All Creatures Great and Small (58 page)

The general nodded curtly, the colonel appeared to be grinding his teeth, the ladies froze visibly and looked away.

“Yes, yes, quite,” grunted the general. “But we’ve been waitin’ here some time and we want to be gettin’ home.” He stuck out his jaw and his moustache bristled.

Siegfried waved a hand. “Certainly, certainly, by all means. We’ll leave right away.” He turned to Stewie. “Well, goodbye for now, my lad. We’ll get together again soon. I’ll ring you.”

He began to feel through his pockets for his ignition key. He started quite slowly but gradually stepped up his pace. After he had explored the pockets about five times he stopped, closed his eyes and appeared to give himself over to intense thought. Then, as though he had decided to do the thing systematically, he commenced to lay out the contents of his pockets one by one, using the car bonnet as a table, and as the pile grew so did my conviction that doom was very near.

It wasn’t just the key that worried me. Siegfried had consumed a lot more whisky than I had and with its usual delayed action it had begun to creep up on him. He was swaying slightly, his dented bowler had slid forward over one eyebrow and he kept dropping things as he pulled them from his pocket and examined them owlishly.

A man with a long brush and a handcart was walking slowly across the car park when Siegfried grabbed his arm. “Look, I want you to do something for me. Here’s five bob.”

“Right, mister.” The man pocketed the money. “What d’you want me to do?”

“Find my car key.”

The man began to peer round Siegfried’s feet. “I’ll do me best. Dropped it round ’ere, did you?”

“No, no. I’ve no idea where I dropped it.” Siegfried waved vaguely. “It’s somewhere on the course.”

The man looked blank for a moment then he gazed out over the acres of littered ground, the carpet of discarded race cards, torn up tickets. He turned back to Siegfried and giggled suddenly then he walked away, still giggling.

I stole a glance at our companions. They had watched the search in stony silence and none of them seemed to be amused. The general was the first to explode.

“Great heavens, Farnon, have you got the blasted key or haven’t you? If the damn thing’s lost, then we’d better make other arrangements. Can’t keep the ladies standing around here.”

A gentle cough sounded in the background. Stewie was still there. He shambled forward and whispered in his friend’s ear and after a moment Siegfried wrung his hand fervently.

“By God, Stewie, that’s kind of you! You’ve saved the situation.” He turned back to the party. “There’s nothing to worry about—Mr. Brannon has kindly offered to provide us with transport. He’s gone to get his car from the other park.” He pointed triumphantly at the shiny back of the bulging navy overcoat navigating unsteadily through the gate.

Siegfried did his best to keep a conversation going but it was hard slogging. Nobody replied to any of his light sallies and he stopped abruptly when he saw a look of rage and disbelief spread over the general’s face. Stewie had come back.

The car was a tiny Austin Seven dwarfed even further by the massive form in the driver’s seat. I judged from the rusted maroon paintwork and cracked windows that it must be one of the very earliest models, a “tourer” whose hood had long since disintegrated and been replaced by a home-made canvas cover fastened to the twisted struts by innumerable loops of string.

Stewie struggled out, dragged open the passenger door and inclined his head with modest pride. He motioned towards a pile of sacks which lay on the bare boards where the passenger seat should have been; there were no seats in the back either, only a couple of rough wooden boxes bearing coloured labels with the legend “Finest American Apples.” From the boxes peeped a jumble of medicine bottles, stethoscopes, powders, syringe cases.

“I thought,” said Stewie. “If we put the sacks on top of the boxes …”

The general didn’t let him finish. “Dammit, is this supposed to be a joke?” His face was brick red and the veins on his neck were swelling dangerously. “Are you tryin’ to insult me friend and these ladies? You want horsewhippin’ for this afternoon’s work, Farnon. That’s what you want—horsewhippin’!”

He was halted by a sudden roar from the Rover’s engine. The colonel, a man of resource as befitted his rank, had shorted the ignition. Fortunately the doors were not locked.

The ladies took their places in the back with the colonel and I slunk miserably on to my little seat. The general had regained control of himself. “Get in! I’ll drive!” he barked at Siegfried as though addressing an erring lance corporal.

But Siegfried held up a restraining hand. “Just one moment,” he slurred. “The windscreen is very dirty. I’ll give it a rub for you.”

The ladies watched him silently as he weaved round to the back of the car and began to rummage in the boot. The love light had died from their eyes. I don’t know why he took the trouble; possibly it was because, through the whisky mists, he felt he must re-establish himself as a competent and helpful member of the party.

But the effort fell flat; the effect was entirely spoiled. He was polishing the glass with a dead hen.

It was a couple of weeks later, again at the breakfast table that Siegfried, reading the morning paper with his third cup of coffee, called out to me.

“Ah, I see Herbert Jarvis M.R.C.V.S., one time Captain R.A.V.C., has been appointed to the North West Circuit as supervisory veterinary surgeon. I know Jarvis. Nice chap. Just the man for the job.”

I looked across at my boss for some sign of disappointment or regret. I saw none.

Siegfried put down his cup, wiped his lips on his napkin and sighed contentedly. “You know, James, everything happens for the best. Old Stewie was sent by providence or heaven or anything you like. I was never meant to get that job and I’d have been as miserable as hell if I had got it. Come on, lad, let’s get off into those hills.”

SIXTY-FIVE

A
FTER MY NIGHT AT
the cinema with Helen I just seemed to drift naturally into the habit of dropping in to see her on an occasional evening. And before I knew what was happening I had developed a pattern; around eight o’clock my feet began to make of their own accord for Heston Grange. Of course I fought the impulse—I didn’t go every night; there was my work which often occupied me round the clock, there was a feeling of propriety, and there was Mr. Alderson.

Helen’s father was a vague little man who had withdrawn into himself to a great extent since his wife’s death a few years ago. He was an expert stocksman and his farm could compare with the best, but a good part of his mind often seemed to be elsewhere. And he had acquired some little peculiarities; when things weren’t going well he carried on long muttered conversations with himself, but when he was particularly pleased about something he was inclined to break into a loud, tuneless humming. It was a penetrating sound and on my professional visits I could often locate him by tracking down this characteristic droning among the farm buildings.

At first when I came to see Helen I’m sure he never even noticed me—I was just one of the crowd of young men who hung around his daughter; but as time went on and my visits became more frequent he suddenly seemed to become conscious of me, and began to regard me with an interest which deepened rapidly into alarm. I couldn’t blame him, really. He was devoted to Helen and it was natural that he should desire a grand match for her. And there was at least one such in the offing—young Richard Edmundson, whose father was an old friend of the Aldersons and farmed nearly a thousand acres. They were rich, powerful people and Richard was very keen indeed. Compared with him, an unknown, impecunious young vet was a poor bargain.

When Mr. Alderson was around, my visits were uncomfortable affairs. We always seemed to be looking at each other out of the corners of our eyes; whenever I glanced his way he was invariably in the act of averting his gaze, and I must admit that if he looked over at me suddenly I couldn’t help switching my eyes away.

It was a pity because I instinctively liked him. He had an amiable, completely inoffensive nature which was very appealing and under other conditions we would have got along very well. But there was no getting round the fact that he resented me. And it wasn’t because he wanted to hang on to Helen—he was an unselfish man and anyway, he had an excellent housekeeper in his sister who had been recently widowed and had come to live with the Aldersons. Auntie Lucy was a redoubtable character and was perfectly capable of running the household and looking after the two younger children. It was just that he had got used to the comfortable assumption that one day his daughter would marry the son of his old friend and have a life of untroubled affluence; and he had a stubborn streak which rebelled fiercely against any prospect of change.

So it was always a relief when I got out of the house with Helen. Everything was right then; we went to the little dances in the village institutes, we walked for miles along the old grassy mine tracks among the hills, or sometimes she came on my evening calls with me. There wasn’t anything spectacular to do in Darrowby but there was a complete lack of strain, a feeling of being self-sufficient in a warm existence of our own that made everything meaningful and worthwhile.

Things might have gone on like this indefinitely but for a conversation I had with Siegfried. We were sitting in the big room at Skeldale House as we often did before bedtime, talking over the day’s events, when he laughed and slapped his knee.

“I had old Harry Forster in tonight paying his bill. He was really funny—sat looking round the room and saying, ‘It’s a nice little nest you have here, Mr. Farnon, a nice little nest,’ and then, very sly, ‘It’s time there was a bird in this nest, you know, there should be a little bird in here.’ ”

I laughed too. “Well, you should be used to it by now. You’re the most eligible bachelor in Darrowby. People are always having a dig at you—they won’t be happy till they’ve got you married off.”

“Wait a minute, not so fast.” Siegfried eyed me thoughtfully. “I don’t think for a moment that Harry was talking about me; it was you he had in mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, just think. Didn’t you say you had run into the old boy one night when you were walking over his land with Helen? He’d be on to a thing like that in a flash. He thinks it’s time you were hitched up, that’s all.”

I lay back in my chair and gave myself over to laughter. “Me! Married! That’ll be the day. Can you imagine it? Poor old Harry.”

Siegfried leaned forward. “What are you laughing at, James? He’s quite right—it’s time you were married.”

“What’s that?” I looked at him incredulously. “What are you on about now?”

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “I’m saying you ought to get married, and soon.”

“Oh come on, Siegfried, you’re joking!”

“Why should I be?”

“Well, damn it, I’m only starting my career, I’ve no money, no nothing. I’ve never even thought about it.”

“You’ve never even … well tell me this, are you courting Helen Alderson or aren’t you?”

“Well I’m … I’ve been … oh I suppose you could call it that.”

Siegfried settled back comfortably on his chair, put his fingertips together and assumed a judicial expression. “Good, good. You admit you’re courting the girl. Now let us take it a step further. She is, from my own observation, extremely attractive—in fact she nearly causes a traffic pileup when she walks across the cobbles on market day. It’s common knowledge that she is intelligent, equable and an excellent cook. Perhaps you would agree with this?”

“Of course I would,” I said, nettled at his superior air. “But what’s this all about? Why are you going on like a high court judge?”

“I’m only trying to establish my point, James, which is that you seem to have an ideal wife lined up and you are doing nothing about it. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, I wish you’d stop playing around and let us see a little action.”

“But it’s not as simple as that,” I said, my voice rising. “I’ve told you already I’d have to be a lot better off, and anyway, give me a chance, I’ve only been going to the house for a few weeks—surely you don’t start thinking of getting married as soon as that. And there’s another thing—her old man doesn’t like me.”

Siegfried put his head on one side and I gritted my teeth as a saintly expression began to settle on his face. “Now old lad, don’t get angry, but there’s something I have to tell you for your own good. Caution is often a virtue, but in your case you carry it too far. It’s a little flaw in your character and it shows in a multitude of ways. In your wary approach to problems in your work, for instance—you are always too apprehensive, proceeding fearfully step by step when you should be plunging boldly ahead. You keep seeing dangers when there aren’t any—you’ve got to learn to take a chance, to lash out a bit. As it is, you are confined to a narrow range of activity by your own doubts.”

“The original stick-in-the-mud in fact, eh?”

“Oh come now, James, I didn’t say that, but while we’re talking, there’s another small point I want to bring up. I know you won’t mind my saying this. Until you get married I’m afraid I shall fail to get the full benefit of your assistance in the practice because frankly you are becoming increasingly besotted and bemused to the extent that I’m sure you don’t know what you’re doing half the time.”

“What the devil are you talking about? I’ve never heard such …”

“Kindly hear me out, James. What I’m saying is perfectly true—you’re walking about like a man in a dream and you’ve developed a disturbing habit of staring into space when I’m talking to you. There’s only one cure, my boy.”

“And it’s a simple little cure, isn’t it!” I shouted. “No money, no home, but leap into matrimony with a happy cry. There’s not a thing to worry about!”

“Ah-ah, you see, there you go again, looking for difficulties.” He gave a light laugh and gazed at me with pitying affection. “No money, you say. Well one of these days you’ll be a partner here. Your plate will be out on those railings in front of the house, so you’ll never be short of your daily bread. And as regards a home—look at all the empty rooms in this house. You could set up a private suite upstairs without any trouble. So that’s just a piffling little detail.”