B2 Reading Multiple Choice Exam 1

The life of a Vet

He did not feel happy and was uncomfortable inside his best suit which had a tight white collar. He had taken a seat on the wrong side of the bus where the summer sun beat on the windows. Some would say he was wearing a strange outfit for the weather, but there was a good reason. A few miles ahead he was expecting to meet his future employer and he had to make a good impression.
There was a lot depending on this interview because he had almost given up on any future of working as a veterinary surgeon There was a lot of unemployment in the area and many qualified people were lucky to have work as shop assistants and labourers in the shipyards.
There were usually two or three jobs advertised in the newspaper each week and an average of eighty applicants for each one, so it hadn't seemed possible when the letter came from Darrowby in Yorkshire. Mr S. Farnon had asked to see him on Friday afternoon. He had been invited to tea, and if he was considered suitable, he would be able to stay on as his assistant. He could not believe his luck and had grabbed this lifeline with both hands, because most young people emerging from college after five years of hard work faced a world unimpressed by their enthusiasm and knowledge.
As the driver continued on the bendy road, climbing steadily as they had been doing for over fifteen miles, on their way to the blue of the Pennine Hills, he reflected on the fact that he had always believed Yorkshire to be heavy and unromantic, solid but respectably dull, and a region totally lacking in charm. He was therefore not prepared for high grassy hills, wide valleys and in the valley bottoms, rivers twisting among the trees and solid grey stone farmhouses, which lay among islands of cultivated land which pushed up the wild, dark hillsides.
The bus came to an unexpected stop in a square, having passed through a series of narrow cobbled streets. Above the window of a small grocer's shop there was a sign 'Darrowby Co-operative Society'. He got out and stood beside his battered suitcase,only to realise that the driver had switched the bus off and that all the other passengers had dispersed. The only visible sign of life was a group of old men sitting round the clock tower in the centre of the square, but they might have been carved of stone.
Darrowby didn't get much space in the guidebooks, but where it was mentioned it was described as a grey little town on the River Arrow with a market place and little of interest except its two ancient bridges. But when you looked at it, its setting was beautiful. Everywhere from the windows of houses in Darrowby you could see the hills. There was a clearness in the air, a sense of space and airiness. He had the sensation of having left something behind, something of little value, the pressure the noise and the smoke of the city.
Trengate Street was a quiet road leading off the square from where Skeldale House could clearly be seen. He knew it was the right place before he was near enough to read S. Farnon, Veterinary Surgeon on the old-fashioned brass nameplate because of the ivy which grew untidily over the red brick, climbing up to the topmost windows. It was what the letter had said – the only house with ivy, his heart sang with joy because this could be where he would work for the first time as a veterinary surgeon.He took a deep breath, composed himself and rang the doorbell.