‘Oh dear. Can’t have that, can we? Here. Let me just pull up her records and we’ll get one of the vets to come and see her. My husband’s out on a call and I have no idea how long that might take, so it will probably be Ralph. You won’t have met him yet, I assume? He’s Sian’s young man. Well, fiancé now, I should say. Anyway, he’s a very capable vet, our Ralph. Been a godsend to us, he has. It might actually mean that Stuart can retire in the not too distant future now Ralph’s here to take the reins. Now, let me see.’ She clicked away at the keys on the computer on her desk, shaking her head before trying again. ‘Oh, bring back a proper appointments diary, I say. We used to have a lovely big black leather one in the old days, but you can’t escape technology now, can you? Right. He has one more appointment booked in for this afternoon, then I can ask him to come down to you, unless any emergencies crop up before then.’

‘Perfect. I might be worrying about nothing but …’

‘Better to be safe than sorry, especially with an elderly cat. Flo’s twelve. Did you know that? And she is family.’

‘Yes, I suppose she is!’

‘Now, tea? Have you got time for a cup? As I say, we’ve only one more patient due in, so I’ve got time to put the kettle on.’

‘Okay, yes. Why not?’

‘No cake, I’m afraid, but I can rustle up a digestive.’ She lifted a concealed flap at the end of the counter and ushered Madi through. ‘Come on. Come and take a seat back here in the staff room. Stay in the public area and you’ll probably get the biscuit snatched out of your hand. He’s a bit of a tinker, this little terrier who’s coming in. And, besides, the chairs out there are too hard.’

Faith busied herself making tea as Madi took a seat and studied her surroundings.

‘You’ve made it very comfy. And the photos on the wall? Are they …?’

‘Yes, all my Prue’s work. Good, aren’t they? I keep telling her she should have done more with her talent. Portraits maybe. There’s money in that, isn’t there? Not stuck in a little newspaper office, but there we are. She didn’t want to leave the village, or leave that Joe Barton more like, not that hanging around for him has done her any good. But, still, you can’t tell other people what to do, can you? Especially your own children. Much as I might worry, you can’t live their lives for them, can you? Have you got any children, Madi?’

There was something so forthright, so open, about this woman that Madi found it hard to take offence.

‘Just the one. And I’ve never had much luck telling him what to do either. He’s his own man, that’s for sure.’

‘And is he an actor too?’