All Creatures Great and Small Read Online Free Page A

she saw it was only me.
    “Mrs. Hall thinks he should be back fairly soon. Perhaps you would join me in a cup of tea while you’re waiting.”
    She gave me a quick glance which raked me from my rumpled hair to my scuffed old shoes. I realised suddenly how grimy and sweaty I was after the long journey. Then she shrugged her shoulders and turned away. The dogs regarded her apathetically. A heavy silence blanketed the room.
    I poured a cup of tea and held it out to her. She ignored me and lit a cigarette. This was going to be tough, but I could only try.
    I cleared my throat and spoke lightly. “I’ve only just arrived myself. I hope to be the new assistant.”
    This time she didn’t trouble to look round. She just said “Oh” and again the monosyllable carried a tremendous punch.
    “Lovely part of the world, this,” I said, returning to the attack.
    “Yes.”
    “I’ve never been in Yorkshire before, but I like what I’ve seen.”
    “Oh.”
    “Have you known Mr. Farnon very long?”
    “Yes.”
    “I believe he’s quite young—about thirty?”
    “Yes.”
    “Wonderful weather.”
    “Yes.”
    I kept at it with courage and tenacity for about five minutes, hunting for something original or witty, but finally, Miss Brompton, instead of answering, took the cigarette from her mouth, turned towards me and gave me a long, blank stare. I knew that was the end and shrank into silence.
    After that, she sat staring out of the french window, pulling deeply at her cigarette, narrowing her eyes as the smoke trickled from her lips. As far as she was concerned, I just wasn’t there.
    I was able to observe her at will and she was interesting. I had never met a living piece of a society magazine before. Cool, linen dress, expensive-looking cardigan, elegant legs and the glorious red hair falling on her shoulders.
    And yet here was a fascinating thought. She was sitting there positively hungering for a little fat German vet. This Farnon must have something.
    The tableau was finally broken up when Miss Brompton jumped to her feet. She hurled her cigarette savagely into the fireplace and marched from the room.
    Wearily, I got out of my chair. My head began to ache as I shuffled through the french window into the garden. I flopped down among the knee deep grass on the lawn and rested my back against a towering acacia tree. Where the devil was Farnon? Was he really expecting me or had somebody played a horrible practical joke on me? I felt suddenly cold. I had spent my last few pounds getting here and if there was some mistake I was in trouble.
    But, looking around me, I began to feel better. The sunshine beat back from the high old walls, bees droned among the bright masses of flowers. A gentle breeze stirred the withered blooms of a magnificent wistaria which almost covered the back of the house. There was peace here.
    I leaned my head against the bark and closed my eyes. I could see Herr Farrenen, looking just as I had imagined him, standing over me. He wore a shocked expression.
    “Wass is dis you haff done?” he spluttered, his fat jowls quivering with rage. “You kom to my house under false pretences, you insult Fräulein Brompton, you trink my tea, you eat my food. Vat else you do, hein? Maybe you steal my spoons. You talk about assistant but I vant no assistant. Is best I telephone the police.”
    Herr Farrenen seized the phone in a pudgy hand. Even in my dream, I wondered how the man could use such a completely corny accent. I heard the thick voice saying “Hello, hello.”
    And I opened my eyes. Somebody was saying “Hello,” but it wasn’t Herr Farrenen. A tall, thin man was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. Something seemed to be amusing him. As I struggled to my feet, he heaved himself away from the wall and held out his hand. “Sorry you’ve had to wait. I’m Siegfried Farnon.”
    He was just about the most English-looking man I had ever seen. Long, humorous, strong-jawed face. Small, clipped