Country Wives (20 page)

Breathlessly she burst into Joy’s office. “Joy, I’ve seen the man who brought Copperfield in. He’s a clerk in the post office. Can Stephie go down and make sure I’m right?”

Joy shot up from her chair and said, “Really? A clerk in the post office? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s him. I’m certain.”

“I’ll have his guts for garters, I will. I’ve a good mind to go down there myself right now and give him a piece of my mind. Better still, I’ll tie him to my bumper and drag him along behind like he did Copperfield; then he’ll see what it’s like for himself.”

Kate advised caution. “Wouldn’t it be better to tell Sergeant Bird?”

“You’re right. My poor darling Copper. Let justice be done. Stephie! Off you go. Identify the brute.”

“He’s sitting at number six. Hurry up. He might go for lunch or something.”

Stephie, eager for blood, flung on her coat and rushed off.

Thirty minutes later she came charging back into reception, breathless and close to collapse. When she could speak, she said, “It’s him. Definitely. I’m one hundred percent sure. Ring old Dickie.”

T
HE
wheels of the law grind slowly, and it was two days before Sergeant Bird came back to relate the news about Copperfield’s torturer. He leaned his forearms on the top of the desk and prepared himself for a long confidential discussion.

Joy joined Stephie and Kate, and they listened open-mouthed to his story.

“Well, him in the post office isn’t the guilty party.”

“Aw! We were sure it was him.”

“But…”

“Yes?”

“But we have got the culprit.”

“Oh!”

“It was his son.”

“No-o-o-o.”

Self-importantly, Sergeant Bird took off his cap and placed it on the desk. “Took the father to the station, showed him the photos. He said he knew nothing about it at all. Didn’t know what we were talking about, but eventually…”

“Yes?”

“I got him to tell me the truth. I told him, “You’ve been identified by two people from the practice; we know it’s you.
We’ve got the security video to prove it, so come on, tell me what really happened.” Sergeant Bird took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

“And …?”

“Turned out he was covering for his fifteen-year-old son.”

“Fifteen!”

“He should have known better,” said Joy.

“He should, I suppose, but his mother’s left home and he’s gone to pieces, got in with a rough lot. Still doesn’t excuse what he did to that poor cat. His dad is heartbroken about it.”

“Was it just the boy himself or the crowd he’s got in with?”

Sergeant Bird nodded. “The crowd he’s got in with. But he won’t split. Just clams up.”

“Huh! Send him round here. I’ll have it out of him in a second,” Joy barked out.

Sergeant Bird took offense at Joy’s lack of confidence in his ability as an officer. He removed his forearms from the desk top, drew himself up to his full height, put his cap back on and said, “Barleybridge police are quite capable of extracting all necessary information. We may not be the Metropolitan police, but we’re equally well trained.”

Joy touched his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s just that we’re so angry about this. So upset about what the poor thing has had to go through. It isn’t as if you can
explain
to him. He’s turning into a lovely cat, though. There was trouble to begin with because our Tiger took exception to him coming, but now she’s his slave; there’s no other word to describe her behavior. Follows him around with adoring eyes. Wherever he goes, she goes and, if she can, she creeps into his basket with him for the night. Duncan is charmed with the pair of them. More power to your elbow, Sergeant, we’ll be glad to hear the next installment. Thanks for all you’ve done.” Joy left the desk expecting he’d be leaving, but he didn’t. He shuffled from one foot to the
other, blew his nose, cleared his throat, mentioned the crisp, bright weather and were they all set for Christmas?

Kate took pity on him and, leaning across the desk, whispered confidentially, “She’s gone for lunch. The new sandwich bar. But you’ll have to be quick. Mr. Price starts operating at half past one and she’ll be needed.”

Sergeant Bird fled reception as though the hounds of hell were after him.

“He won’t have any luck. Bunty’s not daft.”

“She might be desperate, though.” Kate grinned.

Stephie was scandalized. “I know she’s getting on a bit, but Dickie Bird! Come on!”

“He’s a good man. He’d make someone a good husband, as Mia would say.”

“A dull and boring good husband. Speaking of Mia, how is she coping since … your … dad? Come to that, how are you?”

Kate paused while she assessed how she felt and decided she was just about coping. “Not bad, thanks. It’s Mia I’m worried about. She’s very depressed and I’m dreading Christmas.”

“I was sorry you didn’t come to the staff Christmas do.”

“Couldn’t face it, and I didn’t want to spoil it for everyone else.”

“I can see what you mean. I’m dreading Christmas too. Family all turning up, you know. At least I can escape here on Boxing Day for a couple of hours for the emergency clinic.”

The main door opened, and they both looked up to find Bunty, loaded with shopping, wiping her feet on the doormat.

Stephie asked her if she’d seen Dickie Bird because he’d gone to find her at the new sandwich bar.

“No. I changed my mind and went last-minute shopping instead.”

“He’ll be disappointed. He shot out of here like greased lightning.”

Bunty shrugged her shoulders and walked through to the back.

Stephie nudged Kate, saying “I’ve just had a thought. She can’t marry him.”

“Why can’t she? She’d be the right size because she’s so small.”

“Because she’d be called Bunty Bird. I mean, there are limits!”

They both collapsed in giggles and had great difficulty controlling themselves when Mungo came in to begin his afternoon operating list.

“What’s the joke?”

“Just laughing because Dickie Bird fancies Bunty.”

“She could do worse.” He picked up the file of case notes Stephie had ready for him and, turning his back to them both, viewed the shelves which had been put up to accommodate the “knickknacks,” as Dan called them. “You know, I think we …” He paused while he watched the person who had just opened the glass door walk across to reception.

“Katrina! Just passing. Thought I’d call to tell you all the plans I’ve made for the two of us for Christmas.”

D
an made sure he was dressed in his best on the day he was to give a second opinion on Lord Askew’s daughter’s roan. He wore his corduroy jacket just back from the cleaner’s, with the matching cap, a light-brown shirt and the trousers which toned with it, a stunning countrified tie and his best brogues. He inspected his teeth and face in the mirror in the staff cloakroom, retightened the knot of his tie, gave himself a wink and strode out, confident that he couldn’t have looked smarter.

He’d also remembered to wash down the Land Rover, so when he drove into the stable yard right on the dot of ten, he gave a first-rate impression. Unfortunately, there was no one there to appreciate him—not a living being in sight. Through the archway into the farm part of the estate he could see activity, so he went to ask for help. “Hello, Chris. Dan Brown. Remember me?”

“You’re hard to forget.”

“Come to see that roan.”

“We’ve heard nothing else all week. Hope for your sake you’re right.”

“I am.”

Chris put his head on one side while he contemplated Dan’s confidence in his own judgment. “There’ll be the devil to pay, I can tell you, if you’re wrong. His lordship’s been in a foul mood all week.”

Impatient, Dan asked, “So where are they?”

“Lady Mary likes to make an entrance. She wouldn’t dream of being early.”

“Where are the others? They definitely said ten o’clock.”

“Got held up, I expect. Must press on.” Chris saluted with a single finger, casually raised, and spun away, leaving Dan alone. He wandered back into the stable yard and found Lord Askew had arrived.

“Morning, Brown.” Lord Askew shook hands and then bellowed, “Gavin!”

Gavin appeared from the tack room. “My lord!”

“Lady Mary’s here, is she?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Bring Galaxy out.”

Gavin glanced at Dan and, judging by the black look he received, Dan guessed he wasn’t flavor of the month in the stable yard. Simultaneously the roan was brought out, the equine vet Giles Standen-Briggs arrived and Lady Mary made her entrance.

Lord Askew introduced Dan to Lady Mary. She gave him her hand to shake, and he found his gripped mercilessly. “Good morning. So, you’re the chap who knows better than the rest of us?”

Dan couldn’t resist laughing and saying with a smile, “My reputation goes before me.” He released his hand and wondered how such a beautiful, fragile-looking woman could have such a deep voice and powerful grip. She reminded him of Rose: that same very slender beauty without being emaciated, the
blond hair, the athleticism, the magnetism too. One look into Lady Mary’s steely blue eyes, though, and he knew exactly where she stood: four-square for her own way and her own opinions. She’d be hard to convince.

Giles Standen-Briggs he dismissed: the right manners, the right postures, the right clothes but no substance. “Good morning, Giles. Pleasure to meet you. Let’s get down to business, shall we? I’m pressed for time. Right, Gavin. Walk him back and forth, right to the end of the yard and back twice, if you please. Keep your eyes on his front feet this time. See how he’s on his toes more than he should be.”

He heard Giles snort his amusement, but he ignored it. Lady Mary stood silent, watching. Lord Askew said, “I’m damned if I can see …”

“Now, Gavin, at a fast trot, twice. Watch his stride … watch the length of his stride.” They all four watched Gavin huffing his way across the yard in front of them with Galaxy stepping out with eye-catching grace and poise. “See there, look, as I said, just that slightly shortened stride. It’s always there every time. Look. See?”

Gavin brought Galaxy to a halt in front of them. Giles Standen-Briggs, rubbing his chin, shook his head. “You’re wrong. I can’t see it. Smooth, perfect action. No hint of hesitation at all. No limp.”

“If he goes on working at the pace he does, at the competitive level he does, he’ll be unable to work before long. Great pity, since he’s a grand horse and with his spirit he’ll keep going for as long as Lady Mary demands it of him.” He turned to her and said, “You don’t want him lame and unable to compete, do you? Not with his potential.”

She was looking thoughtful. “Take him again, trotting … fast.” Gavin looked askance at her, but minded not to refuse. He set off once more, back and forth in front of them.

Lord Askew watched, Giles Standen-Briggs watched and so did Lady Mary. As Galaxy came to a halt, she said, “How come, Giles, you’ve never noticed what Dan Brown sees? You see Galaxy regularly. What’s the point of my father paying you thousands to look after our horses if you can’t identify the simplest problem? This man only saw him once, by chance, and picked it up.”

“I don’t agree there might be a problem.”

Lady Mary’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “If you don’t, then you are a fool.” She turned to Dan. “What do you say it is?”

Dan studied his hands for a moment to give himself time to phrase his opinions without breaking ranks with Giles Standen-Briggs. “It’s my opinion he has navicular disease. I’d have to consult with my colleague on the right course of action.”

“My God! What’s that? It sounds terminal.”

“It will be if something isn’t done. But I shall have to discuss the matter with Giles, as I said.”

“Closing ranks, are we? I want a decision, please. Today. Galaxy is the best horse I’ve ever had. He’s young but he’s
right
, and if he can be made to reach his potential, I shall be forever in your debt. He’s everything any rider could ask for: spirited, tenacious, willing to learn, full of courage. Are we talking surgery?”

“That has the best chance of success, yes.”

“Have your talk, then. I shall be in the tack room when you’ve come to your decision.”

Dan took some time to convince Giles that he was right. Finally he persuaded him at least to X-ray the feet, and that would prove the matter either way. If Dan was right, then an operation would be on the agenda. If not, Dan would retire gracefully to lick his wounds.

Lady Mary was examining a new saddle which had just
been delivered, but broke off immediately when the two of them came to the tack room doorway. “Well?”

Dan could see she was anxious but endeavoring to hide it as best she could. “We’ve decided on an X-ray, sometime today. When the plates have been processed, I’ll view them back at Giles’s practice and we’ll decide the best thing to do.”

“Can we manage without surgery?”

“There are ways, like fixing him with circular shoes instead of the traditional shape, that would alleviate but not cure the problem. Or sometimes trimming the hoof differently to counteract his tendency to walk tiptoed, but with such a young horse, frankly, if I am proved right, surgery is the better solution. The operation is called a navicular suspensory ligament desmotomy.”

“My God, it sounds terrible! If you consider it necessary then … hang the expense. Surely an operation on a horse as valuable as Galaxy should be done by experts in the field like the Royal Veterinary College?”

Dan had to smile. “That’s for you to decide. He’ll have padded bandages for about four weeks, with gentle walking for a while and then slow progression, until after about three months he’ll be fit for training again. Everything done in slow progression. Asking too much too soon would undo all our work. However, what must be clearly understood is the fact that we can give no one hundred percent guarantee that the operation will work and none that if it does work, he will be absolutely A1 for the rest of his life. It’s damned bad luck this happening to a horse with his promise. Without taking the chance, though, he has no hope at all. It will quite simply get worse.”