Who Needs Mr Willoughby? (6 page)

“Did he, now?” His eyebrows shot skyward. “So did you call the police?”

“I did,” she said. “But there’s nothing they can do, apparently, aside from filling out forms and making excuses, and they told me their only squad car’s out on a robbery call.”

“Aye,” he nodded, “that’ll be the hardware store in Carywick, I reckon. Someone threw a wrench through the front window this morning and broke in.”

“Was one of them driving a yellow Hyundai?” Marianne asked. “If so, they’re the same bastards who stole my car.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Did you call a petrol station?”

Her feet were beginning to ache, but she kept walking. “Yes, I did,” she snapped. “I called all two of them. No one answered.”

“Well, the one in Lambert’s closed, now that I think of it. Bobby’s wife just had their sixth this morning. Six kids!” He shook his head. “And if you call the Endwhistle station, you need to hang on the line for at least seventeen rings before old Malcolm’ll hear and answer the phone.”

“Good to know,” she gritted.

“I’m headed to Endwhistle now. I can give you a lift if you like. If you don’t mind sitting in the back of the truck with the sheepdogs, that is,” he added.

She stopped. “Why should I have to do that? Why can’t I sit up front?”

“I’ve a passenger already.”

She peered past him. “But I don’t see anyone –” Just then, she glimpsed a small, black-faced sheep curled up on the seat beside him.

“Oh, how cute! Who is she?” she asked, and lifted her brow as she met his gaze. “Your girlfriend?”

His eyes darkened. “That’s Emily,” he said shortly. “She often rides with me.”

“Well,” Marianne said, trying hard to hold on to her temper as the rain plastered her shirt to her skin, and uncomfortably aware that her bra was plainly visible through the thin cotton, “do you think you might make room for the both of us?”

He grunted and heaved Emily into the center of the bench seat, and Marianne, wet and shivering (not to mention highly annoyed), pushed the wellies on the floorboard aside and climbed in.

With a reproachful look from Emily and a slight, bemused shake of the head from the driver, they set off.

***

“I hope the police find my car,” Marianne said.

“I wouldn’t bank on it,” he informed her. “Those lads – and your car – are probably long gone.”

She turned to glare at him. “Thanks so much for your reassuring words of comfort.”

He shrugged. “Better to face reality than believe in fairy tales, I always say.”

“You would,” she retorted. “Listen…do you think you could take me to Hadleighshire instead? I don’t have enough money for a taxi back.”

“Hadleighshire?” He let out a snort of disbelief. “But I’m not
going
to Hadleighshire. I’m not a taxi service, you know.”

“It’s only sixteen kilometres. More or less.”

“
Only
sixteen kilometers, she says!” He scowled. “Petrol’s expensive, in case you didn’t know. And I’ve got the dogs.” He reached out to ruffle the lamb’s ears. “And Emily.”

“At least it’s stopped raining,” she pointed out. “The dogs can dry out on the way.”

“And tell me – why should I go so far out of my way for you?”

She glared at him. “Because you’re obviously such a kind, considerate person.”

“If – and that’s a very big ‘if’ – I decide to take you there,” he said after a moment, “I’ll have to charge you.”

Marianne’s eyes widened in outrage. “
Charge
me? Are you serious? Well, so much for north country hospitality.”

“Twenty-five pounds. Take it or leave it.”

She gasped. “Twenty-five
pounds
to drive me sixteen kilometres? That’s outrageous!” Furious, she reached for the door handle and flung the door open. “No, thanks. I’ll walk.”

She slammed the door; she was certain he’d apologise, and tell her to get back in the truck.

“Suit yourself.”

And with a shifting of gears, he gave a shrug, and drove off.

Chapter 8

Walking downhill on gravel in a pair of kitten heels was not, Marianne soon found, an easy thing to do.

Nevertheless, her fury at farmer what’s-his-name propelled her onward. What an arsehole. What a rude, money-grubbing, inconsiderate arsehole.

“‘Better to face reality than believe in fairy tales, I always say,’” she mimicked him under her breath. “Well, you’ve certainly helped me to face reality, you – you sheep-loving jackass!”

She was nearly at the bottom of the hill when she heard it – the rumble of an approaching vehicle.

Marianne walked faster. She hoped it was him. She hoped it
wasn’t
him. She never wanted to see that smirky, jaded face of his, ever again –

The truck drew alongside of her. “Get in,” he said gruffly.

She kept walking. “I won’t, thank you all the same. I can’t afford it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t walk all the way to Hadleighshire in those – those faffy little Audrey Hepburn shoes.”

“They’re not ‘faffy little shoes’. They’re brand new; I just bought them. And I’m surprised you even know who Audrey Hepburn is,” she retorted, and kept walking.

“Who doesn’t? I’d have to live under a rock not to know who she is.”

“I thought you
did
live under a rock, actually,” she shot back. “With all the rest of the gremlins and trolls.”

“Trolls live under bridges.”

“Whatever. Just go away.”

“Fine,” he said grimly. “If that’s what you want, we’ll do this the hard way.”

So saying, he cut the wheel sharply to the right, and she jumped back as the truck’s cab blocked her way. He reached out to fling the door open.

“Now, stop acting like a dafty wench and get in,” he ordered.

Marianne stared daggers at him. But her feet really, really hurt. And her brand new shoes were covered in mud. And she felt perilously close to tears.

“Fine.” She spared him one more glare, then climbed back into the cab of the truck next to Emily and slammed the door. “Let’s go.”

“Mind, it’ll still cost you twenty-five pounds,” he said as he shifted into gear and turned back onto the road. “It’s a fair price, the cost of petrol bein’ what it is.”

She didn’t have the energy left to argue. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll pay you when we get there. I don’t have that much money on me.”

“Suits me. But I’ll come in to make sure you keep your word, if you don’t mind. No running into the house and slamming the door in my face.”

“I do mind. And it’s all you deserve.”

He didn’t favour her with a reply, only scowled and shifted gears once again, and headed south, towards Hadleighshire.

***

The truck slowed to a stop in front of Lady Violet’s country estate forty minutes later.

“Holy shit,” the driver muttered as he took in the impressive stone face of Barton Park. “Should’ve asked you for a hundred pounds, at least.”

“You’ll get twenty-five, as agreed,” Marianne snapped, “and not a penny more.”

She slammed out of the truck and marched up the front steps to the door and rang the bell.

“Can’t let yourself in?” he asked as he unfolded his long legs and got out to follow her up the steps. “Did you forget your key?”

“I don’t live here, I’m only staying for a bit.”

“Oh, aye,” he said, and nodded sagely. “Summering in the country at your best mate’s stately pile, are you? Must be exhausting being rich, I reckon, what with all of that travelling and jet-setting and whatnot. Wears a girl out.”

Marianne didn’t bother to correct him. Let him think what he wanted, she thought grimly as the door swung open and Mrs Fenwick regarded them both in surprise.

“Miss Holland, there you are. I was that worried after your last mishap, I was ready to call her ladyship and tell her you’d not come home yet, so I was.” She peered around Marianne at the truck. “Who’s this? And where’s the car?”

“The car…broke down.” Marianne regarded the farmer with a flinty look and dared him to say a word to the housekeeper about the car’s theft. “Watch my friend here while I go upstairs and fetch him the outrageous sum of twenty-five pounds for bringing me home.”

If she thought he’d be shamed into telling her to forget about the money, she was disabused of the notion when he gave her a cheeky smile and touched a finger to his forehead. “Much obliged.”

She pressed her lips together and stalked upstairs to her room.

Five minutes later, it was done. Marianne handed over the money and showed him to the door.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said, stiffly.

“It was my very great pleasure.” He folded the notes and tucked them into his jeans pocket.

Marianne turned to their guest. “Well, it’s been most interesting, Mr –?” She stopped as she realised she didn’t know his name.

“Just call me Farmer Brown,” he said, and cocked his brow. “Now if you ladies will excuse me, I’ve dogs and sheep to feed and a lamb to see to. A good day to you both.”

With a nod of his head, he returned to the truck and got inside, and drove away down the drive, back to Endwhistle.

“However did you meet that fellow?” Mrs Fenwick wondered.

“Honestly, Mrs F,” Marianne said as she made her way back upstairs, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

***

After taking dinner in her room – there was little point in dining alone at that huge table – Marianne stood before the wardrobe and wondered what to wear for her interview tomorrow. Her clothes were filthy and her shoes – thanks to Brian and Danny and Farmer Brown – were now covered in mud.

More to the point – how would she even
get
to Endwhistle without a car?

“Miss Holland?” Mrs Fenwick knocked and thrust her head round the door. “You’ve a call from Lady Violet on line one.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks.”

Marianne went to the desk by the window and picked up the telephone receiver. What on earth could Lady V want? she wondered as she punched the blinking button. “Hello?”

“Hello, Marianne. How are you managing so far?”

Well, aside from the car breaking down and getting stolen by two not-so-Good-Samaritans, walking for miles in the rain and mud, and getting picked up by an extortionate uplands farmer
, Marianne wanted to tell her,
life is grand.

“I’m fine, thanks, Lady Violet,” she said instead. She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell her about the car just yet. “How’s Edinburgh?”

“Very well, thank you. I’m having a lovely visit with Lady Campbell. Although,” she added in a low, troubled voice, “that’s the reason I rang you. She’s feeling poorly and they’re putting her in hospital for some tests.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m sure she’s glad you’re there.”

“She is. In fact, I’ve changed my plans. I’ll be staying on here for at least another week. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she assured the woman. “Mrs Fenwick and Bertie are taking good care of me. I should start my new job at the clinic in a week or two, so you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Wasn’t your interview today?”

Marianne bit her lip. “It was. But the doctor got called away on an emergency and so I have to go back tomorrow.” Which was true. “Stay in Edinburgh as long as you need to, and don’t give me another thought.”

“Very well,” Lady Violet said, a trace doubtfully. “If you’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’m positive. Mum and Elinor will be here tomorrow, after all, so I’ll have all the company I need. And give my best wishes to Lady Campbell.”

After exchanging a few more polite pleasantries, Marianne rang off.

“Mrs Fenwick,” she called out as she ran down the stairs, “I’ve another teeny-tiny favour to ask…”

Chapter 9

After Marianne confessed that Lady Violet’s car had been stolen and the incident reported to the police, Mrs Fenwick allowed that there was nothing more to be done and gave Marianne the use of their Peugeot.

“Only so you can go off to your interview, mind,” she added firmly. “No faffing about all over town. Petrol’s expensive.”

“So I’ve heard,” Marianne retorted.

“
Only
sixteen kilometres, she says! Petrol’s expensive, in case you didn’t know.”

Good thing she’d never see that money-grubbing cheapskate of a farmer again. Although, she admitted, he wasn’t so bad to look at. He was almost attractive. And his little Blackface lamb, Emily, was beyond adorable.

Too bad he was completely personality-challenged.

On Wednesday morning, with a full tank of gas and the phone number to Barton Park programmed in her mobile, Marianne headed back to Endwhistle and drove to the veterinary clinic.

“Hello, Miss Holland,” Lynn greeted her as she made her way across the crowded waiting room. If she noticed that Marianne wore the same outfit she’d worn the day before – freshly laundered, of course – or that her shoes still bore traces of mud, she made no comment. “Dr Brandon’s with Poppy – a border collie with an eye infection – but I’ll let him know you’re here. Please have a seat.”

With a nod of thanks, Marianne sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs. She hadn’t waited above fifteen minutes when the receptionist announced the vet was free for a few minutes between appointments and could see her.

She stood and made her way through the door the girl directed her through. “SURGERY”, it stated. “NO ADMITTANCE”.

With another breath for courage, she pushed it open and went inside the clinic proper. She saw more tiled flooring, and a surgery equipped with several treatment tables, x-ray machines, and a lot of other intimidating-looking equipment she didn’t recognise.

“Back here,” a gruff male voice called out from somewhere behind her.

She turned to see an office at the far end of the surgery, with a brass nameplate on the door – Dr M Brandon, RCVS. On unsteady legs, she made her way across the floor and came to a stop just inside the door.

When she saw him, sitting behind a desk heaped with folders and papers and forms, Marianne froze.

“Oh, no,” she said, and blinked. “It can’t be.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked abruptly.

She took some small satisfaction in the fact that his shock was as great as her own. Farmer Brown, for once, was at a loss for words.