by Rebecca Shaw
Mr. Jones commented, “Hmm. He must have heard me.”
“He did.”
“Hmm. More of a gentleman than I gave him credit for.”
“Shall you climb mountains?”
“All depends what mountains you have in mind.”
Dan hesitated, knowing he must choose his words carefully. “I was thinking of…no, no. It doesn’t matter.”
“Speak up, man.”
“I was thinking of a colleague of mine, lovely chap, sincere, who deserves a wife, and he’s found a lovely girl he’d like to marry. But she can’t marry him.”
Mr. Jones put down his knife and fork, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and leaning back in his chair, asked, “Might I know this girl?” He raised his eyebrows at Dan.
“She’s a stunner, an absolutely lovely woman, and deserves a happy life. You know, love and children and such. I can heartily recommend it. Believe me I can. Heartily.”
The waiter came to clear their plates. “His lordship recommends the almond torte, sir. He said to say.”
Dan agreed. “Then the almond torte it shall be, and for you, Mr. Jones?”
“The same.” When the waiter went away to get their dessert, Mr. Jones said, “Has Rhodri put you up to this?”
“If he knew what I was saying, he’d more than likely choke me to death. We don’t get on. Neither professionally nor socially.” Dan smiled half an apologetic smile and waited.
The dessert had arrived before Mr. Jones answered him. “It’s none of your damned business this. It’s between Megan and me. Look at me, go on, really look at me.” He waited while Dan looked at him. “I need her at home with me. I can’t manage on my own, so that’s an end to it.”
“That’s selfish and what’s more you know it.”
“How dare you speak in that tone to me?”
“Someone has to and today I’m your man. The days when elderly parents kept one of their girls at home to care for them in their old age are long gone, and good riddance, I say. Megan has as much right to a life of her own as your son has. He’s disappeared off into the night leaving the farm and you, without, I suspect, so much as a backward glance. So why shouldn’t Megan disappear too?”
“Because she knows which side her bread’s buttered, that’s why.”
“There are other ways of going about it. What Megan needs is more help with her workload.”
“Like?”
“Help with the house, help to look after you. It’s all possible with a bit of thought on your part. You could organize it for her—you haven’t lost your faculties; your mind is razor sharp.”
“Hmmph.”
“Lovely dessert.” Dan raised his glass in the direction of Lord Askew and thanked him with a nod of his head. Lord Askew looked enormously pleased.
“I won’t have coffee.”
“Right. I’ll get the bill—time I was back at the practice anyway.”
“I’ll get a taxi then—can’t stand much more of your sermonizing.”
“I’ll get shot down in flames if Rose finds out I didn’t take you home. So please, allow me.”
Dan swung the wheelchair out from the table and went out of the restaurant, paying the bill as he went. “I promise not to sermonize all the way home, but think about what I’ve suggested.”
“Hmm.” And that was all that was said all the way back to Beulah Bank Farm.
THAT afternoon, Megan’s da spotted some small flecks of dried white paint on Gab’s eyebrows when Gab called in for his cup of tea in the kitchen, and he wondered if there was a reason for Megan sounding out of breath when he’d spoken to her on the phone. Purposely he invited Gab into the sitting room for a word when he was about to leave for the day. “You’re a good worker, there’s no mistake about that. You’ve put more hours in than I expected, and it’s much appreciated. I shall give recognition to the fact in your wage packet.”
“Thank you, Idris. Thank you. It’s a pleasure working for Megan and for you. I’ll say good night.” He came back to ask if Megan was around. “I’ve a message for her.”
“Upstairs, getting ready to go out, and she’s running late.” Before Megan’s father could say no, he couldn’t go upstairs, Gab had gone, pounding up the stairs two at a time. Gab found her on the landing, in her dressing gown, searching for something in a cupboard.
Megan looked up, startled. “What do you think you’re doing coming upstairs?”
Gab ignored her indignation and came straight to the point. “Not fallen out with me about this morning, have you?”
“Actually, I’m very angry about it. There’s to be no repetition, you understand?”
“There won’t be. I promise.” But the insolent grin on his face belied his words. “See you in the morning. Half past five. I’ll come and give you a knock if you like.” Again those lustful eyes slid from head to toe of her. Again that disarming grin, the joy of so many girls.
Megan gave Gab a disdainful look, found the shoes she was looking for, slammed the cupboard door shut and went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Gab laughed to himself, ran back down the stairs to find Mr. Jones in a fury waiting for him at the bottom. “I did not give you permission to go upstairs. Under no circumstances do you go up there ever again. Your place is the farm. That’s where you belong. Right?”
Gab sprang to attention, saluted, and said, with an insolent grin on his face, “Yes, sir! Three bags full, sir!” He bounded out of the house obviously unscathed by Mr. Jones’s anger.
Chapter
• 12 •
Going home in the early hours from a night call, Dan’s headlights lit up someone weaving about in the road ahead of him when it was almost too late to take evasive action, and at the last minute he had to swerve to miss. A gateway came conveniently into view, and he drove into it, thankful he hadn’t hit whoever it was. Switching off the engine, Dan grabbed his torch and got out. His torch picked out a person now scrabbling helplessly in the road, trying to get up.
At the same moment, Dan heard a car coming from the opposite direction and waved his torch back and forth on the road to prevent the man being run over. As the vehicle drew near, he saw it was Phil Parsons’s old van. By the light of his torch he realized Blossom was in the driver’s seat. She jumped out, leaving the engine running and the van in the middle of the road, and shouted, “Why Dan! It’s you! Who’s this?” Dan shone his torch on the person in the road and both he and Blossom said at the same time, “Bernard Wilson!”
He was stoned out of his mind and reeking of alcohol.
Dan shouted, “Bernard! It’s Dan Brown from the veterinary practice. Can I give you a lift home?”
Bernard sat up, clutched Dan round his knees, and mumbled, “Taken a wrong turning. Where am I?”
Blossom answered him. “On your way to Applegate Farm and the Caravan Park.” To Dan she said, “This isn’t the first time. Since his wife did a runner, he’s been on the bottle more often than not. He came to us one night, and Phil made him sleep it off in a stable—wouldn’t have him in the house. Phil has a drink, but I’ve never seen him the worse for wear.” She gave Bernard a light kick with her foot. “Get up, you daft old fool.”
But Bernard didn’t get up. He said, “Eh! I can’t be. Applegate P-p-park Caravan, you say?”
“You are. Shall I give you a lift? Come on. Get up.” Dan put his hands under Bernard’s substantial armpits and tried to heave him up but couldn’t quite manage it, so Blossom volunteered her help.
“I’ll take him home. I can lay him down in the van. I’ve done it before.”
They each put their hands under Bernard’s armpits, and together they staggered across to the van with him, his feet trailing on the road. Bernard protested. Blossom opened the back doors of the van, and with an almighty effort they got Bernard in, laying him flat on his back on the mattress among the pink and white fluffy pillows. Blossom said, “Couldn’t be comfier, now could he?”
“Well, no. But I’m
coming with you; you’ll need someone to get him out at the other end.” Dan stood looking at Bernard lying in Blossom’s boudoir of a van and wondered.
Blossom said, “She left him destitute, you know; she took a load of money with her, and he’s never picked up since. In his own way he loved her. Poor chap.” She shut the van doors with a shattering, grinding clang, closing them on Bernard shouting loudly, “Badger’s Lot! First stop Badger’s Lot. Hurry up. Badger’s Lot. Home, Jameth, and don’t thpare the hortheth!”
Blossom giggled. “Wait till I’ve turned around.” Blossom gave a masterful demonstration of how to turn a sluggish, out-of-condition van around in a narrow road, sprung it into second gear, and moved off with Dan following, hoping Bernard would not retch his entire night’s drink up on Blossom’s fluffy pillows. He daren’t begin to imagine what she’d been up to that night, returning home to Phil in the small hours.
When they opened up the van on arriving at Bernard’s farm, he was still singing his heart out, rolling about on the pillows, merry and exceedingly happy. Dan grabbed his ankles and pulled him to the edge of the van floor, and then he and Blossom reached in to grab his arms and get him upright. As he straightened up, he said, “Go on, then, Blossom, my love, give us a kiss. Ten pounds for a kiss. Go on, then. Ten pounds for a kiss.”
Blossom roughly pushed his head away from her face as his pursed lips drunkenly searched for her mouth. “Not when you stink of beer. You know the rules. Ready, Dan?”
“We need the door open first. Let’s see if he has a key.”
“He never locks up. It’ll be open.” Together they headed for Bernard’s house door, staggering under his weight because he was now almost unconscious with sleep and drink.
The door was not only unlocked but wide open. They squeezed in through the doorway and Blossom directed Dan to Bernard’s bedroom. “Thank God he sleeps on the ground floor; we’d never have got him up the stairs in this state.”
With the light switched on and coming in from the fresh night air, Dan not only saw but smelled the state of the house. He’d seen some sights in his travels around the world, but he didn’t think he’d seen anywhere that matched the downright neglect and degradation of Bernard’s kitchen. He’d thought Blossom’s own kitchen was ghastly, but this…They had problems getting through it because the three of them kept tripping over things left abandoned on the floor, slipping on old food spilled carelessly and left to rot, and Dan was sure he’d spied a fat rat sneaking behind the cooker as they passed. Oh, God! he thought, not rats too. Inside the house! They emerged into the hall, where Dan unintentionally kicked a score of empty beer bottles, which dribbled their dregs onto the filthy threadbare carpet as they rolled about, adding to the general stink of the place.
He and Blossom finally heaved Bernard onto what passed for a bed, a greasy mound of sheets and blankets reeking of Bernard’s unwashed body. Blossom pulled off his boots and heaped the blankets on top of him. “There you are, Bernard, sleep it off. Good night, old man. Good night.” She patted his shoulder, shook her head in despair, and made to leave.
The two of them, Blossom and Dan, stood outside Bernard’s back door looking up at the night sky. Blossom said, “Magnificent, isn’t it? Puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it, looking up at a night sky. All those millions of miles out there that you can’t get your head around. Anyway, must get back.”
“Phil all right?”
“Oh yes! My night out tonight. He’s used to me being late.”
Dan opened his mouth to say he didn’t know Barleybridge had the kind of nightlife that kept one out till this hour, but shut his mouth before the words were out.
“Something should be done about Bernard.” Blossom hooked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Every bit of him’s in a mess. Especially his dogs. He’s a great chap if only he didn’t drink so much. He’ll be all day getting over that skinful. Good night, Dan. Thanks for being a Good Samaritan.” She reached toward his cheek and planted a kiss on it with her ruby red lips. “Good night! You’re a great chap. One in a million. My Phil thinks the world of you and so do I.”
She swung up into the van, her slender legs and her very neat bottom a temptation for any full-blooded male. Dan thought about what a strange mixture she was. At once a tart, a good wife, and by the looks of the back of her van, a…no, she couldn’t be, could she? But where had she been till this time of night? Still, he’d never have got Bernard home without her. He remembered the rat and shuddered. Thought about his home and his own lovely bed and Rose snuggled beside him, warm and comforting and sweet smelling. As he turned for home, he looked forward to spending what remained of the night in bed with Rose and hoped to tempt her to stay there for at least part of the morning.
BUT the next day when Dan went in to the practice at lunchtime, he was a man of action again. First he had a word with Mungo concerning what steps he should take about Bernard.
“Want to keep the officials out of it if we can. He’s a desperate man, needs a good woman, but no self-respecting woman would take him on in the state he’s in.”
Mungo retorted, “We’ll be running a marriage bureau for farmers next. Just watch your step, Dan. There is a limit.”
Dan eyed Mungo and thought, What’s got him out of his pram this morning? But he ignored the sarcasm. “Can I take Rhodri with me to look at the dogs? He puppy farms you know. Beagles.”
“I think that would be a good idea. But not too much of the social work, Dan. We’re not a charity.”
“I appreciate that; it’s the animals’ welfare I’m most interested in. We can’t stand by and just let it happen. That would be irresponsible on our part.”
Mungo sighed. “It would. Yes. Not too many hours though. As I said…”
Together they both added, “We’re not a charity,” and laughed.
Dan went to find Rhodri. “Have you time to spare today for going with me to see Bernard Wilson’s kennels?”
“You mean you’re actually asking me to go with you, actually asking me for help?” The sarcastic tone of his voice couldn’t be missed.
“Yes. You’ve told me more than once to keep to my side of the practice, so I am. In any case, you’re much more au fait with dogs than I am. After all, it is your field of expertise. I understand they’re being kept in appalling conditions. Could all be hearsay, but I’ve an idea it isn’t.”
“Someone brought a puppy of Bernard Wilson’s in a few months ago. I didn’t credit much to him. The dog was too thin, flea ridden, riddled with worms—you know the kind of thing. I’d be glad to come. Very glad indeed.”
“Excellent. Bring something with you—whatever you think might be needed. I’m more interested in his sheep after an altercation in the market about the condition of some he brought in for sale.”
“Right. I’ve no operations this afternoon, if you’re free?”
Dan nodded his agreement, and within the hour they were on their way to Badger’s Lot and Bernard Wilson.
Rhodri had refused to go in Dan’s Land Rover, so they were traveling in Rhodri’s own Citroën. To break the ice, Dan commented on how much he liked it.
“It suffices.”
“More than suffices, it’s great. Comfortable ride too.”
“Yes.”
Badger’s Lot was a turning off the main Weymouth Road. The lane was narrow and in places the tarmac had worn away, but with Barleybridge having had a dry summer, the ruts weren’t too bad, though Rhodri’s suspension took a bashing as they passed the open gate to the farm.
“Good grief! Those ruts.”
“I’m afraid that’s symptomatic of what we shall find when we get there. Though to my knowledge, he’s never called us out in all the time I’ve been at the practice, so I don’t actually know. He was blind drunk when Blossom Parsons and I took him back home last night. I’ve no idea what state he’ll be in this afternoon.”
Rhodri didn’t answer, giving the whole of his attention to the preservation of his adored
car. But as they reached the farm buildings, he said, “Oh my word! What a mess.”
Corrugated iron sheds were in a state of imminent collapse. There were stables with gaping holes in the roofs where the tiles had fallen away. The surface of the farmyard had sprouts of weeds growing between the cobbles, a stable door swung bleakly on its broken hinges. Bernard’s old truck stood lopsidedly, one tire completely flat. But the silence was the weirdest thing. A deep, deep silence in which only the gentle purr of the engine of Rhodri’s car could be heard.
Dan hoped he wasn’t going to find anyone dead. He’d been there, done that, and he didn’t want to face it again.
But he didn’t have to. Bernard was in the kitchen, sitting at the table drinking tea from a mug. A gigantic teapot, once brown and shining and welcoming, now streaked with old tea stains and even older dust, stood on the table, and Bernard was refilling his cup from it as they went in.
“Visitors! By hell! Visitors! Busybodies more like. Come to see if I’m drunk, have you? Well, I’m not.”
Dan spoke up. “Dropped you off last night. Found you in the road. Ring any bells?”
Bernard eyed him up and down. Slurped some more tea into his mouth and having swallowed it, said, “It was you? Thought it was Blossom Parsons.”
“Her too; we happened to arrive at the same spot at the same time and took you in hand. Feeling better?”
Bernard nodded. “Grand woman that Blossom. Grand loving woman.” He slurped at his tea again and asked Rhodri what he wanted.
“Well, boyo, I’ve come to see your dogs.”
Sensing interference, Bernard, slowly and with great control, asked, “Why?”
Rhodri stepped back a pace. “To check if they’re all right, see.”
“Joined the do-gooders, ’ave yer?”
“No. But I’m a vet and I can’t bear to see neglect.”
“Who said anything about neglect? Not me. I suppose I’ve no option, seeing as there’s two of you. They’re in the sheds. Not fed ’em yet—only just woken up. That was my next job.” Bernard stood erect by levering himself up via the kitchen table. He was a mountain of a man, bulging in all the wrong places with his pugnacious, heavily jowled face set just how it had been over the sheep in the market. He lurched out of the back door into the farmyard.
