Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [3]
‘’Struth, Beryl, this floor’s lethal!’ he exclaimed.
‘Blame it on that last client of yours, Eric,’ she replied. ‘The poodle cocked his leg while Mrs Pettigrew paid her bill.’
‘Typical, eh?’ grinned Eric Sharpe turning to me. ‘And to think she was complaining the dog hadn’t peed for two days.’ He extended a hand and warmly shook mine. ‘You’ve come about the job.’
I nodded.
‘Good … good. Let’s go down to the consulting room and have a chat.’
I followed the bobbing figure down the corridor into a room equipped with a gleaming, stainless steel trolley, glass-fronted wall cabinet and spotless, white-topped consulting table.
‘Now then,’ Eric said, drawing a stool from under the table and perching himself on it, his legs swinging freely beneath him. ‘Are you any good with the knife?’
I hesitated. What could I say? I’d very little opportunity to do much surgery during my training.
But he didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Plenty to get stuck into here. Like a good hack myself. But it’s just finding the time.’
I was puzzled. Stuck into? Hack? Hardly scientific jargon.
Eric flashed me another smile. ‘Before I forget, must apologise about the wife.’
Ah yes. Here we go … the indomitable Dr Sharpe.
‘Had to go out on an emergency call to the Richardsons. Very fussy clients. Won’t have anyone except Crystal. Typical horsey types. Keep a couple of ponies. Very handy, though, if you do take the job as there’ll be bucketfuls of manure to be had.’
What planet was this man on? Had he been at the ether? Eric must have seen the bewilderment etched on my face.
‘Muck’s good for roses,’ he said as if this explained all. It didn’t.
Eric charged on. ‘Well, no doubt you saw those roses out in the front of Prospect House.’
I nodded weakly.
‘Not much to write home about, are they?’
I shook my head in despair. He took that as my acknowledgement of the fact.
‘Once you get a few shovel-loads round those, there’ll be no stopping them.’ He flashed another smile, bouncing energetically up and down on the stool.
I intervened. ’Er, I’m sorry, Mr Sharpe. But I’m here about the assistant vet’s post.’
Eric jumped off the stool, his face turning crimson. ‘Oh, I do apologise. I thought you’d come about the gardening job. Crystal’s trying to persuade me to take someone on to help in the grounds. Bit of a passion of mine, gardening. But can’t always find the time.’ He ran a hand across his balding head.‘You must think me a complete idiot blathering on like that about the roses.’
‘No … no … not at all.’ Indeed, I felt sorry for the poor man. He did seem the friendly sort and was trying to put me at my ease.
Eric took a deep breath. ‘OK, Paul, let’s start again. Time’s a bit short as I’ve got more appointments coming up soon. So how about you fire questions at me as I show you round?’ With that, he shot out of the door.
As I chased after him, I learned that Prospect House had been converted into a hospital by his wife some 26 or so years ago. Very front-line, state-of-the-art stuff, he told me. But then that had always been Crystal’s style – dynamic, keeping abreast of the latest developments. And she always expected the best of her staff … wouldn’t stand for any nonsense. And that included the vets.
Eric curled an eyebrow at me. ‘But then I expect you know that anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m well aware people know of Crystal’s reputation for being a stickler. After all, the veterinary profession’s a small world. But don’t let that put you off,’ he added in a reassuring tone.
I suddenly found my teeth were gnawing at my lower lip. Ouch.
I learned that Eric was one of the early assistants who’d been subjected to her exacting standards. ‘Must have done something right,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘We’ve been married now these past 22 years and we still get on like the proverbial house on fire. Though we do have the occasional flaming row.’ He gave another grin. ‘You know how it is.’
I didn’t. But had a sneaking feeling I’d find out soon enough if I took the post on.
As a demonstration, a small conflagration occurred when Eric confronted Beryl