The Storm Within

by Sue Peters

  side of them, the better to take advantage of the slight breeze blowing in, bringing with it a heavy perfume from the well stocked rose borders dotted about the lawn, and another, sweeter scent that Rob recognised as orange blossom, though she could not see where it came from. The view was the same as from her bedroom, and she realised that they were directly below it, though nearer to the mill wheel, which seemed louder in here.

  "Does the sound worry you ?" enquired Rand, pulling out one of the chairs for her. "We generate our own electricity here, by means of power from the stream," he explained. "It's deep, and has a powerful current, so we always have a plentiful supply of power."

  "What a sensible idea. No, I find it soothing."

  Rand took his seat opposite to her as if she was an invited guest, rather than an unwelcome surprise in his household. He behaved as if the brush on the village green had never occurred, and Rob relaxed slightly, though still on the defensive. She had, after all, fallen foul of him twice in one short afternoon, and she did not want to risk it a third time. Three might not prove to be lucky. As soon as he had seen to her immediate needs, and made sure that she had everything she wanted, the vet relapsed into silence, his face withdrawn. Rob wondered if anyone would ever get to know him really well. Anyone, that is, except Martha. And, of course, Verity Wade.

  The setter turned himself round and round several times, then settled down quietly beside his master.

  Hallam Rand looked across his soup bowl at Rob.

  "Don't mind Red. He always stays with me. He'll be no bother to you at all," he half apologised for the dog's presence at the meal table.

  "Red ignores everyone else's existence except Mr Hal's," smiled Martha, coming in with the vegetables. She served them both deftly and disappeared kitchen-wards, and they continued to eat in silence. Beyond necessary politenesses, Hallam Rand offered no conversation, and Rob followed his lead and remained silent. She would have liked to talk, liked to learn a little about the practice, and the village. Even the man himself, since she would be working with him, if it was only for the one month, but she did not care to break the barrier that he seemed to have put up in front of him. He ate with the deliberation and economy of time of one accustomed to solitary meals, taken without minutes to spare. Studying him across the table, Rob wondered if any conversation could reach beyond that remote mask opposite to her. It was a younger face than she had at first thought, but lines that spoke of weariness etched the corners of his eyes. Martha had accused him of doing the work of two men, she remembered, and his looks reflected the truth of what she said.

  Rob gave her attention to her dinner, which was excellent. Martha certainly knew how to cook, and Rob complimented her when she came in later with a tray of coffee. The elderly housekeeper beamed.

  "You must have been ready for it, dear." She in-

  .

  dicated the coffee. "If I put this on the table by the fireplace, will you serve it when you're ready?"

  Rob nodded acquiescence, and moved over to a chair near the coffee table.

  "How do you like yours, Mr Rand ?"

  "Black, thank you."

  That explained the rather small jug of cream standing on the tray. Rob handed him his darkly filled cup, and he took it from her and reached out towards a pipe rack beside a large armchair against the fireplace. He had a pipe in his hand when suddenly he hesitated, as if remembering her presence.

  "Do you mind if I smoke ?"

  "Not at all," Rob smiled. "My father does, so I'm used to it."

  She liberally whitened her own coffee, and curled up in a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. She assumed the chair by the pipe rack would be his. Her guess justified itself when he sat down, and the setter curled up on the rug beside him, again taking two or three turns before he lay down.

  Rob would have preferred to take her coffee with Martha; it would have been friendlier, and the elderly woman would probably have talked to her. She missed the company at home, and the family habit of sharing the news of the day over the evening meal, that made it such a pleasant time to look forward to. With her employer, conversation had been non-existent at dinner, but with eating to occupy them the silence had not been too oppressive. She did not relish spending the rest of the evening in the same atmosphere, tinged,

  she felt sure, with disapproval—first of her driving, then of her carelessness over the signing of her letter of application.

  The man dropped heavily into his chair, and after a couple of abortive attempts eventually got his pipe going to his satisfaction. The sweet smell of good tobacco mingled with the perfume of the flowers, and Rob relaxed against her cushions, drowsy with the effects of good food, and the long day's driving.

  She glanced towards her companion, and became conscious of an unwavering stare from the setter's eyes, as amber as her own.

  "He's like Ricky," she thought wistfully, remembering the setter she had had as a child. Those carefree days in Devon seemed a world away now. An unconscious sigh escaped her lips, and brought a sharp glance from the man She looked very young, and very vulnerable, curled in one corner of the big armchair. Dark smudges marked her eyes, and her head dropped back on the cushion in surrender to her long day, warning the vet not to talk shop with her tonight. The big chair dwarfed her slight figure, and the delicate material of her dress clung like softly rounded jade, accentuating the creamy pallor of her arms and throat. She looked at the dog, and smiled. Red responded with a slight wave of his tail. Martha had said that he always ignored anyone else but his master, but she had drawn a definite response from him. Rob liked dogs. She made no move towards the setter, but she smiled again, and this time he got up slowly and padded across to her. Without altering her position she

  laid her hand, palm upwards, on her knee, her eyes still on those of the dog. For a long moment the setter held her gaze, and then his tail waved, and he dropped his muzzle into her palm.

  "Well, I never ! That is the fast time I've ever seen Red do that to anyone but you, Mr Hal," exclaimed Martha wonderingly. She rested the tray of dinner crocks on her hip, and gazed at the dog with something akin to awe. "You've certainly made a hit there, Miss Rob !"

  "It seems to be a habit of hers," commented Hallam Rand drily, and Rob flushed. He need not have brought that up again tonight, she thought crossly, and he had already admitted that he was driving too close to her anyway. She fondled the setter's silky ears gently, not looking at him, afraid that he might see the vexation in her eyes if she did.

  "I should have an early night after your drive up, if I were you, Miss Rob," advised Martha, still watching her and Red, and she looked up at the housekeeper gratefully, glad of the excuse to quit the room.

  "I think I will. Unless . . . ?" She looked up at Hallam Rand enquiringly.

  "Nothing tonight," said the vet. "Get a good night's sleep, and you can start at surgery tomorrow. Goodnight, Miss Fenton," he said gravely.

  Thankfully, Rob said goodnight, gave the setter's ears another rub, and stood up, glad to make her escape before she either went to sleep in the chair and disgraced herself, or upset her obviously touchy employer once again.

  Twice in one day, she felt, was quite enough for a start.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE last sound that Rob heard before she went to sleep was the soft murmur of the mill wheel, and it filled her room when she opened her eyes the next morning, to find the sun playing patterns on the ceiling, and Martha standing by the side of her bed with a cup of tea in her hand.

  "Heavens, what's the time? Have I overslept?" She sat bolt upright, rubbing her eyes.

  "No, there's plenty of time, it's only just past seven," said Martha, "but I thought you might like this to start the day. Breakfast won't be for another half hour or so yet."

  "Bless you!" Rob accepted the cup and sipped gratefully. Her face was flushed with sleep, and her hair clung in soft curls close to her head. In her plain white nightdress she looked very young.

  "What ti
me does Mr Rand start surgery?" she asked, her mind already busy on the day ahead

  "Not until nine o'clock. But you'll have to start it on your own this morning, Miss Rob. Mr Hal was called out to that cow again at six o'clock, and the farmer has just phoned to say he won't be back for at least another couple of hours. They'll give him breakfast over there."

  "Where is there?" asked Rob, eager to know the lie of the farms, for they would inevitably provide the bulk of the work in the practice.

  "Wade Hollow. You met the farmer yesterday when you fell out of your car."

  "They're hospitable at Wade Hollow," commented Rob, referring to Hallam Rand's breakfast.

  "Oh, they're old friends of Mr Hal," returned Martha comfortably. "He and Verity were children together. He practically lived at Wade Hollow as a lad."

  It sounded as if he still did, and not entirely in his professional capacity, either. She handed Martha her empty cup, and the housekeeper made to go.

  "Come down when you're ready," she bade Rob easily, "but give yourself time for a good breakfast. Surgery is usually busy, and you won't have time to think until mid-morning, if then," she warned.

  The surgery proved to be as good as Martha's word. The waiting room was full when she opened the door, and by eleven o'clock Rob had dressed so many cut paws, torn ears and bite wounds that she began to believe that every dog and cat in the neighbourhood had joined in one glorious free-for-all.

  "It must be the hot weather," grumbled one weary owner resignedly. "It makes them irritable."

  The cup of sweet coffee that Martha brought her mid-morning was accepted with alacrity, and instantly given to the weeping owner of an aged cat that Rob had had no recourse but to put to sleep.

  "I'll find you a kitten, and bring it along one day

  soon," she assured the old lady, putting her into a chair.

  "Oh, will you, miss? I'd be that grateful." Her worn face brightened. "I live on my own, you see."

  "I'll be over just as soon as I can," promised Rob. "In the meantime, will you see about making up a nice soft bed for the kitten? Oh, and you'll have to think up a name for it as well," she tried to distract her.

  "I could call it Ginger, after. . .."

  "But it may be black, we don't know yet," intervened Rob hastily, as tears threatened again. "Now, what about that bed for it ?" she hinted.

  "I've got some odd wool, I can knit a bit of a blanket." Interest began to sound in the wavering voice.

  "That will be splendid," encouraged Rob. "You must show me what you've managed to do when I bring you the kitten."

  She patted the old woman's shoulder, and sighed as she shut the door behind her. This was a part of her job that she hated. Martha reappeared with another cup of coffee as she turned back into the surgery.

  "Oh, Martha, you shouldn't !"

  "Well, I saw where the other one went," said the housekeeper, mock-stern.

  "I couldn't help it. She was so upset."

  "I'll keep my eyes open for a kitten for you," promised the housekeeper, her face softening. "There must be plenty about at this time of the year. Now drink your coffee while it's hot."

  "If you'll give me a cup as well, I'll tell you where to find six kittens, assorted colours, for free," offered a voice from the doorway. "Stay there, Mel. I'll come back for you," it went on, to something or someone out of sight in the waiting room.

  "Come along in, Miss Verity," called Martha, recognising the voice. "I'll go and get your coffee for you," she promised. "You've come to see Miss Fenton, I expect," she prophesied, indicating Rob.

  "Right in one," smiled the owner of the voice, appearing round the door.

  Rob smiled back. She could not help it. The girl's tanned, open face and blue eyes were disarmingly friendly, and her pale, silver-blonde hair, tied carelessly back from her face with a blue ribbon as faded as her jeans, was a replica of her father's, only hers fell in a thick, clubbed mane, heavy to her slender waist. She was strikingly handsome, and seemed quite unconcerned about the fact.

  "Hall went on his rounds direct from the Hollow," said Rob's visitor casually, "so I thought I'd drop in and let Martha know—and second my father's invitation to come and see round Wade Hollow," she invited Rob. "I believe you're interested in old buildings. Dad told us he met you yesterday."

  Her dark blue eyes twinkled, and Rob chuckled. It was an engaging sound, softening the rather severe impression given by her stark white vet's coat, and dark, workmanlike trousers that she had donned deliberately that morning in order to make herself look as little like a girl as possible, though above the collar

  her dainty, finely boned face and bright mop of curls would have deceived nobody.

  "I've come on legitimate business," Verity Wade excused herself, as she saw Rob glance towards the waiting room door. "And I'm your last customer. I waited for all the others to take my turn," she said virtuously, "so I could stop for a cup of Martha's coffee," accepting the proffered beverage with honest gratitude.

  "How is Mel's leg?" asked Martha.

  "About ready for use again," said Verity. "I brought him along this morning to see if Miss Fenton would have a look at him."

  "Rob," begged Rob.

  "Rob it is, then." The fair-haired girl seemed prepared to be friendly. "Hal was too busy to stop this morning when he came to see the cow, and he hadn't got the necessary tools with him in case Mel has to have his plaster off, so he sent me here to see if you would cope."

  "I'll have a look," offered Rob, "but who's Mel?"

  "This," smiled Verity, indicating a dark collie head that appeared cautiously round the surgery door on hearing his name. "He lost an argument with a cattle truck while we were at Barhill Market some weeks ago. Mercifully it didn't happen until after the lambing was finished, and Hal says he should be mobile again before dipping and shearing. It was a good job Hal was with us at the time," she said thankfully. "I don't know what I would have done otherwise." She snapped her fingers. "Come on in, Mel."

  The collie limped forward, and Rob saw that its right foreleg was encased in plaster.

  "What a shame !" She held out her hand, and the dog shot a questioning look at Verity.

  "All right, old chap, go ahead."

  Permission granted, the collie waved its feathery tail, and instantly dropped its muzzle into Rob's hand, much the same as the setter had done the night before.

  "You do seem to have a way with dogs, Miss Rob," commented Martha. "Red did the same, last night."

  "Red? What, not Hal's setter? Good heavens !" exclaimed Verity, "you are honoured. Why, Red even ignores me !"

  "Mel is very obedient," praised Rob, seeking to distract her from the subject. "He asked you first."

  "He's a working dog," said Verity Wade practically, "he has to be obedient. But I think he's enjoyed the fuss while he's been out of action," she laughed. "He's getting fat, it's time he went back to work again."

  "Let me have a look."

  Rob knelt and took the proffered paw on her knee. For the next few minutes she concentrated on her task, her eyes and her fingers busy. The dog sat quietly under her probing, until finally she put his leg to the floor.

  "That plaster is ready to come off," she announced. "If you would rather wait for Mr Rand's opinion?" "I'll give it to you in a few minutes."

  Unseen by either of them, Hallam Rand had entered, and stood in the doorway, watching critically while Rob worked. Instantly she stood up, making

  way for him, and he took her place, kneeling down beside the collie.

  "Well, old chap, are you feeling ready for work again ?" without hesitation, the dog once again proffered his damaged leg, enduring a repeat performance with stoic patience. "Yes, it's time the plaster was removed," Hal Rand confirmed. "Miss Fenton and I will see to it now."

  "It won't hurt him, will it, Hal ?"

  Verity Wade hesitated, her hands going out to the dog's head.

  "Of course it won't hurt him, you goose." The vet's voice softened, and
he took both her hands in his. "Clear off into the kitchen to Martha," he told her, pretending sternness, "and make yourself another cup of coffee. Better still, make one for me as well." He reached forward, and gently kissed the tip of her nose. "Now go and do as I say," he commanded. "You can't do anything to help us, and you'll only be in the way."

  "At least he makes it sound as if I'm part of the team, if it's only in the guise of a labourer," thought Rob, with an inward grin, gratified nevertheless that he had included her in the general description.

  The vet gave Verity a gentle push towards the door, and with the other hand he reached out towards his instrument table. The girl's face blanched beneath her tan, and Rob laid a sympathetic hand on her arm.

  "Honestly, Verity, we shan't even pull a hair on

  his leg."

  "Honest?" Relief spread over her face like the sun coming out after a shower.

  "Yes. Now go and do as Mr Rand says," said Rob firmly, steering her out of the door.

  She shut it behind her, and without waiting for instructions got the dog on to the table. Seeing that she appeared to be sure of what she was doing, Hallam Rand left her alone to do the preparations. Soon afterwards, the collie's leg was free of the plaster, and Rob's left ear was a bright pink where he had occupied his time in licking her while they worked on his leg. Hal Rand smiled at her, briefly. It was amazing what a difference a smile made to his face, thought Rob; he looked all of ten years younger.

  "That's one ear you won't need to wash tonight !"

  There was cautious approval in his eyes. While she worked, Rob had forgotten the slight nervousness that her doubtful welcome into the house had brought about, and she had become completely absorbed in their joint task,- forgetting the presence of the man, her whole attention concentrated in complementing the movements of his hands. Her own deft, gentle fingers slid easily into unison with his own, and the only sound in the surgery was an occasional murmur of encouragement to the patient collie from one or the other of them, bringing a quick response from his feathery tail.