Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (7 page)

“I’m here to interview for the job.”

He stared at her. “What job?”

“The veterinary assistant position,” she said. Was he thick as well as rude? “I sent my résumé in last month.”

He frowned and reached behind him, searched a table under the window, unearthed a folder, and riffled through it. He leaned back in his chair and scanned it. “Ah, here we are. No. The only interview letter we sent out went to an applicant named Mark Holland in Devonshire.”

“But I have a letter.” Marianne reached into her handbag and withdrew the letter she’d received and held it out. “Asking me to come in and interview for the job.”

He took it and glanced down. “Marianne Holland, of South Devon. Ah. There’s obviously been a mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“You weren’t meant to get this offer. Mark Holland was.” He handed the letter back. “The files for Mark and Marianne must’ve got mixed up.”

“Did they, really? Or is the fact that I’m a female the issue?” she challenged him. “Did you offer Mr Holland an interview because he’s a man? Are you one of those sexist gits?”

His eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not ‘one of those sexist gits’, I offered Mr Holland an interview because he had excellent qualifications. But looking at this –” he picked up her résumé and scanned it. “Your qualifications are nonexistent. You’re not remotely suited for the job.”

“Why?” she bristled. “Because I’m a woman?”

“No.” He eyed her kitten heels, pencil skirt, and white silk blouse and leaned forward. “Because I suspect the only animal you’ve ever dealt with is one of those faffy little dogs you carry round in your purse like a furry accessory.”

She bristled at the astonishing injustice – not to mention sexism – of his assumption. “It’s not a
purse
,” she snapped, “it’s a handbag.”

And before she could form a further, more suitably scathing reply, he tossed her résumé aside.

“Have you ever worked in a professional capacity with animals before, Miss Holland?”

“Not…not as such, no.”

“Have you calved a cow, or foaled a mare?”

“No.”

“What do you know of animal husbandry?”

She blinked. She suspected he wasn’t referring to female chickens looking for rooster husbands. “A little,” she hedged.

“Good God,” he muttered, and ploughed a hand through his hair. “Do you know what colostrum is? Do things like the sight of blood or open wounds or placenta make you queasy?”

She blanched. “It all sounds a bit horrid, to be honest.”

“Then how do you expect me to hire you on to help me in the surgery?” he demanded. “You haven’t any qualifications at all, have you?”

Marianne bit her lip. “I got a bit of work experience at the local veterinary clinic in Litchfield last summer,” she admitted. “And I’m a hard worker,” she added, and tilted her chin back, “and a quick learner. And –” she hesitated. “And I really need this job.”

“How long did you work in the clinic?”

“Two and a half months.”

“And what, exactly,” he inquired, his eyes like flint, “did you do there?”

She thought of lying, or fudging the truth; but she’d already told him she had no real experience. “I kept Dr Edmund’s diary,” she confessed, “and answered the phone and dealt with customers, and I filed insurance forms.”

“You worked the reception desk.” It was a statement of fact.

“Yes.” She drew herself up. “It’s true I haven’t much experience tending to animals. But I can learn. I’ll do whatever needs doing. And I promise, I won’t complain.”

Scepticism showed plainly on his face. “I’m sorry, Miss Holland, but I need someone who knows his – or her – way around a surgery. I need someone who can stitch up a wound, or help birth a lamb that’s misdirected. I need someone who can comfort the owner when their dog, or horse, or cat has to be put down. I need someone with commitment and stamina and empathy, someone who cares about animals and doesn’t mind the long hours or the middle of the night calls to deliver a breech calf or put a suffering animal out of pain. And that’s obviously
not
you.”

“I may not have done any of those things,” Marianne said evenly as she plonked her handbag down on the desk, “but I
do
love animals. I’ve had rabbits and cats and dogs all of my life, and I took care of them all. I fed and cleaned and exercised them, and I made sure they had their shots. My sister Elinor had a horse until recently, when we couldn’t afford to keep him any longer; I’ve mucked out his stall and groomed him dozens of times. But if you won’t hire me, or give me a proper chance –” she turned away, unwilling to let him see how much – how very much – she suddenly wanted this job “then I won’t waste any more of your time.”

She turned to go, wondering as she did what she’d do now. Without this job, she’d never get the work experience she needed to get into a veterinary course. Worse still, she wouldn’t be able to do her part and help her mother with the household expenses.

“Miss Holland,” Dr Brandon called out after her. “Wait.”

Marianne turned back, her heart quickening. Hope flooded through her. Had he changed his mind? Was he so impressed with her impassioned, heartfelt speech that he meant to give her a fair chance?

“You forgot your purse,” he said, and held it out to her, dangling from the end of his finger.

“
Handbag
.” She snatched it away. “Thanks,” she bit off, and marched back out of the surgery.

“You might try the Endwhistle Café,” he called after her. “I hear they’re hiring waitresses.”

She whirled around and glared at him. “Is that right? And do you ever eat there, Dr Brandon? At the Endwhistle Café?”

“On occasion.”

“Good. Then I might just take your advice. I’ll get a job as a waitress. It’ll give me the perfect excuse to dump a pot of hot coffee right in your smug, sexist lap!”

She stormed out, aware as she did of his laughter ringing out behind her.

Chapter 10

Too furious and upset to go back to Barton Park, Marianne sat in the car for a moment to have a cry and tried to pull herself together. She searched in the glove compartment until she found a crumpled tissue and blew her nose.

She hated Matthew Brandon.
Hated
him. He obviously thought she was some kind of spoiled rich girl who’d never worked a day in her life and had no need of a job. He was the rudest, most unreasonable man she’d ever had the misfortune to know. Heartless, too. Not to mention self-centred, ill mannered, and avaricious –

There was a tap on her window. With a gasp of fright, Marianne looked up to see the veterinarian standing there. He leaned down until his face was on a level with hers.

She swiped at the black streaks of mascara under her eyes and rolled her window down. “What is it?” she snapped.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said, “but I just had a thought.”

“Is that right? What thought was that? Did you figure out a way to charge me for wasting your time? Or breathing the air? Or is there a parking fee I wasn’t aware of?”

“No. Although charging for parking’s not a bad idea.” He ran a hand through his already rumpled dark hair. “My receptionist’s leaving in two weeks, going off to Hull. Her sister’s just had a baby and Lynn’s staying with her for the rest of the summer.”

Marianne was silent. She wouldn’t give in to even the tiniest, teeniest flicker of hope, she wouldn’t. Not this time.

He paused. “I’ve got a girl in mind to take her place.”

“I just bet you do,” she snapped, picturing a busty blonde in a short skirt with a blouse open to her navel.

“She hasn’t much experience,” he went on, “but I reckon she can answer phones and schedule appointments easily enough.”

“No doubt.” Why was he telling her this? She didn’t want to hear it.

“I expect she might take issue with working reception instead of assisting in the surgery, though.”

“Well if you ask me, she sounds like a pillock,” Marianne sniffed, and blew her nose. “How can she expect to help in the surgery if she hasn’t the proper experience?”

“Exactly my thoughts.” He regarded her without expression. “I’m glad we’re finally on the same page, Miss Holland.”

Confusion, surprise, and hope warred on her face as she stared at him. His eyes, she noted distractedly, were an odd sort of silvery-grey. “We…we are? But – you don’t mean –?”

“I mean,” he said, his eyes steady on hers, “you can have Lynn’s job for the summer. If you want it,” he added. “And if you don’t object to answering phones, mopping up dog urine, and filling out an endless lot of forms. Otherwise –” he straightened “I’ll give the job to someone else. I’ve a long waiting list of qualified applicants.”

“I’m sure you do.” Marianne scrambled out of the car and stood facing him. “I’d be very happy to have the job,” she said, her eyes shining. “Extremely happy. Ecstatic. Thank you, Dr Brandon. So much.”

He took her hand in a firm grip. “Welcome aboard, Miss Holland. You can start next week and we’ll see how it goes. Lynn can show you the ropes before she leaves.”

“Is Maddie all right?” she asked suddenly. “Lynn told me all about her yesterday, that you suspected rat poisoning. Poor dog… Did she make it through?”

“She did. It was touch and go for a bit, but she pulled through the surgery with flying colours. She’s on a course of vitamin K to ensure her blood clots properly. Her family’s overjoyed.” He eyed Marianne. “I’m sure they’d appreciate your concern.”

“I love animals. I really do. You won’t regret hiring me, Dr Brandon, I promise,” she called out after him as he turned to go.

He glanced back at her. “Too late. I already do,” he retorted, and returned to the clinic.

***

When Marianne returned to Barton Park, a removal van stood near the front steps and a taxi was just leaving.

With a racing heart she parked the Peugeot and all but flew out of the car, rushing up the steps and through the opened front door.

“Mum!” she cried out. “Elinor!”

She flung herself, laughing and crying all at once, into their arms. There was a flurry of hugging, exclaiming, and more than a few hastily wiped-away tears before Mrs Holland drew back to inspect her youngest daughter. “You’re looking very well, I must say. Northumberland agrees with you.”

“You won’t believe half the things I’ve been through since I got here,” Marianne told her. “I’ll tell you both all about it over lunch. Why did you take a taxi?”

“Because someone had the car, that’s why,” Mrs Fenwick retorted. “Bertie couldn’t go and fetch them from the train station.”

“Oh.” Marianne turned to her mother in dismay. “I’m sorry. That must’ve cost a fortune.”

“It did, but we managed, and we got here all the same. The housekeeper tells us you had your job interview today?”

“Yes, that’s why I had to borrow the car. It was meant to be yesterday, but Dr Brandon was on an emergency call and couldn’t see me.”

“And did you get the job?” Mrs Holland asked.

“I did.”

Elinor let out a gasp and hugged her sister. “Well done, you. That’s wonderful news.” She drew back and glanced around the entrance hall. “Where’s Lady Violet? Is she not here?”

“She’s gone to Edinburgh to stay with a poorly friend. She won’t be back for at least another week.”

“She’s a trusting woman,” her sister observed with a smirk, “to leave you alone to your own devices in her house.”

“I’ve been the model of good behaviour, I’ll have you know,” Marianne retorted, and glanced over at the housekeeper. “Haven’t I, Mrs Fenwick?”

“I won’t answer that as it might incriminate me,” she said, and turned away. “Now if you’d care to follow Bertie upstairs, ladies, he’ll take your luggage up and show you to your rooms. When you’re settled, you can all come back downstairs and have yourselves a lovely lunch.”

***

The dining room rang with chatter as Marianne and her mother and sister took their places at the table to catch up on all of the latest news.

“So tell us, what have we missed since you arrived here at Barton Park?” Mrs Holland asked.

“Yes, do please bring us up to speed, Mari,” Elinor agreed. “What’s happened since you left Norland?”

“Not much, really,” Marianne said airily as she helped herself to one of Mrs Fenwick’s pasties. “Only, Lady Violet’s car was stolen out from under me, and I met the most rude and impossible man – who turned out to be the local veterinarian, Dr Brandon – oh, and I fell from the top of a tree house behind the cottage during a storm and was rescued by a handsome stranger on horseback.”

“Goodness,” her mother exclaimed, and froze with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. “It all sounds like something out of one of Lady Violet’s books. Are you all right?”

“Fine. I twisted my ankle but it’s mended now. Kit –” she blushed and amended “I mean Mr Willoughby, carried me to the car and brought me back, and he made quite sure I was all right before he left.” She paused as the doorbell rang and her mother half rose. “Do sit down, mum – Mrs Fenwick’ll get it.”

“Never mind the door,” Elinor said with a trace of impatience, “tell us more about your rescuer. Kit, did you say his name was? How did he find you?”

“He heard me scream when I fell. Oh, Ellie – it was
so
romantic. A storm came up out of nowhere, a really bad one, and the wind kicked up, and it got horribly dark. Lightning struck right next to me when I was climbing a rope ladder up to the tree house. I nearly made it to the top, but I was so scared, and the rope was so wet, that I lost my grip, and fell.” She bit into her pasty. “Mr Willoughby came back the next day to visit me, and brought me flowers, and chocolates.”

“That was very considerate of him,” her sister remarked. “Who is he, this mysterious Mr Willoughby?”

“He’s Mrs Smyth’s nephew, Christopher,” Marianne answered, “and he’s visiting her at Allenham Court. Her estate’s just next door, not at all far from our house.”

“And what does this cottage of Lady Violet’s look like?” Mrs Holland asked apprehensively. “I’ve not seen it yet. Is it as poky and small as you feared?”

“Not at all. It’s really quite lovely, and larger than I expected, with fireplaces and a chandelier and a sweeping stairway in the entrance hallway. It’s the grandest cottage I’ve ever seen.”