The Storm Within

by Sue Peters

  "Now, let's see if he'll use it."

  Rand lifted the dog down from the table, and massaged its stiff limb. Rob crossed to the other side of the room and stooped down.

  "Come on, Mel." She held out her hand, and Hal Rand released the dog. Instinctively he kept his foot off the floor, and Rob smiled. "No, that won't do. This way, look. Use it, boy," she coaxed. She gave his leg another gentle rub, then stood up and took a step forward, bending over him and gentling his leg into action with her hands to encourage him to follow her. "That's the way. Good boy !" The collie took a couple of steps, then suddenly realising that he could stand on all fours again he danced towards Hal Rand, showing every evidence of delight.

  "He's a bit stiff, but that will wear off." The vet looked satisfied. "Verity !" he shouted, opening the door. "Come and look at your invalid."

  "Shall I take him through?" offered Rob.

  "No." Hurriedly the vet pushed the door to again. "Red is in the kitchen. These two are amicable enough on neutral ground, but. . . ."

  "Red would take him apart if he ventured into the house," supplied Verity. "Oh, that looks better. Why, Mel, you've got four legs again !"

  The dog danced round the girl, showing off, then he suddenly started to limp on three legs again. Verity's face dropped.

  "Oh, Hal !"

  "Oh, Mel, you mean. Come here," commanded Rob, amusement in her face and voice. The dog crossed the room to her, walking naturally, and she laughed outright.

  "His leg will only hurt him when he wants a bit of attention," she told Verity. "Treat him gently for a

  couple of weeks to harden the muscles off, and he should have no more trouble."

  Verity looked at Hallam Rand, a question in her eyes.

  "Miss Fenton is giving you excellent advice," he confirmed. "Don't spoil him, or he'll play up to it." He bent and rubbed the dog's head. "I see I shall soon be redundant in the surgery," he remarked drily.

  The laughter drained out of Rob's face, and she flushed painfully. Perhaps she should have waited, and left the after-care advice to him. She had not meant to take charge, though she realised that it might have seemed that way to Hallam Rand.

  "I'm sorry—" she began stiffly.

  "Sorry about what ?" enquired the vet, his eyebrows lifting. "Taking over a difficult surgery that I had no time to attend to myself ?"

  A furious yapping from somewhere outside saved Rob from replying.

  "One of your patients escaped into the garden ?" suggested Verity.

  "I'll go and see."

  Hastily Rob slipped out of her overall, thankful to escape the room and leave the two of them alone. The yapping came from the direction of the rose garden, and she turned towards the mill wheel, guided by the sound. The noise grew to an hysterical crescendo, and Rob found herself confronted by a scene reminiscent of Huckleberry Finn. A small dog of indeterminate breed, bearing more resemblance to a woolly mat than to anything canine, stood on the opposite bank

  rapidly getting to a point of frenzy at its inability to reach a water rat that was heading unhurriedly towards Rob's side of the river. A small boy, in faded shorts and plimsolls, and almost submerged in a battered straw hat, danced beside the dog, and added a series of whoops to the general din, the while waving a fishing net and jam jar to his own and the dog's imminent peril.

  "There he is, miss, right underneath your feet !" he shouted. "Catch him, quick !"

  Rob watched, fascinated, as an arrow-shaped ripple headed in her direction.

  "Oh, catch him, do ! You'll miss him !"

  The youngster ran along the bank, pointing desperately with his fishing net, and one end of the long, unwieldy cane caught in a tuft of grass. Unable to stop himself, the boy, complete with hat, tripped over it and somersaulted head first straight into the river. Without stopping to think, Rob kicked off her shoes and dived in. She was an exceptionally strong swimmer, her childhood on the Devon coast had ensured that, and she struck out towards the opposite bank, searching the surface for the boy. His hat floated on the current, bobbing gently towards the mill wheel, and Rob dived deeply, probing the shadowy depths for its owner.

  Immediately she left the placid surface water, she realised with dismay the immense strength of the undertow, caused, she guessed, by the pull of the huge mill wheel. For a second or two, panic brushed her with icy fingers as she felt herself drawn inexorably

  downwards by the current. Then her childhood training asserted itself, and she turned automatically into the flow, exerting all her strength to cleave through it with sure strokes. She caught sight of the child struggling gamely towards the surface, his young arms fighting a losing battle against the downward pull of the undertow. With a supreme effort she caught up with him and grasped him under one arm, kicking frantically for the surface. His added weight hampered her, and it seemed a century before she felt the undertow loose its hold, and she broke surface, gasping.

  The boy spat water energetically as she paused for a second or two, treading water, to get her breath back. She gave his bottom a sharp slap.

  "Stop struggling, or you'll have us both underneath again !"

  Turning, Rob struck out strongly for the bank by the house. It was easy swimming on the top with no current to combat. The child lay quiet in her arms, and soon she hoisted him up the steep bank and on to the lawn of Mill House. He scrambled up in a lively enough fashion, and immediately turned, kneeling towards the stream, his freckled face concerned.

  "Will you help Sam up as well, miss? He hasn't got long enough legs to get up the bank."

  "Sam? Oh, the dog !" Rob turned to find the woolly mat paddling gamely towards them, its small body fighting the downward pull of its saturated coat. The dog must have come in after the boy, despite its previous caution, for it had made no move to enter the water after the rat.

  "I'll go across by the bridge in the garden, and fetch my fishing net and jar," called the child, "if you'll drag Sam out."

  He seemed no worse for his ducking, and made off at a trot along the lawn towards the far end of the garden. He was evidently familiar with Hallam Rand's property, and Rob turned her attention to the dog. She swam out to meet him, glad that she had done so, for he was gasping hard. Her fingers found purchase in the long hair, and she dragged him willy-nilly to the bank, and safety.

  A pair of slim brown arms reached down, and took the animal from her, and she shook the water out of her eyes to see Verity Wade and the vet kneeling on the bank above her. Hallam Rand looked grim. He gripped Rob's outstretched hands with steel strength, and hauled her up the sheer bank and on to the lawn in one lithe movement. His face was chalk white.

  "Of all the crazy things to do !" he gritted. "Have you no more sense than to dive into a mill stream? Don't you realise that the undertow could have pulled you down into the works of the wheel and trapped you under the water? You'd have drowned before anyone could have got to you," he stormed. "And all for a mongrel dog !"

  "I can swim well enough," Rob defended herself.

  "Not against the pull of a mill wheel, in a river as deep as this," interrupted the vet harshly. He paused for a second, then with icy self-control went on more quietly. "Your concern for animals does you credit, but this is twice in two days that you've placed your—

  o

  self in jeopardy because of it. While you remain in my employ I would be obliged if you would exercise a little more caution. I have more than enough to do as it is, without having to make arrangements for your funeral !"

  "Thank you for getting Sam out." The child trotted back, bearing aloft his fishing net and jam jar, and smiled in an unconcerned fashion at the three grownups. "Hello, Mr Rand."

  "Jimmy !" The vet gazed down at the boy sternly. "You should know better than to let Sam swim in the stream by the mill wheel. You know full well how dangerous it is. You've been told. . . ."

  "But Sam didn't go for a swim. He hates water," protested the lad. "It was only because. . .."

  "Never mind wha
t it was because," broke in Verity hurriedly, with a glance at the vet's set face. "I take Sam with you, and go and sit in my Land Rover, it's right outside the surgery door. I'll take you home." She turned to Rob. "I'll go and look up a kitten for you," she promised.

  "Oh, thank you," said Rob gratefully. "I'll. . .."

  "The best thing you can do is to go upstairs and get out of your wet clothes before you catch a chill," interrupted the vet angrily. His cold glance took in her dripping figure, liberally plastered with mud where he had dragged her unceremoniously up the bank. His look reduced her to the age level of Jimmy, and she felt her temper rise.

  "If he imagines that I've got no more sense than to go swimming about under mill wheels," she fumed,

  "he can think what he likes of me ! I won't even try to explain !"

  Turning her back on him, she ignored the vet completely, and with a curt nod to Verity swung round with as much dignity as her sodden clothes allowed and squelched her way across the lawn and into the house to change.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LUNCH was a painful meal.

  Rob changed into dry clothing, and sat down opposite to her employer still seething at his overbearing attitude. She was determined not to offer him any explanation for this morning's happening. He could believe of her what he wished, she thought angrily. She had only got to stick the job for a month, and then she would be quit of Hallam Rand and his practice, and all the trouble that her presence at Mill House seemed to bring. It did not occur to Rob to go back on her word and pack her bags before the month was up. The colour of her hair was the badge of a fighter, and she had no intention of being intimidated by the aloof, arrogant, bad-tempered creature who sat opposite her at the table, she told herself forcefully.

  "Salt ?"

  "No, thank you."

  She refused the offered condiment shortly, and he placed it back on the table, his lips drawn to a thin line. Martha placed the last vegetable dish on its mat, straightened it to her satisfaction, and left the room. As the door shut behind her the silence became oppressive, charged with feeling—resentment on Rob's part, and irritation on the vet's. Rob helped herself to as little food as possible, though taking some out of sheer defiance; she would not let the vet see that the episode had upset her appetite. But she tackled her meal with little relish, doing no justice at all to Martha's excellent cooking, and grew angrier as she found each mouthful more difficult to swallow. After the minimum of courtesies to make sure that she had everything she needed within reach, Hal Rand relapsed into stony silence. He glanced across at her once, but her head was bent determinedly over her plate, so he turned his complete attention to his food until Martha came in with the coffee.

  "Are there any calls, Martha?"

  The query sounded loud in the previously silent room, and Rob jumped, despite herself.

  "Only those that you know about, Mr Hal. Oh, except one. Hetty Wilberforce rang and asked if you would go along and look at her terriers some time. She said it wasn't desperate, but she wouldn't say what it was."

  "The woman is a fusspot." Rand scowled into his cup. "Miss Fenton can handle it for me. If it's anything that needs serious attention I can go there myself afterwards."

  After their amicable teamwork that morning, his remark came like a slap in the face, and Rob's cheeks lost colour.

  "I suppose he thinks I'm no good at my job, either," she thought, anger fading into misery. The lunch she had forced down was already beginning to make her feel sick, and she wished she had never come to Mill House. If only she had listened to her mother, and stayed safely at home ! She had been happy in the local practice, with people she knew, and with whom either she or her parents were already friends. There was no friendliness here, at least not from Hallam Rand. Instead of the job that she had looked forward to so much, as a good start to her career, she seemed to have chosen an employer who reacted to her every move like a porcupine with all its prickles out.

  The silly thought lightened her mood slightly, and she began to feel better.

  "Will you give me the address, Martha," she said. "I'll go along there now." She followed Hallam Rand from the table, glad that she no longer need make any pretence at eating.

  The vet snapped his fingers for Red to follow him, and made for the door. With his hand on the knob he turned and spoke directly to Rob. His tone was impersonal, professional; he might have been giving her instructions over the telephone, and his grey eyes were cold as if he looked through, not at her.

  "Martha knows where to find me if I'm wanted," he told her. "There should be no more calls today, so when you've finished with the Wilberforce dogs you'll

  be free to do whatever you choose. Only please," his lips tightened again, "for your own sake, as well as for mine, don't choose to do anything dangerous."

  Rob's chin came up, and temper exploded in her eyes. She took an impulsive step forward, but Hallam Rand had dosed the door behind him, and the sound of the front door slamming told her that he was out of earshot. The engine of his Land Rover roared and quietened, and the sound of it faded away along the road. She fumed, biting her lip to keep back the angry words that it would be a waste of breath to speak, because Hallam Rand could not hear them.

  Martha hesitated, on her way out with the tray of crocks, then she stopped as if making up her mind.

  "Don't mind Mr Hal, Miss Rob," she said quietly. "It gave him a bad fright this morning, seeing you in the mill stream," she placated. "He almost drowned in it once himself, when he was a lad, and I suppose it brought it all back to him, seeing you in the water. He was fair upset when he came back into the house with Miss Verity."

  "Not upset enough to be civil to me at lunchtime," thought Rob miserably.

  "I can't imagine him ever being so foolish as to swim in the stream," she said aloud, sourly, thinking that she could not imagine Hallam Rand doing anything foolish, ever. It was only human beings who were foolish, and up to now there had seemed nothing human about him, at least when he was with her. He was different with Verity Wade, of course. "I'll go and see this Miss Wilberforce, and find out what's the

  matter with her dogs," she added, shaking off her annoyance with an effort. There was no need to let such a trivial incident spoil her day, and she did want to see the village. "It may be that something is really wrong with them, despite the fact that Mr Rand thinks she's a fusspot."

  "I'll give you the address." Martha walked out of the dining room with her, and stopped to scribble on the phone pad. She tore the top sheet off, and handed it to Rob. "Here it is, though it's not necessary, really. You'll find it easily enough," she said. "It's the cottage covered with pink tea-roses, next to the vicarage."

  "It sounds as if it might fit its owner," smiled Rob, unwilling to let her vexation spoil her relationship with Martha, who after all had done everything in her power to make her comfortable.

  Martha smiled back.

  "There are two Miss Wilberforces, not one. Hefty is the fusspot. She's the one who rang. She's short and plump and—and—fluffy," she labelled her triumphantly. "Jane is the other sister. She's older, and taller, and keeps bees. She ought to have been a man."

  Rob laughed out loud at Martha's descriptive phrasing, her temper finally evaporating. She could just imagine the two maiden sisters.

  She found Martha's description an admirable fit when she parked Hoppy carefully out of the way on the edge of the village green, and walked towards the cottages. The clutter of ducks was still by the pond, but now they slept peacefully on the bank, basking in the sunshine. She gripped the old-fashioned brass

  knocker, twinkling with polish, and gave a discreet tap.

  A chorus of yaps greeted the salutation, and the sound of paws scrabbled on the other side of the door. More than one set, guessed Rob. A quavery, high-pitched voice sounded over the scrabble.

  "Go back, both of you—at once ! Shoo ! Shoo !" The letter box popped open almost on to Rob's nose, with a suddenness that made her jump, and the same voice fl
uted through. "Wait a moment while I get rid of the dogs."

  Rob hoped the intentions of the voice's owner were not as dreadful as they sounded, and she waited patiently until a door slammed somewhere within the cottage, and the scrabbling ceased. A moment later the front door opened, and a small, plump, fluffy-haired woman appeared, and gazed at Rob rather vaguely.

  Hetty, guessed Rob correctly. "Miss Wilberforce?" The other nodded. "I'm Rob Fenton, Mr Rand's assistant. You rang the surgery about your dogs."

  "Oh, but I rang for Mr Rand." The fluttery voice sounded anxious.

  "I know, but he's gone out on an urgent call," lied Rob loyally. Really, she had no idea where the vet had gone to; he had left his whereabouts with Martha, denying her even that amount of trust. "He asked me to call and see what was the matter," she said with a bright smile, smothering the annoyance that the very thought of Hallam Rand generated inside her.

  "Oh well, you'd better come in, I suppose." Hetty

  Wilberforce opened the door doubtfully, and Rob walked through into a charming little hall.

  "Who is it, Hetty ?" A loud voice called from the other side of the closed door. "Drat these dogs ! Out into the garden, both of you."

  Another door slammed firmly, and a second later a

  tall, angular woman strode into the hall. She seemed

  to fill it, and towered over Hetty Wilberforce and Rob. "This will be Jane Wilberforce," decided Rob. "Is she selling, or collecting ?"