Trust Me, I'm a Vet (38 page)

‘I promised Fifi I’d help her and her volunteers with some of the rehoming visits sometime, but it can wait. We want to make sure the rescues are going to good homes.’

‘That’s a bit over the top, if you ask me.’

‘I’m not asking you,’ I say, grinning. ‘And I can understand why Fifi wants to do it – Gloria’s animals need the best homes possible after what they’ve been through.’

‘Now you’re making me feel really guilty.’

‘Don’t be.’ Little does he know that it’s no sacrifice. ‘I checked with Frances about the funeral – it’s next week. I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Would you?’ At this moment I’d do anything for him, I think, as he goes on, ‘This is it. Turn left here.’

I’ve seen the Manor before, of course, but not up close. Travelling up the long drive, I realise that it’s bigger than I recall, an elegant Regency house with white walls, a slate roof, and fluted pillars supporting the porch at the front. There’s a cedar tree on the lawn and roses in the formal flowerbeds. Eat your heart out, Mr Darcy.

In the field to the west is a herd of South Devon cattle. To the east and continuing round behind the house are paddocks divided by electric tape for horses, and a sand school set up with a course of show jumps.

‘You can park around the back,’ Alex says, and I follow the left-hand sweep of the drive, turning into the courtyard behind the house and stopping alongside some other vehicles, including a battered Range Rover with a shattered brake light, the purple horse lorry and a vintage Bentley, just as a pack of dogs – a mixture of Labs and spaniels – come racing towards the car, barking.

Alex flings open the passenger door, unfolds himself to get out, and then almost disappears into a flurry of flying dogs and thrashing tails. They’re all over him, barking and tugging at his clothes.

‘That’s enough now,’ he says, holding up one hand, and immediately they settle down and start milling around instead.

‘You don’t want another dog, do you?’ I say, joining him on the gravel, taking in the surroundings. The rear of the Manor forms one side of the courtyard, a row of stables with a second storey above forms a second side, and a barn made of brick and an oak frame with long windows forms the third.

‘Probably not. Not unless you’re desperate.’ Alex heads towards the stables.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I want to check up on a few things in the surgery. I left some stuff undone. It’s been preying on my mind.’

I reach for his arm to slow him down, but he strides on towards a sign reading ‘Surgery’, with an arrow pointing vaguely skywards.

‘Are you sure that’s wise? You’re supposed to be resting,’ I say, but he’s already halfway way up the steps to a door at the end of a balcony above the row of brick stables, some of which are occupied, some closed up. Alex takes the steps two at a time and I follow. He unlocks the door and pushes it open, letting me past.

I step inside, tripping over a cardboard box of yellowing paperwork on the way into a long, shadowy room. The shelves are overflowing with books, old leather-bound manuals with titles such as
Poultry Management
and
How to Physic a Horse
, and on the walls are photos of Old Fox-Gifford dressed in shooting gear with a gun slung over his shoulder, pheasants hanging from one hand and a Labrador at his feet; Sophia riding side saddle, rosettes pinned to her horse’s bridle; and Alex jumping various ponies and Liberty. I smile to myself because it seems to me that the Fox-Giffords are a breed apart.

There’s a desk too, a vast mahogany affair covered with diaries, notebooks, biscuit wrappers and boxes of cattle antibiotic, and there’s an all-pervasive pong of dog. I can see why Frances might have wanted to move from Talyton Manor to the more salubrious surroundings of Otter House.

Alex rifles through the papers on the desk and selects two.

‘Lab reports,’ he says. ‘I don’t suppose my father’s thought to phone the results through to the clients. He isn’t a great believer in blood tests. He’s more of the old school, like his father before him – if a cow’s down, you chuck a cat on its back to see if it’ll get up.’ He pauses to check the answerphone. A voice – I think it’s Sophia’s – gives out the numbers for Westleigh and another vet practice. Alex turns it off and deletes the message.

‘What did you do that for?’ I ask.

‘I’m here – I can take the phones now.’ He silences me with one of his withering looks. ‘I don’t want to risk all our clients deserting us for good. The sooner I’m back in harness the better.’ His expression softens. ‘I won’t overdo it, Maz. I promise. One thing I learned, lying in that hospital, is that I’ve got too much to live for.’

I guess he’s referring to his family, especially his children.

‘Let’s go,’ he says, and we head for the barn. He opens up the double doors along the side and hooks them back to the wall. ‘After you.’ He follows me inside, where the air is cooler. ‘What do you think?’

I look around at the open-plan space downstairs, the contrast of old and new, and the galleried landing upstairs. There’s a large brick fireplace, wooden floors and a couple of leather sofas in chocolate. It’s quite masculine. A bachelor pad.

‘It’s amazing,’ I say, taking in the vaulted ceiling, criss-crossed with beams, ‘like a Tardis.’

‘It isn’t all that big,’ Alex says seriously. ‘My parents had it converted when I got married, but Astra and I only lived here for a couple of years before the children came along. It wasn’t big enough for her, so we moved out to a house a couple of miles north of here.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘I did my best, but it was never good enough for her.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s all in the past now. I married her because I liked her – as well as all the other stuff. I was devastated when she went off with someone else.’

‘The footballer . . .’ I wish I hadn’t said it, ashamed at myself for listening to gossip, the same tittle-tattle that made Alex out to be a womaniser, when he clearly isn’t.

‘Yeah,’ he continues. ‘The divorce nearly finished me off. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and if it hadn’t been for Lucie and Seb, I’d have walked out on the practice, Talyton’ – he waves his hand – ‘everything.’ As if reading my mind, he goes on, ‘We might never have met. And I suppose, if you hadn’t split with the robot —’

‘Mike, you mean?’ I cut in, suddenly realising that I no longer wince when I say his name, which has a lot to do with the man standing in front of me.

‘Izzy told me a bit about him – when I was up at Chris’s. She was afraid she’d ruined the course of true love with her revelation, but I told her I already knew.’ Alex moves a little closer. ‘Idle gossip is rife in Talyton, but it does have its uses.’

Alex is so close now I can feel his breath, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. If he should take my hand and lead me up the stairs to the gallery, I wouldn’t resist . . .

‘I’ll get the coffee on,’ he says, breaking the spell.

‘I’ll do it,’ I say, but he insists.

‘You look tired,’ he says, gazing at me. ‘I’m fine – I’ve been in bed for days. Go and sit down.’

His hands are on my shoulders, turning me towards the sofa closest to the long window where a shaft of sunlight slants through, illuminating a child’s plastic trike and an abandoned My Little Pony toy in the corner. I long for Alex to sit down with me, never to take his hands off me, but instead he wanders over to the kitchen area at the far end of the barn.

I’m not tired, but I tip my head back and close my eyes, feeling the heat from the sun on my face and listening to the sounds of Alex preparing coffee, of the pigeons cooing outside and of the horses whickering and banging at their stable doors.

I wake to the sensation of something warm and heavy leaning against me. The leather squeaks as the weight shifts further towards me. There’s the briefest touch of something against my lips, the scent of coffee and mint. It isn’t unpleasant. In fact – the contact returns for longer this time – it’s amazing and reassuringly familiar. I open my eyes. Alex’s gorgeous, smoky-blue eyes smoulder at me.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Don’t be,’ I say softly, reaching out and resting my hand on his shoulder.

‘I couldn’t resist,’ he whispers, touching the side of my face with his fingertips. ‘Sleeping Beauty.’

‘I’m supposed to be watching out for you . . .’ I catch the edge of Alex’s collar and pull him towards me, my pulse beating a chaotic rhythm of will I, won’t I? Should we, shouldn’t we?

Alex answers, pressing his lips to mine, his breathing ragged and matching mine, and I’m just about to lose my mind with desire when he pulls away.

‘Don’t stop,’ I murmur brazenly.

‘I’m so happy,’ he says. ‘I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay here.’

‘Stay? To look after you, yes.’

He frowns. ‘I meant in Talyton.’

‘I’m not,’ I say, unsure what I’ve said or done to give him that impression.

‘I thought you’d decided to stay on at Otter House?’ His eyes are dark with disappointment and my heart aches because I feel as if I’ve let him down. ‘Perhaps I dreamed it,’ he goes on. ‘There have been some funny things going on in my head since, you know’ – his voice grows husky – ‘the fire . . .’

Even as he mentions it, I can hear the terrifying roar of the flames and rumble of tumbling masonry all over again, and my heart beats even faster and I want him to hold me, to make love to me and obliterate those memories, and start all over again with new and happier memories of our own.

I begin to unfasten the buttons on my blouse as his fingers trace the curve of my jaw, down the side of my neck and along the ridge of my collarbone, then hesitate.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, aware that he’s looking past me, over the back of the sofa, towards – I turn to look – the shelf on the wall behind us. Two children – Alex’s children – gaze back from silver-framed photographs: Lucie from the back of a Shetland Pony, grinning from ear to ear, beneath a riding hat which appears far too big; Sebastian with a mop of curly hair cuddling a big old black Lab. I turn back to Alex and watch his pupils shrink as he withdraws, doing up my buttons as fast as I can unfasten them.

‘No’ – he tangles his fingers with mine – ‘stop. Maz, this is wrong.’

I don’t understand. ‘It feels right to me . . .’ Confused and frustrated, I try to bring him back to me, but it’s as if he’s shut the door on his emotions and trapped them inside. ‘Alex, I’m —’

‘Please don’t say it,’ he cuts in, pressing his fingers to my lips. ‘Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.’ He pulls away and sits beside me, not touching. I grab a cushion and clutch it to my chest to cover what feels like a gaping hole, a crushing pain where he’s as good as ripped my heart out. I think I love him, but he doesn’t love me back.

‘I know how you feel, Maz,’ he begins gruffly.

‘No, you don’t,’ I say sharply.

‘I think I do . . .’

‘It’s all right anyway.’ I make to stand up. ‘I made a mistake. I read too much into . . . whatever it was we had.’

‘Sit down,’ he says firmly.

There’s something in the tone of his voice which makes me settle back on the sofa, putting the cushion between us, like a barrier.

‘I do like you, Maz. In fact, I’m very fond of you, but despite my reputation – due in part to my misspent youth, chasing girls around the countryside with Stewart – I don’t go for one-night stands. In my experience, someone always gets hurt.’ He lowers his voice and adds softly, ‘I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.’

You’ve just hurt me by rejecting me, I think, but the expression in his eyes is tender, as he continues, ‘We’d both get in too deep.’

‘Oh, Alex . . .’ His name catches in my throat as he reaches out and strokes my hand. He’s right. There are so many reasons why we shouldn’t take our friendship any further.

‘I wish you weren’t leaving Talyton,’ he says, and I almost say, ‘So do I . . .’ This has to be the worst day of my life. I’ve fallen in with love with this man and now I’m walking out on him for good, and why?

But I know why. I’d never be happy in Talyton. It would never feel like home to me. I messed up with Cadbury, and I’ll never be allowed to forget.

The horses start neighing and banging at their doors, and a car comes scrunching across the gravel to park alongside mine.

‘That’s the parents,’ Alex sighs.

‘I should go.’ I stand up again. Alex won’t let go of my hand.

‘Don’t leave Talyton without saying goodbye, will you?’ His voice sounds small as if it’s taken all his effort to speak. ‘Promise me, Maz.’

‘I promise,’ I mutter, tearing myself away from the intensity of his eyes, and his grasp, and under my breath, I add, ‘Goodbye, Alex,’ so I don’t have to break my promise in the future, and have him break my heart all over again.

When I let myself back into the practice later, Tripod comes prup-prupping up on his three legs. He hops up the stairs with me, holding his tail at an angle to aid his balance, and then jumps up onto the bed. ‘Push off,’ I say companionably. He takes no notice, of course.

I sink down on the edge of the bed, and he treads across the duvet and insinuates himself on my lap, butting his head against my chin and purring, as if to say, ‘It can’t be as bad as you’re making out.’ I put my arms around him. Sometimes I wish I was a cat.