by Rebecca Shaw
“It is. I suppose. A little.” Kate gave her a rueful smile.
“Brave heart, that’s what’s needed.”
Kate nodded.
IT must have been just after six when an enormous bouquet of flowers appeared to be making its own way into the reception area. Lynne said, “What on earth . . . ?”
Finally it emerged through the glass door with a pair of very long legs below it and made its way to the desk.
To Kate there was something very familiar about those legs.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
All the fear she’d felt when he’d threatened her that time and when he’d stalked her came rushing into her heart and she instinctively stepped back from the desk, unable to stop herself from trembling. She sensed beads of sweat between her shoulder blades and her scalp prickling.
The flowers were laid down in front of her and there was Adam.
“Kate!”
“Adam.”
They both stood staring down at the bouquet, not speaking.
Stephie, embarrassed by the silence between them, tried hard to fill it. “Aren’t they lovely! You are lucky! I love the roses.”
“Thank you.” Kate made herself look at Adam. Disappointed, she saw he was still the same Adam: his cheeks were as thin as always, his Adam’s apple as large, his skin as sallow, his hair as nondescript, his hands as large and bony as ever. What had she seen in him? Poor Adam.
Adam saw the lovely girl he’d loved. And lost. “I started my new job today; it’s just up my street. I’ve come straight from work to bring you these. To say . . .” He glanced at Stephie and disliked her avid interest. Leaning toward Kate, he whispered, “Is there anywhere we could talk, you know, all these clients listening.”
“I can’t ask you in the back; it’s not allowed. We’ll go outside. Won’t be a minute, Stephie.” She led the way out, hating herself for the fib she’d just told, but knowing she couldn’t bear to be shut in a small room with him. The beads of sweat turned cold and made her shudder.
“I’ve brought the flowers to say sorry.”
“Right.”
“I am, really sorry. I should never have done what I did. I was so desperate, you see. I didn’t mean to harm you. It was losing my job like I did. I couldn’t tell Mother. How could I? She’s always been so ambitious for me, driving me, you know. It was that Scott as well. He always got the better of me. Whatever I did, no matter how hard I tried.”
She opened her mouth to tell him Scott no longer posed a threat, but instinct told her not to and she closed it.
“I’m going home to tell Mother that I’ve got the chance to share a flat with two chaps from work.”
“Good.”
“I don’t know how she’ll take it, but I’m determined.”
“Good. I hope it works out OK.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “If I gave you a ring some time . . . bowling one Tuesday, perhaps . . . oh, no, not bowling, cinema, perhaps?”
“No. Best not.”
“I hoped . . .”
She got a sudden image of Adam as he hopped about clutching his bruised hand after he’d missed punching Scott the night they’d had the fight. “No, Adam, I’d rather not.”
Adam’s sloping shoulders slumped. “Good luck, then. We had some good times.”
“Good luck to you. Glad the job’s turning out well. Stand tall with your mother. Thank you very much for the flowers; they’re beautiful.”
As Kate closed the door behind her, a terrible sadness came over her and she wished she could like him. But she couldn’t. Not after Scott.
“I’ll put these in the fire bucket under here. Mr. F. mustn’t be coming.”
“No, don’t. Mr. Featherstonehough is coming. His camper thingy broke down this morning and he’s been waiting to get it mended, and he rang to say he’ll be in before we shut.”
But the waiting clients weren’t going to let her get away with it so easily and one of them called out, “My word, he must be keen!”
Another said, “I’ve gone wrong somewhere. No one’s ever come out of the gloaming and presented me with a bunch that size.”
“Nor me,” offered a client, hanging on for dear life to a particularly spiteful cat.
Stephie called out, “Nor me. Some people have all the luck without even trying.” She gave Kate a nudge and grinned, and Kate mouthed her thanks.
On impulse Kate said, “Dad and Mia are both out tonight, so I’m supposed to be getting my own meal when I get back. I don’t suppose you’d like the idea of window-shopping in the mall and a meal?”
Stephie nodded. “Thanks, I would. Bit short this month, though, so I can’t go anywhere smart.”
“So am I. We’ll go to the fish restaurant. You can get some quite cheap meals there and their chips are fantastic.”
“Right, you’re on. Let’s hope we don’t run late tonight, then.”
There was a kerfuffle at the door and in came Adolf, dragging Mr. Featherstonehough.
“Good evening, Mr. F.” Kate leaned over the desk to welcome Adolf. “Good evening, Adolf. Take a seat. Graham won’t be long; a client’s just gone in and then it’s your turn. You’ve got the car mended, then, at last.”
“I have. Three hundred and fifty-two pounds it’s cost me. It’s not worth it. If I sold it, I’d only get about five hundred for it. Good money after bad, but I can’t manage without it, so what’s the alternative?”
“Buy a new one.”
Mr. Featherstonehough’s bushy eyebrows shot up his forehead. “And pigs might fly. I’ve had that Dormobile twelve years. I can’t bear to part with it. I know all its little idiosyncrasies; take the clutch, for instance . . .” He leaned his elbow on the desk. “You just have to let it up until . . .” He let go of Adolf’s lead, dropping it on the floor and anchoring it with his foot while he demonstrated with his hands the delicate maneuver needed to let in his clutch.
Unbeknownst to him, though, Perkins had achieved his freedom and was silently racing down the stairs from the apartment to get at Adolf. Mungo was calling him, but Perkins had cast his normal obedience to the winds as he charged through to meet the challenge. Adolf seized his freedom with all four feet and met Perkins halfway down the corridor. There ensued a bitter, fearful fight, the worst they had ever had. The sight of their swirling bodies and the flashing of their fangs was terrible to see. It was impossible for Mungo, trapped on the far side of them, to interfere for fear of being bitten, so it was Kate who separated them with the well-aimed fire bucket full to the brim with water. Mungo, unprepared for this remedy, leaped back far too late and that, combined with the limited space in the corridor, meant that he as well as the dogs got drenched.
After the two of them broke apart, Adolf strutted up the corridor into reception and shook himself all over Mr. Featherstonehough, and Perkins did the same to Mungo, then grinned at him and wagged his tail.
Mungo, dressed ready for an evening out, was steaming with temper. “Bert!” he roared. “Bert!”
Mr. Featherstonehough peered cautiously around the door into the back.
“If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve been a faithful client of ours for years, I’d tell you to take that bloody Adolf home and never come back. He’s a menace. An absolute menace. If it hadn’t been for Kate having that bucket ready, heaven alone knows what damage would have been done to Perkins. Have a care in future.”
Mr. Featherstonehough began to smile. Mungo, pausing in his attempt to brush some of the water from his suit, glanced at him and saw the smile. “If I’m about when they have a return match, and there’ll definitely be one because Perkins has a long memory, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
“Do what? They’re both as much to blame. Just happens this time Adolf got in there first. That’s Graham calling my name; I’ll go and keep my appointment if you’ll excuse me, for which, I might remind you, I pay you good money.” With great dignity Mr. Featherstonehough took hold of Adolf�
�s lead and marched to Graham’s consulting room.
Mungo caught Kate’s eye and when he saw her trying hard not to laugh, he succumbed to amusement himself and gave her a broad grin. “Where did you learn that trick, then?”
“The first morning I was here.”
“Well, aim more carefully next time.” Mungo took hold of Perkins’s collar, gave her another grin and disappeared up the stairs. The clients still waiting gave her a round of applause and a mild cheer, so Kate bowed to them all and disappeared into the back to fetch the mop, with a beaming smile on her face.
By Rebecca Shaw
THE BARLEYBRIDGE NOVELS
A Country Affair
Country Wives
Country Lovers
Copyright © 2001 by Rebecca Shaw
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Three Rivers Press, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
Three Rivers Press and the Tugboat design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Originally published in Great Britain by Orion, London, in 2001.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Shaw, Rebecca, 1931–
A country affair / Rebecca Shaw.
p. cm — (A Barleybridge novel)
1. Veterinarians—Fiction. 2. Yorkshire (England)—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6069.H388C68 2006
823'.914—dc222005025251
eISBN: 978-0-307-34706-0
v3.0
