Country Lovers

by Rebecca Shaw

  Muffin the cat was an exceptionally beautiful Siamese, and one after another the staff came to see her. “Isn’t she gorgeous? Just gorgeous,” Stephie said, and Annette thought she was utterly beautiful too and very take-homeable. “Hope she’s going to be all right. The poor thing. I hate big dogs.”

  “Muffin. It’s a poor choice of name for such an elegant cat. Sounds like a name for an ordinary stray, not an aristocrat.”

  Rhodri came in at this point.

  Stephie turned to greet him. “Good morning, Rhodri, come to see our new patient?”

  “Who organized this?”

  “Dan did. You had a client and we had to do something quicko.”

  “I see. Did no one think to consult me? I am the only small-animal vet on duty this morning.”

  This outburst silenced the two girls because they honestly didn’t know how to answer him.

  Rhodri turned on his heel and went back to his consulting room.

  Stephie looked at Annette and they both pulled a face.

  “Honestly! He gets worse. It’s always poor Dan he has his knife in too.”

  HALFWAY through the morning, Dan went home to Rose, promising Joy that if a farm call came in, he would go. Rose was seated in her favorite chair by the French windows, looking out on to the garden. Beside her on a small table was the book she’d put down the moment she heard him coming. “Darling! What are you doing home at this time? How lovely.”

  “It’s one of those strange mornings when there are no calls for me. It can’t last, I’m quite sure. You all right?”

  “I’m fine. Absolutely fine. So you’ve had an idle morning then?”

  “No, not really, just a bit of an upset at the morning clinic.”

  “Dresden china I am not. Please tell me.”

  “Sorry. Huge great dog attacked a cat in the waiting room. Total uproar.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “I had to tackle it to the floor and then drag it out and tie it up.”

  “You didn’t have to put it down?”

  “It did occur to me that perhaps it would be for the best, but one can’t just rush about putting dogs down; it’s not done and it would give the practice a bad name.”

  Rose grinned up at him. “It most certainly would. I shall have a dog or a cat sometime. I always wanted a pet, but mother would never let me. Too messy, she said.”

  “Then you shall. You can choose, so long as it’s not a huge one like a Saint Bernard. This cottage isn’t big enough.”

  “Could you get me a glass of water, Danny, please? Save me having to heave myself out of this chair.”

  “Of course. Nothing stronger?”

  “Like orange juice?” Rose smiled at him. It was a smile he had missed those months while they’d been apart. He should never have walked out on her. But the blazing row he’d had with her mother over an entirely mythical “woman” she swore he had hidden away, had hurt him beyond belief. There had never been anyone but Rose. He found a glass, turned on the cold tap, and let it run to make sure it was cold. As he watched the torrent of water gushing out he remembered looking for Rose at that time and finding her climbing out of the pool after her daily dozen lengths. She had stood in front of him, water streaming from her, and said, “You’re still here, then? Just go away. I can’t bear it. Go away.”

  Dan hadn’t been able to come to terms with the fact that she sided with her mother. “You know there isn’t anyone else. No one. On this earth. No one but you,” he’d told her.

  He’d seen her hesitate, but a lifetime of agreeing with her mother had overcome her natural inclination to believe him. Fortunately, she’d soon discovered the truth.

  He turned off the tap, took the glass to her, and as he handed it over he bent to kiss the top of her head. “Love you.”

  Rose drank the glass right to the bottom before she said, “I don’t deserve you, my darling. I simply don’t.”

  “Clean slate, we said. You stay right there, and watch me mow the lawn. Got to do something. Can’t sit about. I’ll open the window. If you need anything, give me a shout.”

  He glanced at her once or twice and saw she’d picked up her book again. Then the next time he checked, the book had slipped off her knee and she was asleep. Do her good. She didn’t get much sleep at night now. It was just what she needed. He paused for a moment to admire her. Everywhere she went people stared. And no wonder. She really was beautiful. Halfway through cutting the lawn his mobile rang. It was a call to Tattersall’s Cop. One of Callum’s goats was ill, and he was worried. He didn’t want to bring it in because his wife, Nuala, who was very ill, couldn’t be left. Dan left the mower where it was, wrote a note, and put it on the table beside Rose and left.

  To get to Tattersall’s Cop, Dan had to cross the river in the center of Barleybridge by the Weymouth Bridge and then take the left fork, called Cop Lane, in Wootton. He was struck once again as he approached Callum’s farm by how smart it looked. Dan sometimes thought that Callum spent too much time keeping the premises in order. While that was commendable and something other farmers could do well to think about, keeping the farm immaculate didn’t fill the coffers.

  “Good morning, Callum. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s little Sybil.”

  Callum had bought the complete stock of a goat farmer who’d died, and among them were seven pygmy goats—perky, bright versions of full-sized goats, born with more than their fair share of curiosity. They’d been brought into a pen close to the house, and leaning on the gate alongside Callum, Dan paused to study them for a moment before going in. “They all look fit. Which is Sybil, then?”

  “The all-black one.” All seven of them were springing around the pen on a familiarization tour. They were a mixture of black, white, and fawn and looked as though they’d all been in the washing machine that morning, so fresh and smart did they look. What with their appealing looks and their cheeky antics, Dan couldn’t help but smile at them.

  “Settling down nicely, are they?”

  “All of them are. Think they’d been getting a bit neglected toward the end. Nothing serious mind, but neglected.”

  “What did you want them for, Callum?”

  “Fancied a change and Nuala was keen.”

  “How is she?”

  Callum didn’t reply for a moment and then he said, “You’ll see for yourself in a minute; she’s coming out to see you. Wants to know about your wife.”

  “I see. So why am I here? There doesn’t seem much wrong with Sybil.”

  “I reckon it’s worms. Appetite like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Dan climbed over the gate and was immediately mobbed by all seven of the goats. Dan crouched to examine Sybil and found himself with pygmy goats endeavoring to raid his pockets, steal his mobile, climb on his back, and generally get in on the act by making their own diagnoses.

  “How long have you been farming, Callum?”

  “Fifteen years or thereabouts. Why?”

  “Don’t you know what happens when you put a billy in with nanny goats?”

  Callum’s eyebrows shot up when he’d absorbed what Dan had said. “Oh, God! You don’t mean…”

  “I do. Sybil’s with kid.”

  Callum rubbed his hands with glee. “No! Never thought it might be that. Nuala’ll be delighted. Delighted. Well, I never. That’s great. Sure it is.” His tanned face almost split in two with delight.

  “Not long to go, I shouldn’t think.” He stood up, trying to escape the goats’ attentions without knocking any of them down. “In fact, this one looks as if…”

  “That’s Cassandra, she’s Nuala’s favorite.”

  “…she might be too.”

  Callum’s Nuala came out of the house and walked slowly toward them, every delicate step an effort. Dan hoped his face didn’t register the shock he felt when he saw her. She was emaciated beyond belief. It didn’t seem possible that she was still able to stand upright.

  Dan touched his cap. “Good morni
ng, Mrs. Tattersall. I’ve just been giving Callum some good news.”

  Callum interrupted. “Let me tell her. Sybil’s expecting!”

  “Really!” Nuala’s face burst into life, and the small spark of what was left of her lit up her beautiful blue eyes. “Well now, isn’t that good news, for sure. When?”

  “Within the week, I would have thought.”

  “Within the week!”

  Dan watched Callum hug her as though she were made of the finest glass. So tenderly.

  “I might just see that. Yes, I might. They must look so sweet.”

  “They do, Mrs. Tattersall, nothing sweeter.” Dan noticed a grimace cross her face. Immediately Callum said, “I’ll take you in.” He picked her up as easily as he would a baby, and set off for the house, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll call you when she’s in labor. Can’t afford to take any risks.”

  “Right. ’Bye, Mrs. Tattersall.”

  “’Bye, Dan. My love to your Rose.” Her feeble voice just reached Dan, and he was glad she couldn’t see his face, because he felt so distressed. He looked at Sybil and said quietly, “You’d better hurry up or she won’t see that kid of yours. Do you hear me?” Sybil, however, had other things to think about because Callum had left the goats some tidbits in the feed trough, and she was concentrating on getting the major share.

  Dan was almost home when he decided to ring the practice to see if there were any more calls for him, but found he must have left his mobile in the goat pen. One–nil to the goats. He just hoped Rose hadn’t been trying to ring him. He drove all the way back to Tattersall’s Cop, parked his Land Rover, intending to knock at the farmhouse door, but saw a doctor from the medical practice in Barleybridge just going in. So he went quietly to the goat pen to find his mobile laid abandoned and unharmed in the long grass by the fencing.

  It had a text message on it from Rose. “Baby started.”

  Chapter

  • 2 •

  It was eleven o’clock that night before things really got going with Rose, and it was half past one in the morning when the consultant decided a Caesarean section was advisable.

  Dan was almost beside himself with anxiety, and even considered offering his services, after all he’d done plenty in his time, but arrived at the conclusion he’d probably pass out if he witnessed Rose having surgery and that he’d be better keeping her stepfather, Lloyd, company.

  He was worse than Dan himself; taking sips from his hip flask, marching round the waiting room, tap tap tapping his fingernails on the table, asking questions to which Dan couldn’t possibly have the answers, and generally behaving like someone on the brink of a breakdown.

  “Have a cup of tea, Lloyd. I’ll get one from the machine.”

  “Tea? What good will that do. A glass of whisky, yes. Tea? No. I’ve nearly run out of whisky. Do they sell it here? No, of course not. Narrow pelvis they said. Big baby. God! If I’d known, I’d’ve had you castrated.”

  “Thank God you didn’t. Rose wouldn’t have wanted that.”

  Lloyd gave Dan half a smile, which he smothered instantly by reminding himself that he should be ringing Rose’s mother. “I should, you know; she ought to know. She should be told. I’ll ring her.”

  Dan clamped his hand on Lloyd’s mobile phone. “Not here. It might interfere with the equipment. And…what’s more, it’s Rose’s decision. She’ll tell her if she wishes. Not you and not me.”

  “You’re damn right. Of course. God! I’m tired. What the hell are they doing all this time?” Lloyd stood up and began prowling again. “I love that girl. Like she was my very own. She’s a gem. Gutsy, you know. I’ve tried to shield her from her mother’s more crass ideas, but…God! That woman’s something. She’s a hell of a woman to keep in check.”

  Wryly Dan said, “I know.”

  Lloyd looked at him. “Huh! You don’t need me to tell you that. I could have killed her when I found out she’d driven you away.”

  The door opened and the consultant came in smiling. Dan’s heart felt fit to burst. “All’s fine! A wonderful baby boy, four kilos exactly. Mother’s doing fine. Wonderful patient.”

  He shook Dan’s hand and offered his congratulations, and then Lloyd’s. “Mustn’t leave out Grandad!” He pumped Lloyd’s hand up and down vigorously.

  Lloyd asked, “What the hell’s four kilos? What does it mean in America?”

  Dan said, “About eight and a half pounds. Wait here and you can see her after me.”

  “But I…”

  “After me.”

  DAN and Lloyd were completely enraptured by the baby. Lloyd was convinced he looked exactly like himself, though how he worked that out Dan couldn’t think. But everyone else said he was the spitting image of his father, and he was. The same nose and the same shaped face, but hair the color of Rose’s. He’d always imagined that all babies looked alike, but this one was his and no doubt about it. Rose was bone weary but immensely happy, and kept saying, “Isn’t he wonderful? Aren’t we clever? You and me?”

  She came home three days later to find that Lloyd had been to the supermarket and bought up what appeared to be half its stock. He’d also bought another freezer to put in the garage and filled that too. “Can’t have you running out of anything at all. There’s not a thing I haven’t thought of. There won’t be any need to shop for weeks. Now, let me have a hold of young Jonathan Daniel Franklin-Brown.”

  Dan got out his wallet. “Look! I must pay you for all that.”

  “Nonsense. He is my reward and anyway money can’t buy him.” He sat in a chair where the sun couldn’t reach, holding Rose’s son, in a world of his own.

  Dan made coffee for the three of them, settled Rose in her favorite chair by the window, and gave her some mail to open. She flung the junk mail on the floor, then voiced her anger when she recognized her mother’s handwriting. “She’s written to me! She knows where I am.” Angry disappointment showed in her face. “I know it won’t be you, Danny. Is it you, Pa?”

  Lloyd, absorbed in delicately smoothing his fingers over the baby’s face and his tiny starlike fingers, time and time again, had to be asked twice before he answered. “Mmm. I felt it only right. She is your mother.”

  “She lost all her rights as a mother when she convinced me that Dan was a no-good son-in-law. I shall regret right to my last breath being so influenced by her. You’d no right, Pa.” Tears poured down her face in rivers, unheeded. “I feel awful. So miserable.”

  Lloyd stood up and went to put Jonathan in Rose’s arms. “It’s your hormones. I read about it in a book. Here, hold him. Your mother can’t take him away from you; he’s yours and Dan’s. I won’t let her come between you and him if I have to throttle her to do it.”

  The phone rang. Dan went to answer it. “Dan Brown here.”

  It was Kate from the practice. “Sorry to disturb you when you’re off limits, so to speak,” she said, “but you know Callum Tattersall? Well, he’s rung in to say Sybil is in labor and it’s not going right. He wonders if you’d come out to see her. I told him you were off, but he says he can’t bring her in and you’ll know why. Who’s Sybil?”

  “A pygmy goat. Yes, I do know why. I’ll go. OK.”

  “Thanks ever so much, Dan.”

  Dan picked up his car keys from the hall table, and went back into the sitting room. “Lloyd, you’re not planning going somewhere, are you? Can I leave you to make lunch for Rose and yourself and be generally useful?”

  “What the hell, you’re not going out on a call?”

  Rose interrupted. “Pa! Don’t interfere. What is it, darling?”

  “Callum’s goat having problems delivering. You know who I mean. I’ll be two hours at most.”

  “Of course. You go. I shall be fine. I guess Pa and me will cope. There’s one thing for certain—we shan’t starve to death. My love to Nuala.” She pursed her lips ready for him to kiss, so he bent to do as she asked and whispered his thanks.

  When he arrived at Tattersall’s Cop, he
found Sybil ensconced on a makeshift bed in the kitchen with Callum seated on a chair keeping an eye on her, a glass of neat whisky in his hand.

  “She’s in a poor way.” There was a very slight slur in his speech, and it occurred to Dan that the bottle on the table had reached its present level that very day.

  “NOW, Sybil, what are you making such a fuss about?” After he’d examined her he asked how long she’d been in labor.

  “I got up at half past five to see to Nuala and decided to go check on Sybil while I was up. She was very restless then. Jesus! Don’t let her die; it’ll kill Nuala.” Once he’d said that Callum looked as though he wished he hadn’t.

  Dan ignored his mistake and continued to check Sybil. “It’s my opinion she can’t deliver. Her pelvis is too narrow for such a big kid to get through. I’m going to have to operate.”

  Callum shot upright, his face dead white and beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Operate! Oh God! No! I can’t stand it. Not Sybil.” The remains of his whisky went down his gullet in a trice.

  “If I don’t, she and the kid will die a slow death. Pull yourself together, Callum. My Rose had a Caesarean only three days ago, and she’s home and doing well. So stop the blather and give me a hand.”

  “I can’t. I can’t stand the sight of blood. Not Sybil’s.” He refilled his glass, his hand trembling, but Dan took it from him before he could drink it.

  “When we’ve done, you can celebrate with that.”

  “But…”

  “No buts.”

  Dan did a businesslike job of the operation, aided and abetted by Callum, who continually threatened to pass out.

  When the tiny kid was pulled from his mother, Callum was massively impressed. He ran excitedly into the hall, shouting, “It’s a girl! All safe and sound!” Then he rushed back in to eulogize the kid all over again.

  “Isn’t it fantastic? Have you ever seen anything as wonderful as that? Why, it’s astounding. Honest to God. A marvel!”

  “Clean her up while—”