Pets in Prospect - Malcolm D. Welshman [53]
For once, despite those gorgeous eyes, I didn’t feel like skipping up a mountain with her – more like pushing her over the side.
Later, as I was just about to leave, Eric expressed his thanks.
‘You saved my bacon,’ he said. ‘Much appreciated.’ He patted the plastic bag under his arm. ‘Sorry about this. But if it’s any consolation, it’s a side of Hogmanay.’
‘Hogmanay?’
‘Miss Piggy’s brother. Had to treat him for foot-rot not so long ago. Alex said he’d be next in line for the chop. I reckon he’ll be tough as old boots.’ He chuckled. ‘Least it will give Crystal something to chew over.’
Yes, indeed. Oh yes, indeed. Odl lay hee hee.
THERE’S NOTHING LIKE A DAME
The basic routines at Prospect House continued without too many interruptions. I accepted one never knew from day to day what illnesses, accidents and distraught owners might alter the pattern of those routines. Certainly the Wednesday morning for Crystal’s tennis and the afternoon for Eric’s golf remained sacrosanct. Tuesday mornings continued to be kept by for Crystal’s ops. And Beryl masterminded the appointments to ensure Crystal saw her specials and anyone else Beryl thought merited Crystal’s ‘kid glove’ approach. Eric and I were left to mop up the rest – the ‘rubber glove’ end of the spectrum.
Despite Beryl’s control over appointments, it didn’t always work out the way she would have liked. One Wednesday morning, she was definitely overwhelmed … star-struck, even … in awe … completely bedazzled.
‘Paul, you’ll never guess,’ she crowed, flying into the prep room where I was discussing the morning’s list of spays and castrations with Mandy, having finished my appointments earlier than anticipated. ‘I’ve got the actress from that TV series up in reception … insisting she been seen.’ She saw my blank face. ‘You know … whatshername …’ She flapped her hands and tutted with exasperation. ‘Oh, you’ll know her when you see her.’
Oh really, I thought. Who said I was seeing her?
Mandy dropped the pack of swabs she was holding. ‘I’m going to take a peek,’ she said, bumping into Lucy just as she was entering the room. ‘Hey, Lucy, we’ve got someone from TV up in reception,’ she said her voice already sounding star-struck.
‘Oooh, I’ll come as well then,’ said Lucy and the two of them rapidly elbowed each other out of the room leaving Beryl to dance around the prep table.
‘Her name’s on the tip of my tongue,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’ll recognise her.’
‘I shall?’
‘Yes … I think she’d like to be seen now … and as you finished your appointments early today, I thought you’d jump at the chance. You know … rub shoulders with someone famous. It’s Crystal’s morning off, otherwise I’m sure she would have seen her,’ she added pointedly.
‘Whoever she might be,’ I said dryly.
‘It will come to me. I can picture her now. I’m sure she was in one of those costume dramas on BBC.’
‘Pride and Prejudice?’
‘Is that the one where that chap walks out of the lake, his breeches dripping wet?’
‘Yes.’
‘That was a great series … very well done. I really enjoyed it.’
‘She was in that then?’
‘No she wasn’t.’
‘The Mayor of Casterbridge?’
‘No.’
‘Vanity Fair?’
‘Never saw that one.’ Beryl clasped her chin. ‘It’s on the tip of my tongue.’ Several classics later and running out of titles I was still none the wiser and about to give up when she said, ‘Beat the Clock. That was it.’
‘What?’
‘She used to be on Sunday Night at the London Palladium with that … er … Bruce Forsythe.’
It didn’t mean much to me as it was way before my time. Sixties stuff I think. But I did know it had been a variety show – certainly not a costume drama. I pointed this out.
‘So?’ Beryl fired a look at me that could have stopped a charging rhino in its tracks. ‘It was still a series.’
It’s nice not to argue, to argue’s … not nice. So