The Storm Within

by Sue Peters

  "Oh no, hardly at all. That's wonderfully comforting."

  And so was his evident belief in her integrity. She felt immeasurably relieved. She could not imagine why she should care so much what he thought. She only knew that she did. Pride, I suppose, she thought wryly. Hal Rand's voice broke in on her musings.

  "You must promise me never to leave Red behind

  when you go out," he insisted. "In a city practice it wouldn't matter, but out here. . . ."

  He spoke as if he intended to keep her services until the month was up, and suddenly Rob had to be sure. "You mean I can stay ?"

  Rand looked surprised.

  "Of course. You haven't been here the month yet." "I seem to have done enough up to now," she admitted ruefully.

  "You certainly have," he replied fervently, and his tone changed. "We've done more working together than I would have believed possible, in so short a time. But you must promise...."

  "Oh yes, I promise I'll keep Red with me. That is, if he'll stay."

  Somewhere inside her, something started to sing. "If he won't," said Hal, "I'll go out and buy the

  biggest bull terrier I can find, and train him for you." "Red would certainly object to that."

  Rob laughed, shakily, and straightaway felt better.

  "Martha, I think I'd like that scone after all."

  "Don't feed her too many, Martha," commanded Hal Rand, rising to his feet. "Verity and her parents are coming to dinner, remember, and if she can't eat they'll think I starve her. As well as beat her." His glance went to her arm.

  "I'll cover that up."

  Rob rose, her hand instinctively going up to her bruised arm, feeling the pull of the creamed area against her fingers. It still tingled to the vet's touch, firm, yet amazingly gentle. Not crude and brutal, like

  that of the farmer at Norton End. She hesitated.

  "If you're having guests for dinner, I could have mine in here, with Martha—" she began, not sure whether the vet would want the company of his assistant when he was entertaining his personal friends. They had been kindness itself to her when she went to Wade Hollow, but a dinner at home was rather a different affair. He and Verity might prefer just family company, and her presence would make for odd numbers anyhow.

  "Certainly not !"

  "The very idea!"

  The vet and his housekeeper spoke simultaneously.

  "You'll have your dinner as you always do, with me," Hal told her, and his voice brooked no argument. "Now cut along upstairs and get ready, there's nothing more for you to do here tonight."

  Normally Rob spent the hour before dinner attending to the surgery records, but evidently her employer thought otherwise this evening, and she was grateful for his consideration. She would take a quick lie down before she came downstairs, there was plenty of time, and she wanted to feel fresh if Verity and her parents were coming. Doubtless the farmer wanted to hear how the vet had got on at the Council Offices during the morning. It would be pleasant to see them again, but the singing inside her quietened a little. It would have been nicer still to have had dinner with just the two of them and Red, and a quiet evening afterwards.

  "How did you get on at the Council Offices this morning ?" she asked, on her way out.

  "Not much progress." He sounded exasperated. "They're like the mills of God, in those places. They grind slowly." He paused with his hand on the study door. "You'll hear all about it when I tell Bill Wade this evening," he promised her, and with that she had to be content until dinner time.

  She chose a white silk blouse with long bishop sleeves as being about the coolest thing she had got that was still capable of hiding her bruised arm, and teamed it with a floor-length black skirt. She left the neck of the blouse open, shirt-style, and linked it loosely with a plain gold necklet band that had been a gift from her parents on her birthday. The stark simplicity of the outfit suited her, highlighting her own natural colouring so that her bright hair seemed even brighter by contrast. She brushed it flat against her head, into a neat halo of copper against her delicately boned face, and it stayed obediently where she put it except for one soft curl that would insist on rolling down over her forehead. She brushed it back impatiently, but it tumbled back again on to her eyebrow, as if it wanted to peep into her eyes, and read the secrets that might lie there. She frowned, hesitating whether to wet her brush and plaster it back, but there was no time for that now. She did not use grips, her hair never needed setting, and it was too short to need restraint normally. Rob tossed the brush down on the dressing table and gave it up. It would have to do, she thought. It was not as if she were going to a dance where it might get in the way, it was more or less a family dinner party, at least as far as the vet

  was concerned. The thought made her feel more than ever an outsider, although the topic of conversation that took precedence at the dinner table drew her in equally with the others.

  Bill Wade listened patiently to what the vet had to tell him of his visit to the Council Offices that morning, and his expression said that he was not impressed.

  "I told Rob they're like the mills of God," said Hallam Rand.

  "These don't grind slowly, they grind to a halt," growled the farmer. "I'm beginning to wonder if there's not some sort of higher authority we can appeal to, Hal. Some kind of Ombudsman, for instance ?"

  "These people are on the County Council, Bill," retorted the vet. "And they do have the last say where County laws are concerned. You know that."

  "I suppose so," answered the other grimly. "Lewis Ford knows it, too, unfortunately."

  Rob glanced up quickly at her employer, but his attention was turned to Verity, and he made no mention of what had transpired that morning. She heaved a small sigh of relief, and helped herself to vegetables.

  "It's nothing but a useless waste of time," stormed Verity, angrily brandishing her fork. "It's a pity someone from the Council Offices can't be chased by the wretched bull. It might make them move a bit more quickly then."

  "They would have to move if they were being chased by Ford's black Friesian," laughed Hallam

  Rand, the humour of the situation suddenly striking him. "I wouldn't give much for the chances of the chap I saw this morning, in such circumstances. He was as round as a ball," he grinned. "Though the exercise might be beneficial if he managed to get away with it."

  "It's hardly a waste of time, Vee, even if Hal didn't get very far," pointed out her father. "It's all progress, even if it is slow. It won't help by us getting het up about it."

  "But they're so slow !"

  "It's a County law we're trying to alter, and it takes time."

  "It's a potential loss of life you're trying to prevent," cried Rob vehemently, as vexed as Verity. "Can't they see that, stuck in their safe little offices?"

  "I think we ought to send the girls next time, Bill. They would make better ambassadors for our cause," smiled the vet, in no way put out.

  "They would certainly make better looking ones," laughed the fanner.

  "I agree." Hal Rand smiled at Verity. "How about it, Vee? Are you willing to put on a sandwich board, and start parading for us ?"

  Automatically he used the childhood diminutive, and the girl smiled back at him warmly.

  "I would be more inclined to wield my sandwich board as a knobkerrie," she laughed, and the vet laughed with her, his grey eyes merry and carefree, the shutters of reserve rolled back from his face, and

  his normally aloof expression chased away by sheer, boyish fun.

  "He looks a different person," thought Rob, fascinated. "And at least ten years younger."

  It was only with Verity that he seemed to let the bathers of reserve drop, and be his real self. They were a handsome couple, the platinum-haired girl and the black-haired man, thought Rob, not for the first time. Verity had taken her coffee, and disdaining a chair, curled up on the rug beside Hallam Rand's chair, using his knee as a backrest. Red gave her a look of disgust, obviously put out at being usurped from what he re
garded as his own reserved place, and seeing that Verity did not intend to give way to him, he padded across to Rob, circled the spot by her feet two or three times, and slumped down with a sigh of content. She reached down a sympathetic finger and fondled his ear, and he responded with a length of rough pink tongue. She tried to reach down to rub his neck, a favourite spot just underneath his collar, but her arm was not long enough, she was too deep into the armchair, so she wriggled forward the better to reach him. Bill Wade came across, and put his coffee down on a nearby table.

  "Here, tuck these cushions behind your back. You're lost in that big chair," he told her.

  He reached down and caught her arm, easing her forward the better to thrust the cushions behind her. His hand touched the bruise, hidden beneath her blouse sleeve, and Rob gave an involuntary gasp and turned white.

  "Oh !"

  At the first sound, the setter rose to his feet in one fluid movement and faced Bill Wade menacingly, a snarled warning curling his lips back from his teeth. The fanner turned a shocked face to Rob.

  "I'm sorry, Rob. I didn't think I'd grabbed you that hard."

  "No. No, you didn't." Rob spoke hastily, as taken aback by the setter's reaction as the farmer. "It's all right, really," she assured him, for he still looked concerned. "I just—bumped my arm in that spot. You happened to touch the bruise, that's all," she explained, her hands reaching out to the still bristling dog. "It's all right, Red," she soothed him, her fingers smoothing his hackles, desperately wishing he would quiet, for the eyes of the whole room were on him, and as a consequence on her. She waited until the setter lay down again, muzzle on paws, though with his eyes still fixed on Bill Wade as if warning him not to come near. With one hand restrainingly on the dog's head, Rob reached back with the other and tucked the cushions behind her in the chair.

  "That's a lot comfier. Thank you very much." She -smiled at the farmer, hoping to divert his attention, but his surprise was too evident.

  "It's absolutely incredible," gasped Verity, sitting bolt upright on the rug. "Red has simply never acknowledged anyone's existence before, except Hal's. You must have bewitched him, or something," she accused Rob.

  "It must be the colour of her hair," teased the farmer. "It's practically the same as Red's."

  "How did you bruise your arm, Rob ? Is it much ?" Verity's mother sounded concerned.

  "Oh no, really." Rob wished they would forget her bruise, and talk about something else. "It just happens to be a fresh one, that's all."

  "What did you do, fall out of your car again ?" quipped her husband.

  "I . .." She threw a desperate glance towards Rand, and he came easily to her rescue.

  "I beat her," he announced calmly, reaching for his pipe, and seemingly unaware of the startled glances of his three guests. Verity stared at him as if she was seeing him for the first time, and Rob's heart sank. "Oh dear," she thought, "if only he'd let me have my dinner with Martha."

  "I hope you chastised her thoroughly." The farmer recovered first. "I don't believe in all this Women's Lib myself. A hiding twice a week. . . . But as you see, I'm outnumbered," he gestured towards his womenfolk.

  Hallam Rand tossed his tobacco pouch across to the farmer to help himself, and apologised for his pet's behaviour.

  "Sorry about that, Bill. No, I'm not," he corrected himself immediately. "I'm sorry it had to be you he went for," he told the farmer, "but at least I know that he'll offer some protection to Rob when she's out on rounds. I've told her she's to take Red with her whenever she has to go out." He dropped his bomb-

  shell calmly, stuffing his pipe until he had it packed to his satisfaction. He lit a taper and held it to the tobacco, and a whiff of aromatic smoke blew across the room. Rob liked the smell of his tobacco. It was different from her father's, lighter and sweeter, but nice. She sniffed appreciatively, and glanced at the faces around her. They were all looking at their host, each of them registering various degrees of shock, and she felt a chuckle start inside her.

  Mrs Wade looked at the vet with a puzzled crease across her forehead, for all the world as if she was wondering whether he was about to start a temperature. Bill Wade simply stared, disbelief large in his eyes, the vet's tobacco pouch unopened in one hand, and his pipe unheeded in the other. It was if he was about to start conducting a band, thought Rob, and bit back a smile. Verity's blue eyes were round. She looked from her human backrest to the dog, and back again, as if she did not believe the evidence of her own ears. Red stirred under Rob's hand, and she tensed, wondering what he was going to do. He got to his feet, but his eyes were mild, and looked in the direction of the window, out towards the mill wheel.

  "What's he listening for ?"

  Verity watched him intently, but over the rumble of the wheel they could hear nothing, and the garden seemed empty of movement.

  "Probably a cat," suggested her father.

  "If it had been, Red would be gone by now, and so would the cat," laughed the vet. "No, he's heard something that we can't—ah, there it is !"

  The dog whined, and looked at his master, and over the rumble of the wheel came a heavier sound, lowering from the heat-hazed sky.

  "It's all right, Red. Lie down. It's only thunder."

  Rob stroked him, her hands gentling the long, loose curls of his coat, feeling the vibration of a tremble as the thunder came again. She watched for lightning, but none came.

  "That storm has been hanging about for the past twenty-four hours," said the farmer unhappily, glancing up at the sky with a typical countryman's `one eye on the ground and one in the air' look.

  "Well, I hope it doesn't break all over the garden fete on Saturday," his daughter retorted with some asperity. "After all that work we've put in, it will be a criminal shame if it's a washout."

  "Well, it's no use grumbling to me," laughed her father. "I'm not responsible for the weather. But I wish it would either break or clear off," he continued uneasily. "The air is getting heavy, and it's making the animals restless."

  "Any signs of trouble ?" Hallam Rand's interest was immediate, and professional.

  "Not as yet," replied Bill Wade, stuffing his pipe in turn. "But I hate these electric storms. With one of them hanging overhead it pots the cattle on edge, and I never feel really easy until it's cleared," he confessed. "The animals won't settle, and you can't. They hate storms."

  "They're not the only ones," Verity put in. "They give me the jitters, too. When I think of that elm tree

  last year. . . . The lightning just cleaved it in two." Her hands parted the air in an expressive gesture, and she grimaced in Rob's direction. "I was standing under it, sheltering from the rain, about a quarter of an hour before it was struck."

  "Then you should have had more sense," her father retorted sharply. "Of all the daft things to do, when there's a storm about !"

  "It would have put a parting in your hair if you'd stayed there." Hallam Rand ruffled the straight, flaxen strands against his knee. They floated about his slim, brown fingers like threads of ivory silk, and settled back into place about Verity's head, pulled by their own weight into a shining smoothness as if they had never been disturbed. "Never mind about the thunder, concentrate on what you're going to wear for the dance on Saturday night, and you'll forget about the weather."

  His voice was soft and affectionate, and he left his hand resting lightly on her head. Verity smiled across at Rob.

  "What are you going to put on, Rob ?"

  "What about that green dress and sandals we saw you in the other evening ?" suggested her mother. "With your pretty hair. . . ."

  "Oh no, it's got no sleeves in it," said Rob, then stopped and bit her lip. She had told them she had bruised her arm, but she was conscious herself that the bruises were obvious finger marks, and she knew that if she went in a sleeveless dress they were bound to cause comment. She did not want to embarrass either herself

  or her employer by having to answer questions on that

  score.

  "I
t won't be cold, not at the annual village hop," laughed the farmer. "If the crowd we get in the village hall is anything to go by, you'll be glad of something with no sleeves before the night is out. The men usually end up with their jackets off," he assured her.

  He reached down and pulled his wife gently to her feet, and at the same time gave Verity's hair a tug.

  "Come on, you two girls," he winked at Rob. "Home, before the storm starts. It takes all the curl out of my hair," he complained plaintively, and the others laughed.

  They were still smiling when they said goodbye at the front doorstep. Rob held back in the hall, not wishing to push herself, sure the vet would want to say goodnight to Verity in private, but he gave her no chance to disappear into the kitchen to Martha as she intended. He cupped his hand round her elbow in a way that was rapidly becoming a habit when he wanted to make sure that she did not escape him, and took her with him on to the outside step.

  He shook hands with Bill Wade and kissed Mrs Wade and Verity lightly on the cheek before seeing them into their car, then came back and stood beside Rob on the step, and together they watched the tail light disappear down the street on its way back to Wade Hollow.

  As they turned to go indoors together, the man's eyes searched the sky, anxiously seeking some signs of rain bearing cloud. The last of the sunlight had

  gone, leaving the sky empty of warmth, grey with the gathering darkness, and with only the rumble of thunder, distant but ominous, and the thickening, electric air, to warn them of the impending storm.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "YOU'VE won, Miss Fenton ! You've won !"

  Jimmy jumped up and down with excitement, landing on the grass and Rob's toes with complete impartiality. Rob removed her feet to a safer distance, and smiled at the woman behind the hoopla stall.