Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [24]
‘So, Paul … you’re finding the job interesting?’ Her fingers strummed lightly.
‘Well, yes,’ I replied, wondering where this was leading.
‘And you’re managing to cope with the workload?’
‘It’s a bit hectic at times. But no more than I expected.’
‘And no other problems?’
I shook my head. There was the question of the night duties and weekend rotas unevenly shared … no practice accommodation … the endless routine ops. But I was sure Crystal didn’t want to hear that.
‘Good. Good.’ Crystal fiddled with the gold band on her left wrist, twisting it round and round. ‘The bank holiday weekend’s coming up.’
I nodded.
‘And you’re on duty.’
No surprise there. I’d been told weeks back that I’d be on call. Crystal and Eric were off on a city break to Venice.
‘I’m sure you’ll be able to cope.’ There was a tinge of uncertainty in her voice which made the hairs on the nape of my neck tingle. Hello. I sensed something was afoot. And I was right when she went on, ‘It’s just that you could be called out by the Richardsons.’ Crystal’s steel-blue eyes glanced away from me and she momentarily chewed her bottom lip. ‘It’s just that they’re a rather … how shall I put it … a rather demanding couple.’
Again, no surprise there. What clients of Crystal’s weren’t demanding? That’s why they were Crystal’s.
‘They refuse to see anybody but me as a rule.’ Two high spots of red appeared on Crystal’s cheeks. ‘Not even Eric. They fell out with him years back. Something to do with vaccinating their dogs,’ she added as if I required an explanation. ‘Sorry. You’re wondering where all this is leading.’
I gave a wan smile and shrugged my shoulders. Wherever it was leading, it didn’t bode well.
Crystal continued, ‘Well, they own this horse. And they’re absolutely potty about her. Quite over the top, to be honest with you.’ Again she paused. ‘Problem is, they put her to stud.’
I inwardly groaned, praying not to hear what I suspected was coming next. But to no avail.
‘She’s due to foal this coming weekend.’
Damn. I just knew it. Crystal saw me wince.
‘Sorry. It’s just one of those things. Of course, the Richardsons are in an absolute tizzy imagining all sorts of horrendous things that could go wrong. And they’re very put out that I’m going to be away at such a crucial time. They even suggested I cancel my holiday and they’d reimburse me for it. Can you imagine?’ She looked apologetically at me. ‘I’ve tried to reassure them that they’ll be in your capable hands should they experience any problems. Hopefully, that situation won’t arise.’
Crystal didn’t sound at all convincing. Nor was I convinced.
‘Has the pregnancy been going OK?’
‘No problems so far, though George Richardson’s imagination’s running wild. He keeps on about breech presentations, eversion of the womb, heart blocks … you know the sort of thing.’
That was just it. I didn’t know and the mere thought of them made my innards feel like they were inverting, let alone those of an expectant mare. ‘I don’t suppose they could be wrong about the timing,’ I said.
Silly of me to suggest it, but then I was clutching at straws. Whole bales of straw … stacks of them to be honest. The look in Crystal’s eyes said it all.
The Saturday of the bank holiday kept me busy what with the influx of visitors to Westcott swelling the usual run of injured or sick cats and dogs. There were a couple of road accident cases, and a dog with a fractured femur which, as Crystal was away, I pinned myself despite oblique suggestions from Mandy that I referred the case; and I was pleased with my efforts.
There was no word from the Richardsons. I began to convince myself that they’d got their dates wrong. Even so, I warned Mandy, the duty nurse for that night, about the possibility of a foaling. So the clamour of Mrs Paget’s phone in the early hours of Sunday morning came as no great surprise. And yes, it was Mandy.
‘Sorry, Paul. But I’ve