Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (18 page)

She caught his hand and squeezed it. “You’re a good friend.”

“I’m a crap friend,” he admitted, and laughed. “But Rodders and I go back a long time. I’ve known him since boarding school.” His expression grew serious as he brought Marianne’s hand slowly up to his lips. “But back to the matter at hand…the matter of Friday evening.”

Her breath caught and quickened. “Yes?”

“I need to see you. I have something to ask you. Something…important.”

“Important?” she said, and tilted her face up to his. “What could possibly be so important?”

He didn’t answer but kissed her instead, his lips barely brushing hers, and his mouth inflamed her, leaving her wanting more, much more, even though she knew they’d both have to wait.

Perhaps, Marianne thought, her heart racing, Kit Willoughby meant to ask her to marry him –?

“Let’s go back and join the others,” he said now, and held out his arm. “I can’t keep you to myself all afternoon, after all, as much as I’d like to. I’m a bit selfish that way.”

She blushed again, and took his arm with a smile, giddy with the knowledge that she and her sister Elinor might both find themselves engaged.

***

When the last of the guests had gone that evening, and the tables, utensils, and leftover foods were returned to their proper places, Elinor knocked on Marianne’s door.

“Mari?” she asked as she peered round the edge of the door.

Marianne, seated at her dressing table as she brushed her hair, turned with a start. “Come in. I’m
so
happy for you, Ellie,” she added, and laid her brush aside. “Truly.”

Her sister curled up in the armchair by the fireplace and regarded her in surprise. “Happy for
me
? Whatever for?”

“For Edward’s news, of course. He’ll have his own parish soon, and a vicarage. All he lacks,” she added, “is a
wife
.”

Elinor blushed. “I shouldn’t get ahead of myself – neither should you,” she pointed out, but smiled. “Still – who knows? He did say he wanted to talk to me about something important. But we kept getting interrupted.”

“You see? He
does
mean to ask you to marry him, I know he does.”

“Which reminds me,” Elinor said, and picked up a throw pillow and turned it round idly in her hands. “I talked to Dr Brandon today, just for a minute. He asked me if you were serious about Willoughby.”

Marianne looked at her sharply. “What? When did he ask you that?”

“Just before he left.”

“Why did he leave so suddenly, anyway? And what did you tell him?”

Elinor frowned. “He got a call on his mobile. I don’t know who it was, or what it was about, but it obviously wasn’t good news. I was talking to Lucy when I saw him leaving. I went after him to say goodbye.” She hesitated. “He saw you and Kit together, and he asked me about it, and I told him the truth – that I thought the two of you were getting pretty serious.”

“I wonder why he asked you such a thing?”

“I think he wants to make sure you don’t get hurt.” She hesitated. “Perhaps he doubts Kit’s intentions.”

“Well, Kit’s intentions are none of his business,” Marianne retorted, and stood. “My personal life is none of Matthew’s concern.”

“Still, I can’t help but wonder, Mari – do you think Kit’s really serious?” Elinor asked her. “I mean – he certainly seems to be. He didn’t let you out of his sight all day.”

Marianne didn’t answer straight away, but went to her bed and climbed in, and drew her knees to her chest. “I do think he’s serious. I think he means to ask me to marry him, Ellie,” she confided, all thoughts of Matthew forgotten. “He asked if he could come and see me on Friday night. He said it was important.”

Elinor leaned forward and her face was suffused with excitement. “It
does
sound as if he’s planning to pop the question. Oh, Mari – that’s wonderful. I won’t say I’m not envious, just a tiny bit, because I am…but I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“Well, he hasn’t asked me yet,” Marianne pointed out. She eyed her sister with a thoughtful expression as she wrapped her arms around her knees. “But I think, Ells, if we play our cards right, we might
both
have a lot to be happy for, and soon.”

Chapter 29

Rain pelted down on Monday morning as Marianne arrived at the clinic and let herself in. She shook out her umbrella and thrust it in the stand by the door. Of Dr Brandon there was no sign, although his truck was parked out front.

Which meant, she realised as she headed back into the kitchen, that he was already in the surgery. She reached the glass carafe down from the shelf to start the coffee.

“Hello, Miss Holland.”

She nearly dropped the pot from her hands as Matthew appeared in the doorway behind her.

“Dr Brandon! You scared the – you scared me. Good morning.”

He looked, she noticed, as if he’d got very little sleep last night.

“Morning.” He fetched his mug from the sink and rinsed it out. “How was the rest of your picnic?”

“People started drifting off around four o’clock, if they hadn’t already expired of a food coma.”

His smile was brief. “Your mother and Mrs Fenwick outdid themselves. I had to leave unexpectedly and didn’t get a chance to properly thank Lady Violet. Please relay my compliments to her, and to Mrs Fenwick.”

“I will.” She longed to ask him why he’d left so suddenly, but couldn’t quite muster up the courage. Despite his momentary smile, he looked a tiny bit forbidding this morning.

“Good thing I’m making coffee,” she added as she filled the basket with fresh coffee grounds and thrust it in place. “Looks like we could both use it.”

That was his cue to tell her what had happened to leave him looking so haggard and out of sorts, but he didn’t take the hint. “I’ll be in my office,” he said instead. “Call me when it’s ready.”

Of course she wouldn’t; she’d bring a cup to his desk, black, no sugar, just as she always did. But she nodded. “Right. I’ll do that.”

The day passed quickly, despite the fact that the surgery was uncommonly quiet. Several times, whenever Matthew came in to retrieve a file or ask her a question, Marianne was certain he meant to tell her about his mysterious phone call. But each time, he changed his mind, and returned to the surgery without mentioning it.

The phone rang. As she answered it, Marianne remembered that Kit was due to call on her at Barton cottage on Friday, and her musings about Matthew Brandon and his abrupt departure from the picnic yesterday were quite forgotten.

***

Marianne had just closed out the last insurance file late on Thursday afternoon when the switchboard lit up with an incoming call.

“Bollocks,” she muttered, and picked up the phone. She’d already locked the front door and turned off her computer. “Hello, Endwhistle Small Animal Veterinary Clinic, how may I help you?”

As Marianne listened, her expression grew increasingly concerned, and she promised to relay the message straight away before she rang off and hurried around the reception desk and into the surgery.

“Dr Brandon,” she called out as she hurried to his office door, “the stockman over at the Roderick place just called. One of the ewes is lambing and he says it’s taking her a long time. He needs you to come over as soon as you can.”

Matthew stood up from the paperwork littering his desk and grabbed up his jacket. “Right, let’s go. Did he say where she’s lambing?”

“In the north field, near the shearing shed.” Marianne paused. “Did you say ‘let’s go’?” she added, surprised. “You don’t want me in the way, surely –”

“You want to be a vet, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but grabbed his medical bag and strode across the surgery floor to the exit. “It’s time you learned how to birth a lamb firsthand.”

They climbed into Brandon’s truck and made their way to Roundtrees, the Roderick estate, in a matter of minutes. When the shearing shed loomed into view, Matthew slammed out of the car and headed for the north field.

Marianne could barely keep up with his long-legged stride. As she hurried after him she glanced around the fenced paddock, past the bales of hay to the shed, but she didn’t see the ewe. “Where is she?”

The stockman, George Robson, appeared. “She’s in here.” He indicated the interior of the shed. “She’s been at it a while, but the lamb’s not coming. Something’s wrong.”

Matthew approached the ewe, moving slowly, and she backed away into the far corner of the shed, eyeing him warily all the while as she pawed at the nest of straw on the ground before her.

“Flank her on the other side,” he called out in a low voice to Marianne. “Careful. Don’t spook her. I’ll grab her; you block the way until I get hold of her head.”

“Her head?” she echoed.

“Sheep are like horses. If you can get ahold of their head, they’re easier to manage.”

As Marianne crept towards the animal on one side, her heart hammering, Matthew followed suit on the other side and gripped the ewe firmly by her wool coat. She struggled, bleated, and backed further away, edging closer to the wall; Brandon cursed but held firm until he’d got hold of her head and turned it around towards her tail.

The move put her off balance, and she fell awkwardly at his feet. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to Marianne. “Put this over her head. It’ll keep her calm.”

She did as he said. Matthew thrust his sleeves up and knelt down to slip his hand into the ewe’s vulva.

“I feel a tail,” he said after a moment. “But the nose and feet should be presenting.” He glanced up at the stockman, and then at Marianne. “She’s in breech. We have to get this lamb out before it wedges inside the birth canal and dies.”

She eyed him fearfully as he withdrew his arm. “Can you save it?”

He nodded. “It’s a fairly simple procedure. I’ll have to feel my way until I find a leg and pull it by the foot until it’s in the birth canal, then find the other leg and repeat the process.”

Matthew reached in once again and groped, his face set in concentration, until he’d located both legs and carefully manoeuvred them down into the ewe’s birth canal.

“Now,” he said as he turned to Marianne, his hands and arms covered in effluvia, “how would you like to help birth your first lamb?”

Her eyes widened. Only a month before, she would’ve run away screaming. “I’d love it,” she said, and knelt beside him.

“All right. You grab one leg, I’ll grab the other,” he instructed. “When I tell you, pull downwards, and firmly. Got it?”

She nodded in equal parts nervousness and excitement. “Got it.”

They each wrapped one hand around a respective protruding leg and, with a nod from Matthew, pulled down until the lamb, after a moment of resistance, slid free of the birth canal.

For a moment, it lay on the straw and didn’t move. Marianne felt her throat tighten, certain the newborn was dead. A moment later his back legs kicked out, thrashing against the straw, and he let out a tiny bleat.

Matthew grinned and reached over to clear the lamb’s nostrils of afterbirth. “Looks like he’s fit as a fiddle and ready to meet his mum.”

Overcome with emotion from witnessing the birth – she wanted to laugh at the newborn’s unsteady, wobbling gait and cry, all at once – Marianne blinked back tears. “It’s amazing,” she managed after a moment, and met Matthew’s eyes. “If I ever had any doubts about becoming a veterinarian, I don’t any more.”

After reaching inside the ewe to make sure there wasn’t another lamb tucked away inside the womb, Matthew lifted the newborn and nestled him in the straw next to his mother. “You can take the jacket away now,” he told Marianne. “She’s ready to meet her little one.”

The ewe made contented noises, muttering and nickering as she began cleaning the lamb, licking it with tender thoroughness.

“In a few minutes this little fellow will get up and latch onto the teat for the first time,” Matthew explained. “His mother’s colostrum is critical at this stage. Once he’s had his fill we’ll give him a dose of antibiotics and swab his navel with an iodine solution.”

Tears slid freely down Marianne’s face. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, embarrassed, and swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You must think I’m an idiot, crying like this.”

He leaned back on his heels. “Not at all. I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve birthed a good many lambs, in every kind of weather; but no matter how many times I do it, it never ceases to amaze me. This –” he indicated the lamb, struggling to its feet as it moved instinctively to find the udder and latch on “is a miracle. Despite the calls in the middle of the night, the lack of sleep during lambing season, the animals I can’t save and the ones I have to put down – witnessing the birth of one lamb makes it all worthwhile.”

Marianne looked at him, and he at her. And although her muscles were cramped from kneeling and they were both covered in the ewe’s afterbirth, she’d never felt as close to anyone as she did in that moment to Matthew.

Shadows lengthened across the fields as they emerged a few minutes later from the shed. Robson invited them to wash up inside and share dinner with his family, and they accepted with alacrity.

And as she wolfed down the serving of stew – lamb, of all things – Marianne thought she’d never been so hungry, nor tasted anything so delicious, in all her life, and she knew she’d never, ever forget this day.

***

“He’s here.”

Elinor rushed into Marianne’s bedroom that Friday evening with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright with excitement. “Kit’s downstairs. Mum just showed him into the drawing room. You need to hurry.”

Marianne leaned closer to the dressing table mirror and pinched her cheeks to add a bit more colour.
This is it
, she thought nervously.
Tonight, surely, Kit Willoughby will ask me to marry him.

She surveyed her jumper of cream-coloured cashmere, and the opal dangling from a delicate gold chain around her neck – a present from her father on her ninth birthday. She touched it, lost for a moment in memories; then shook them off, and eyed her face critically. Perhaps just a teensy bit more lip gloss, she decided –

“Marianne,” her mother called up the stairs. Her voice thrummed with excitement. “You have a visitor.”