessary,” Matthew said flatly. “The risk of humans getting infected with bTB is slim to none. And sheep or cattle are just as likely to contract it from deer as from badgers.”

“The methods of culling are inhumane,” Aidan agreed. “Most of the farmers I’ve talked to are against it.”

“What’s bTB?” Marianne asked, curious.

“Bovine tuberculosis. Badgers can transmit it to cattle,” Matthew explained. “But with the pasteurisation of milk, and with a programme of vaccination put in place, infection is unlikely. There’s no call to destroy healthy animals.”

“It’s a cause he feels strongly about,” Lynn said. “If you hadn’t already noticed.” She smiled. “He even took up a collection for his anti-culling campaign.”

“Two hundred and twenty-five pounds so far.” Matthew slanted a glance at Marianne. “And you’ve contributed to it, Miss Holland. Twenty-five pounds, to be exact.”

“So
that’s
why you charged me such an exorbitant fee to take me back to Barton Park,” she accused, and laughed. “Oh, well – all in a good cause, I suppose –”

As her gaze went across the room, she broke off, and the words froze in her throat.

“What is it?” He leaned forward, his brows drawn together. “You’ve gone as white as a lab coat.”

Marianne couldn’t believe it. “It’s them,” she breathed, more to herself than to Matthew. “It’s that bastard Brian, and his friend Danny, sitting in here drinking and laughing, as bold as brass.”

“Not particular friends of yours, I take it?”

“No.” She turned back to Matthew, her face stamped with outrage. “Those are the men who stole Lady Violet’s car!”

Chapter 15

“What?” he exclaimed, and frowned as he followed her gaze. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’ll never forget his lying, two-faced…
face
,” Marianne fumed. “He offered to help me when my estate car overheated – and after he put water in the coolant tank and told me it was good to go, he started the engine and drove off.”

“Then there’s only one thing to do. Let’s go outside and see if your car’s parked nearby.”

Marianne’s eyes widened. “And what if it is? What’ll I do then?”

“She’s right, mate,” Aidan agreed. “Best just call the police and let them handle it.”

“I already tried that,” she retorted. “It didn’t work.”

“
You
won’t do anything, Miss Holland,” Matthew said. “Aidan’s right – for all we know, those two could be dangerous.” He thrust his chair back. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Wait – where are you going?” Marianne asked, alarmed. “You’re not
confronting
them, are you?”

He shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m not dafty. I’ll just go and have a look round outside and see if your estate car’s anywhere to be found.”

“Oh. Okay.” She stood up as well, and found that her legs were unsteady. “I’m going with you.”

“Just keep your head down and your mouth shut. If you can.” He preceded her through the crowd and headed out of the front door.

She glared at him, but he was already gone. There was nothing to do but follow him.

As they emerged onto the street and began walking in the cool crispness of the late August evening, Marianne stayed close behind Matthew. She eyed the cars lining both sides of the street. Although she saw every sort of vehicle, in every kind of condition, there was not an estate car like Lady Violet’s anywhere to be seen.

After a few minutes, she caught at Matthew’s arm. “I don’t see it,” she said as he turned around. “It’s obviously not here. Let’s forget it and go back inside.”

“Not yet. We’ll have a look in the car park behind the building first. It might be back there.”

Reluctantly, Marianne once again fell into step after him and followed him around the corner and down a narrow alley that led to a car park behind the Black Lion. Her eyes flickered over the rows of trucks and vans and cars jammed into the tiny space.

“There it is!” she cried out, and clutched his arm. “There’s Lady V’s estate car. On the end.” She frowned. “Only…it’s black, not dark green.”

He followed her pointing finger. “That’s it? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.” She moved closer, and leaned down to peer inside. Even in the dim light, she could make out the rip in the passenger seat and the ancient radio/cassette player installed in the dashboard. “They’ve slapped a coat of paint on it, but even so, there’s no question. This is it. This is Lady Violet’s car.”

“Do you have the key?”

“It’s on my key ring.” Marianne straightened, and her eyes met his. “You’re not suggesting I steal it back, are you?”

“Why not? In this case –” he grinned. “Two wrongs
do
make a right.”

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.

“What else do you suggest? Go back inside and let Brian and Danny leave in your granny’s estate car? You’ll likely never see it again.”

“She’s
not
my granny. And I suppose you’re right.” Still, she hesitated.

“What do you think Brian’ll do when he finds it gone, anyway – call the police and report it stolen?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Come on.” He held out his hand. “Give me the key and I’ll back it out for you. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze.”

Wordlessly she dug out her key ring and handed it over. In a matter of minutes he’d started the car and eased it out of the parking spot, and pointed it towards the exit.

“There you are,” he said as he climbed out and held the door open for her. “If you give me the key to your mum’s car, I’ll have Aidan follow me out to Barton Park later on tonight and leave it.”

“You will? And you won’t charge me for it?” she asked warily.

“Not this time. No.”

“Fair enough. Thanks.” She reached in to shut off the engine and removed the key from the ring.

“Safe journey,” he said, and thrust the key in his pocket. “See you tomorrow, nine o’clock sharp.”

“You’re really anxious to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

“Are you still here?” he retorted.

But Marianne noticed a smile – granted, it was tiny, but it was still a smile – flicker across his lips.

“All right,” she said. “I’m leaving.” She ducked under his arm and slid in behind the wheel and started the engine back up. “Goodbye. And – thanks again. For everything.”

The hard lines of his face eased, and he leaned down to say something more. But she never knew what he was about to say.

“Hey – what the hell are you doing over there?” Brian called out as he and Danny rounded the corner and saw them. “That’s my bloody car!”

“
His
car?” Marianne bristled. “The nerve–”

“Go,” Matthew ordered her, and slammed the driver’s door.

“But–”

“Go!” He slapped the side of the car as if to urge her forward.

With trembling hands, Marianne gripped the wheel and obeyed, gunning the gas pedal, and the estate car shot forward. Brian and Danny pelted towards her with murder in their eyes; but a group of inebriated college students got tangled up between them and slowed them down.

As the two men reached the car park, shouting and waving their fists, she turned the estate car onto the main road with a squeal of tyres and took off as if the devil himself were hot on her heels.

***

On the way home, Marianne repeatedly glanced in her rear-view mirror, half afraid she’d see flashing police lights behind her. But the trip back to Barton Park and the Hollands’ new home was uneventful.

“Did you have a nice time?” her mother asked as she made them a cup of chamomile tea.

“It was fun for about twenty minutes. Then I saw the two men who stole Lady Violet’s car sitting in the pub, nice as you please.”

“What?” Mrs Holland whirled around with the teapot in hand, aghast. “Oh, my. What on earth did you do?”

Marianne grinned. In her hair curlers and bathrobe, her mother was a comical sight. “
I
didn’t do anything. But with a little help from Matthew, I got the car back. I drove it home; it’s parked outside now.”

Her mother sank down at the table and regarded her daughter in horror. “But, Marianne – anything might’ve happened. They might’ve had guns!”

“They didn’t. At least, I don’t think they did. I spotted the car behind the pub; and since I still had the key on my ring, I got in and drove off. It was as easy as that.”

“You’ll be the death of me yet, Marianne Holland. You’re far too impulsive.” She stood up to finish pouring their tea. “But I’m glad you got Lady Violet’s car back.” She turned around suddenly. “And what about my Fiat?”

“Matthew – I mean, Dr Brandon,” she corrected herself, “is bringing it back tonight with Aidan, the assistant vet.”

They paused at the sound of two cars pulling up outside, engines idling, followed by doors slamming and low voices calling out.

“That’ll be them now,” Marianne added. “Shall I ask them in for tea?” she teased, knowing her mother would sooner parade naked down the aisle of the local church than let the two veterinarians see her dressed in curlers and a bathrobe and slippers.