The Village Vet Read online

  Contents

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Cathy Woodman

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Map

  Chapter One: This Year, Next Year, Sometime, Never

  Chapter Two: The Princess and the Frog

  Chapter Three: Hair of the Dog

  Chapter Four: Horses for Courses

  Chapter Five: Ducks in a Row

  Chapter Six: Early Birds

  Chapter Seven: The Nature of the Beast

  Chapter Eight: Special Delivery

  Chapter Nine: Wild Horses

  Chapter Ten: Lonely Hearts

  Chapter Eleven: Hungry Birds

  Chapter Twelve: Top Dog

  Chapter Thirteen: The Runaway Deer

  Chapter Fourteen: The Morning After the Night Before

  Chapter Fifteen: The Sea of Love

  Chapter Sixteen: Old Dog New Tricks

  Chapter Seventeen: Nine Lives

  Chapter Eighteen: King of the Forest

  Copyright

  About the Book

  In Talyton St George, vet nurse Tessa Wilde is on the way to her wedding ...

  It should be the happiest day of her life. But then her car hits a dog, and though the dog is saved thanks to the Otter House vets, her wedding is not.

  Animal welfare officer and part-time firefighter Jack Miller spends his life saving animals and people. As one of Tessa’s oldest friends, he feels he has the right to interrupt her wedding and rescue her from a marriage that can only end in tears.

  But does he? Tessa is sure she doesn’t need rescuing, least of all by Jack.

  When they begin to work together at the Animal Rescue centre, however, Tessa begins to wonder whether being rescued by Jack might not be such a bad thing after all.

  About the Author

  Cathy Woodman was a small-animal vet before turning to writing fiction. She won the Harry Bowling First Novel Award in 2002 and is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association. She is also a lecturer in Animal Management at a local college. The Village Vet is the fifth book set in the fictional market town of Talyton St George in East Devon, where Cathy lived as a child. Cathy now lives with her two children, two ponies, three exuberant Border terriers and a cat in a village near Winchester, Hampshire.

  Also by Cathy Woodman

  Trust Me, I’m a Vet

  Must Be Love

  The Sweetest Thing

  It’s a Vet’s Life

  To Tamsin for her brilliant ideas!

  To Will for keeping cheerful!

  Chapter One

  This Year, Next Year, Sometime, Never

  IT ISN’T EVERY day that I get to ride in a Rolls Royce, bowling along the Devon country lanes in the bright April sunshine with my dad at my side, singing ‘Get Me to the Church on Time’ in his rich baritone voice. His enthusiasm is infectious and I’m not sure which of us is most excited, me or him.

  The chauffeur takes a right turn at the next crossroads, following the ridge of the steep wooded escarpment where I can just make out through the trees the gleaming meanders of the river, and the church spire and tower rising above the small town below. As the single-track lane widens to form a passing place, a dark four-legged shadow runs out in front of us.

  ‘What the—!’ The chauffeur slams on the brakes and time seems to slow right down as the car shudders to a standstill. There’s an ominous thud, then silence.

  ‘No, Tess,’ my dad says, but I’m already out of the door, my dress hitched up around my calves and the heels of my shoes – my beautiful ivory wedding shoes – sinking into the mud at the side of the road as I go round to the front of the Rolls Royce to find a big black dog lying stretched out across the tarmac.

  ‘Oh-mi-god,’ I say, trying to dive forwards to help it, while my dad holds me back.

  ‘No, Tess,’ he repeats. ‘It’s too late. I think it’s dead.’

  Hollow with apprehension and shock, I stare at the dog, a handsome boy with a bloody nose and a small patch of white on its chest, willing him to be all right.

  ‘He’s alive,’ I say with a sigh of relief as the dog lifts his head and gazes blindly towards me, his tongue hanging out from one side of his mouth and his ears floppy against the sides of his broad skull.

  ‘He looks like he’s seeing stars,’ my dad observes as the chauffeur turns his attention to the dent in the front of the car, which has definitely come off worse. ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘He needs to see a vet,’ I say, looking hopefully towards our driver.

  ‘Never mind about the upholstery,’ he says dryly. ‘Let’s get him into the car.’

  Soon the dog is lying on the passenger seat with blood dripping from his nose, and I’m thinking that this isn’t the most auspicious of beginnings. My dad looks like he could burst into tears and, thanks to his suggestion that we go for a spin first, which seemed like a great idea at the time, we’re running more than could be construed as traditionally late.

  ‘I’ll drop you off at the church on the way to the vet’s, and take the Roller to the garage for them to assess the damage before I come back to collect you,’ the chauffeur says, putting out his hand to steady the dog as we negotiate the first sharp bend down the hill into Talyton St George, at which the dog sneezes, dousing the air with a delicate red mist.

  ‘No, we must make the vet’s the first stop.’ I’m a vet nurse and I’ve helped out with enough road traffic accidents, or RTAs as we call them, to know that you can never predict the outcome. Sometimes it’s the animals that look okay at first who don’t make it in the end.

  ‘She’s right – we must go straight to Otter House,’ says my dad. ‘Do not pass “Go”, do not collect two hundred pounds. Oh, Tessa, do you remember how we used to play Monopoly when you were a little girl? And Scrabble? You always won at Scrabble.’

  ‘Dad, please, not now.’ The words catch in my throat as I go on, ‘You’re making me feel sad.’ It occurs to me that running the dog over could be a terrible omen, not that I’m superstitious, not really. It’s just that I’ve been badly shaken up. So far my big day isn’t going to plan.

  It’s Saturday, market day, and it takes a while to drive through the narrow one-way streets and Market Square, where the local traders are out in force, selling everything from free-range eggs and cider cakes, to country knitwear and carnivorous plants, but finally we reach the vet’s, where the chauffeur stops outside on the double-yellow lines and heads into the surgery for assistance. I offer to help, but Dad insists that I stay in the car, and considering the circumstances, he’s probably right.

  I glance at my reflection in the rear-view mirror. My dark, almost black hair is pinned up in a bun with ringlets curling at my cheeks, my eyes sparkle with pearlescent shadow and my lips are stained scarlet, reminding me more of Snow White in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs than myself. I’m the kind of girl who tends to stick with the natural look, my hair falling around my shoulders in waves, and I don’t usually wear very much make-up. I love the effect though. I could be a Hollywood actress – Gemma Arterton perhaps, with a small stretch of the imagination.

  I sit back and wait, gazing out of the window at the small crowd of people gathering on the pavement to admire the vintage Rolls and catch a glimpse of the bride. Glancing down at the bouquet in my lap, I allow myself a smile. That’s me, Tessa Wilde, and today, as long as someone comes to collect the dog very soon, I’m getting married to Nathaniel Cooper, my best friend, lover and man of my dreams. All right, I’m twenty-eight years old and my dreams have taken a long time to become reality, but it’s happening at last.

  The chauffeur is back, opening the passenger door with a practised flourish for one of the vets fr
om Otter House – Maz, one of the partners – to get the dog out of the car. In lilac scrubs and with a wedding ring dangling from a chain around her neck, she reaches in to slip a rope lead over the dog’s head. As the rope tightens around his neck, he growls and throws himself out of the door, before staggering blindly across the pavement. Maz guides him towards the surgery, keeping a firm grip on the end of the lead, while the chauffeur returns to the driver’s seat and, out of concern for the bride’s sensibilities perhaps, lays his suit jacket over the pool of blood the dog has left behind.

  ‘It doesn’t take more than a couple of minutes to reach the church from here,’ he says, restarting the engine, which rumbles and purrs like a big cat. ‘I’ve never yet failed to get a bride to her wedding on time,’ he adds, at which my dad looks like he might cry again.

  ‘Please don’t.’ I reach out for his hand and give it a squeeze. ‘The dog’s in the best place.’

  ‘I’m not upset about the dog.’ His face is red, the effect of the champagne we shared before we left the family home, where I’d spent my last night as a single woman. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, darling, I’m worrying you.’ He unfurls a patterned handkerchief from his top pocket and blows his nose loudly.

  ‘Dad, that’s part of your outfit.’ I start to chuckle, finding that I can’t be cross with him. ‘You’re supposed to coordinate with Nathan and Mike.’ Mike’s the best man.

  My dad apologises again. ‘I can’t help it. You might be all grown up now, Tessa, but you’re still my little princess.’ He turns and slides his arms around my shoulders without regard for my veil or flowers and gives me a bear hug. Tears prick my eyes as I clasp my hands behind his neck. ‘I know your mum keeps telling me I should think of this as gaining a son-in-law, not losing a daughter, but I don’t like the idea of giving you away.’

  ‘I thought you wanted me to be happy?’ I say softly.

  ‘Of course I do,’ Dad says, pulling back. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m feeling a bit overwrought.’ He flashes me a grin. ‘I shouldn’t have had that drink.’ After a pause, he goes on, ‘Aren’t you nervous? I was petrified when I married your mother.’

  ‘I’m kind of nervous and excited at the same time. I’ll be fine when it’s all over.’ I correct myself quickly. ‘I mean, when today’s over.’

  ‘You only get married once. Well, that’s what your mum and I did.’

  ‘Did you ever have any doubts?’ I ask him.

  ‘About whether I was doing the right thing?’ He shakes his head. ‘None whatsoever, because I knew from the day I met her, just as you did with Nathan, that she was the one I was going to spend the rest of my life with, through thick and thin …’ He pauses to pat his paunch, before continuing, ‘Through fat and even fatter.’

  I smile at him fondly. He would be more comfortable in drag. He was an actor, more often than not a pantomime dame, before the regional theatres closed through lack of funding. Now, in retirement, he writes stage plays and runs Talyton St George’s Amateur Dramatic Group.

  Comforted by my dad’s ability to make a joke out of everything and by his conviction, as always, that everything will turn out right in the end, I turn my attention to getting myself and the dress out of the Rolls at the church, ably assisted by Katie, my chief bridesmaid and best girlfriend, along with two of Nathan’s much younger nieces.

  ‘Hi, Tessa.’ Katie is about five foot five, the same height as me. She has green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair, and she looks utterly stunning in a pale pink, figure-hugging silk dress with buttons down the back. She kisses my cheek. ‘Where have you been?’

  Taking a deep breath of fresh Devon air that’s laced with the scent of manure, I start to tell her about the dog.

  ‘Tessa, I know you’re mad about animals, but this isn’t the time for a shaggy dog story, so to speak,’ she interrupts. ‘Apart from the mud on your shoes, you look fabulous, the perfect blushing bride.’

  ‘I do feel a bit flushed,’ I say. ‘Have you got any concealer handy?’

  ‘Trust me. You don’t need touching up.’ Katie moves closer and adds in a whisper, ‘You have Nathan to do that later. That man is so hench.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Hench – enormously fit in this context. Keep up.’ She gives me a gentle shove. ‘You lucky thing. I’m so envious. You must be soooo excited.’

  I touch my chest as we make our way up the path between the gravestones and memorials dedicated to the residents of Talyton St George who have gone before, feeling my heart racing beneath my fingers. The erratic rhythm has more to do with an imminent panic attack than excitement, however.

  ‘Are you ready, Tessa?’ Dad cuts in, offering me his arm.

  I nod and hang on to him for dear life as we enter the church and begin the long walk up the aisle to the strains of the Wedding March, the music slurred and discordant, as though Nobby Warwick, the organist, has been down at the Dog and Duck to lubricate his pipes beforehand, something else I hadn’t anticipated.

  Dad walks stiffly past friends and family, and complete strangers from Nathan’s side, in his morning suit and bow tie, the buttons of his coat looking as if they are about to pop and a red rash on his neck where he’s been fiddling with his collar out of nerves. In fact, by the time we reach the end of the aisle where Nathan and his best man are waiting with the vicar, my father is clinging on to my arm, a tear glistening on his cheek. I stop and wipe it away with trembling fingertips, a small gesture that makes me smile because it reminds me of how I used to paint his beauty spot in the very same place before every performance during the panto season.

  Reluctantly, Dad releases me and Katie takes the bouquet, stepping back as Nathan approaches.

  ‘Tessa, darling, you’re late.’ Gazing at me with his cool grey eyes, he takes my hand and plants a single damp kiss on my lips. ‘But you’re worth waiting for. You look beautiful.’

  ‘So do you,’ I say gently. He appears pale underneath the deep tan he’s been working on in preparation for the honeymoon, as if he hasn’t eaten or slept for a week, yet Katie is right. Compact and muscular from regular, almost obsessive sessions in the gym, Nathan is enormously fit in more ways than one. Any woman would be proud to be marrying him.

  ‘I can’t believe how many people have turned up especially for us,’ I say, looking around at the congregation, and spotting Nathan’s parents who have travelled all the way from Spain and my great-aunt Marion who’s made it here from her farm in North Wales in spite of being partway through a course of hospital treatment.

  ‘It’s going to be a great party,’ Nathan says. ‘I wonder if your maiden aunt will make it through the night, or whether she’ll succumb from the excitement of it all.’

  ‘Nathan, will you stop it?’ I say, pretending to be appalled, but I know he’s joking – my great-aunt might not be in the best of health, but there’s a long way to go until I receive my inheritance, if she should choose to leave part or all of her estate to me. I don’t care what she does with it because I’ve already inherited something from her that’s far more valuable than money, her love of animals. ‘Can’t you be serious for once?’

  ‘I’ll try.’ He pauses and my heart is melting as he continues, ‘Today, I’ll do anything you ask. This is your day and I want to make it special for you.’

  I know he doesn’t like me saying it, but it seems right, considering we’re about to commit to spending the rest of our lives together. The words come tumbling out of my mouth. ‘Nathan, I love you …’ And it’s here that he is supposed to echo the sentiment, because he has steadfastly refused to discuss it before, but all he can do is stare at the floor, shifting from one foot to the other in his squeaky new wedding shoes. ‘Nathan, tell me you love me,’ I whisper urgently. ‘I need to know. I need to be sure.’

  He looks up, raising one eyebrow. ‘Of course I do, and you shouldn’t have to ask that. It’s a given.’

  So he isn’t going to say it even now, at our wedding, I think as the organ stops, makes a s
ingle parping note and falls silent.

  ‘Thank God for that.’ Nathan rolls his eyes heavenwards. ‘That was a bloody painful rendition.’

  ‘Nathan.’ I give him a look. ‘No swearing in church.’

  He smiles and I smile back, reassured in part that I’m doing the right thing. ‘Tessa, are you ready?’ the vicar asks from beside me.

  ‘I’m ready,’ I say aloud, although when I gaze at the altar in front of me I can’t help thinking of sacrificial lambs.

  Having introduced the wedding service, the vicar, a friend of the family, guides the congregation through a prayer and hymn with a deafening accompaniment from the organist. I sing along to ‘Lord of All Hopefulness’, but Nathan doesn’t. He fidgets through the whole four verses, sometimes smiling, sometimes rolling his eyes, mocking the vicar, who is singing his heart out. His ability to have fun is one of the many things I love about Nathan, but I wish he wouldn’t do it at other people’s expense – and at our wedding.

  We haven’t been together for long, and sometimes I feel as if I’ve known him for ever, other times that I don’t know him at all. Introduced by mutual friends six months ago, we met in a local pub, hitting it off immediately. He proposed on a romantic mini-break in Paris a few weeks later and I accepted. Nathan, who is the third serious boyfriend I’ve had – third time lucky, maybe – is different. I was born and grew up in this quiet country town and have never lived anywhere else but Devon, while Nathan has moved around, travelled widely and set up a successful business, importing and selling anything he believes will make him a profit and take him to his first million.

  When we’re together, he makes me feel special, although we aren’t together anywhere nearly enough for me. There were a few awkward days at the beginning of our relationship when we were scratchy with each other because I thought he should be spending more time with me, while he thought I should understand that he was a busy man. I learned to let go while he carried on, on condition that he texted me regularly. It’s a girl thing and I am a girl, I pointed out, at which he took me in his arms and said he could confirm that fact completely, and did, several times over.