Still, if she wanted a vet to see the animal, to pay their not-inconsiderable call out and treatment fees, then that was down to her. “I see. All right, no problem. Bear with me for just a moment, please, Ms Hanson-Bishop. I’m just going to pull up the diary on the computer and see when I can get to you.”

“Certainly.”

Pressing the ‘hold’ button on the phone, he placed the handset down on the desk before switching to the relevant programme on his computer and pulling up his schedule. Next up was his visit to Brian Thatcher’s place to see a cow that was having a difficult pregnancy. Then he had to get back to the surgery because another farmer was bringing in his three sheepdogs for their annual checkups and inoculations. That would easily take until close of play—if not a little longer—so Ms Hanson-Bishop and her horse would have to wait until the following day.

Preparing himself for some bitchiness, Brett took a deep breath before retrieving the handset and pressing the ‘hold’ button again. “Ms Hanson-Bishop?”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid my schedule for the rest of today is full, but I can squeeze you in first thing tomorrow morning. Would that be all right? I’m on my own, you see, so things are manic here, to say the least.”

“That’s fine, dear boy. I know Andrew has taken a well-deserved holiday. My mare is hardly going to keel over due to mild thrush. Tomorrow morning is absolutely fine. What time should I expect you?”

Shaking his head incredulously at the sudden change of attitude, Brett swallowed hard to try and combat his sudden dry mouth, and finally forced out, “8 a.m. If that’s not too early?”

Letting out an unladylike snort, she replied, “I’ll have been up three hours by then. Not too early at all. You’ve got the address and contact details in your system, I presume, so I’ll see you then. Toodle pip!”

She’d put the phone down before Brett got chance to reply. Immediately he logged into the client database, hoping like hell that her address was indeed stored, otherwise he’d be up shit creek without a paddle.

“I can assure you, Ms Hanson-Bishop, that I’m a highly-trained, fully-qualified veterinary surgeon, with a great deal of experience. I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll be able to deal with it.” The sugar he’d dripped into his voice made him want to vomit—and he might have even given himself diabetes. He’d chosen rural work, rather than something in a town or city, because he was down-to-earth. He preferred to deal with farmers simply looking to earn an honest wage or folks with crazy, scruffy dogs that went everywhere with them. Socialites with tiny dogs they kept in handbags, or pampered cats with dyed fur and painted claws weren’t really his thing.

Apparently, though, even the Yorkshire Dales had its fair share of prissy, precocious types who thought they were the centre of the universe.

The prissy, precocious person in question replied, “Hmm… well I suppose Andrew wouldn’t have you working with him if you weren’t competent. A wonderful man, Andrew. Wonderful vet, too. My horses just love him, even when he has to poke around with their unmentionables.”

Yanking the phone away from his face just in time to stop himself spluttering with laughter into the mouthpiece, Brett clapped his free hand over his mouth. Taking a moment to compose himself, he cleared his throat before replying, “Yes, Andrew is a top notch vet. I’m not surprised your horses like him. In his absence, however, I’d be more than happy to come out. Can you tell me what the problem is, please?”

“Of course. One of my mares has thrush.”

Brett frowned. From her tone and lack of urgency, he’d already guessed that the situation wasn’t dire—but thrush? Someone in her position should be able to deal with that type of minor issue with her eyes closed and her hands tied behind her back. Spotted and treated quickly, the condition wouldn’t affect the animal too much and would have no lasting effects. And Samantha had already diagnosed the problem, so she clearly knew what she was talking about—or had someone working for her that did.