by Sue Peters
"You the vet? Take your car on further up the yard then, miss, where the market staff park. You'll find the small stock in the pens yonder," he gestured away to his right. "Your wounded pig will be somewhere there," he smiled. "If you want help with the billygoat, just shout," he added, eyeing Rob's bright curls with appreciation.
She laughed.
"I hope they've got him under control before I arrive," she replied feelingly, and ran her car into the small, reserved space indicated by the driver. She reached for her emergency kit, and Red slipped out of the car at her heels. Rob felt a momentary concern over his possible behaviour with the other animals, particularly the Border collies that slunk, one at the heels of each man, like badger shadows throughout the aisles of the market. But the setter had been brought up to this situation, and trained to ignore it, and he trotted docilely behind her, and the farm dogs, working animals all, knew better than to try conclusions with him during their working hours. They were as intent on the business of the day as were the men whose heels they shadowed, and Rob relaxed her vigil, content to go her way in the sure knowledge that Red would follow without supervision, a pace or two behind.
She ran her quarry to earth eventually in a corner pen, and found it rooting happily among a litter of straw, evidently far less disturbed than its owner over the fracas with the goat. The pig ignored her while she cleaned and dressed a small contusion, then turned to
placate the farmer, who was audibly afraid of a decrease in its value.
"No harm done, just a slight abrasion," she consoled him.
"For two pins I'd sue !"
"Let it rest, Solomon." Martin Bradley came up behind them, and rescued Rob, who felt at a loss what to say. "I'll work a bit harder and see that you get a good price," he promised the farmer, who hesitated, then gave a grunt not unlike his property, thought Rob with a giggle she dared not give vent to, and stamped away in the direction of the Bar Arms. The auctioneer turned to Rob.
"I must be off as well, but Mr Wade and Verity are on the other side somewhere. I think Verity wanted some of Jane Wilberforce's honey, she usually brings some produce in."
"She won't get any this morning," denied Rob with a chuckle. "Jane Wilberforce is rescuing her bees from a house in the village. They swarmed a couple of hours ago. Someone rang Mr Rand and asked him to cope," she explained.
"It's no good anyone ringing Hal to cope with bees. He's scared to death of them," laughed the auctioneer unfeelingly.
"I don't believe it," defended Rob. "Why, he's had one dog bite already this morning, and that didn't seem to bother him."
"Ah, but dogs play fair. Bees come at you backwards," smiled the auctioneer, still amused. "Look." He pointed beyond the second row of pens. "There's
Verity, just past those crates of pullets." He raised his hand in a wave, and Verity looked up, her face bright as she recognised him She waved back, then noticing Rob she beckoned her over.
"Why not have lunch with us?" invited Martin Bradley. "We always go to the Bar Arms, and if you're on your own—?"
"I'd love to," Rob accepted immediately. She did not feel like spending the rest of the day with her own thoughts. "That is, if you don't mind?" she asked Verity, minutes later, as they strolled side by side along the length of the stock pens.
"Join us by all means," welcomed Verity without hesitation, in her usually friendly manner. "I'm glad you've come anyway," she confided. "I've got some news to tell you. I've just got to tell somebody," she added with a rush of honesty, "or I think I shall burst !"
"Just follow Red, he knows the way." Bill Wade came up the steps of the Bar Arms behind them, and called out as he saw Rob hesitate in the face of two possible doors. "This is one of his usual haunts, he knows which table to make for."
He spoke no more than the truth. The setter padded his way into a low-ceilinged room until he came to a place set in a bow window overlooking the street. Here he halted and looked behind him, then satisfied that his human charges had followed him safely he slid underneath the dark oak refectory table, and curled up with a sigh, his duty done. Rob subsided on to the bench seat, and the dog shuffled until he was
against her feet, then lay still, a silky warmth against her legs. She wondered what it was that Verity had to tell her. Whatever news she had, Rob surmised that it must be good. Somehow, Verity seemed to glow. Her eyes shone, and there was a brightness about her face as if she hugged some secret, inner happiness to herself. It made Rob curious to know what it was she
had to tell, but it was no good asking now, for Martin Bradley limped up to the table and the talk became general. His quick eye noticed the marks of the dog bite on Rob's hand, and he commented on it.
"I thought you said it was Hal who had the bite ?"
"I collected one, too," she replied ruefully, "in the surgery this morning."
"Don't tell me that Hal has run amok?"
Rob giggled, her spirits lifting under the lighthearted banter, and the meal that followed was a merry one. Verity was at her best, bubbling with fun, her face vivid with that curious inner light.
A waiter appeared, and Rob felt Red stir and get up. She spoke to him, but the man smiled and shook his head, bidding her to wait. Bending low, he placed a large dish in a corner of the bow window, and the setter slid out from under the table and homed to it with the surety of long custom. She glanced at Bill Wade, questioning.
"Leave him alone," said the farmer. "He always has his dinner with us. They keep an old plate for him here, and he looks forward to the treat as much as we do."
The setter fed neatly, spilling nothing, as fastidious
as a cat with his eating, and Rob smiled a 'thank you' at the waiter. Their own lunch over, the men began a friendly wrangle over the bill, each insisting that he wanted to pay.
"Oh, no," protested Rob, flushing, "I couldn't possibly let you. I only came out here on a job."
"And stayed to have lunch with us," replied Bill Wade firmly. "No, it's no use grumbling," he stifled Rob's protests. "Your lunch is on me. And yours," he told the younger man.
Martin Bradley rose regretfully.
"I've got to go back to work," he mourned. "What are you two girls going to do?" He sounded wistful.
"I thought of having a look round Barhill while I'm here," said Rob. "Mr Rand said I could take the afternoon off."
"Good ! Then I'll come with you." Verity annexed her eagerly. "I've got to do some shopping, and then we can have a nice long talk on our own."
"That disposes of us, from the sound of it," remarked her father with a smile.
"I thought you had to go to the Council offices?"
"So I have. I'll walk with you as far as there. The Council House is in the middle of the shopping centre," the farmer explained to Rob as she followed him out, Red padding at her heels. Martin Bradley and Verity followed them, and the auctioneer stopped at the turning back to the market. The fanner and Rob called their goodbyes across a pavement full of hurrying heads, and strolled on, Red pacing like a dark shadow at their heels. Rob turned her head once,
to make sure that he was still there, and she hung back, glancing over the heads of the crowd.
"What's the matter ?" asked the farmer. "Have you lost the dog ?"
"No, Red is here, but we seem to have become separated from Verity."
"She'll catch us up," said her father cheerfully. "Come on, it's no use trying to find her in this crush. We'll wait for her by the steps of the Council House."
It seemed a sensible suggestion, with the street full of the hurrying market crowds, and Rob followed her companion closely, careful not to lose sight of him, too. Verity caught them up, looking flushed and breathless, just as they reached a quiet corner beside the steps leading up to the imposing-looking public building.
"Good luck !" called Rob, as Bill Wade started to mount. "I hope you have more success this time."
The farmer lifted his hand with a slightly resigned gesture, and carried on climbing, and Verity cau
ght at Rob's arm.
"Come on, let's go and do our shopping, then we can have a stroll along by the river where it's quiet. Red hates getting his feet trodden on in the crowds, don't you, old boy ?"
"It sounds as if Verity and Hallam Rand do this regularly," thought Rob. Perhaps it was a weekly ritual, and she had come in his stead today. The others had shown no signs of resenting the fact that she had usurped her employer's place, even Verity was
still openly friendly, but just the same Rob felt an interloper, and depression tugged at her again.
The other girl did not seem to notice her drop in spirits, for which Rob was thankful. The crowded pavements helped, since they prevented the two girls from talking straight away, and after a small amount of shopping Verity led the way down a narrow, steeply sloping side street away from the crush. Evidently Red knew the way here, too. He trotted on in front, running thankfully along the uncluttered cobbles, stopping now and then to shake himself vigorously as if to rid his silky body of the feel of others pressing against him. The street dropped sharply, and Rob felt glad of her rubber-soled slip-ons that gave her a firm grip on the smooth stones. With a twist that resembled one of the lanes beyond the town, the street ended suddenly, and Rob gave a gasp of delight.
"How lovely !"
Through an ancient archway, a cool vista of trees and grass stretched ahead of them, ending in the gleam of water about a hundred feet away, and Red quickened his pace eagerly.
"Yes, isn't it ? The Council did one sensible thing here, at any rate," replied Verity, "they turned the river banks into a park, and most people head this way for a breather at some time during market day."
There were not many people there now, and Rob commented on the fact.
"There's still the produce market to come," Verity told her. "And the smaller stuff still has to be auctioned. They get the bigger animals out of the way
first, it makes more room, and they can concentrate
on the odds and ends and the poultry when they're gone. This place won't fill up until about mid-afternoon, and by that time we shall be on our way home."
Now that she had the opportunity to talk, Verity seemed curiously reluctant to do so, and Rob did not press her. If Verity wanted to confide her good news, whatever it was, that was up to her, but if she had changed her mind Rob did not feel that she had known her for long enough to force her confidence. They strolled along in the cool of the trees, the grass soft under their feet after the hard roundness of the cobbles in the town. Some friendly ducks came to the bank, and they raided Verity's shopping bag for biscuits to feed them with, giving some to Red at the same time to appease his jealous whimper. Rob rubbed his muzzle affectionately.
"If I feed you with titbits and make you fat, your boss will be palming me off with that bull terrier, and finding you an engagement elsewhere." She did not say that the dog's duties would soon be over anyway. That was between herself and the vet, though doubtless Verity knew of her imminent departure as well as she did. The other girl made no comment. She stood gazing dreamily out across the river, a slight smile curving her lips, lost in a world of her own of which her companion had no part.
Seeing that the titbits were gone, Red wriggled free and pushed past her, intent on exploring every nook and cranny of the interesting bank while he had the
opportunity. The feel of him brushing against her legs brought her back to earth, and she turned to Rob, her smile broadening.
"That's what my good news consists of," she said softly. "An engagement."
"But I thought. . . ." Rob had thought that she was already engaged, although she realised now that she had never noticed a ring on Verity's finger.
"Oh, the family have known for ages, of course. Mother told you, I suppose ?"
Rob nodded, mutely, and she went on happily.
"It isn't official yet, we've been waiting for the ring. I've had to have it made smaller to fit me, and the jeweller who's doing it has been abroad on holiday. That's why we've had to wait to announce it." She smiled in a conspiratorial fashion at Rob. "The ring will be ready this weekend, and we're going to announce it then. So don't say anything, will you, Rob? Just keep it a secret until Saturday, and then the whole wide world can know."
She spread her arms to include the park, and the ducks flew away, quacking in alarm, with Red in enthusiastic pursuit along the bank. The dark blue eyes laughed into Rob's, alight with the glow that had made her wonder at lunchtime.
"Oh, Rob, I'm so happy ! I simply couldn't wait for it to be announced," she cried. "I just had to tell someone."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"I WONDER if I ought to congratulate him ?"
Rob looked at Hallam Rand over her cup of supper coffee. She had promised Verity not to say anything to anyone, but did that include Verity's fiancé-to-be as well ? she wondered. He seemed calm enough, in all conscience, she thought, unlike the girl who was to be his bride. She was excited enough for the two of them.
The old church at Martyr's Green would make a lovely setting for a wedding, Rob thought wistfully, and Verity a lovely bride. White would suit her gentian blue eyes and silver fairness, and her tall, slender, model-like figure would carry off an ankle-length dress and train to perfection. With the handsome, dark-haired Hallam at her side they would make a fine couple.
She took a mouthful of coffee, and found she had difficulty in swallowing it. Somehow she had no appetite for her supper tonight, despite the fact that she had been hard at work for the better part of the day. She wondered if Hallam Rand would give her a reprieve, and ask her to stay and look after the practice while he was away on his honeymoon. Someone would have to, and she at least knew the ropes by now, and most of the regular patients. She had no illusions about her position when the newly married couple returned to Mill House afterwards. Verity would not want another girl of her own age living in the same house as herself and her husband, friendly
though she seemed at the moment. Martha would come into a different category, of course, but if anything else was needed, this would certainly set the seal on Rob's departure from her post as the vet's assistant. Her fingers stopped their automatic smoothing of the setter's ears, and she suddenly became aware that Hallam Rand was speaking to her.
"Another coffee, Rob? Oh, you haven't finished that one yet."
There was a half amused smile on his face, and she realised that he had probably spoken to her for the fourth time. She returned to earth with a bump, quickly swallowed the rest of her cupful, and held it out for a refill, that she knew she would have as much difficulty in drinking as the first one. She did not want it, but she did not want to cause comment by her refusal, either. Her companion knew how much she liked coffee, and that she always had two cups, three if there was enough going. His hand reached out, slender and bronzed, and returned her filled cup, and she looked up to thank him.
Their glances met, and his grey eyes, gazing back into hers, held a sudden warmth and—could it be—a question in their cool depths ? A question that brought to life another question, startling in its clarity, within the hopeless turmoil of her own mind. And it was one to which, lost in that cool grey stare, she found a devastating answer.
She loved Hallam Rand.
The rest of that evening was never very clear afterwards, in Rob's mind. Somehow she finished her
coffee. Somehow she made small talk out of the day's doings, told him of the result of her visit to the market place, and that she and Verity had shopped together in Barhill—he would think it strange if she did not mention it, but she carefully steered away from repeating any conversation that they had had, in case she inadvertently betrayed Verity's confidence.
The vet responded, but he seemed half-hearted, as if his mind was elsewhere. He was probably thinking of Saturday, surmised Rob, and wondering if the ring would be ready as the jeweller had promised.
After what seemed an age, the clock struck eleven and she thankfully made her escape upstairs, to the blessed relief of her own
room, and privacy. But if she could shut herself in her room, she could not shut her thoughts out. They ran round and round in her head like caged mice round an exercise wheel, on and on until she rammed desperate hands against her ears, trying to shut out the words that only echoed inside her own mind, until at last, bewildered and exhausted, she watched the dawn light filter through the curtains, and heard the first birds give sleepy twitters from the eaves outside her window. As the light grew stronger she fell into a troubled doze, her bed a tumbled litter of covers, and the persistent refrain from the mill wheel drumming endlessly through her mind.
He belongs to Verity. He belongs to Verity. He belongs.
The week passed in a daze. Thunder clouds built up
in great, massing heads, and the electrified air, hot
and still, pressed against the earth until the tension became almost unbearable. Human tempers frayed, and among the animal population frequent, fights broke out, with a resultant heavier workload during the daily surgery. Perversely, Rob felt glad of the extra burden. The sheer concentration that was necessary, as well as the constant fight against the dock, kept her mind and hands occupied, and although at first it was torture for her to work side by side with the vet, as the hours passed she hugged to herself the bittersweet pain of sharing that soon, she knew, must come to an end. For she had come to a decision. Whether Hallam asked her to stay or not, she would have to go, for her own sake as well as for Verity's. The end of her 'approval' time would give her the opportunity to leave the job without too many questions being asked, and without hard feelings. She could make the isolation of Martyr's Green her excuse, as it seemed that other assistants who had come to Mill House had done before her, and she could—yes--run away and hide herself, she admitted, in the anonymity she longed for. The bruises that Lewis Ford had made on her arm were as nothing to those that Hallam Rand had, however unwittingly, made on her heart, and her very being felt one huge ache that nothing in the surgery drugs cupboard could possibly hope to cure.