Free Every Living Thing by James Herriot Page A

requested.”
    “Oh, do what you damn well like.” And I heard the familiar thud of the phone at the other end.
    I began to sense the eerie workings of fate when Siegfried came in a few days later, looking thoughtful.
    “You won’t believe this, James. I was called to one of Mottram’s clients this morning. Bollands by name, and he was in a state. He had a horse with a broken leg and couldn’t get hold of Mottram. Phoned me in desperation. I rang the Scanton practice but he was on his rounds and I had to dash out to Bollands’s place. It was a ghastly thing—a horrible compound fracture with the poor creature in agony. No possibility of treatment. There was simply nothing for it but to shoot the poor thing immediately. I couldn’t let him suffer. But it would be Mottram—I’ve tried to contact him again now, but he’s still not around.”
    I had to help Siegfried to clean out a dog’s cankered ears and we were clearing up when, to our complete astonishment, Mottram appeared in the doorway of the operating room. He was immaculate as usual, clearly in a rage, but in cold control of himself.
    “Ah, you’re both here.” That superior voice again. “It’s just as well, because what I have to say applies to both of you. This latest escapade at Bollands’s is really too much, Farnon. I can only conclude that you are conducting a campaign to steal my clients.”
    Siegfried flushed. “Now look here, Mottram, that is ridiculous. We have absolutely no desire to poach your clients. As to Bollands’s horse, I tried in vain to get in touch with you, but—”
    Mottram held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear any more. You can say what you like, but I believe in honourable relations. Now that this has happened I am glad I stuck to my principles about that ‘out to dinner together’ nonsense.” He nodded down to each of us from his great height and left.
    Siegfried turned to me ruefully. “Well, that’s finally torn it. I want to be friends with all my neighbours but we’re finished there.”
    As I stood in the bookshop in Brawton, recalling the sequence of events, I felt that I hadn’t needed this final onslaught from Mottram. Standing there among the wreckage of my half-day, looking at his retreating back, I knew that he had washed his hands of me.
    Like my partner, I was unhappy about it, but I put it out of my mind until my bedside phone rang at 1:00 A.M. about a month later. I reached out a sleepy arm.
    The voice at the other end was agitated. “This is Lumsden, Scanton. Mr. Mottram’s assistant. I’m treating his horse with a bad colic, but I’m beat with it. I need help.”
    Suddenly I was wide awake. “Where’s Mottram?”
    “He’s on holiday in the north of Scotland.” The young man’s voice began to quaver. “Oh, this would happen when he’s away. He adores this horse—it’s his favourite, he rides it every day. But I’ve tried everything and it looks like it’s dying. I don’t know how I’m going to face him when he gets back.” There was a pause. “Actually, I was hoping to speak to Mr. Farnon. He’s good with horses, isn’t he?”
    “Yes, he is,” I said. In the darkness, I rested the receiver on my chest and looked at the ceiling as Helen stirred uneasily at my side. Then I spoke again. “Look, Lumsden, I’ll have a word with my partner. It’s his night off, but I’ll see what he says. Anyway, I promise you one of us at least will be out to give you a hand.”
    I cut short his thanks and dialled Siegfried’s number. I told him the story and could sense him snapping awake at the other end. “Oh, my God! Mottram!”
    “Yes. What d’you think?”
    I listened to a long sigh, then, “I’ve got to go, James.”
    “I’ll come with you.”
    “Really? Are you sure?”
    “Of course. It’s my night on, anyway, and I might be able to help.”
    On the way to Scanton we didn’t say much, but Siegfried voiced our thoughts. “You know, this is uncanny. It sounds as though