Country Lovers (12 page)

Rhodri peered inside and saw how bad the tooth was. He even put his own finger down inside. The center of the very back tooth was rotting away, and the outer edges were beginning to crumble. “He seems very relaxed.”

“Oh, he is! Not a bad thought in him. No indeed. Not a bad thought.”

“How old is he?”

“About four. I think.”

“Beautiful dog. Nice nature.”

“Can you pull it out?”

“Well, not this minute; he'll need an anesthetic.”

“No. Just give him something in his gum to numb it as if he were a person, like at the dentist, and he'll let you do it.”

Appalled by the prospect, Rhodri considered for a moment and then shook his head. “No way. Unnecessary suffering and all that. It's too big a risk. What if the tooth breaks up when I start pulling? which it well might, seeing the condition it's in. I might hurt him. No, I'm sorry, he'll have to be put out. There's no way I can tackle it without—”

“And I'm telling you he'll be OK. Soft as butter he is. Soft as butter.”

Rhodri pretended to be assessing the pros and cons of doing as suggested, but had already made up his mind. “No, it's too big a risk. Can you bring him in tomorrow afternoon, one-thirty?”

The diminutive owner looked disappointed. “Very well, then. One-thirty it is.”

“You're not any relation of Callum Tattersall's, are you?”

“I'm a cousin. Declan Tattersall. That's me. I've inherited the farm. They've let me live in it till the papers are all sorted. Then it's legally mine. Wonderful for all the children, living there. So much space.”

“How many have you got, then?”

“Six, ah! No. Seven. That's right, seven. We've certainly livened up the old place.”

“I can imagine. I saw Callum a time or two with his dogs; great chap, so sad about him and his wife, lovely lady. She'd have been thrilled to bits to have your children running about the farm.” Both Declan and Rhodri were silent for a moment while they both thought of Nuala's joy, and then Rhodri said, “Right then, one-thirty tomorrow. He'll be ready to take home by about half past four.”

Paddy rose to his feet and filled all the available space between the door and the examination table. His tail wagged cheerfully and whisked Rhodri's pen and calculator from his desk, then he ambled out with Declan, who, Rhodri swore, could have ridden on his back, and his feet would have been dangling.

         

W
HEN
Paddy came back the following afternoon, Sarah One and Sarah Two had prepared an operating room by moving the table over to one side and leaving a wide floor space for Paddy to lie down on, and laying the operation cloths on the floor instead of the operating table. Declan insisted on coming into the operating room with him and instructed Paddy to lie down. “Roll over, Paddy.” So Paddy rolled over onto his side. He lifted his head for a moment to give Declan a baleful glance as though saying to him, “Now what have you let me in for?” and then laid it down again and closed his eyes. “There we are! Ready and waiting. I swear he could speak if he could.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Sarah One said, trying to get her mind around how they would move him to get on with the next operation after the tooth had been pulled out.

Declan surreptitiously drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “I'll be back. Four you said.”

“About four, half past might be better.” Sarah One opened the door for him, and Declan crept from the operating room mopping his tears as he went. “He's a close friend you understand.”

“Of course. He's a lovely dog. So gentle.”

But Declan, overcome with emotion, was unable to agree and simply nodded his head.

         

L
ATER
that afternoon, those waiting in reception for their appointments thought they'd been invaded by an entire children's home. The main door flew open and a hoard of children ran in followed by a man no bigger than the oldest boy. Bubbling with excitement they went to the desk and proclaimed in varying degrees of lucidity that they'd come to collect Paddy and was he all right and could they take the tooth home like they did when they went to the dentist?

Declan was carrying the smallest girl, who was shrieking “Paddy” at the top of her voice. So when they stayed still long enough to be counted, the clients found there were five girls and two boys. All clean as new pins and well dressed.

“My God!” said one client. “Thank heavens they're not all mine.”

The man sitting next to her said, “Same 'ere. Who'd want that lot?”

Joy said, “I'll go make sure Paddy's ready. We've taken the tooth out and—”

“Have you saved it? We want to take it home.” This from a tiny girl who didn't look old enough to speak.

Joy peeped over the desk at her and said, “We've saved it in a special box.”

“Ohhhhh! Lovely. Can I go to get Paddy?”

Before Joy could reply, the whole tribe of children followed by Declan had invaded the rear premises. Joy hurried after them but was too late as they were opening each door as they came to it calling, “Paddy! Paddy!” as they went.

Rhodri came into the corridor and shouted, as though addressing a ship's crew in a hurricane, “Quiet!” They stopped instantly, much to Rhodri's surprise. “Paddy hasn't come around properly from the anesthetic, so you need to be quiet and gentle. Can you do that?” He put his finger to his lips and said, “Shh. On tiptoe.”

They squeezed into the operating room and gathered round Paddy. He struggled to his feet and tried to wag his tail, but it would only wag in fits and starts and his legs clearly weren't his own. Declan's elder son took hold of his leash and, very softly, they all tiptoed out and then crept down the corridor with Paddy, who was trying desperately to keep on his feet on the slippery floor.

Declan took a fistful of notes from his back pocket, laid them on the reception counter and said, “Take what you need.”

Kate counted out what was needed to pay the bill and handed the rest back to him. They all left one after the other with Declan leaving last. “Your receipt. I haven't given you your…” But Kate was too late, they'd all flooded out into the car park. “I'll mail it,” she shouted.

“I'll say this for them, they're well behaved,” said a client holding a glass tank with a particularly evil-looking snake in it, which was writhing about.

“There's some could learn a lesson from them,” said another client, looking daggers at a small boy who would keep poking his fingers into the hamster cage she was holding.

Rhodri relived his moment of triumph when he'd asked the children to be quiet for Paddy's sake. Such moments added satisfaction to his job. Yes, he had to admit he loved it, and tonight he was going to grovel to Mr. Jones like he'd never done before to anyone. A performance to rank with Richard Burton, or possibly Anthony Hopkins. He would rehearse his speech on the way there.

         

R
HODRI
drove to Beulah Bank Farm that same evening, as he'd promised himself he would. He didn't ring first because that would have given Megan the opportunity to tell him not to come, but he had popped into the precinct and bought a big box of Mr. Jones's favorite chocolates. They were handmade Belgian, totally gorgeous, and utterly too expensive for words. For Megan he had a bottle of perfume, which after much sniffing and discussion he'd bought because he thought it suited her personality, and in any case, he loved the scent of it and fancied Megan smelling of it.

As he crossed the humpbacked bridge, he remembered Megan telling him that when she knew he was coming, she watched from the kitchen window to see him crossing it and then counted to thirty-five. He felt sad she wouldn't be doing that tonight.

He arrived in the farmyard as quietly as possible, wishing to keep his presence secret. There was no Megan to greet him, and suddenly, though he knew she didn't know he was coming so there was no reason to feel disappointed, an ominous feeling spread over him, and he decided it was one of the worst ideas he'd ever had. But he was there and he was going through with it.

He decided to knock and open the door, and called out, “Megan! It's me, Rhodri!” His joyful greeting was met with complete silence. He laid his gifts on the kitchen table and went into the hall. He opened the sitting room door and put his head around. Mr. Jones was sitting in his usual chair, reading. “Hello, Mr. Jones. Hope you don't mind me coming in like this. I called out but there was no answer.”

Mr. Jones looked over the top of his reading glasses at him and said, “Surprised you've the gall to come again after what you said the last time you were here.” He closed his book and took his glasses off, placing them on his table among his sick man's clutter.

Rhodri went further into the room and stood before Mr. Jones, hands behind his back, contrite. “That's what I've come about. To apologize. I had no right, no right whatsoever to speak to you as I did. Under no circumstances should I have allowed myself to behave in that manner, and I would be grateful if you would accept my apologies for behaving in such an unseemly and totally disgraceful way. Quite inexcusable.” Too late he remembered the chocolates but immediately decided that maybe to hand them over straightaway would be too gushing for words. Rhodri waited for a reply.

Old Man Jones studied him from under his eyebrows, his eyes unfathomable. “Apology accepted, but it makes no difference to the marriage question. Megan is not marrying you. Not while I'm alive.”

“I can understand that, you being in need of care. I can see why.” He took a deep breath. “But we must be allowed to go on seeing each other.”

“I don't think so. There's no point.”

It was on the tip of Rhodri's tongue to question that last statement, but just in time he changed it to: “Is Megan out this evening?”

“She's asleep in bed. Tired out.”

“I see. I've been to the mall and bought you a box of those chocolates you like. I'll go get them. Part of my apology, you know.”

He returned to the kitchen and picked up the chocolates and crossed the hall to give them to Mr. Jones. “Thank you, Rhodri. I'll open them now and you can have one with me.” But the intricate ribbon bows, tied time and again to seal the box, defeated his gnarled hands, and he had to humiliate himself by handing the box back to Rhodri and asking him to open it.

“You choose first.”

Rhodri chose a liqueur, and held the box while Mr. Jones picked one for himself. “Marzipan, I'll have that one.”

They were silent for a moment while they each enjoyed the delicious flavors of their chocolates. Then Mr. Jones beckoned him to hand back the box, pushed the lid back on and said, “Makes no difference you know, these.” He pointed to the box. “No difference at all. Megan's needed here, for the farm and for me. I'm her da and she owes me.”

Rhodri agreed. “You need her, I know.”

“You've got the message then?”

“I've got the message all right.”

“Good. Well, you might as well go; there's no point in wasting my time with useless chitchat.” He put his reading glasses back on and picked up his book. Removing his bookmark, he began to read.

Rhodri stood fidgeting like a small schoolboy in the headmaster's room. The self-centered, miserable, mean old codger. Then he saw the twisted fingers clumsily trying to turn a page, and he wondered how he would feel if he were as handicapped as this old man.

“Good night, Mr. Jones. I've a present for Megan. I've left it on the kitchen table.”

“Very well. Good night.”

Rhodri got into his car and started up the engine. He didn't move off, but sat full of gloom at the disappointing outcome of his evening. Then he thought he heard Megan's voice. He looked out and there she was waving to him from an upstairs window.

He got out and went to stand below her window. “Megan!” All the passion he felt for her welled up inside him. She might have just woken up, but she looked so beautiful. Almost ethereal.

“Rhodri! I'm coming down.”

The house door opened and there she was—crumpled but comely. She ran into his arms and held him tight to her. “I'm so sorry I said don't see me, but I was so tired, and so worried. I'm so glad you didn't take any notice of me. Kiss. Kiss.”

After he'd complied with her command, he said, “I've told your da I realize we can't marry. Just to put his mind at rest, you know.”

Megan almost fell from his arms with horror. “But…don't you want to?”

“Of course, but we've got to be subtle about it. Careful, come up with a plan.”

“But you said you had a plan?”

“It was a stupid one. I was thinking of our pretending to go for a walk and coming back married, not much good as a basis for a happy marriage. We'd never forgive ourselves.”

Her eyes began to fill with tears.

“Not tears, Megan, please. I'll come up with something. For the moment he thinks he's won, so at least his mind is at rest. I've left you a present on the kitchen table. Good night, love.”

Rhodri held her face between his hands and kissed her lips, not with his usual hungry passion, but gently and with respect. “Good night. Sorry you're so tired.”

When he got home, the phone was ringing. It was Megan, to thank him for the perfume and to say she'd be around for a meal tomorrow night wearing bucketfuls of it.

Chapter
• 9 •

D
an climbed the steep hills to Beulah Bank Farm later that same week. Over the stone humpbacked bridge, then through the trees, and finally out into the farmyard. Megan was waiting for him at the kitchen door. “Hello, Dan! Come in the house first; we've been delayed this morning, and Gab has just gone to sort out the cows for you.”

“OK.” As he walked into the kitchen, he said, “I didn't realize Gab Bridges worked for you.”

“Just this last week or two. The other man did a moonlight flit, no warning no nothing, so Gab came to give us a hand for a while, but I think it might be permanent. There's not enough work or money for six sons on one farm.”

“I see. How many head have you?”

“Twenty, that's all, not enough pasture for more, you understand.”

“That's a lot of work for you.”

“Not really, we manage. Go in, see Da for a while; he misses company.”

Dan thought about what Rhodri had said about Mr. Jones being a malevolent, embittered, old fraud. Better approach with caution, he thought.

As he half expected, Dan was greeted with a terse question. “You up to this TB-testing job?”

“And good morning to you, Mr. Jones. To answer your question, yes, I am. All in a day's work to me, and at least the rain's held off. How are you this morning?”

Mr. Jones paused while he contemplated whether or not Dan's brisk manner constituted impertinence, but he didn't get a chance to retort because Dan went on.

“It's a long climb up here but well worth it when you get here. Wonderful spot to live.” Dan crossed the room to look out of the window. He could see right down into the valley and just, but only just, see the nearest roofs of houses in Barleybridge.

“Not if you can't get out.”

Dan turned back from the window and asked, “What stops you?”

Mr. Jones snorted his anger. “Are you blind? Can't you see I'm handicapped?”

“Of course, but why should it stop you going out? Megan drives.”

“And make an exhibition of myself? I'm not one to like putting on a spectacle for everyone's amusement.”

“I doubt if they'd even notice you.” He went to sit down. “I remember once going to the amusement parks in Florida with my wife and seeing ‘the handicapped' as you call yourself, going on the rides. They didn't care two hoots about being manhandled on; they were too busy having a wonderful time. Some of them in far worse nick than you. Just needs a bit of courage, and I'm sure you're not short of that.”

Megan came in to sit with them. “Dan, I've been meaning to say we'd love your Rose to come to see us one day. Would she, do you think, and bring the baby? Come for tea?”

“I'm sure she would. She'd love it. If it's not too much for you, Mr. Jones…you being handicapped.”

Mr. Jones, used to more deferential treatment, snorted with anger for a second time that day. “So long as the baby doesn't gurgle all the time. What is it?”

Megan answered. “A boy, Da.”

“Lucky man. You need two or three more the same.” He looked at Megan and she flushed.

They heard the back door open and a voice bellow, “OK, Meggie, my love, we're all set.” It was Gab.

Dan got to his feet. “I'll get my boots and then we'll start. Lovely day for it, out of the wind.” He winked at Megan and went outside.

Gab had organized the run and the crush, set the farm lad to getting the first cow into it, and was marking off the list. “Number!”

“One two five.”

Dan had his syringes ready and took the blood. He heard something of a commotion, but he was concentrating hard and ignored it. When he took a breather for a second, he saw that Megan had brought her da out to watch; and he was seated booted, behatted, and blanketed on a chair, out of the wind. Dan smiled to himself. There was more than one way of skinning a cat, he thought.

When they'd finished, Megan wanted him to stay for coffee, but Dan declined. “No thanks, Megan. I've got a busy day ahead. Must press on. I'll tell Rose about the tea invite. Thanks for it; she loves getting out to meet people.”

“Good. We'll look forward to that, won't we, Da?” But her da was getting ready for the journey back to his own chair and he ignored her.

Dan asked Mr. Jones if he'd done it right?

Mr. Jones proffered a grudging compliment. “For a young strip of a lad you didn't do badly. I'll give you that. Come along, Megan, get a move on.” He flung off the blanket and grasped Megan's arm to help him rise to his feet. Dan took his other arm, and between them they got him into the house. Mr. Jones thanked him for his help.

“A pleasure. Any time. Good morning, Mr. Jones.”

Seated back in his chair, Megan's father said, “Arrogant beggar, he is. But he does a good job, I'll say that for him.”

“He's well respected in Barleybridge is Dan. He's an excellent vet. Even your archenemy, Lord Askew, approves of him.”

“Does he? Wouldn't call that a recommendation coming from him. The fat, thieving, manipulative…Where's the blanket for my legs?”

“I'm just putting it on, see?” She draped the blanket over his knees in the way, from long experience, she knew he liked the best.

“I need a hot drink, Megan.”

“I'll put the kettle on, but first I need a word with Gab.”

“You're a good girl to me. Don't think I don't appreciate you because I do. I've a fancy for…Never mind, it'll all be too much for me.”

“What will, Da?”

“Nothing.”

“You know how I hate half sentences. Just tell me.”

He pressed his lips into a straight determined line and then relented. “That wheelchair you got and I refused to use.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “No, never mind.”

“Are you wanting me to get it out?”

Belligerently he replied, “No. No. Even if you do, I shan't sit in it.”

“I see. Won't be long.” Nevertheless, later that morning she got the wheelchair out from under the stairs and gave it a dust and left it out in the passage to the back door. When she was in the kitchen preparing lunch for Gab and her father, she heard him closing the downstairs bathroom door and knew by the noise his slippers were making that he hadn't gone straight back into the sitting room. Putting her eye to the crack of the door, she saw him inspecting the wheelchair. She heard him tut-tutting and complaining. “Pretty pass things have come to. Huh!” Megan realized he was coming into the kitchen, so she went back to washing the lettuce for the sandwiches.

Her da stood propped against the door frame catching his breath. “I'll eat in here with Gab. Make a change.”

“Right.”

Gab came in at the stroke of twelve, washed his hands at the sink, and took his place at the table. A huge hulk of a man, the twin by twenty minutes of Gideon and the oldest of the Bridges's brood, he had his mother's light blue eyes and the sandy hair and the long, thin, hook nose of his father.

“Thank you, Meggie, my love.”

Her da grunted disapproval of “Meggie” but had the sense to say nothing, for without this man to help on the farm, they'd be in deep trouble. Good farmhands were rare nowadays, so he made an effort to begin a conversation, but Gab would have none of it. He ate every sandwich on his plate and then began eyeing Mr. Jones's plate so ravenously that he felt compelled to offer him one of his. “Here we are, Gabriel,
Megan
's made too many for me.”

Gab devoured that and then began on the fruitcake. When he'd eaten two big slices of that, he moved on to the bowl of fresh fruit. He then poured himself two successive half pints of cider from the big jug Megan had put out, drinking them without a pause, then he stood up and said, “Thanks, Meggie, my love.”

As he left the kitchen, he turned back to look at Megan, and Mr. Jones caught the look Gab gave her, an alarming mixture of love overlaid with deeply felt lust, which shocked him. Megan, busy peeling a peach, didn't notice, but when she realized Gab hadn't gone, she looked up to see if he needed a word about something and blushed to the roots of her hair when she read what was in his face. He'd undressed her, in his mind, but not like Rhodri did with love and tenderness. This was something quite different. He'd
stripped her.
Mentally she re-dressed herself, prayed her father hadn't noticed, and concentrated hard on removing the stone from her peach. Gab abruptly turned toward the door, opened it, and was gone. Megan's da said, “I'm…going…for a lie…down.” Placing both hands on the table, he heaved himself to his feet.

Megan said, “I'll get your inhaler; you sound as though you need it.”

Mr. Jones nodded. Damn the man for looking at Megan like that. How dare he? As she came toward him carrying his inhaler, he looked at her with new eyes, and saw for the first time in his life just how attractive she really was—the red hair, those large tender eyes, the proud carriage of her head, the slender, expressive hands. She was attractive, so very attractive, no wonder Gab had looked at her like that. He could see why now. His daughter! The subject of such…lewdness. He'd have to watch him. Better still, he'd advertise for a man, and get rid of him that way.

But it was easier said than done. The current downturn in farming had meant that young men were seeking work in the towns and leaving farming far behind them. So they were stuck with Gab, until times changed. Megan's da had seen the other Bridges boys when they'd all been going in to Weymouth together one Saturday night and had called to pick up Gab. They'd filled the kitchen and, to a man, they'd plainly showed their appreciation of Megan. There wasn't one of them who could be trusted one iota more than Gab, so he couldn't even swap one of them for him.

         

R
OSE
called for tea one afternoon as Dan had promised. “Are you sure, Megan, that Jonathan won't be too much for your father?” she'd inquired on the phone one day that week.

“Absolutely certain. Please come, Rose, we do want you to. Winter's coming on and we feel the need for company. That sounds as if I'm being rude to you, but it's true we do. I've got a present for the baby, and I'd love to give it to him myself. So, yes, we'll see you Tuesday.”

Rose instinctively knew how desperate Megan must be feeling, with an invalid father and a lover she longed to be with. Not much of a recipe for happiness. No, sir!

When she got there, she found Mr. Jones ensconced in his chair, looking grumpy and outfaced by her coming. But she was determined he wasn't going to find her lacking in respect and affection.

Rose shook his hand and keeping hold of it, impulsively bent forward to kiss his cheek. Despite himself, he enjoyed her vital femininity and her open friendliness. “Hi, Mr. Jones! What a pleasure. I've heard all about you from Danny.”

“Have you indeed? Not much to the good, I expect.”

“Indeed, it was. He said you'd been out to watch him TB testing and that you'd approved of him.”

“I did, but he's an arrogant beggar. I can see it won't bother you though; you're tough enough and shrewd enough to be able to cope with him, aren't you? So where's this baby of yours?”

“I've left him in the kitchen; I didn't know if—”

“Bring him in. I want to see him. We never get babies visiting us. Go on, girl, bring him in.”

So Rose went back to the kitchen, picked up Jonathan's traveling seat, and carried him in. He was looking particularly like Danny today, and she loved him for it. She held the seat so that Mr. Jones could see him without having to get up. As he looked at him, Jonathan opened his eyes and stared straight at Mr. Jones. Two little hands waved haphazardly about, and he yawned and then pulled a face as though he were concentrating very hard on something that was worrying him.

“Why, there's no mistaking who he belongs to. My word, I've never seen a little chap looking so much like his father. Just look at that expression, see? Just like Dan, that is. Isn't he a grand baby? Megan! Where's the present?”

“Coming!” Megan came in from the kitchen carrying a teapot in one hand and a parcel in the other. “Here it is! It's more fun for adults at the moment, but he'll grow into it.”

With Jonathan on her knee, Rose opened the parcel and out came a fluffy white toy sheep. “Oh, look, my darling, look what Megan's bought you!”

“Turn her over and look at her tum,” Megan said.

There was a long slit down the length of the sheep's stomach, and when Rose put her fingers inside, she could feel something in there. When she pulled at it, out came a small fluffy black lamb. Then another one all white this time and then another white with a black face. She gave a delighted cry of surprise each time one appeared. “Oh, Megan! Where did you find this?”

“In the posh toy shop in Barleybridge. I couldn't resist. I almost bought one for myself.”

Rose pushed the three lambs back in again and pulled them out one after the other. “I could do this all afternoon! It's absolutely splendid, and thank you very much indeed. Very appropriate for a vet's son.” Clutching the sheep and Jonathan, Rose stood up and kissed Megan and then kissed Mr. Jones again. “Thank you very much. Isn't it lovely? I'm so pleased with it. He'll love it when he's bigger, and can do it by himself.”

Unexpectedly Mr. Jones said, “If I'm careful, I could hold the baby, couldn't I?”

Without hesitation Rose placed Jonathan in his arms. Megan went to the kitchen to bring in the rest of the tea things. Rose sat back in her chair and watched in silence. Mr. Jones, in a world of his own, didn't speak a word. He simply sat looking at the baby in his arms as though he'd never seen a baby before. His crippled hands clumsily stroked Jonathan's cheeks, cuddled his little feet, which were fidgeting about, and tried to get him to hold tight to a finger. Then he cleared his throat and said huskily without looking up, “You are lucky, my dear. He's perfect. Here, take him, before I drop him.”