“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.

“Probably wise.” Natasha left the room, closing the door behind her, but not before Brett spotted the slight smile on her face. Relieved to pass on the bitchy customer to him, no doubt.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone. “Hello, Brett Coulson speaking. How can I help?”

“Oh,” came the reply, “Brett. Ah, yes. You’re the other vet, aren’t you? Jolly good. Know what you’re talking about, do you?” The woman’s accent was posh, southern. Like she’d been to a finishing school or something.

Gritting his teeth, Brett then pasted a smile on his face, hoping it would be apparent in his tone, despite the daggers he was actually staring at her through the handset. “Yes, I most certainly do.” Should fucking do, after five years of training and the same again working in the profession. I’m not on bloody work experience here.

“But you sound so young.”

Glad she couldn’t see him, Brett rolled his eyes. Her problem obviously wasn’t an emergency, the way she was waffling on, time-wasting. “I’m almost twenty-nine, Mrs…”

“It’s Ms, actually. Samantha Hanson-Bishop here. So you’re still a baby then.”

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms Hanson-Bishop? Only I’ve a call to go out on in a few minutes.” He couldn’t help the emphasis he’d put on the Ms. It could be construed as sarcastic, but it was still a damn sight more polite than anything he really wanted to say. Would she just get to the point already?

“Yes, yes, of course. That’s why I’m telephoning. I just wanted to make sure I was speaking to someone who actually knew what they were talking about. Clearly your receptionist doesn’t know anything about animals, much less my thoroughbred horses.”

Ah, okay, that made things clearer. The stuck-up, posh bird ran a stable. Now the haughty attitude made sense—she was entitled, bored, and thought she was better than everyone else. Wanting to defend Natasha—who was, in fact, very knowledgeable about animals, it being part of her job and all—Brett had to bite his tongue. If the woman, however snobby and irritating, ran a stable of thoroughbreds, then she was no doubt bringing plenty of money into the practice. They were doing okay, but the loss of a big customer without a replacement wasn’t something they’d be able to sustain for very long. And word of mouth was very important in this game—he didn’t want her bad-mouthing him or the surgery.

“He did?”

“Yeah. Bloody typical that she’d phone while he’s away. The man barely ever takes a holiday, and now he finally has, his most awkward client is on the blower. He damn well owes me one after this.”

“If she’s a regular client, how come I’ve never spoken to her before?”

Shrugging, Brett replied, “Dunno. Maybe she’s got Andrew’s mobile number or something?”

Natasha gasped. “But he never gives out his mobile number to clients. He’s very strict about that—always asks us to take a message and if it’s urgent, pass it on to him directly.”

“Yeah…” Brett scratched his head. “He didn’t say much about her, beyond that she can be difficult. Honestly, I was a bit distracted when he mentioned it so I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention. I wish I’d asked more questions now, but I never thought I’d have the misfortune of having to deal with her.”

“You haven’t, yet.” Natasha raised her eyebrows and jerked her chin towards the phone on his desk.

“Good point.” He gave a wan smile. “Suppose I’d better find out what she wants, hadn’t I? If she’s special enough to have Andrew’s precious mobile phone number, then I ought to keep her sweet.”