Trust Me, I'm a Vet (26 page)

‘Allow me.’ Alex takes it from me, his fingers briefly touching mine. He threads it at the first attempt and starts on the task of making Cadbury’s body look presentable.

‘It’s a bit of a cheek to ask,’ I begin after a while, ‘but I was wondering if you would consider taking Frances back.’

‘At the Manor?’ Alex frowns. ‘Why?’

I hesitate. Should I tell him? Why not? He’s going to know everything sooner or later, I guess. Before I even realise, out it all spills: my continuing conflict with Cheryl, the state of Otter House’s finances, having to fire Frances, all the doubt, anxiety and pressure.

‘I feel so isolated here,’ I say, near to tears again.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alex says.

‘Sure,’ I say, and then I wish I hadn’t been so sharp.

‘You should have said something sooner. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m a good listener.’

‘Thanks,’ I say grudgingly, because somehow it’s easier to deal with my feelings for Alex when I’m seeing him as a Fox-Gifford and one of the Talyton Manor vets, than as he is now, sounding thoughtful and kind. It’s probably all a front, part of a charm offensive to win me round, then drop me in it, since I can’t imagine he’s going to keep this quiet.

‘I try not to listen to gossip, but there have been rumours . . .’ He pauses, thinking. ‘I can’t give Frances her job back – we’ve managed remarkably well without her – but if I hear of anything suitable, I’ll let you know.’

‘I don’t know how I’m going to tell her . . .’

‘Mmm,’ Alex says. ‘She’s going to find life very hard – poor Frances. She practically supports her granddaughter – her son’s a waster, always in the bookies. Her daughter-in-law does her best, but it’s Frances who keeps them afloat.’ He sighs. ‘Oh dear, bit inappropriate of me to put it like that, considering how she lost her husband.’

‘How did she lose her husband?’

‘He was a fisherman – his trawler went down in a storm. He drowned, along with his four crew.’ Alex shakes his head. ‘I’ll never forget that night.’

I remain silent, wondering how Frances must have felt when her husband didn’t come home.

Alex ties and cuts the last knot, and rolls Cadbury onto his side, then – for my sake, perhaps – covers him over with a drape. He looks up and I force myself to meet his gaze.

‘Cheryl came crawling back to the Manor,’ he says. ‘I thought you might like to know. I told her we weren’t taking on any new clients.’

‘I suppose you saw the posters,’ I say, taken aback that Alex has been so quietly supportive. It’s the last thing I thought he’d do.

‘I couldn’t miss them, could I? It’s all right though – I made her take them down.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘We hold quite a few functions up at the Manor every year.’ Alex strips off his gown and gloves and walks over to the sink to wash his hands. ‘I threatened not to order our cream teas from the Copper Kettle any more and she agreed to let the matter rest.’

‘Why did you do it? I mean, you didn’t have to . . .’

‘It’s my duty to uphold the honour of the profession,’ Alex says with a glint in his eye, then, ‘Oh, Maz, I’m teasing. I did it for you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry about the other day,’ he goes on.

‘I’m sorry too,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have blamed you for what your father did.’

Alex pulls some paper towels from the dispenser and walks back towards me, drying his hands. ‘Will you be OK?’ he says softly.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If he keeps being nice to me right now, I’ll burst into tears.

‘I’ll say goodnight then . . .’ He moves closer, until I can clearly see the stubble on his cheeks and the shadows under his eyes. For someone who’s always in such a hurry, he seems reluctant to leave.

‘Goodnight, Alex,’ I say, mustering my emotions, ‘and thank you. For everything you’ve done.’

Alex reaches out his hand and cups my chin.

‘What are you doing?’ I stammer as he leans down and presses his lips against mine, sending an unexpected jolt right through me. Trembling, I respond as he deepens the kiss, pulling me against him. Alex Fox-Gifford is kissing me. It’s shocking, breathtaking, amazing. And, in spite of everything, I don’t want him to stop.

Suddenly, though, he pulls away, his breathing ragged as he rests his forehead against mine.

‘Goodnight, Maz,’ he says, stepping right back. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

Chapter Fourteen

I Don’t Like Mondays

I don’t sleep. If I’m not thinking of Cadbury, I’m wondering about Alex and the kiss. Do I regret it? I think so, given that I suspect he’s still with Eloise.

By morning, my stomach cramps and my head aches. I don’t feel up to facing anyone, but I have to. I’m the boss. It’s up to me to rally Emma’s team and keep Otter House going.

When I arrive downstairs, armed with a cup of strong coffee, I find Izzy in the prep room.

‘Er, hi,’ I say. ‘How are you?’

She turns to me, her eyelids puffy from crying and lack of sleep. ‘How do you think?’

I nod and, thinking of Cadbury again, it occurs to me that there’s no sign of the body which I left on the bench last night, not knowing what else to do with it.

‘Where’s the, er, you know?’ I ask, wondering – half hoping – that I’ve missed Stewart coming in to collect him.

‘In the freezer.’

‘They haven’t decided what they want to do with it,’ I point out gently.

‘If they want him back, we’ll have to put him outside to defrost. I can’t have dead bodies littering up the practice.’ Izzy carries on with the clearing up, throwing instruments into the sink and slamming the autoclave door shut on the first load. I suspect her desire to hide the body has more to do with not wanting to be reminded of what happened. It also occurs to me that she blames me – in part, at least – for what happened.

‘Can anyone join the party?’ demands a voice from the prep-room door.

Party? I turn. ‘Alex, hi . . .’

Behind me, Izzy starts swirling the instruments around the sink, sending up steam and tiny bubbles of detergent.

‘You look terrible,’ Alex says.

‘Thanks very much.’

‘I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Maz. What I meant was . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ I smile weakly. He’s quite right. I’ve had no sleep. I have bags under my eyes the size of suitcases. On the other hand, lack of sleep seems to suit Alex. He doesn’t appear to be having any regrets about kissing me when he’s supposed to be going out with Eloise.

‘It does.’ He rumples his hair, which is damp from a shower, I’d guess. ‘I was trying to pay you a compliment.’

‘I shouldn’t worry if it’s really that difficult.’ I step away from him, trying to keep my distance in front of Izzy, yet he moves in closer, keeping his gaze fixed on my face.

‘Well’ – he lowers his voice – ‘what I intended to say was that no matter how rough you look you always look lovely to me.’

I hear an instrument, a pair of scissors perhaps, clattering into the sink.

‘Thank you,’ I say graciously, although I don’t entirely believe him. ‘This way.’ I hurry Alex back into the corridor and along to the staffroom where we can talk out of Izzy’s earshot.

‘Did I embarrass you?’ Alex asks.

‘Yes, a bit.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He smiles and changes the subject. ‘Izzy’s like a whirling dervish, isn’t she? Chris Hunter was talking about her the other day – I was taking a look at a couple of his sheep and the new dog. Freddie, isn’t it? According to Chris, you and Izzy saved Freddie’s life.’

‘Yep.’ I know what he’s doing – he’s trying to make me feel better, but all it does is remind me of Cadbury and my role in his death. ‘Have you spoken to Stewart or Lynsey yet?’

‘Yes, and I’m afraid Stewart isn’t in the mood for any kind of reconciliation. He knows he’s partly to blame, but he isn’t ready to accept it.’

I stare at the toes of my Crocs. What a bloody mess.

‘He’ll come round.’ Alex reaches out and strokes my arm. ‘I know you feel bad now, but it’ll get better, Maz.’

Thrilled by his touch and reluctant to do or say anything which would spoil the moment, I look up. Alex gazes at me, his gorgeous blue eyes wide with concern. My pulse kicks and leaps like a bucking donkey.

‘I’ve done a lot worse,’ he says eventually, breaking the physical contact between us. ‘There was an occasion when I operated on the wrong leg.’

‘You what?’ I can’t believe it. Alex Fox-Gifford made a mistake?

‘It was one of Fifi and Gloria’s rescues – has no one told you this?’

I shake my head, and he continues, ‘I was supposed to be repairing a cruciate in a young lurcher. I opened the joint to find the ligament intact.’

‘What did you do?’ I say, surprised he got so far before realising his error.

‘Grovel, of course.’

Try as I might, I can’t see Alex grovelling to anyone.

‘I must have been distracted’ – his lips curve into a grin – ‘must have been thinking about some girl.’

I don’t like to imagine him thinking about some girl, not some girl other than me anyway, and especially if that girl’s Eloise.

Alex glances at his watch. ‘I’d better be getting back to the Manor.’

‘Thanks for dropping by,’ I say.

‘That’s OK. I had to pick up a prescription for my father anyway. He’s laid up in bed. He isn’t all bad,’ Alex goes on. ‘Since the bull got him, he’s hardly been out of pain. He makes himself look busy, but the truth is he can’t cope with the physical side of the job any more. He isn’t capable of much more than manning the phones, and putting his foot in it on the radio. Oh, and making a nuisance of himself. Much like yourself,’ he adds, smiling.

I smile back, feeling guilty that I’ve let Alex cheer me up when I’ve just lost a patient in such terrible circumstances.

I walk through to Reception with him and he stops at the desk.

‘Good morning, Frances,’ he says.

‘Hello, Alex.’ She touches the hollow at the base of her throat. ‘Such dreadful news about the Pitts’ dog,’ she says, shaking her head.

‘It could have happened to anyone,’ Alex says. He nods in my direction. ‘Goodbye, Maz.’

‘Alex, wait.’ I hasten after him towards the door. ‘Alex.’

He hesitates. ‘What is it?’ He drops his voice to a whisper. ‘I see you haven’t plucked up the courage to fire Frances yet.’

‘I keep hoping that Nigel will find some extra money from somewhere, so we can afford to keep her on. I know she isn’t the best receptionist in the world, but she means well.’ I pause. ‘Alex, did Stewart say what they wanted to do with the body?’

‘They’d like cremation and the ashes back,’ he says. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave that one with you. I’ll see you around, Maz.’

I wait until the door swings back behind him and then turn to Frances, hoping that I’ll be saved from having to speak to her right now by a client turning up, or the phone ringing.

‘I wonder if you’d mind coming to the office for a chat,’ I begin.

‘Well, I’m not sure,’ Frances says. ‘Emma and Izzy don’t like me to leave Reception when there’s no one to cover for me.’

‘You’re right,’ I say, looking around the empty waiting room. ‘We can talk here. It isn’t exactly busy, is it? Which rather leads me into what I want to discuss with you.’

‘And what is that, Maz?’ Frances gazes at me, her head tipped to one side like a dog expecting a juicy titbit. ‘I see young Mr Fox-Gifford came to see you again. He seems to be spending rather a lot of time at Otter House.’

‘Frances, it’s nothing to do with Alex,’ I say, slightly exasperated to find there’s no way I can ease Frances gently into the idea that she’s not going to be working here for much longer. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to pack your things and leave the practice.’ I glance from the red rosette she’s pinned on the noticeboard along with a photo of her and her winning chutney, to the collection box for the families of fishermen lost at sea on her desk.

‘Why?’ she says, her expression grave in contrast with the joyful flowers on her tunic. ‘What for?’

‘There’s no money to pay your wages after this week. I really am sorry,’ I go on. To my horror, because I’d find it easier to handle the situation if she put up some kind of fight, she starts to weep, big tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘I saw this coming,’ she says, and I’m just wondering how – whether she has supernatural powers – when I remember how she used to open the post. She must have seen the bills and the final demands. She grabs a tissue from the box she keeps for clients who are in distress.

‘What am I going to do?’ she sobs. ‘What are you going to do without me?’

‘I don’t know.’ I don’t know anything about anything any more.

Bad news spreads faster than a tummy bug on a cruise ship in Talyton St George. Stewart talks to everyone. The driver who collects the milk from Barton Farm turns out to be married to the headmistress of Talyton Primary School, and the cowman has two sisters who are members of both the church and the WI. Within a week, the tale of Cadbury’s fate has been repeated along the chain, twisted and elaborated, like a message in a game of Chinese whispers, until it is as if I had strung Cadbury up in front of a waiting room filled with people, taken a knife and stabbed him directly through the heart.