The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man (7 page)

Later that week, I’m still thinking of
Marcus as the new boy, when I catch Agnes drafting an advertisement for another
vet.  Then I wait for the onslaught that will inevitably follow, because
no matter how strongly you emphasise that all applications should be made by
post only, there’s always the smart-arses who insist on phoning or worse still,
‘popping in because they happen to be just passing.’  Anyone who says that
is lying, because absolutely nobody just passes the back end of beyond that is
Lower
Shagford
.

Agnes, a master of patience, tolerance
and all things virtuous, says the same thing to all of them, albeit a trifle
wearily, that could they please be kind enough to submit their application in
writing, just like everyone else.  If I were her, I’d be keeping a black
list, or better still, file the smart arses’ applications in the shredder.

She, Beamish - and this time round Miles
- then spend long evenings perusing the many and varied CV’s.  Some of the
applicants are known, at least by name, to Beamish, and he soon narrows it down
to a handful, which I am then given the dubious pleasure of contacting, to
invite to a formal interview.  When I call them, one or two of them sound
more than a little barking.  This might be quite amusing after all.

When interview day arrives, fortunately
we’re not too busy, which means that Miles is interviewing too.  Miles
seems to be moving swiftly up the echelons in the practice and looking less and
less happy about it.  Anyway, it’s good, because with the extra clients
for Marcus to see, he spends less time hanging around here making me feel
inadequate.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Paris
is loitering with intent.  I’ve come to the conclusion that instead of a
brain, she has man-radar, and it’s fully homed in on the imminent arrival of
our would-be vets.  Her hair is pink this week and she’s wearing some
rather flash leopard-print jodhpurs teamed with a tight, boob-hugging top that
only a sixteen year old can get away with.  Next to her, I look like a
middle-aged spinster. 

But I have to admit to finding it all
hugely entertaining - much to Agnes’ disapproval. She knows exactly what I’m
like. Fortunately for me though, she’s also in the interview room, so it’s my
job is to welcome the candidates and give them tea or coffee, then usher them
through at the required time.  And so I sit quietly at my desk, pretending
to be concentrating extremely hard on some rather important paperwork, all the
time watching out of the corner of my eye, as the would-be vets, not ordinarily
used to wearing suits, sit there most uncomfortably wiping their sweaty palms
on their thighs before they are invited through to be interrogated.

After the first six, Agnes comes out.
 It’s nearly lunchtime anyway. She stifles a yawn.

‘Louisa, Beamish thinks we’ve probably
seen enough,’ she says wearily to me.  She sighs. ‘He thinks he’s found
the one.’

She nods back at the closed door, behind
which candidate number six, a very sensible looking woman in brogues, is
enthralling Beamish and Miles with her impressive range of experience. 
Paris has already vanished of course, no doubt disgusted by their choice.

‘You mean...?’ I nod at the room too,
slightly disappointed if I’m honest.  There are another four lined up for
this afternoon, one
bonkers
one in particular who I
was rather looking forward to meeting.

‘So it would seem,’ Agnes says firmly
and won’t be drawn further.

And before long, a beaming Beamish and
relieved looking Miles step out, with the very sensibly dressed candidate
between them.

‘Ah.  Louisa.  I’d like you to
meet Stella,’ says Beamish, looking mightily pleased with
himself
. 
‘She will be joining us for er, three days a week initially. It’ll um, take the
pressure off all of us,
no
doubt you’ll agree?’

I nod my head and hold my hand out to
Stella, who grips it very firmly indeed with her sweaty one and almost crushes
it.  

‘Good to meet you,’ she says, looking
more than a little hot in her rather tight tweed jacket, which is a jolly close
match for
Beamish’s
.  Knowing Beamish, that’s
probably why he chose her.

Beamish takes over.  ‘Stella?
Miles? How about we grab some lunch?’  Stella daren’t say no and nor does
Miles, so off they all go to keep Beamish company while he has a little snifter
or five.

‘Honestly,’ says Agnes in a low voice.
 ‘He always does this.  You do think he’d at least bother to see all
of them.  Now we have to hope we can reach the others and put them off.
 And they’re probably on their way here, and will have taken the day off
specially.’

She’s sounding most disgruntled, which
is quite out of character.  All we have to do now is to stand by for calls
from the other vets, who will all be dying to know who their new colleague
is.  Marcus no doubt will be delighted to hear that there will be another
female in the practice for him to exert his charms on and when he calls in, I
innocently tell him, ‘oh yes, she’s really lovely, Marcus. Yes, that’s right.
 Just like Emma…’  He’ll be imagining another blond bombshell, not a
forty something sensible lady who’s sturdy and wears tweeds.

After Stella joins the ranks, it doesn’t
take long before we realise she’s quite a force to be reckoned with.
 She’s extremely forthright, thinking nothing about putting a client very
straight this morning when they made the usual mistake and assumed Sam was the
vet and Stella the vet nurse.  It happens to Emma all the time.  That
really got her blood up and she made quite a fuss about it.  I’ve decided
that to avoid getting on the wrong side of her, she’ll escape being initiated
with Henderson’s horse’s warty dick.  Actually it wouldn’t be much of an
initiation.  Marcus, it would seem, has that one admirably under control.

So we kind of settle down, our newly
extended (again) practice family, and after a few little hiccups, things are
okay.  Stella might be ferocious, but apparently she’s massively
accomplished and has worked alongside some of the greatest horse experts there
are.  Agnes soon keeps her for the more troublesome clinical cases, where
her bedside manner or rather the lack of it, are less of a handicap, because
Marcus and Emma are brilliant at client relations, and even Miles isn’t bad.
 I guess the practice can carry one cantankerous old bat if her veterinary
skills really are so mind-boggling.  
Elmer, however,
weirder than ever, has decided that she absolutely adores Stella.
 She’s probably just terrified of her, but she obediently does whatever
Stella tells her, all the time wagging her tail most ingratiatingly and giving
me smug backward glances.    

Purely by accident, Stella’s timing was
good.  She gets to be invited to Sylvie’s party, though as the newest
recruit, she’s volunteered to be on call that night.  Double bugger!
 That means Marcus will definitely be going to the party.  I resign
myself to the fact that I won’t be able to avoid him.  

Emma says I protest too much and that
secretly I fancy him.  She must be mad.  I don’t of course. 
It’s obvious.  Anyone can see that.

           
And eventually I hear from Jerome, though I haven’t told Emma yet.  But
it’s a nice letter, which surprises me
somewhat,
because I wasn’t convinced I’d get any response at all.  He explains that
what he writes in his predictions is the most likely outcome at any given
moment in time.  But he goes on to say that there are always choices, and
we have freedom to choose whatever we like.  He expresses concern at
Emma’s obsession and says that if after talking to her I’m still worried, to get
back in touch.  It’s not at all what I expected, but Jerome’s gone up just
the tiniest notch in my estimation.

That night, as we’re having supper
together at hers, my most favoured place to eat for many reasons, I broach the
subject.  Emma splutters her Thai chicken curry all over the table when I
tell her what I’ve done.  She’s not very happy at all.

‘Look, Ems,’ I say pointedly.  ‘If
you had a friend doing something that you were really worried about, would you
just ignore it?  Because I bet you wouldn’t...’

That’s got her.  Very caring, Emma
is.  She wouldn’t be able to ignore a friend in need any more than I can.

‘But I’ve told you, Louisa.  It’s
not even a problem in the first place.’  She takes another mouthful.

‘Okay,’ I say calmly.  Ha. 
Time to play the trump card.
 ‘So what if I tell you
that Ben thinks you’re on drugs and Marcus thinks you’re about to leave the
practice.’

           
‘Ben thinks what?’ she frowns.

‘Every time your mobile bleeps with one of
those starbursts or whatever Jerome calls them, you just jump up, whatever you
happen to be doing or saying and hot foot it out of the room.  It’s really
noticeable, Em.  Ben’s noticed and thinks you’re nipping out for another
fix, and Marcus thinks you’re very distracted and looking for another job.
 So don’t you
agree,
that it might just be time
to try and get this, this THING under control?’

Emma looks extremely downcast by now.
 ‘What did your letter say?’ she asks in a small voice.

‘Jerome simply explains that a horoscope
is not an actual forecast, just the most likely set of outcomes if you don’t
take into account a person’s ability to make a choice.  I guess you could
say it’s like a weather forecast, and you know how often they get those wrong…’ 
I pause, quite pleased with the bit about the weather forecast.

‘Here.  You can read it if you
like.’

She sits and reads.  Her Thai
chicken curry goes cold.  What a waste, I think, looking longingly at
it.  It was sublime.

Then she looks at me.  
Sheepishly.
 ‘I have let this get a bit out of hand,
haven’t I?’

I nod exaggeratedly.  ‘But luckily
you have a good friend like me to sort you out.’ Then I say more seriously,
‘Em, you will stop being so hung up on it all, won’t you?’

She nods.  ‘I’ll try, it’s got a
bit silly,
I
admit that.  But I’m glad you told
me about Ben - and Marcus.  I had no idea.’

Result.
 But I’m watching her.  I know what these addicts can be like.

We change the subject.  The next
most burning topic of conversation, after Stella’s arrival, which we’ve
exhausted for now, is Sylvie’s party.  
And the rather
pressing issue of what to wear.

‘We should go shopping,’ says Emma
suddenly. ‘I haven’t bought clothes for ages. We could go this Saturday if you
like. I’ve got a whole weekend off.’

Excellent.
 I can keep an eye on her phone habit too, while we’re at it.
 Suddenly, I’m looking forward to this.  Sylvie’s party will be my
first big public outing, if you don’t count the pub, as a newly post-Arian
single person and I can’t wait.  I’m going to find myself a frock to die
for, glam myself up and have a truly fabulous evening.

It’s Saturday, and I spend a glorious
morning riding Horace.  I love my new life, I’ve decided and Horace is the
best thing that’s happened to me in ages.  I adore him.  He really is
my perfect male, I can’t help thinking. 
Gorgeously
handsome, affectionate and unquestionably loyal.
 Even better, he
doesn’t answer back and lives in a field.  

This morning, we amble up the lane to
the
bridlepath
that leads down to the river. 
You can ride for miles along the flat, grassy bank and today we canter, his
feet pounding rhythmically.  
It’s
bliss, I tell
you, just me and this beautiful horse.  

After, I hose Horace down and then he
mooches happily in the shade of an oak tree while Emma and I go shopping.

Even though we go into what must be
every dress shop for miles, Emma can’t find a thing to wear.  I buy my
outfit in the third shop we go into, but Emma is being very blonde and
indecisive.  It gets so bad, I almost suggest that she asks Jerome, but
bite my tongue in the nick of time.  By the end of the day, there’s just
one shop we haven’t looked in yet, and I’m determined to make her buy something
if it kills me.

The price tags are astronomical, but
Emma doesn’t appear to mind, or maybe she hasn’t noticed.  Luckily for us
both, she finds a dress that’s been worth waiting for - a beautiful, flowing
Grecian style gown, which is dead posh and transforms her from grubby vet into
total goddess in the blink of an eye.  I resign myself to looking my usual
inadequate self beside her, on the night, while she pays the extortionate cost
without batting an eyelid.

At last!  We hurry back to mine to
find out what havoc Elmer has wreaked while we’ve been shopping.
 Actually, apart from a well-licked butter wrapper on the floor, she
hasn’t done anything diabolical.  I let her out in the garden and put the
kettle on.

Emma rarely talks about herself and I’m
realising how little I know about her life before we worked together. 

‘Em?
How long have you lived here?’  

She’s looking extremely relaxed sitting
in my garden. 
‘Oh, about two years now.
 I
bought the barn after my divorce came through.’

Golly.  I didn’t know she owned it…
She reads my thoughts.

‘I’m lucky, Lou.  Well, in that
respect anyway.  Andy was extremely wealthy.  It’s probably at least
part of the reason I persuaded myself we should get married.  I mean, I
know everyone says money doesn’t buy you happiness, but honestly? After my
student days, I can tell you, it certainly does help.’

I can’t help but be impressed by her
honesty.  But it brings a lump to my throat as once again, I imagine
sweet, insecure Emma disentangling herself from a loveless marriage to a total
bastard and left all alone.

‘He didn’t do anything wrong, Lou,’ she
reminds me softly.  ‘I left him in the end.  One of us had to do
something.  I knew he wasn’t happy either, but he hung on and hung on… In
the end I had no choice.’

Oh dear.  It’s still terribly sad
but not at all as I’d imagined.  And actually it’s struck a bit of a
chord.  Maybe I made a mistake marrying Arian in the first place. 
Did it for all the wrong reasons, just like she did.
 And it’s starting to make me wonder just how Arian would tell his side of
the story.

Then Emma goes home, and we arrange to
meet in the pub later. Suddenly I think
,
I haven’t
seen her look at her mobile once.

The pub is busy when we get there, but
then it is Saturday night.  And actually I’m feeling good, even next to
Emma.  My skinny jeans fit me again, and I’ve pinned up half my hair in a
scruffy-sexy updo.  Ben’s already there, and his face lights up as soon as
he sees Emma.  And oh blast, why does Marcus have to be here too?
 Shouldn’t he be on call or something?  
Uh oh.
 
It looks like he might have one of his girly admirers with him tonight too.
 
A small, pretty one with big boobs, spray-on jeans and
half a ton of mascara.
  For some reason, I’m not comfortable with
this at all.

Emma and I buy a bottle of white wine
and wander over to join Ben.  Then we all go outside because it’s a
glorious evening and the sun is still warm.  It seems a waste to spend it
sitting inside a gloomy bar.  Emma has so far survived without her mobile
bleeping once.  I’m impressed.  Hopefully she can keep this up.
 Ben is looking more relaxed too, now that she’s not jumping up and down
every two minutes.

And here comes Marcus.  
Hmmm…
 
On his own.

‘No lady friend?’ I enquire coolly,
looking at him from under my eyelashes.

He gives me a look.  ‘She’s a
client, actually.  She was just giving me an update on her horse.’

Oh, I bet she
was, I
think crankily, not liking
one bit that I’m beginning to sound jealous.
 
Jealous
?
 Why would I be?  I
don’t even particularly like him.

He sits down on the chair next to me,
which makes me stiffen.  Noticing, he shifts slightly away from me.
 We chat for a bit, the four of us, mostly about Sylvie’s party, which is
next Saturday.  Ben is going too, of course.  I don’t think I know
anyone who isn’t.

After a while, I make my excuses and
leave, saying Elmer’s been
on her own
all day and I
should get back.  I don’t want to cramp Emma’s style, and she and Ben
seems to getting on like a house on fire tonight.  Nor can I particularly
be bothered to make conversation with Marcus, who stands up at the same time,
yawning.  I notice for the first time how tired he looks.

‘Think I’ll join you,’ he says,
regretting it when he sees my expression. ‘Not, you know, I didn’t mean...’

We leave together, stiffly, careful to
avoid any physical contact with each other as we walk out to the car park.

‘Like a lift?’ he says gruffly, no doubt
waiting for another of my typical overreactions.

‘Um, thanks, but I’m only over the road.
 I can walk,’ I say. 

‘Okay,’ he heads over to his enormous
Land Cruiser, then stops and turns back towards me.

‘Um, Louisa, have I er, done anything to
upset you?’

I’m dumbfounded.  I don’t actually
know what to say.

‘Only you seem quite abrupt, so I just
wondered...’ he adds.

‘Um, am I? I don’t mean to be,’ I say.
 

He stands there a moment, just looking
at me.  ‘Oh.  Well, I’ll be off.  Sure you wouldn’t like a
lift?’

 I shake my head, mostly because
I’m stubborn, but as he turns to get in his car, I’m left in a dither.  I
don’t know what it is, but something about him throws me completely off my guard. 
For a brief moment, I consider walking after him, but then he speeds away in
the Land Cruiser.

I walk quietly home, alone.