Distraction

Chapter Twenty-Six

Monday afternoons sucked. Four hours of unpaid do-gooding. Lisa, the RVN, made appalling coffee. Gloria, the practice manager, simpered for England. And the clients... Christ, this was penalty enough for the Miss Haverton story.

Patrick pushed open the office door, having already ignored the people in the waiting room, and scowled at Grace who was working on Gloria's PC. She didn't look up, but from her reddening cheeks, she obviously wasn't comfortable. He'd already given her a bollocking for being blatantly hung over that morning. Lisa hovered, smiling, giggling, making it patently obvious what she wanted. He ignored her. Twenty-two year-old veterinary nurses weren't his cup of tea. He didn't even like tea.

A fresh pot of coffee sat on the machine and he helped himself, giving Grace the chance to explain her presence. She didn't. He added a drop of milk, scowling at the pale brown colour.

'Lisa, electricity and water are precious resources.' He looked up at her as he emptied his mug into the sink. 'So you shouldn't waste them on piss-poor coffee.'

'But that's how Fergus likes it,' she said, her argument weaker than her coffee.

'Is Fergus working this afternoon?' he asked.

Lisa's face turned an amusing shade of red as she found the staff notice board suddenly fascinating. He'd have felt guilty, but she'd almost managed to kill a dog the previous week because she'd been too busy fluttering her eyelashes to check the sedative dose. The ruder he was, the quicker she'd get the message. Not interested, so get on with your job. He never had any of this crap off Grace. Christ, he hated working at the Haverton surgery.

'It's Monday,' he said, perching on the desk beside Grace. 'It's your afternoon off.'

'It is.'

'So what are you doing here?'

'Wages,' she replied, not looking up. 'Gloria's off sick.'

'But why are you doing them?'

'Because I want to get paid and that prescription drug junkie hasn't been fit to do the payroll for months. But no one here...' Grace glanced over at Lisa. 'Knows how to do them, or has the balls to tell you or your dad that Gloria's a liability. I've done it for five months.'

He took a slow breath, trying to control his building anger. 'We'll talk about this tomorrow and you can explain why you haven't had the balls to tell me that Gloria's a liability. Now, show Lisa how to make a pot of decent bloody coffee.'

He strode through to the treatment room, his hands on his head so he didn't hit anything. If Gloria was screwing up and had been for months, why had no one said anything? For Christ's sake, Grace didn't normally hold back. If he couldn't trust her, who could he trust? He slumped against the door, trying to calm down.

'Ohmigod,' Lisa said, her voice muted from the other side of the door. 'Have you seen the paper? About the orgy in Gosthwaite?'

'Are you having a laugh?' Grace replied.

'There was this mental party in the Square-'

'I was there, but it wasn't an orgy. Though I did pull this fit as artist. One of Libby's exes. She looked well pissed off when she found out.'

'Who's Libby?' Lisa asked.

'Blonde cow who lives in the Square.'

'Is his her?'

Patrick frowned at the pause in conversation, unsettled by the rustling of paper.

'Oh my God,' Grace whispered. 'Yes, that's her.'