The Storm Within

by Sue Peters

  She picked up her evening bag and a featherlight Chinese silk stole, then ran downstairs, anxious not to keep the vet waiting. He had said they would be at Wade Hollow by about eight, and it was half past seven now. He came out of the study door as she reached the bottom stair, his face veiled in the shadow of the darkened room behind him. His dark hair was brushed back in an attempt to control the deep waves that he seemed to dislike so much. "He has the same trouble as me," thought Rob, with an inward smile, and came towards him feeling suddenly shy. The

  magpie colouring of evening clothes suited his lithe slimness, making him look, if anything, taller than ever, and she wished her gold sandals had higher heels. She felt a bit like a schoolgirl, with her head not reaching up to his shoulder. Verity's reached past it, she was almost as tall as he was. They would have tall children, thought Rob, tall and straight like the chimneys of Wade Hollow.

  Red padded forward, obviously expecting to come with them, and his master checked him with a quiet word.

  "Not tonight, Red. I'm looking after her instead." He reached out and took Rob's arm, his eyes inscrutable as he glanced down at her slender form beside him, but he said nothing as he suited his stride to hers down the shallow front steps. Rob checked in surprise as she caught sight of the gleaming Lancia pulled up at the bottom. She had never given their mode of transport a thought. She was so used to the vet's Land Rover that she supposed she had automatically thought they would go in that.

  "I couldn't take you in the Land Rover." Hallam Rand sounded shocked, divining her thoughts. "Not in a dress as pretty as that."

  "I didn't know you had. . . ." Rob stopped, suddenly realising that it might sound rude.

  "I don't take it out very often." The vet undid the passenger door and helped her in, bending down to tuck her dress safely out of the way of the door, then he shut it on her and slipped into the seat beside her. The engine purred into life, indicative of a higher

  than usual horsepower underneath the long bonnet, and Rob snuggled back.

  "This is what motoring should be." Her voice betrayed her enthusiasm, and her companion glanced down at her appreciatively.

  "I've never had much time to take her out," he confessed, "but I intend to alter that now," implying that he had more time now that she was helping him. More time to spend with Verity. Rob made no comment, she was content to sit beside him and enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of the powerful car, and happily able to leave the driving to him. He was a superb driver, handling the huge machine with' an easy mastery that drew her respect, and the ride was not nearly long enough for her. She said so when they pulled up in front of Wade Hollow, and he turned to her, obviously pleased.

  "I'll take you for a longer spin in her," he promised impulsively, "as soon as we get a spare afternoon."

  Rob looked up at him, startled, but the dusk of the car hid her surprise, and then they were in the hall of Wade Hollow, greeting Bill Wade and his wife, and Verity was running down the wide stairs to meet them. Her ballet-length, delphinium blue dress was a perfect match for her eyes, and the wide velvet band that held back her pale hair. Her silver fairness gave her an almost ethereal look against the dark panelling of the walls, and Rob's throat constricted.

  "She looks more like a painting than a person," she thought, and suddenly felt her own dress to be dowdy and colourless in comparison. She was silent as they

  went back to the car, but the others did not seem to notice. Verity chattered to the vet, and he responded in the warm, amused tone that he only seemed to use when he was with her. Rob had occupied the seat beside him on the way, but now Verity slid into it with an automatic ease that spoke of habit, and Rob reached out for the handle of the back door. It was locked, and the vet opened it for her, tucking her in with the same care that he had used when they started from Mill House. She thanked him quietly, and he gave a keen look in her direction, hesitated, then shut the door and got into the driving seat beside Verity without saying anything. Rob felt glad when they arrived at the village hall and found a crowd of people of about their own age waiting for them.

  "You're late," they were accused, "you're the last to get here."

  "Blame the girls for titivating," the vet basely denied responsibility, and claimed Verity for the first dance. It was a waltz, and Martin Bradley bowed his request to Rob. The band was surprisingly, good. "Local talent," explained the auctioneer, "but they're very keen. They've won quite a name for themselves — hereabouts."

  A quickstep followed, and Martin Bradley confessed his inadequacy and led her back to their table. Verity and Hallam Rand joined them, and the two men went off in search of refreshments, for it was hot in the hall. As they moved away the young auctioneer's limp was noticeable, and Verity caught Rob's glance.

  "Some cattle ran amok in the market," she ex-

  plained quietly. "Martin tried to stop them, and got pretty badly trampled. It left him with one leg slightly shorter than the other, and it tips his balance a bit if he tries anything faster than a waltz."

  That explained why he had opted out of the quickstep.

  "What caused them to stampede ?"

  "Thundery weather. Weather like this," said the other. "It seems to bring out all the stinging, biting insects that ever lived, and it drives the animals mad. It only needs some slight incident for them to run wild. I wish it would rain," she added, a crease forming between her eyes.

  "There speaks a farmer's daughter !"

  Martin Bradley returned with lemonade, and a teasing look in Verity's direction.

  "We were wishing it would get cooler," she countered with a smile, accepting her drink, her feet tapping to the music as the band started up a slow foxtrot. Hallam Rand stood up and smiled at Rob, claiming the dance. To her surprise she found that he was no mean performer on the floor. Instinctively tucking herself close under his arm, she gave herself up to the music. She was a born dancer, light and supple in her movements, and the two of them circled the room without speaking, lost in the rhythm. The music stopped, and for a second they stayed close where their steps had taken them, then Rob sighed and relaxed. She dropped her arms, but Hal kept her hand in his.

  "There might be a repeat," he hoped.

  The music started again, but this time it was a

  waltz. Without speaking Hal gathered Rob back into his arms, and once more they circled the floor. Her pleated skirts swung as they spun, allowing her free movement, and his grasp on her tightened as they pirouetted. She adjusted herself automatically in his arms, matching her steps to his until the two of them were one fluid movement, motivated by the soft, insistent beat of the music. Her head rested in the hollow below the vet's shoulder, and the faint perfume from the rose in her hair made an aura of sweetness about them as they spun. Time ceased to exist, there was nothing except the music, and the man's firm arms about her, and it was with an effort that Rob shook herself back to reality when the last notes faded into silence, and she found herself back at their table, with Martin Bradley handing her her neglected drink.

  "Cool off," he advised her smilingly. "If it keeps as hot as this we shall empty the cellars at the Martyr's Arms !"

  "Isn't it a lovely old place?" Rob's voice was enthusiastic. "I went there the other day."

  "What, to the pub?" The auctioneer raised surprised eyebrows.

  "Only to the living quarters," qualified Rob, her colour rising. "I had tea with Mr and Mrs Grant, and Jimmy."

  "Here's another one who's been there, but he hasn't been drinking tea." Martin Bradley looked towards the door, and his voice was a wary murmur. He held out his hand to Verity. "We seem to be in his line of approach. Shall we take the floor ?" The dance was a

  waltz, and he whirled Verity away to the other side of the big hall.

  "Let's do the same." Hallam Rand held out his hand, and Rob took it, glad to be dancing with him again. Their steps seemed to be a perfect match, despite the disparity in their height, and she enjoyed dancing with a good partner.

 
The M.C.'s voice announced a tag dance, and a lot of confusion and laughter ensued as people changed partners, but no one tagged Rob and the vet and they continued until they got near the door. There, a heavy hand dropped on Rob's shoulder, and she turned, smiling, to partner her 'tag'. Instantly the smile froze on her lips, and she shrank back into the shelter of Hallam Rand's arms. The man who had tagged her was Lewis Ford, and it was obvious that he was tipsy, and looking for trouble. That must have been what Martin Bradley meant when he took Verity off, she thought with dismay.

  Hallam Rand held her close, with his arm about her waist, and faced the Norton End farmer squarely. "This tag is not allowed."

  Either Lewis Ford did not hear him, or he felt inclined to argue. He swayed towards them truculently, whisky fumes preceding him in a wave, and grabbed at Rob's wrist.

  "Let her go !"

  Hallam Rand's voice was vibrant, rigidly controlled, but the man in front of him was too tipsy to recognise the danger.

  "I got a right. It's a tag, ain't it ?"

  He reached out his other hand, and quick as lightning Hallam Rand reacted. Rob did not even see him move. The vet's arm rose, the farmer gave a convulsive gasp and released her, and stumbled back nursing his wrist, a look of sullen anger on his swarthy face.

  The dancers stopped, but the band, unable to see the cause of the fuss, played on uncertainly, eventually coming to a ragged halt, and there was silence in the hall except for the shuffle of feet, and an occasional voice asking what had happened. Through the silence came a nimble of thunder. It sounded close, as if the storm was near to breaking.

  "Here's All Dodd."

  The policeman's rubicund face appeared through the crowd, making its way towards them.

  "I thought you might be making for here." The representative of the law sighed resignedly, and grasped Lewis Ford in an authoritative grip. "Come along, you! Sorry if he's been a nuisance to you and your lady, Mr Rand," he apologised. "He does seem to take a tilt at you whenever he gets in this condition. If he was sober, he'd know better," he added, eyeing the vet's broad shoulders with respect.

  "It's because of your campaign about his bull, I suppose?"

  Rob danced automatically, the lightness gone from her feet.

  "Yes, he never misses an opportunity to be unpleasant if he can help it. I'm only sorry that some of it

  has rubbed off on you, especially on your night out."

  The vet looked concerned, and Rob smiled at him

  brightly, assuring him that it did not matter. But while she might deceive him, she could not deceive herself, and her feet dragged through the subsequent dances, weighted by a sense of depression that she could not acount for, and a feeling of foreboding heightened by the increasingly loud rumbles of thunder from overhead, as if some great beast of prey stalked there, biding its time until it pounced on the parched earth quivering below.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE last working week of Rob's month's trial began badly.

  The night had been stickily hot, thunder and occasional flashes of lightning disturbing the stifling air, although still the sky remained relentlessly dry. Added to the queer restlessness that seemed of a sudden to possess her, Rob found sleep elusive, and what little she had was disturbed by troubled dreams.

  The following morning she overslept, and reached the breakfast table still only half awake, and in no mood for conversation. The vet gave her a keen glance, wordlessly pushed the coffee pot within reach, and carried on reading his morning mail, leaving her to come to in her own good time

  He had been very quiet during the weekend, spending all of Sunday at home, and most of it stretched

  out on the lawn, with Red as usual by his side. Neither man nor dog seemed possessed of any desire to go out, and Rob wondered where Verity was, that he seemed content to remain at home during his only really free day of the week.

  "Come and be lazy," he bade her, fixing a deck-chair for her next to his own. "You make me feel guilty, buzzing about in this heat."

  Rob stopped wondering, and joined him, calmed in spite of herself by the peace of the garden, and the soothing murmur of the mill wheel, now turned much more slowly by a depleted stream, lowered by the long drought. Purposefully she pushed her depression aside, intent on enjoying what was left of her brief stay in her lovely surroundings.

  She supposed that her two confrontations with the fanner from Norton End, added to the stormy start to her, post as Hallam Rand's assistant, had combined to upset her normally calm approach to life, but despite her determination, the fear persisted that her employer might yet find these a reason for dispensing with her services, and taking on a male assistant. The fear caused a hurt of surprising strength, that dimmed the brightness of the sunshine, and she stirred restlessly in her chair, her hands going out automatically to tease the setter's silky curls.

  "I shall miss him, too," she had thought miserably, dejection spoiling the peaceful afternoon, despite her determination.

  She tackled her breakfast egg now without enthusiasm, unhappy at the thought of finding herself an-

  other post, which she knew without thinking about she would not like. The morning surgery did little to help her depression. For once, there were not a lot of patients, but the thundery air seemed to make those they had more troublesome than usual, and by ten o'clock both Rob and the vet had received a dog bite each. At half past, someone rang and asked Hallam Rand if he would go and cope with a swarm of bees that had alighted on a house gable, much to the householder's distress. With an asperity unusual for him when he was dealing with a prospective client, the vet informed the caller that he was a veterinary surgeon, not a bee-keeper, and gave Jane Wilberforce's telephone number as the only person he knew locally who might be able to offer assistance. They found out, later, that the bees did in fact belong to the Wilberforce sisters, and they were even then in hot pursuit of the swarm, Jane in the lead, followed by a voluble Hetty carrying veils and all the paraphernalia necessary to recapture their demoralising pets.

  The telephone rang again, and Rob relaxed for a second as the vet answered it. She rubbed a hand wearily across her hot face, only half listening to the conversation.

  "I'll send my assistant out. Yes, right away." He put the receiver down, and turned to Rob. "Just the thing to give you a break from the surgery. I can finish off what there is to do here now."

  "Where to?"

  Rob was already reaching for her bag, thankful for the chance of a run outside.

  "Barhill Market. It seems there's been a set-to between a billygoat and a pig. There's not much damage done, from what I can gather, but the pig seems to have received a cut on its hindquarter, and the owner is a bit incensed, and insists on having a vet."

  "I'll try not to be too long."

  "Take the rest of the day off," suggested the vet. "There's nothing much doing here, and you haven't had a chance to look round Barhill since you came. Verity and her father are bound to be there, I know Bill Wade was sending some stock in today."

  "I heard him mention it to Martin Bradley on Saturday," nodded Rob.

  "They always have lunch at the Bar Arms, so you won't be without company," said Hal, and fleetingly Rob wondered if he was sending her out of his way, if he was impatient for the week to end, when she would be gone, and he could have Mill House to himself again. Himself and Verity.

  She thrust the thought from her. It was useless to make herself more miserable than she already was. She backed Hoppy out of the garage and pointed the bonnet in the direction of Barhill It was cool in the car, and she enjoyed the drive through the quiet lanes, despite their snakelike twists and turns. She had got used to these by now, as she had got used to the heavy foliage that arched over them. She no longer felt smothered, only—sheltered—yes, that was the word. Mill House gave her the same feeling, she realised with a sense of surprise. It had grown on her during the last month, and made the ache at the thought of

  leaving even harder to bear. She glanced grateful
ly at Red, curled up on the seat beside her. Mill House extending its shelter while she was on rounds, she thought with a smile. It was a nice, safe feeling. If only it need not be a transient one, as well !

  Happy's seat was not so comfortable as that of the vet's Lancia, and 'Rob wondered if he would remember his promise and take her for a drive in it before the week was out. It would be a very pleasant experience, just for once to have a long ride in a large car, with a skilful driver.

  When she reached Barhill it was crowded. The ancient market town took its once-weekly bustle of activity with great seriousness, and the narrow, cobbled streets were filled with folk from the remote districts around, the men intent on the stock market, and the women on the produce side, with their weekly chance of shopping, and an exchange of news with seldom seen contemporaries an added bonus to their visit.

  Rob inched the Austin cautiously past a stone preaching cross, and tucked herself in behind a large, loaded cattle wagon, obviously heading for her own destination. She had no idea where the actual market was held, but her unwitting guide took her, via several tight turns through even narrower streets, to a wide space filled with stock pens, and the familiar milling, protesting jumble of livestock awaiting the attention of the auctioneer. She leaned out of her car window and enquired directions of a shirt-sleeved giant leaning against the door of an empty cattle truck.