Part 5 (1/2)
”NOT TO PUT TOO fine a point on it, Herriot, I think you are dishonest.”
”What!” I had been called a few things in my time, but never that and it hit me hard, especially coming from a tall, patrician veterinary surgeon, looking down his nose at me. ”What the devil do you mean? How can you possibly say that?”
Hugo Mottram's imperious blue eyes regarded me with distaste. ”I say it only because I am forced to no other conclusion. I consider unethical behaviour to be a type of dishonesty and you have certainly been guilty of that. Also, your attempts to justify your actions seem to me to be sheer prevarication.”
This was really nice, I thought, particularly here in Brawton where I was trying to enjoy my precious half-day. I had been browsing happily in Smith's bookshop, and spotted Mottram walking along by the shelves, and in fact had been regarding him with some envy, wis.h.i.+ng that I looked a bit like him. He was the perfect picture of my idea of a country vet; check cap, immaculate hacking jacket, knee breeches, stockings and brogues together with a commanding presence and hawk-like, handsome features. He was in his fifties, but as he paced among the books, head high, chin jutting, he had the look of a fit young man.
I took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. ”Mr. Mottram, what you have just said is insulting, and I think you should apologise. Surely you realise that neither my partner nor I have any designs on your clients-it was just an unfortunate combination of events. There was nothing else we could have done in the circ.u.mstances and if only you would just think about it...”
The tall man stuck out his chin even more. ”I have thought about it and I mean what I say. I have no desire to waste any more time in discussing this matter, and my hope is that I shall have no further contact with you in the future.”
He turned quickly and strode from the shop, leaving me fuming. I stood there, staring at my boots. Helen would be joining me any minute now-she had been having her hair done-and then our happy programme would start: shopping, tea, then the cinema and a late meal with a lot of good conversation, all with my pal, Gordon Rae, the vet from Boroughbridge, and his wife, Jean. It was a simple sequence, but a blessed escape from the hard work and we looked forward to it all week. And now it was in ruins, shattered.
This thing with Mottram had started a few weeks previously. I was examining a spaniel with a skin eruption in our surgery when the lady owner suddenly said, ”Mr. Mottram of Scanton has been treating this dog for some time. Says it's eczema, but it's not improving and I think it must be something else. I want a second opinion.”
I looked at the lady. ”I wish you'd mentioned that at the beginning. Really, I should have asked Mr. Mottram's permission before I looked at your dog.”
”Oh, I didn't know that.”
”Well, yes, that's how it is, and I'm afraid I'll have to speak to him before I do any more.”
I excused myself and went through to the telephone in the office.
”Mottram here.” The voice was as I remembered. Deep, a.s.sured, cool. As a neighbouring veterinary surgeon I had met him a few times and found I couldn't get very near him. His aristocratic haughtiness was, to me, decidedly off-putting. But I had to try to be friendly.
”Oh, h.e.l.lo, this is Herriot, Darrowby. How are you?”
”I am quite well, Herriot. I trust you are the same.” d.a.m.n, he still sounded patronising.
”Well now, I have one of your clients, a Mrs. Hickson, here with her dog-I see it has a skin condition. She's asking for a second opinion.”
The voice became suddenly glacial. ”You've seen the animal? I think you might have consulted me first.”
”I'm sorry. I didn't get the chance. Mrs. Hickson didn't tell me till I had the dog on the table. I do apologise, and I wonder if I might have your permission to carry on.”
There was a long pause, then again the icy tones. ”Well, I suppose if you must, you must.” The phone went down with a bonk.
My face was hot with embarra.s.sment. What was the matter with the chap? This sort of thing happened all the time in veterinary practice. I'd had to approach other neighbouring pract.i.tioners and sometimes they'd had to approach me. The response on both sides had always been, ”Oh, yes, of course, carry on by all means. I'd be glad to know what you think.” And followed by a description of the treatment to date.
None of that with Mottram, and I wasn't going to phone him again. I'd have to find out the past treatment from the owner if I could.
I told Siegfried later.
”Snooty b.u.g.g.e.r,” he grunted. ”Remember when I asked him to dinner a long time ago? He said that he felt that vets should have an honourable a.s.sociation with their neighbours in opposition, but he didn't believe in their socialising with each other.”
”Yes, I do remember.”
”Okay, I respect his views, but there's no need for this stupid touchiness.”
A couple of weeks later I had a feeling of impending doom when I was feeling my way over the hind leg of a lame dog and the owner, a nice old man, chirped up, ”Oh, by the way, I should have told you. Mr. Mottram over at Scanton has been treating him, but I can see no improvement at all and I'd like your opinion.”
My toes began to curl, but there was nothing else for it. I rang up our neighbour again.
”Mottram here.” That same discouraging voice.
I told him what had happened, and asked his permission.
Again that long pause, then a disdainful, ”So you're at it again?”
”At it...? What do you mean? I'm not at anything, I'm merely asking your permission to do as your client has requested.”
”Oh, do what you d.a.m.n well like.” And I heard the familiar thud of the phone at the other end.
I began to sense the eerie workings of fate when Siegfried came in a few days later, looking thoughtful.
”You won't believe this, James. I was called to one of Mottram's clients this morning. Bollands by name, and he was in a state. He had a horse with a broken leg and couldn't get hold of Mottram. Phoned me in desperation. I rang the Scanton practice but he was on his rounds and I had to dash out to Bollands's place. It was a ghastly thing-a horrible compound fracture with the poor creature in agony. No possibility of treatment. There was simply nothing for it but to shoot the poor thing immediately. I couldn't let him suffer. But it would be Mottram-I've tried to contact him again now, but he's still not around.”
I had to help Siegfried to clean out a dog's cankered ears and we were clearing up when, to our complete astonishment, Mottram appeared in the doorway of the operating room. He was immaculate as usual, clearly in a rage, but in cold control of himself.
”Ah, you're both here.” That superior voice again. ”It's just as well, because what I have to say applies to both of you. This latest escapade at Bollands's is really too much, Farnon. I can only conclude that you are conducting a campaign to steal my clients.”
Siegfried flushed. ”Now look here, Mottram, that is ridiculous. We have absolutely no desire to poach your clients. As to Bollands's horse, I tried in vain to get in touch with you, but-”
Mottram held up a hand. ”I don't want to hear any more. You can say what you like, but I believe in honourable relations. Now that this has happened I am glad I stuck to my principles about that 'out to dinner together' nonsense.” He nodded down to each of us from his great height and left.
Siegfried turned to me ruefully. ”Well, that's finally torn it. I want to be friends with all my neighbours but we're finished there.”
As I stood in the bookshop in Brawton, recalling the sequence of events, I felt that I hadn't needed this final onslaught from Mottram. Standing there among the wreckage of my half-day, looking at his retreating back, I knew that he had washed his hands of me.
Like my partner, I was unhappy about it, but I put it out of my mind until my bedside phone rang at 1:00 A.M. about a month later. I reached out a sleepy arm.
The voice at the other end was agitated. ”This is Lumsden, Scanton. Mr. Mottram's a.s.sistant. I'm treating his horse with a bad colic, but I'm beat with it. I need help.”
Suddenly I was wide awake. ”Where's Mottram?”
”He's on holiday in the north of Scotland.” The young man's voice began to quaver. ”Oh, this would happen when he's away. He adores this horse-it's his favourite, he rides it every day. But I've tried everything and it looks like it's dying. I don't know how I'm going to face him when he gets back.” There was a pause. ”Actually, I was hoping to speak to Mr. Farnon. He's good with horses, isn't he?”
”Yes, he is,” I said. In the darkness, I rested the receiver on my chest and looked at the ceiling as Helen stirred uneasily at my side. Then I spoke again. ”Look, Lumsden, I'll have a word with my partner. It's his night off, but I'll see what he says. Anyway, I promise you one of us at least will be out to give you a hand.”
I cut short his thanks and dialled Siegfried's number. I told him the story and could sense him snapping awake at the other end. ”Oh, my G.o.d! Mottram!”
”Yes. What d'you think?”
I listened to a long sigh, then, ”I've got to go, James.”
”I'll come with you.”
”Really? Are you sure?”