The Impossible Search for the Perfect Man by Debbie Howells/Susie Martyn Page A

hadn’t
decided yet.  Perhaps she has an expansive wardrobe of elegant designer
evening wear...  I expect she just thinks I’m mad, but today I really
don’t care.
    Parsifal, the sick horse has made
incredible progress under Sam’s tender loving care, plus that of the Kilburns,
who have practically lived here this week.  We virtually have to push them
out of here at night.  They arrive first thing, armed with body brushes
and carrots, very thinly sliced to aid his fragile digestion, and they take him
out for very careful walks.  Parsifal looks as though he’s
loving every second of it.
    Since Beamish announced his
semi-retirement, Miles has been looking stressed and lankier than ever, I would
say.  He’s lovely, Miles, but definitely a bit too sensitive. I’m not
convinced he’s cut out for the additional honour and glory not to mention
pressures of joint-senior-partnerdom.  He’s a fabulous vet and all that,
and his clients love him for how conscientious he is, but that’s precisely why
I have my doubts. 
    Marcus is the same as ever.   Busy, and oh so incredibly super-efficient.   Agnes
simply loves him.  Worships him.    In
her eyes, he’s everything a vet should be.  Honestly, you would have
thought Agnes was beyond such idolisation and old enough to know better. 
He also seems to have become rather friendly with Stella.  They’re forever
discussing complicated cases when they’re both in the office.  And it’s
funny, but since Stella’s joined our ranks, I’ve hardly seen Paris at
all. 
     
    The only person I can have a sensible
conversation about the party with is Emma, who’s as excited about it as I am
and on Friday night, she comes round to mine for a glass of wine.  We
gossip about whether Agnes and Beamish will be going to the party
together.  Emma too has picked up on the possibility that something might
just be going on between them.
    Both of us are quiet as we consider the
prospect of Agnes and Beamish as a couple.
    ‘God.  
They’d be a bit formidable, wouldn’t they?’ Emma’s astounded.
    ‘But, they’ve known each other
forever...’ I add.  ‘Maybe they’ve had a thing going on for just ages and
they’re being incredibly discrete.  Either that or we’re all too thick to
notice.’
    We sip our wine.
    ‘What about Miles?’ I ask curiously.
    ‘What do you want to know?’ replies
Emma, amused.  ‘Oh Louisa, you don’t fancy him do you? You’d be
wasting your time.  Miles is already married - to the job.  Every
girlfriend he has lasts all of about a week, once they find out that they’ll
always be less important to him than someone’s manky old horse.  I mean,
put yourself in their shoes.’
    I can, and frankly it’s not
appealing.  Not that Miles is the tiniest bit fanciable – he’s a bit like
a daddy-long-legs.
    ‘Oh Emma.  
I don’t know how you can even suggest that.  Anyway,’ I say.  ‘It’s
not as though I even want to meet a man.  Not now.  A man is the last
thing I need.  I mean, I’m not even divorced yet, am I.  I’m still
married.’
    Emma just looks at me. 
    ‘Not for much longer,’ she says - very
firmly.  ‘And, if your perfect man just happened to materialise right in
front of you, don’t tell me you’d turn your back on him, because I don’t
believe for one minute that you would.’
    Maybe she’s right.  If he actually
exists, which is not very probable at all.

12
     
     
     
     
     
    It’s Saturday! The day of the party!
  God.   I’m sounding like a
teenager.  What is wrong with me?  I need to get out and socialise
more, preferably with people other than vets.
    I’ve already decided that I’m going to
have a gloriously self-indulgent day which means Horace, of course, is part of
it.  After all, what better way to start the day can there possibly be than some relaxed meandering around the countryside on
the back of a beautiful horse?  
    This morning, the sun is shining
brightly through the