Death in Practice

by Hazel Holt

  “Don’t be silly. I want to help. Can you talk to your mother? I know she’s worried about you.”

  “No, oh no,” she spoke in some agitation. “I couldn’t do that!”

  “All right,” I said soothingly. “I do understand. But look Kathy, if you ever do feel you can talk, then remember I’m always happy to listen.”

  She nodded again. “Thank you,” she said mechanically like a small child repeating a lesson. “I’ll remember.”

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  “I felt dreadful leaving her there like that,” I said to Rosemary. “She looked so pathetic.”

  “So it’s some young man, then,” Rosemary said. “Someone at the opera group I suppose. Well it must be, she doesn’t meet anyone else.”

  “Presumably he’s married – Anthea said they all are – so it’s obviously hopeless, poor girl. And I do see that she couldn’t tell Anthea.”

  “No,” Rosemary agreed, “she’s impatient enough with Kathy at the best of times. It isn’t that she doesn’t love Kathy as much as she loves Jean – more really, because in a way one always does love the most unsatisfactory one best – but she does so want her to make something of her life and an unhappy love affair would be the last straw.”

  “I know,” I said sadly. “It can’t help having to work with someone like Malcolm Hardy and his horrible girlfriend.”

  “True. I was talking to Mother yesterday and, of course, she knew all about him and his family.”

  “Of course,” I said. Rosemary’s mother, Mrs Dudley, has an encyclopaedic knowledge of everything that has ever happened to every family with a Taviscombe connection, her informants not being confined to this country but stretching out far beyond, to the utmost limits of empire.

  “She says that his mother was very possessive and always saw off any girlfriend he might have had. I think she led him a pretty dance, but she died last year so he’s obviously making up for lost time.”

  “Does your mother know anything about Julie Barnes? Does she still live with her parents out at Winsford?”

  “Apparently. So she hasn’t moved in with him yet.”

  “No, Kathy thought she hadn’t.”

  “Mind you, that house of the Hardys’ is enormous; there’d be plenty of room. I’m surprised he still lives there, rattling about on his own. Mother says he’s going to put it on the market. She knows,” Rosemary went on seeing my look of surprise, “because Mr Middleton who does her garden does the Hardys’ as well and he’s a bit worried in case whoever buys it may not keep him on.”

  “Oh surely they would,” I said. “There’s a lot of land with the house.”

  “They may turn it into flats, I suppose. It really is too big for one family these days. Of course people had much larger families when that house was built.”

  “But Malcolm was an only child, wasn’t he?”

  “Of the second marriage, yes. But he has a half-sister. You know, June Hardy. Runs that rather expensive nursing home on West Hill.”

  “Of course! I hadn’t made the connection. We’re both on the Hospital Friends’ Committee. I hadn’t realised she was related to Malcolm. She’s never mentioned him.”

  “They don’t get on, so Mother says. Of course she’s much older than he is and I don’t think she liked her father marrying again when her mother died.”

  “Geraldine Hardy wouldn’t be my idea of a perfect step-mother,” I said.

  “I don’t think she was actively unkind to June but, from what I can gather, she tried to keep her down, if you know what I mean. And it was worse when Malcolm was born. June stuck it out for years until she was old enough to leave home and then she went off to Bristol to be a nurse.”

  “Oh dear, how sad.”

  “Well, she managed to make a life for herself; I suppose that’s the main thing.”

  I saw June Hardy at the next Hospital Friends’ committee meeting and, looking at her, I did see a resemblance to her half-brother. Like him she is tall and her hair, though now streaked with grey, had once been as dark as his. Her manner, though, is completely different. Where he has that oleaginous, patronising style, she is warm and friendly and I do see why everyone says how splendid she is and how wonderfully she runs The Larches nursing home.

  After the meeting was over and we were all standing about with our coffee chatting, she came up to me and started to talk about one of the points that had been raised.

  “I do agree,” she started, “about trying to get more variety in the meals, but Brian Norris doesn’t realise just how tight the budget is – they’re performing miracles as it is. He just won’t accept the facts however much I try to put them to him.”

  “It’s certainly something you’d know about,” I said, “after all the experience you’ve had in running The Larches. But you know what Brian’s like, he never listens to what he doesn’t want to hear.”

  “Oh well, whatever he says things will have to stay as they are, I’m afraid, for the present at least.”

  “I suppose we can’t really have a fund-raising drive for the food,” I said thoughtfully. “Extra library resources, a fish tank or new chairs for the out-patients waiting room, things like that are within our domain, but for something fundamental like the catering – well it just wouldn’t sound right somehow, would it?”

  “We do raise money for some pretty fundamental things,” she protested. “That new piece of x-ray equipment, for instance, that was a splendid effort.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m just being frivolous – quite unsuitable at committee meetings.”

  She smiled. “Don’t you believe it. Many’s the time I’ve longed for a bit of frivolity on such occasions!”

  She was being so friendly and nice that I almost mentioned Malcolm to see what she made of him, but then I thought better of it. What could I have said? “I see your half-brother’s taken over the vet’s practice and he’s horrible and everyone hates him!” Hardly. Not really something one could say to a blood relation, even if they didn’t get on. So I confined myself to general chat about the meeting, pleased, actually, to find someone whose views coincided with my own.

  “She’s such a nice person,” I said to Thea as we drove to the clinic the next day. (Thea is very good about such things and positively encourages me to tag along when Alice goes for her check-ups and so forth, saying – bless her – that it helps if I do the driving.)

  “I remember her quite well,” Thea said. “She was friendly with my mother when I was child – she used to come to tea on Sundays sometimes, things like that. I always liked her. She was good with children – I think she originally trained in paediatrics when she was at Southmead Hospital in Bristol. I wonder why she never married? Was there anybody, do you know?”

  “Not that I know of. But she was away for quite a while. She hasn’t been back in Taviscombe all that long.“

  “Well she’s certainly done a wonderful job at The Larches. They say it’s really marvellous now.”

  “It’s extraordinary how two siblings – well, half-siblings – can be so different. She’s the absolute opposite of Malcolm Hardy.”

  “Goodness yes,” Thea said. “I do see what you mean about him! I took Smoke in for her injections and had to have him because everyone else was busy. He was really rough with the poor little thing. And the way he spoke to Diana – she came in while I was there to ask him something – terribly off-hand and scornful, treating her as if she was a fool, and she’s a far better vet than he’ll ever be, not to mention being a partner. And she was only checking something with him out of politeness because it was one of his clients.”

  I sat in the waiting room while Thea took Alice in to be weighed and measured and whatever it is they do to babies these days and while I was sitting there a young woman with a little boy asleep in a pushchair came and sat beside me. I thought her face was familiar and I was just racking my brain trying to put a name to a face when she spoke to me.

  “Mrs Malory, isn’t
it? I don’t suppose you remember me – I’m Tina Rogers.”

  “Of course! How are you Tina? It’s been ages since I saw you.”

  Tina is the wife of one of Michael’s young assistant solicitors and I’ve met her at various office occasions.

  “Yes, doesn’t the time fly?” she said. “I hadn’t had William then.”

  “He’s gorgeous! How old is he now?”

  “Nearly a year – his birthday’s next month.” She bent over and tucked the blanket more securely round the sleeping child. “But what are you doing here?”

  “I’m waiting for my daughter-in-law. My granddaughter’s come for her six monthly check-up.”

  “That’s nice.”

  I thought she sounded a bit wistful so I said, “I’m so thrilled to have a grandchild. I expect your parents are too.”

  “Well…” She hesitated. “My father’s delighted of course, but I’m afraid my mother isn’t able to… Actually she’s in a nursing home with Alzheimers and doesn’t really know me.”

  “Oh dear, I’m so sorry, how dreadful for you.”

  “Just sometimes she seems to recognise me and when I took the baby in she half knew it was something to do with her, but not really.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “The only person she still recognises is my father, and he does go to see her as often as he can, but with his work he can’t visit at regular times so that doesn’t help.”

  “His work?”

  “He’s a vet – I expect you know him – Ben Turner.”

  “Yes of course I do, but I had no idea you were Ben Turner’s daughter. That’s life in Taviscombe for you – everyone is always related to someone you know.”

  She laughed. “I know, and it can be really embarrassing sometimes!”

  I said, “I was so sorry to hear that he’s leaving the practice.”

  “Sacked more like!” Tina’s voice was hard. “That Malcolm Hardy – I don’t know who he thinks he is, coming into the practice like that and laying down the law. Getting rid of my father as though he hadn’t been there five minutes.” She turned to me and said earnestly, “He’s worked hard for that practice, Mrs Malory, all these years, and this is all the thanks he gets. I couldn’t believe Diana would agree to such a thing. Well, in times of trouble you certainly get to know who your friends are!”

  “It is scandalous,” I agreed, “but I don’t suppose Diana had much choice. After all, from what I hear, Malcolm Hardy has put a lot of money into the practice and I suppose what he says goes. But it is a disgraceful state of affairs. I gather no one likes the wretched man.”

  “They all hate him at the practice. He’s a bully and, according to Father, not a good vet.”

  “Well I certainly wouldn’t have him for any of my animals,” I said. “But what is your father going to do? Has he found something else?”

  “He was offered something in Leicestershire, but it would mean uprooting my mother and leaving me and William – he’d hate that, so I don’t think he’ll take that job. But there doesn’t seem to be anything else nearer. I know he’s really desperate, though he does try not to worry me and puts a brave face on things.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tina.”

  The child in the pushchair stirred and began to whimper and she bent over to soothe him. Thea came out with Alice and greeted Tina.

  “Hello! I haven’t seen you for ages. Hasn’t William grown!”

  They chatted for a moment until the nurse came out and called Tina in.

  “How’s Alice?” I asked.

  “Oh absolutely fine – average height, average weight, average everything. Isn’t that splendid?”

  “Splendid,” I said, suppressing the thought that my grandchild shouldn’t be classified as average anything when she was obviously quite remarkable in every way.

  “I thought Tina was looking a bit rough,” Thea said as she eased Alice’s carrycot into the back of the car and fastened the seatbelt round it.

  “She’s worried about her family,” I said. “Did you know that her father’s Ben Turner – at the vets’?”

  “Really? No, I never knew.”

  “And her mother has Alzheimers, poor woman. Poor Ben, too, of course. It must be the most awful thing to cope with even if she’s in a nursing home. And that must be costing him a pretty penny – if it’s a private one, that is – so losing his job will be particularly awful.”

  “That wretched man Hardy has a lot to answer for,” Thea said.

  “He’s certainly made everbody’s lives miserable,” I said, “and he’s only been there a few weeks. Goodness knows how it will all end up.”

  I had the opportunity to see for myself how bad the atmosphere at the surgery had become when I called in a few days later to collect some special dog food for Tris.

  There was no one at the reception desk when I went in. It was morning so there was nobody else in the waiting area though I could hear voices coming from out the back. Although I tried hard I couldn’t make out what was being said but the voices were angry and suddenly a girl rushed out, past the reception desk and through the other door to the room where the animals sat in cages waiting for their operations. From the brief glimpse I caught as she dashed by, it seemed to me that she was crying. I heard Malcom Hardy’s voice calling after her: “Julie, for heaven’s sake stop behaving so stupidly! There’s no need to be like that!”

  He burst into the reception area and stopped short when he saw me. For a moment he looked nonplussed then he called out angrily, “Kathy, why is no one in reception? This is intolerable!”

  Kathy came out with a cloth in her hands.

  “There was an emergency – Alison had to go and help Keith with that Alsatian,” she said. “Julie was supposed to be taking over out here. I’m disinfecting the pens like you told me to. You said it had to be done right away.”

  “Never mind that now,” he said irritably. “Come and see to Mrs – er.” He turned to me and said blandly, “I’m so sorry you’ve been kept waiting. An emergency, I’m afraid – happens in the best regulated circles.” He gave me what he imagined to be an affable smile and went out.

  “Well!” I said. “What was all that about?”

  “Don’t ask!”

  “Was that the famous Julie?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought she was his girlfriend?” I asked, curious.

  “She was,” Kathy said. She looked over her shoulder to see that no one could overhear. “That seems to be all over. There was a terrible row yesterday and this morning they haven’t spoken to each other – I think he’s been avoiding her – until just now when she cornered him in one of the consulting cubicles and, from what I can tell, she really let fly!”

  “Goodness.”

  “It’s all been very unpleasant.”

  “I can imagine.”

  I would have asked more questions but Malcolm Hardy suddenly came back so I said hastily to Kathy, “I’d better have the very large bag of that Senior dog food – he does get through a lot for a small dog.”

  The large bag was quite heavy but Malcolm Hardy didn’t help Kathy lift it off the shelf, nor did he offer to carry it out to the car for me, as Simon would have done. But, then, I imagine he had other things on his mind.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  We’d had a spell of really awful weather: wind and rain and very cold.

  “Honestly,” I said to Rosemary, “you’d never believe it’s August.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I can remember Augusts when the children were small, sitting on the beach with them wearing my sheepskin coat because it was so cold!”

  But after about a week of this things suddenly improved dramatically, really warm and sunny, proper summer weather in fact. I’d just decided that I really ought to take the opportunity to tidy things up in the garden – a lot of things had blown over in the wind or had been bowed down and snapped off by the heavy rain, so it all looked a bit of a mess – when the pho
ne rang. It was Rosemary.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous,” she said. “Goodness, how much better one feels when the sun shines!”

  “I know, I’ve been feeling really miserable in all this damp and gloom. The summer’s so short it seems unfair when the weather’s awful.”

  “Exactly. I was saying to Jack the other day that it’s quite ridiculous that we don’t take advantage of what fine weather we do have. After all, here we are living in the most beautiful countryside in England and we hardly ever go and look at it.”

  “So what did Jack say?”

  “What do you think! ‘Yes dear’ and changed the subject. All right, I suppose I did choose the wrong moment when he was trying to read some wretched report he’d brought home with him. Still, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be sensible. So I’ve put up a flask of tea and the odd cake and I thought we might just go for what my father used to call A Little Run.”

  “Oh, I don’t know – I was going to do some work in the garden…”

  “Rubbish!” Rosemary said briskly. “That can perfectly well wait. It’s such a marvellous day we can’t possibly waste it.”

  “Oh all right,” I agreed, happily abandoning any thought of fiddling about with bamboo canes and twine. “It would be nice.”

  “OK. I’ll be round in about fifteen minutes.”

  The high moor looked wonderful in the sunshine, all purple and gold.

  “There are masses of sky larks this year,” Rosemary said. “When they did the burning so late I was afraid some of the nests would be destroyed. Shall we stop at Brendon Two-Gates?”

  She drew the car up onto the grassy verge and switched off the engine.

  “Oh bother,” she said. “There’s someone else here.”

  Alarge grey Range Rover was parked by the cattle grid gate.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “There’s no one there, they must be off walking somewhere.”

  “It is a splendid day for walking,” Rosemary said. “Shall we go a little way down the combe?”