It's a Vet's Life:

It's a Vet's Life: Read Online Free PDF

Book: It's a Vet's Life: Read Online Free PDF
Author: Cathy Woodman
Tags: Fiction, General
we’ll be straight here.’
    ‘Call first though. Not that you’ll have any problems,’ I add. Clive and Edie had more than enough trouble with their dogs. Cassie has to be third time lucky. ‘In you go.’ I direct her back into her carrier, into which she hastily slinks. ‘Who’s the dad? Do you know?’
    ‘Edie will know. She’s had the water pistol out ready for any tom she disapproves of.’
    ‘Remember to call me if you need to,’ I say, as Clive picks up the carrier. I don’t know why I’m being so insistent on this when I’m so sure Cassie will be fine. It’s odd. Call it a gut feeling, but something about her doesn’t seem quite right. Is she a fraction thinner than she should be? Is there something about the look in her eyes? I’m not sure. I can’t put my finger on it.
    ‘Thanks, Maz,’ Clive says. ‘What do I owe you?’
    ‘Oh, nothing today.’ It didn’t take me long, ten minutes max. Clive isn’t having it though, and eventually we agree a fee to cover the eye exam. Clive walks up to Frances at Reception to settle up, at the same time as our new vet, in a striped shirt and cream chinos, comes elbowing his way through the double doors, his arms wrapped around a glass vivarium.
    Will is moving into the flat at the top of Otter House. He starts work tomorrow, an event I’m looking forward to with some trepidation. I can’t help being apprehensive, considering what happened with our locum a couple of summers ago, but Will has great references from his tutor at vet school, and the principals of the practices where he’s gained his hands-on experience so far. He’s personable and polite, a bit geeky , maybe. He reminds me of Prince Harry, but with specs, tall, freckled and sandy-haired. I hope he’ll fit in.
    He stops at Reception, resting the vivarium on the desk in front of our receptionist. Frances takes one look at the tank and screams, at which Will utters a polite apology.
    ‘A scorpion?’ Frances exclaims, backing away until she’s pressed against the filing cabinet. ‘Don’t you have to have a licence to keep that?’
    ‘It depends on the species,’ Will says, his brow furrowed with concern. ‘It won’t hurt you.’
    ‘That scorpion is more frightened of you in that top, than you are of him,’ I say, joining them. Frances, who is in her sixties, is wearing one of her jazzy tunics that might have come from the 1960s. She’s always refused to wear a uniform.
    ‘Of course not, I’m not scared,’ she says. ‘It’s just that it’s making the place untidy.’
    I smile to myself. Will’s going to have to work hard to regain Frances’s respect. Planting a scorpion on her desk, her territory, and half scaring her to death is not the best way to get into the receptionist’s good books on your first day in a new job.
    ‘At least we know Will likes animals,’ I say, when he’s picked up the vivarium and carried it off through the door into the corridor on his way to the flat.
    ‘Those creatures are not animals. They’re insects,’ Frances says, revealing a trademark smear of lippy across her teeth. From where I’m standing, the auburn wig is doing a pretty good impression of natural hair. I decide against arguing the point. If Emma fails to turn up, I’ll be seeing the appointments and operating. I can’t afford to waste any time.
    ‘Emma’s here,’ Frances observes, as a silver Saab turns up and takes over Clive’s parking space.
    ‘Hello, stranger,’ I say, as Emma walks in, looking cool and summery in a red cotton skirt and white top. Her brunette hair is tied back in a sleek chignon.
    According to one of the professors at vet school where we met, she is Catherine Zeta-Jones to my Gwyneth Paltrow. In spite of all she’s been through in the past few years, she gives the impression of being happy and in control of her life, whereas I feel decidedly mumsy and out of kilter. I made an effort this morning, but didn’t get around to straightening my hair
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