Heaven Here On Earth. Кэрол Мортимер

      The dog needed no second bidding, but trotted along happily at her heels. Just having him along with her lightened her own mood, the sun suddenly seemed brighter, the birds sang happily in the trees.

      She glanced down at the dog occasionally, realising that underneath all that dust he was probably an Old English Sheepdog. It seemed a shame that someone had let him get into this state. A good wash and brush-up and he would be a beautiful dog. And he had a lovely friendly nature, occasionally running off to chase an unsuspecting butterfly, coming back to her side quite happily once the creature flew out of his reach.

      He was still at her side when a Land Rover appeared on the road behind her, the first vehicle to pass down the road either way.

      ‘Careful, Ragtag,’ she soothed as the dog began to growl at the approaching vehicle. ‘Mm, it suits you,’ she said ruefully as she realised the name she had unwittingly given him. ‘Now behave,’ she warned. ‘And if we’re lucky we may get a lift the rest of the way. I’m already beginning to fear for my sanity—this is the first time I’ve had a conversation with a dog!’

      The Land Rover went straight past her, giving her a brief glimpse of the man behind the wheel, the peaked cap he wore concealing his face. The vehicle suddenly came to a halt a few yards past her.

      She ran eagerly to the passenger side, and the man in the driving-seat leaned over to wind down the window.

      ‘Like a lift?’ he offered; he was a man probably in his early thirties, with hair as blond as her own, with warm blue eyes, very attractive in an outdoor sort of way. ‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled at her hesitation, ‘I’m the local vet, so if I attacked you the whole area would know about it in ten minutes!’

      She laughed, instantly liking him. ‘I’m going to Montgomery Hall—–’

      ‘Mark’s friend,’ he nodded, already climbing out from behind the wheel.

      Ryan followed him to the back of the vehicle, watching as he opened the double doors. ‘Does everyone in Sleaton know I’m coming here?’ she asked with a sigh, handing him her suitcase. ‘No, I’ll keep the canvases,’ she clung to them.

      He smiled. ‘Okay. And the answer to your question is yes. There isn’t much that’s a secret in a place this size. I’m surprised Grant didn’t send someone to pick you up,’ he frowned.

      Ryan grimaced. ‘Well, I thought that was because Mark had forgotten to tell them that I was coming, but that’s been firmly ruled out.’

      ‘Not necessarily,’ he shook his head. ‘He could have forgotten to tell them when you were arriving.’

      ‘That sounds like Mark,’ she nodded.

      ‘Yes,’ the young vet laughed. ‘My name’s Peter Thornby, by the way.’

      ‘Ryan Shelton,’ she introduced herself.

      ‘Nice to meet you,’ he shook her hand. ‘Where’s your dog gone? I thought he could go in the back with your suitcase, I have a wire mesh up.’

      Ryan looked down in surprise. Ragtag seemed to have disappeared! She frowned, looking up and down the road. He had gone. She felt strangely alone again.

      ‘He wasn’t my dog actually,’ she explained huskily, already missing him. She had never had a dog make friends with her before, and the liking had been mutual. ‘He just followed me. You haven’t seen him before?’ As the local vet he might have come across Ragtag in his work.

      Peter Thornby shook his head. ‘I didn’t get a good look at him, but I don’t think I’ve had him as a patient. Still, that isn’t surprising, he could be living wild. He didn’t look very old.’

      Ryan climbed into the Land Rover beside him, still looking out of the side-window for Ragtag. He couldn’t have disappeared so completely. It was pretty open countryside, with a few odd trees, masses and masses of gorse bushes, an occasional wall to divide the fields, certainly nowhere a dog of Ragtag’s size could really hide. And yet he had gone.

      Peter Thornby started up the engine. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Ryan. He could turn up again, but then again, he’s survived this long on his own, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t continue to do so.’

      She knew he was right, and yet she couldn’t help missing the friendly dog. She hoped that, as Peter Thornby said, he would continue to be able to take care of himself.

      She shook off her despondency with effort and turned to look at the man at her side. He was dressed in a dark green anorak and old brown corduroys, his feet thrust into Wellington boots, the bottoms of his trousers tucked inside them.

      ‘Do you live locally?’ Ryan asked conversationally.

      ‘About five miles away.’ He drove the large vehicle confidently down the narrow lane. ‘I have a large area to cover,’ he smiled.

      ‘Is it far to Montgomery Hall?’

      ‘About another half mile. Why didn’t you call Grant from the station?’ he frowned. ‘I’m sure he would have sent a car for you.’

      Ryan grimaced. ‘I don’t even know him, I thought it seemed a bit of a cheek. I tried to get a taxi, but—–’

      ‘Bert’s leg is playing him up.’

      Her eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’

      Peter spluttered with laughter. ‘He’s used the same excuse for the last twenty years.’

      She smiled too. ‘How does he make a living?’

      Peter shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but he manages somehow. And if he gets a bit short of cash his leg is miraculously better for a couple of weeks. Once you’ve been in Sleaton a few days you’ll realise it’s full of characters like Bert Jenkins.’

      ‘And Jack the porter,’ she joined in his teasing.

      ‘Right,’ he nodded with a grin. ‘He’s got a bad back, you know,’ he told her in a derisive voice.

      ‘So have I now!’

      ‘How do you like Sleaton so far?’ he quirked a mocking eyebrow.

      Ryan gave a laugh of enjoyment. ‘Strangely enough, very much.’

      ‘Me too. I even came back here after completing my training.’ He brought the Land Rover to a halt and turned with his arm along the back of her seat. ‘Well, here we are.’

      ‘We are?’ She looked over to the right-hand side of the road. Montgomery Hall was indeed behind ‘huge iron gates’, as the woman at the station had told her; it was also surrounded by a ten-foot wall!

      She couldn’t help her gasp of surprise, as her gaze passed on to the house itself, a big Georgian manor house about half a mile from the gate down a gravel driveway, neatly laid lawns and trees fronting the house, with a gardener busy working on the numerous flower-beds.

      Peter was watching her reaction. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’

      What an understatement! ‘Very,’ she gulped.

      ‘It’s just as beautiful inside,’ he told her. ‘I wish I had the time to drive you down to the house, but I was called out to a sick cow over half an hour ago …’

      ‘You’ve been very kind already.’ Ryan got down from the Land Rover and came round to get her case from the back. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled up at him.

      He nodded. ‘My pleasure. No doubt I’ll see you again soon. And if you do happen to see that dog again perhaps you could bring him to my surgery? I usually call in at Sleaton Monday and Friday evenings.’

      She frowned. ‘You don’t think there’s anything wrong with him?’

      ‘Not at all,’ he answered instantly. ‘But I doubt if it would do any harm to have him examined.’

      ‘I’ll