Part 27 (2/2)

”I really don't know what to say, Mr. Herriot.”

I gave him an encouraging smile. ”There's nothing to worry about. I strongly advise it. If I could just describe the operation, I'm sure it would put your mind at rest. It's really keyhole surgery-we make only a tiny incision and bring the ovaries and uterus through and ligate the stump...”

I dried up hurriedly because the old man closed his eyes and swayed so far to one side that I thought he would fall off the wicker chair. It wasn't the first time that one of my explanatory surgical vignettes had had an undesirable effect and I altered my tactics.

I laughed loudly and patted him on the knee. ”So, you see, it's nothing-nothing at all.”

He opened his eyes and drew a long, quavering breath. ”Yes...yes...I'm sure you're right. But you must give me a little time to think. This has come on me so suddenly.”

”All right, Eddy Carless will give me a ring for you. But don't be too long.”

I wasn't surprised when I didn't hear from the old man. The whole idea obviously terrified him and it was over a month before I saw him again.

I pushed my head through the sacks. He was sitting in his usual chair, peeling potatoes, and he looked at me with serious eyes.

”Ah, Mr. Herriot. Come and sit down. I've been going to get in touch with you-I'm so glad you've called.” He threw back his head with an air of resolution. ”I have decided to take your advice about Emily. You may carry out the operation when you think fit.” But his voice trembled as he spoke.

”Oh, that's splendid!” I said cheerfully. ”I've got a cat basket in the car, so I can take her straight away.”

I tried not to look at his stricken face as the cat jumped onto my knee. ”Well, Emily. You're coming with me.” Then as I looked at the little animal I hesitated. Was it my imagination or was there a significant bulge in her abdomen?

”Just a moment,” I murmured as I palpated the little body, then I looked up at the old man.

”I'm sorry, Mr. Ireson, but it's a bit late. She's pregnant.”

His mouth opened, but no words came, then he swallowed and spoke in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. ”But...but what are we going to do?”

”Nothing, nothing, don't worry. She'll have the kittens, that's all, and I'll find homes for them. Everything will be fine.” I was putting on my breeziest act, but it didn't seem to help.

”But Mr. Herriot, I don't know anything about these things. I do feel terribly worried. She could die giving birth-she's so tiny!”

”No, no, not at all. Cats very rarely have any trouble that way. I tell you what-when she starts having the kittens, probably around a month from now, get Eddy to give me a ring. I'll slip out here and see that all is well. How's that?”

”Oh, you are kind, I feel so silly about this. The trouble is...she means so much to me.”

”I know, and stop worrying. Everything will be absolutely okay.”

We had a cup of tea together and by the time I left he had calmed down.

The next time I saw him was under unimagined circ.u.mstances.

It was about two weeks later and I was attending the annual dinner of the local Agricultural Society. It was a formal affair and the company consisted of an a.s.sortment of farmers, big landowners, and Ministry of Agriculture officials. I wouldn't have been there, but for my elevation to the Milk Sub-Committee.

I was having a preprandial drink with one of my clients when I almost choked in mid-swallow. ”Good heavens! Mr. Ireson!” I exclaimed, pointing to the tall, white-bearded figure, immaculate in white tie and tails, standing among a group at the far end of the room. The usually untidy bush of silver hair was sleeked back and s.h.i.+ning over his ears and, gla.s.s in hand and commanding, he was rapping out his words to the group, who were nodding deferentially.

”I can't believe it!” I burst out again.

”Oh, it's him, all right,” my friend grunted. ”Miserable b.u.g.g.e.r!”

”What!”

”Aye, he's a right old sod! He'd skin 'is own grandmother.”

”Well, that's funny. I haven't known him long, but I like him. I like him very much.”

The farmer raised his eyebrows. ”I reckon you're about the only one as does,” he muttered sourly. ”He's the hardest b.u.g.g.e.r I've ever known.”

I shook my head in bewilderment. ”I can't understand this. And those clothes-where the heck did he get them? I've only seen him in his roadside hut and he seems to have no more than the bare essentials.”

”Hey, wait a minute!” The farmer laughed and punched me in the chest. ”Now I get it. You're talkin' about his brother, old Eugene. That's Cornelius over there!”

”My G.o.d, how amazing! The likeness is incredible. Are they twins?”

”Nay, there's two years between them, but as you say, you can hardly tell 'em apart.”

As though he knew we were discussing him, the tall man turned towards us. The face was almost Eugene's, but where there had been gentleness there was aggression, where there had been softness and serenity there was a fierce arrogance. I had only a chilling glimpse before he turned away and began to harangue his companions again. It was an uncanny experience and I continued to stare at the group until my friend broke in on my thoughts.

”Aye, a lot of people have made that mistake, but they're only alike in appearance. You couldn't find two people more different in character. Eugene's a grand old lad, but as for that b.u.g.g.e.r-I've never seen 'im smile.”

”Do you know Eugene?”

”As well as most people, I reckon. I'm nearly as old as him and my farm's on the Ireson estate. Cornelius was left everything when the father died, but I don't think Eugene would've been interested in running the textile empire and the estate. He was a dreamer and a wanderer-kind and friendly, but somehow unworldly. Money or social position meant nothing to him. Went to Oxford, you know, but soon after that he took off and n.o.body knew if he was alive or dead for years.”

”And now he's back in that little place by the roadside.”

”Aye, it's a rum 'un, isn't it?”

It was a rum 'un indeed-one of the strangest stories I'd ever heard, and it was never far from my mind over the following weeks. I kept wondering how the old man and his cat were getting on in that igloo, and if the kittens had arrived yet. But they couldn't have-I was sure he would have let me know.

I did hear from him at last one stormy evening.

”Mr. Herriot, I am telephoning from the farm. Emily has not yet produced those kittens, but she is...very large and has lain trembling all day and won't eat anything. I had to trouble you on this horrible night but I know nothing about these things and she does look...most unhappy.”

I didn't like the sound of that, but I tried to sound casual. ”I think I'll just pop out and have a look at her, Mr. Ireson.”

”Really-are you sure?”

”Absolutely. No bother. I'll see you soon.”

It was a strange, almost unreal scene as I stumbled through the darkness and parted the sacks forty minutes later. The wind and rain buffeted the tarpaulin walls and by the flickering light of the tilly lamp I saw Eugene in his chair, stroking Emily, who lay in the basket by his side.

The little cat had swollen enormously, so much as to be almost unrecognisable, and as I kneeled and pa.s.sed my hand over the distended abdomen I could feel the skin stretched tight. She was absolutely bursting full of kittens, but seemed lifeless and exhausted. She was straining, too, and licking at her v.u.l.v.a.

I looked up at the old man. ”Have you some hot water, Mr. Ireson?”

”Yes, yes, the kettle has just boiled.”

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