No Need to Say Goodbye
Betty Neels
Could it only ever be a dream?Dr. Aldo van der Linden would make a marvelous husband—Louise was certain of that. Before he'd involved himself in her family's affairs, Louise hadn't considered the doctor as anything more than a work colleague. But now that she had lost her job, she had plenty of time to think about him…his charm, kindness, splendid good looks. The young nurse knew she was the last woman on earth Aldo would propose to, but she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to be Mrs. van der Linden.
“I knocked,” Aldo said quietly, and smiled a little.
He looked tired, but at the same time unshakably calm. “We have to talk, Louise.”
“I’m busy.” The sight of him standing there had shattered her dreams, and reality held no comfort. “Another time,” she insisted.
“You’ve been crying. Why?” Aldo wanted to know.
“That is my business,” Louise said. Then she contradicted herself. “You’ve no good reason and no right not to warn me the housekeeper was back. And if it wasn’t for my sister—”
“What has your sister to do with us?”
“Well, you’re— That is, you and she… I thought…”
He smiled. “Yes, I’ve been watching you think for quite a time, and a more muddled lot of ideas I have yet to guess at….”
Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit lives on in all her stories.
No Need to Say Goodbye
Betty Neels
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER ONE
IT SHOULD have been the quietest hour or so of the night in the hospital, when the ill and the not so ill slept, the accident centre was temporarily quiet and the busy nurses could pause for a snack, meal or a cup of tea. Tonight, as so often happened, an ambulance with its flashing lights brought the staff nurse to her feet, ready to meet the ambulanceman as he got to the doors.
‘Coronary,’ he told her briefly. ‘In a bad way, too.’
The nurse nodded, said over her shoulder to the student nurse on duty with her, ‘Get hold of Sister Payne, tell her it’s a coronary, ask her to come,’ and then she went out to the ambulance.
So it was that Sister Louise Payne, sitting at her desk in her office, her shoes off, a mug of tea at her elbow, and writing the beginnings of the report, put down her pen with a little sigh as the phone rang, lifted the receiver, listened with composure, said with calm, ‘I’ll be down at once, Nurse. Go back to Staff and help her. I’ll get hold of Dr Giles,’ and dug her feet into her shoes once more.
Dr Giles, the medical officer on duty, had just got to his bed; he grunted his displeasure at being roused from the brief snooze he had hoped for and, in answer to Sister Payne’s firm voice telling him that she would meet him in the accident room, grunted again. She put down the receiver, knowing that despite the grumbles he would be there, and took herself off to the accident room.
Staff Nurse was glad to see her; the man was in a bad way and she hadn’t had much experience of coronaries; Sister Payne took over without a fuss, and when Dr Giles arrived, trousers and sweater over his pyjamas, they worked together.
‘Who is he?’ asked Dr Giles, not pausing in his work.
Sister Payne didn’t pause either. ‘Staff?’ she asked without turning round.
‘The ambulance was called by someone who saw him lying in the street. A Mr Tom Cowdrie… They found an envelope in a coat pocket. I’ve not had time…’
‘No, of course you haven’t, Staff.’ Sister Payne’s glance flickered briefly towards Dr Giles. ‘Ted, it’s the MP…Staff, get the police, will you? Ted should you get Dr van der Linden?’
‘Yes. Could Staff take over? Nurse can get the police, can’t she?’ He looked down at their unresponsive patient. ‘No, better not—I’ll stay here. Let Staff take over from you. You telephone.’
Sister Payne nodded her approval and sped to the phone, dialled a number and waited. The voice in her ear was tinged with irritation, to be expected at three o’clock in the morning, but her own remained admirably calm. She didn’t waste time in apologies. ‘A Mr Tom Cowdrie has just been brought in—the MP. A coronary. Dr Giles would be glad of your advice, sir.’
‘Ten minutes,’ said the voice in her ear, and the line went dead.
If anyone had had the leisure to look at the clock they would have noted that it was, in fact, nine minutes later when the senior medical consultant of St Nicholas’s Hospital came silent-footed into the accident room. He was a massive man, well over six foot and heavily built, with fair hair already silvered and splendid good looks with a high-bridged nose, a firm mouth and blue eyes half hidden by their heavy lids. He was wearing a thin polo-necked sweater and trousers, but no one looking at him would have known that he had been wakened from a deep sleep, driven his car for the mile through London’s streets which separated his house from the hospital, and still contrived to look as though he was on the point of doing an unhurried ward round.
He nodded to Dr Giles, smiled briefly at Sister Payne and bent over the patient, at the same time listening to Dr Giles’s brief résumé.
He nodded his approval, while issuing his orders in a manner which allowed of no hanging around by his supporters. Whoever was on call in X-ray was to be roused, so too whoever was on night duty in the path lab. ‘And, Ted, if the police are here, give them Mr Cowdrie’s address—his wife must be told. Deal with it, will you?’
Dr van der Linden had dragged off his sweater, the better to deal with his patient. ‘Warn intensive care, Sister, will you? As soon as he’s fit to move, we will get him up there.’
It was more than an hour later when Mr Cowdrie was borne carefully away to the intensive care unit; Sister Payne watched Dr van der Linden’s broad shoulders disappear through the door after the trolley, listened with sympathy to Ted Giles’s rueful comment that there wasn’t much point in going back to his bed, made sure that the nurses in the accident room were starting on the clearing up, and went tiredly up to her office; it was very nearly time for her early-morning round, and she still had the report to write. Mr Cowdrie’s wife had arrived, but so far hadn’t seen her husband; Dr van der Linden would talk to her first, and then in all probability bring her along for Sister Payne to solace with tea and sympathy. She penned the report with the speed of long practice, answered an urgent summons from the women’s medical ward with her usual calm, and was just on her way back to her office, expecting to have a quick cup of tea before commencing her rounds, when Dr van der Linden bore down upon her with Mrs Cowdrie beside him. Sister Payne paused, stifling an urge to gallop briskly in the opposite direction; it was all very well for Dr van der Linden; he would in all probability take himself off home to a couple of hours’ sleep and a tasty breakfast cooked by a loving wife…
She greeted him pleasantly and Mrs Cowdrie with sympathy; she was a much younger woman than she had expected, fair and fluffy and nicely made-up and dressed with care. Surely, thought Sister Payne, she wouldn’t have stopped to do her face and dress so carefully, knowing that her husband had just been dragged back from death’s door, and even now, for that matter, had a foot still inside it?
Mrs Cowdrie was summing her up, too: a handsome girl, tall and with a splendid figure, her dark hair a little untidy. Her large brown eyes had shadows beneath them from tiredness and her straight nose shone; all the same, she had a serene beauty which Mrs Cowdrie would never achieve.
Dr van der Linden watched her from under hooded lids, his face without expression. He said blandly, ‘Ah, Sister, would you be kind enough to give Mrs Cowdrie a cup of tea and arrange for a taxi to take her home presently? I have explained that she may remain here if she wishes, but she would prefer to go home.’
There were still fifteen minutes before she needed to start the morning round; Sister Payne murmured suitably and led Mrs Cowdrie away to sit in the office and drink her tea, but only after that lady had taken a fulsome farewell of Dr van der Linden.
‘I really must go back home,’ she explained to Sister Payne. ‘I sleep very badly, you know, and this has upset me. I shall spend the day in bed.’
‘Your husband is very ill…’ began Louise carefully. ‘There is a rest room here, if you care to stay?’
‘Well, there is nothing I can do, is there? I have to think of my own health, Sister. Do you suppose that he will recover?’
Louise hid shock behind a calm face. ‘I really don’t know, Mrs Cowdrie. That is for Dr van der Linden to tell you.’
Mrs Cowdrie put down her cup and saucer. ‘He’s quite something, isn’t he? I’ll be off, thanks for the tea.’ She looked round the office. ‘Is this where you spend your nights? I suppose you knit or read to pass the time?’
She was quite serious; Sister Payne said quietly, ‘I do have things to do…’ She telephoned for a taxi and escorted the lady to the hospital entrance, then turned her steps in the direction of the men’s medical ward, to start her round. The intensive care unit first… Mr Cowdrie had a good chance of recovery, she considered. She frowned; Mrs Cowdrie had taken his sudden illness very coolly—what wife worth her salt would worry about her lack of sleep at such a time, let alone go back home until her husband had been declared safely out of danger? She met Dr van der Linden at the door, on his way out, and he paused to speak to her. They had known each other for some time now, and maintained a pleasant, rather cool relationship, each respecting the other without showing interest. They might, on occasion, hold a brief conversation about the weather or some similar impersonal topic, and at the hospital ball he would dance with her once, something he was obliged to do in common courtesy, but for the most part their talk was strictly professional, concerning the patients.
‘Mr Cowdrie should do, Sister. I’ve left instructions with Staff Nurse. Let me know if you’re not happy with anything.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You will be handing over within another hour or so?’
He nodded unsmilingly, and walked rapidly away, doubtless to his bed, thought Louise enviously, and then reflected that, unlike her, he had a ward round in a few hours’ time, whereas, once the house was quiet, she would be able to sleep.
She was a little late going off duty, since she had to give a lengthy report to the day sister on intensive care. The March morning, although bright, was chilly; she paused at the entrance to shiver. The streets around the hospital were already teeming with traffic and the buses would be full.
The big door swung open behind her and Dr van der Linden came to a halt beside her. ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ he said pleasantly.
‘Kind of you, sir, but I can get a bus…’
‘Yes, I know.’ He touched her arm. ‘The car is over here.’
A Jaguar XJS, sleekly elegant and powerful. He ushered her into the front seat and got in beside her. ‘Fourteen, Bick Street, Hoxton, isn’t it?’
She wondered how he knew, but said nothing, only, ‘You must be going out of your way.’ And, when he didn’t reply, ‘This is very kind of you.’
Bick Street was almost in Islington; she supposed one would call it shabby genteel, with its facing rows of small villas, brick built and ugly and with mod cons which had been mod at the turn of the century. Dr van der Linden drew up soundlessly before number fourteen, and its front door was flung open to allow three people and a dog to emerge. A girl, small and fair and pretty, a schoolgirl, fair, too, but a good deal taller and not as pretty, though still worth a second glance, and a schoolboy with sandy hair and glasses on his nose. The dog stayed with him, behind the girls; it was a smooth-coated type with a plumy tail and very large pointed ears.
There were no gardens before the houses; they crossed the pavement and peered at Louise through the car windows. The doctor obligingly opened the window and said, ‘Good morning.’
Louise said, ‘My sisters, Zoë and Christine, and my brother, Michael, and Dusty.’
They chorused their how do you dos, and Dusty barked a brief greeting.
‘Dr van der Linden kindly gave me a lift.’ Louise spoke briefly, and made to get out. Dr van der Linden got out, too, and opened her door.
‘A pleasure, Sister Payne,’ he said formally, then got in again and drove away with a vague wave of the hand.
The little group went into the house. ‘I say, Louise, do you work for him? Aren’t you lucky?’ It was Zoë who spoke. ‘And I spend my days at that dreary old typing school.’
Louise was in the hall, taking off her coat. ‘Well, dear, it’s only for another week or two, then you can get a smashing job with a film producer or stockbroker or something.’ She followed the others into the kitchen. ‘I don’t work for him—he’s a consultant. I only see him if he comes in for something urgent.’
‘All the same, he drove you home…’
‘Well, we met at the door.’ Louise spoke absent-mindedly, turning over the few letters the postman had brought. ‘Chris—Mike, are you ready for school? Away with you, my dears—see you at teatime. Have a good day.’
Alone with Zoë, she sat down at the kitchen table. She was too tired to eat much, but Zoë made fresh toast and another pot of tea, and sat with her for a while until it was time for her to leave the house, too.
‘I’m back early this afternoon,’ she said as she got her coat, ‘so leave everything, Louise. You look as though you need a good sleep.’
Alone, Louise finished her toast, poured another cup of tea and opened her letters. Presently she would wash her dishes—the others had already done theirs—let Dusty out into the strip of garden behind the house, have a bath and go to bed. For two years now, ever since their mother’s death, when she had taken over the reins of the household, they had kept to a routine which on the whole worked very well. The three younger children kept the house tidy, made their beds and laid tables and washed up, and, on her nights off duty each week, she cleaned the little house, did the week’s shopping and saw to the washing and as much of the ironing as possible. It left little time for leisure, but at least they were together and had a home. There was no money, of course; just sufficient to live decently, and tucked away in the bank was the small capital her father had left, enough to send Mike to university when the time came.
They were lucky to have a home, however shabby, she reflected, unfolding the first of her letters.
It was typewritten, from their landlord, who had rented them the house when her father had had to go into hospital and her mother, knowing that his illness was terminal, had moved to London, lock, stock and barrel, not to mention her four children, so that they might be near him. When he had died they had stayed on because Louise was half-way through her training, and her mother, with some help from her, could just about manage to make ends meet. When her mother had died, two years previously, they had stayed on; Louise had a safe job, Zoë would soon be working and helping out with the housekeeping and the younger ones were doing well at school, although Louise wasn’t too happy about the schools. Sensibly, she didn’t allow herself to worry about the future. It was important to get the two younger ones through their exams; only then would she decide what was best to be done. It was obvious to her that, even if she met a man she would like to marry, he would jib at having to provide for her brother and sisters and, whereas while she had been training and her mother was still alive, she had never lacked for invitations from the housemen at the hospital, they had cooled off when they had discovered later that she now had responsibility for the upbringing of the family. She didn’t blame them, and if she repined she did it in private, turning a calm face to the world.
Unfolding the letter, she allowed herself speculation as to its contents. Another rise in the rent, she supposed; there had never been an agreement. Years ago, when they had first moved there, there had been what the landlord had called a ‘gentlemen’s agreement,’ and when on her mother’s death she had asked him about it, he had assured her that since this arrangement had been in force for some time there was no point in altering it. She had agreed with him, and hadn’t even had a rent book.
A great pity that she had agreed, she reflected, reading his letter. The house had been sold and the new owner would like to take possession as soon as possible, and since there was no written agreement and no lease to expire he would be glad if she could arrange to leave as soon as she had found suitable accommodation. The letter ended with a brief apology—the price he had been offered for the house was too advantageous to be ignored, and he regretted any inconvenience it might cause her.
She read the letter through again once more, slowly, in case she had missed something. She hadn’t—there it was in black and white. She got up, cleared the table, washed the china, set the table ready for their evening meal, let Dusty in from the garden and went upstairs to run the bath, all the while her tired brain doing its best to wrestle with the news. She could get advice, she supposed, but she was pretty sure that the landlord had the law on his side; it was quite true, there was no agreement as such, and for all she knew when her mother had rented the house she might have agreed verbally to leave if asked to do so. Bick Street hadn’t been much sought after; it was only in the last year or so that house prices had soared.
She got into bed and, because she was so very tired, fell asleep at once, to wake in the early afternoon and start worrying again. She had no intention of saying anything to the others, not until she had made quite sure that the landlord was within his rights and, if he was, and she was pretty sure that he was, she had done some house-hunting. She had strong doubts about being able to rent a house and, even if she could get a council flat, what would happen to Dusty?
She got up, made herself some tea and went into the tiny strip of garden with the dog. The daffodil bulbs were showing and there were late snowdrops in one corner and crocuses as well. She remembered the pleasant garden surrounding the house in the country where she had been born and brought up until her father’s illness, and she sighed, but she had common sense; thinking about the past wasn’t going to help the future. She went indoors and started to get the high tea they all shared, and when they were all sitting round the table, discussing the day, she joined in cheerfully and just as usual, making sure that the evening routine of dog-walking, homework and small household chores was in train before she took herself off to work.
It was a busy night with emergency intakes, unexpected crises on the wards and the intensive care unit full up. Mr Cowdrie had improved; Louise, going along to see him, met Dr van der Linden bent on the same errand.
He stopped abruptly, his massive proportions preventing her from sidling around him with a murmured, ‘Good evening, sir.’
‘No sleep?’ he enquired, and, at her surprised look, ‘No colour, puffy lids, shadowed eyes. Something worrying you?’
For a brief moment she toyed with the idea of flinging herself at him and pouring out her problem; he would be a good, patient listener, utterly impersonal and probably able to give her sound advice for that very reason, for he had no interest in her as a person, only as Night Sister. The next second she said in her calm way, ‘No, sir. I didn’t sleep as well as usual, that’s all.’
He nodded, stood aside for her to go in and followed her to the first of the patients, and presently Ted Giles joined them.
There were two more nights before she would be free with nights off, and she wisely decided to do nothing until she could occupy the whole of her mind with her personal worries. She went about her duties in her usual calm fashion and, although she slept badly, her excuse to her sisters and brother that she had a cold was accepted without suspicion.
She left the hospital later than usual after her last night of duty; Sister Berry, who would take over from her for three nights, had only recently been made a sister and, although a good nurse, needed a good deal of bolstering up. Louise took care that the staff nurses on duty with her were experienced but all the same she always wrote a rather more detailed report for her.
Dr van der Linden was coming in as she was going out. His ‘good morning’ was preoccupied, but he paused after he had passed her and retraced his steps. ‘Nights off? You look as though you need them.’
He had gone again before she could say anything; she made her way home, feeling plain and alarmingly desirous of bursting into tears.
In the afternoon, after she had had a nap and done the shopping, she went along to the two estate agents in the neighbourhood. Evidently neither of them had anything to offer her; indeed, they looked at her askance. No one rented a house these days, not when mortgages were so easy to get. There was one flat, two bedroomed, and excluding rates the rent was rather more than the sum she earned in a week. She went back home, prepared the evening meal and when they had all finished it, cleared the table and told them about the landlord’s letter. ‘I’m not sure what we can do,’ she finished matter-of-factly, ‘but since I pay the rent a month in advance and I’ve only just paid it, we have got more than three weeks…’
‘Haven’t we any relations?’ asked Mike.
‘Only Great-Aunt Letitia, but she washed her hands of Father when he married Mother. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.’ Louise spoke with such certainty that their relief was evident.
There was not time to talk about it in the morning; she saw them off, washed up, took Dusty for a brisk walk round the dull streets and came back to find that the postman had been. Only one letter, and that sufficiently official-looking for her to hesitate before she opened it.
She slit the envelope deliberately; there could be no worse news than that which she had had from the landlord. It might even be better…
It was. The letter, brief and businesslike, sent from Ridgely, Ridgely, Smith and Ridgely, Solicitors, with an address in the city, informed her that Miss Letitia Payne, her father’s aunt, whom she could barely remember, had recently died and had left her house at Much Hadham and her estate, less an annuity to her housekeeper, to her eldest great-niece, Louise Payne. If Miss Payne would have the goodness to call at the above address, matters would be made clear to her.
Louise read the letter again, slowly this time, not quite believing it; she had never doubted that miracles did happen, but she hadn’t expected one to happen to her. She read the letter again and then, being a practical person, got her coat and her purse and went across the street to the corner shop where there was a telephone box.
In answer to her request to speak to Mr Ridgely, a vinegary voice asked which one.
‘Well, I don’t suppose it matters, if you could just say that it is Miss Louise Payne.’
From the dry-as-dust voice which came on the line, she supposed that she was speaking to the most senior of the Mr Ridgelys. It sounded a little shaky, but assured her that the contents of the letter were, in fact, true. ‘Solicitors, young lady, are not given to levity,’ said the voice peevishly.
‘So sorry,’ said Louise, ‘but it is a surprise. Shall I come and see you today?’
‘By all means. I shall place your affairs in the hands of Mr Gerald Ridgely, who will apprise you of all the details. If you could make it convenient to see him at noon, today?’
She got there with a few minutes to spare; there had been time for her to change into the suit she had bought at Country Casuals’ sale; it wasn’t quite warm enough for the chilly March day, but she felt well dressed in it. Her abundant hair she had pinned neatly into a chignon, and her shoes were well polished. After all, it was a momentous occasion, worthy of her best efforts.
The solicitors had rooms in an old house just off Holborn; steep stairs led her to the first floor, where she found a vinegar-faced and very thin woman at a desk. Upon hearing her name, the woman led her wordlessly to a door at the end of a short passage.
The man who rose to shake her hand was grey-haired and looked as though he needed a thorough dusting. ‘Young Mr Ridgely,’ intoned the thin woman and left them. Louise took the chair she was offered, wondering just how old the elder Mr Ridgely might be if this was the young one, and dismissed the thought as frivolous.
‘You are Miss Louise Payne?’ The dusty gentleman sounded suspicious. She opened her bag and produced her birth certificate, thankful that she had had the wit to bring it with her. He read it carefully and slowly, and nodded several times, and then opened the file in front of him.
‘You know of your great-aunt’s house and where it is situated?’
‘Oh, yes. Although I haven’t been there for a very long time. My parents took us there several times when they were alive.’ Just in case he was still suspicious, she added, ‘A small white house on a corner with trees around it.’
‘Just so, Miss Payne. There are of course some changes in Much Hadham; it is a much sought-after area in which to live, being near enough to London for those who work here to commute. You could get a very good price for the house…’
Louise shook her head. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk it over with my sisters and brother, but I think they will want to live there—I know I do.’
He looked at her over his old-fashioned, gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘I understand that you are a night sister at St Nicholas’s Hospital? You will be able to continue your work there if you should decide to live in your great-aunt’s house?’
‘Oh, no. I would have to find another job—Bishop’s Stortford or Stevenage, I suppose, but it would be marvellous for Christine and Michael; they’re still both at school and not very happy where they are now. Zoë, who is nearly nineteen, is just finishing a secretarial course and, I hope, will get a job.’
‘There is very little money in your great-aunt’s estate; she has made provision for her housekeeper—’ he glanced at the files ‘—Miss Wills, who is already in receipt of her retirement pension.’ He coughed drily. ‘The sum of one thousand, four hundred and twenty three pounds, eighty-five pence is available to you; such debts, funeral expenses and so forth have already been discharged.’
Louise, with a bank balance of slightly less than a thousand pence, managed to restrain her yelp of delight. She asked, she hoped not too eagerly, ‘Is the house furnished?’
‘Yes. I should add that when I was last there, a good deal of it was too large for the house; mid-Victorian. Do you have your own furniture?’
‘Well, yes, not a great deal, but what there is is rather nice—left from the house where we lived before we came to London.’
‘Then if I might advise you, Miss Payne, I should visit your great-aunt’s house—your house, I should say! It is called Ivy Cottage, by the way—and decide what you wish to keep; the rest you might sell and add to your capital. The money due to you will be paid into your bank if you will be so good as to let me have particulars of that before you go. The house is empty and I will give you the keys now.’
He handed over a bunch of old-fashioned keys, each one labelled. ‘If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to let me know. Now, if I might have the name of your bank?’
They parted soberly, because young Mr Ridgely would have been shocked if she had hugged him or danced a jig of pure joy on his Turkish carpet. She walked away from the sombre building with her feet upon air, her head full of a hundred and one ideas, most of them highly impractical. It was an occasion for champagne, singing and dancing, none of which would go down well in High Holborn. A bus home, she decided, allowing the sensible side of her nature to get the upper hand, a strong cup of tea and a good think.
Here fate took a hand: Dr van der Linden, going about his own business on the opposite side of the street, caught sight of her and, even at that distance, he could see the glow of sheer happiness on her face. Intrigued, he crossed over.
‘Either you have won the pools or you have accepted an offer of marriage from a millionaire,’ he observed, not bothering with a good morning.
Louise raised her lovely eyes to his. She was in such a state that it seemed perfectly natural that he should join her there on the pavement; rather like a dream, when the most extraordinary things seemed quite normal.
‘I don’t know any millionaires, and I can’t afford the pools, but yes, something quite marvellous has happened.’
‘In that case, come and tell me all about it.’
He didn’t wait for her to answer, but took her arm and walked up Grays Inn Road and turned into Theobald’s Road, where he ushered her into a smart brasserie.
As they went inside, Louise said half-heartedly, ‘But I must get home.’
‘Of course, but you may as well lunch with me now we are here.’
It was not yet one o’clock; they had a table for two by the window and Dr van der Linden said, ‘Whatever it is, you are in no state to order a meal. Allow me?’
She would have eaten dry bread and water quite cheerfully; as it was, she polished off salmon mousse, a cheese soufflé of incredible lightness and fresh pineapple doused in kirsch and whipped cream, all the while only half listening to her companion’s easy flow of small talk. It was only when the coffee-tray had been set before them that he said, ‘Now, supposing you unburden yourself; it won’t seem real until you do.’
She still felt as though she were in a dream, which was perhaps why she began without preamble. ‘I’ve inherited a house—from a great-aunt I haven’t seen in years. The marvellous thing is this, our landlord actually gave us notice to move out of our house because it’s been sold, and I had no idea what I could do.’ She poured their coffee, beaming at him across the little table. ‘Now we can go to Much Hadham…’
He interrupted her abruptly. ‘Much Hadham? The village near Ware?’
She was still too bemused to notice the abruptness. ‘Yes. It’s a small house called Ivy Cottage. There’s a garden, a real one, not just a dusty strip of grass, and trees, and Mike and Christine can go to decent schools and Zoë is bound to get a good job…’
‘And you?’ he prompted.
‘Me? No, I mean I, don’t I? I’ll get a job at Bishop’s Stortford or Stevenage.’ Her practical mind was beginning to take over again. ‘I’m sorry to bore you with all this; you’ve been very kind. I think I was so bowled over that I could have danced a jig in the middle of Holborn. You see, it’s a miracle…’
His voice was reassuringly matter of fact. ‘They do occur.’
He gave her an abstracted smile and she said hurriedly, ‘Thank you for my lunch, I did enjoy it. I must be getting back.’
He made no effort to detain her, but paid the bill and walked back the way they had come. In High Holborn she stopped. ‘There is my bus stop…’
He ignored her, and lifted an arm to a passing taxi, put her inside, closed the door on her with a suave, ‘Allow me,’ and paid the driver and gave her address. She sat there, too astonished to speak, while the cab bore her homewards. He hadn’t even said goodbye, she remembered; he must have been bored out of his mind. She went a bright pink at the idea and the cabby, glancing back in his mirror, thought what a very pretty girl she was.
Dusty was delighted to see her again and, since there was no one else to talk to, she told him all about it while she hoovered and polished and hung out lines of washing, impatient for the others to come home.
She had tea ready for them, and over that meal told them the news.
‘We would have had to move anyway,’ she finished, ‘but now we will have a real home of our own and no rent to pay…’
They sat and stared at her, speechless until Mike let out a whoop of delight. ‘I’ll be able to leave this school…’
‘So will I,’ crowed Christine. Not a demonstrative family by nature, they hugged each other, talking a good deal of nonsense and making outrageous plans. Louise went to the dark little pantry and fetched out a bottle of sherry she had been saving for Zoë’s nineteenth birthday and opened it, and they sat round, the washing up forgotten, while she told them her own sensible plans. They agreed to everything that she suggested; she was the eldest and a good deal older than they were, and they had become accustomed to go to her for help and advice. If she said that it was the best thing for them to move, then move they would, and be overjoyed to do it.
On her first morning after her return to night duty, she went to the office and handed in her resignation; she had always got on well with the senior nursing officer, and now she was listened to with sympathy.
‘In the circumstances,’ declared Miss Pritchard, ‘I can understand that you have no choice but to move to this house which you have been left—most fortuitously, I must add. I shall be very sorry to lose you, Sister, and can but hope that you will be able to find another post near your new home. You can rely upon me to give you an excellent reference, and if I can help in any way, I shall be glad to do so.’
Her friends at the hospital received her news with mixed feelings; she was well liked and, moreover, they had all known each other for a number of years, but they echoed Miss Pritchard’s opinion; there was nothing else for Louise to do. There was no question of selling the house at Much Hadham, she would never get sufficient for it to buy anything similar in London, and in a way, she reflected on her journey home, it was nice not having to make up her mind about it; circumstances had done that for her. She composed a letter to the landlord before she went to bed, and slept soundly for the first time in days.
CHAPTER TWO
ON THE first day of Louise’s next nights off they all went to Much Hadham, Dusty, on his best behaviour, going with them. It was a short journey and they were there before ten o’clock, walking down the village street with its charming mixture of sixteenth and seventeenth-century cottages and large Georgian town houses. The house was more or less in the centre of the village, standing cornerwise on to the junction of a side lane and the main street. It wasn’t large but, even so, bigger than their house in Hoxton, and there was, as far as they could see as they approached it, a sizeable garden. Louise unlocked the front door and they crowded in silently, to stand in the narrow hall and gaze around them. The passage ran from the front door to the back, where there was another stout door, and on either side there were two doors, with a pretty little staircase near the backdoor.
After a few moments Louise walked to the back door and opened it. The garden was nicely old-fashioned, although neglected, but there was a fair-sized grass plot, flowerbeds and, along the end wall, what had been a vegetable patch with the garden shed at one end of it. Still silently she led the others into the first room: the kitchen, with a stone-flagged floor, a very elderly Aga cooker, an old-fashioned dresser and Windsor chairs around a wooden table. Its windows overlooked the garden at the back.
Louise said at once, ‘Someone to see to the stove; we can paint the walls and plan to make curtains and polish the furniture…’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but led the way across the hall and opened another door. A small room with worn lino on its floor and faded curtains, but the desk in it was a charming one of rosewood, badly in need of a polish, with a sabrelegged Regency chair drawn up to it, and there was a library table against one wall, flanked by two matching chairs.
‘Nice,’ commented Louise, and led her party back into the hall and into the room facing the small front garden. It must have been the drawing-room, they decided, for there were several easy chairs, shabby but whole, a long case clock and a glass-fronted bookcase, as well as a pier table under the window. The carpet under their feet was faded but still good, if somewhat grubby. ‘A good scrub,’ said Louise as they went into the last room. The dining-room, small and rather dark by reason of the gloomy wallpaper and heavy serge curtains. But the table at its centre was solid mahogany, as were the four chairs around it, and there was a sideboard of the same wood.
They looked at each other and smiled happily and went up the stairs.
The bathroom was almost a museum piece with a bath on claw feet in the centre of the bare floor, but the geyser above it looked modern enough. The washbasin was large and, like the bath, white, with brass taps and a wooden cupboard beneath it concealing a multitude of pipes. There was lino on the floor here, too, badly in need of replacement.
There were three bedrooms, one large enough for Zoë and Christine, and two smaller ones for Mike and Louise, and at the back of the landing a tiny curved staircase leading to an attic with windows back and front.
Louise caught Mike’s look. ‘Once we are in and things have got sorted out, we might turn this into a room for you, Mike; that would give us a spare room. What do you all think of it? Will you be happy here?’
Their chorus of delight almost deafened her.
‘We’ll go and find somewhere where we can have coffee. Then, Mike, will you check the lights? Zoë and Christine, you have got the tape measure? We shall need curtains everywhere; I’m going to see if I can get hold of someone to look at that Aga, and we’ll have to have the floors done. But first we must clean up the place and polish the furniture; we can use most of it except that big bed upstairs. I think there will be enough money to get emulsion and do the painting—if we all come here on my next nights off, we should be able to get a good deal done. We’ll have to picnic.’ She frowned. ‘I might be able to find someone in the village who would give us bed and breakfast…’
A question solved for her, for, when they got back after having coffee, Miss Wills knocked briskly on the door, introduced herself and suggested without preamble that they might be glad of her help.
‘You intend to live here? I thought that you might; it is a dear little house, and so convenient. If you will allow me, I will point out what needs to be done.’
Which she did, at the same time giving the names and addresses of those who might undertake the various repairs. Her sharp eyes swept over the little group surrounding her. ‘I expect you will do your own painting and cleaning?’
Louise nodded. ‘Oh, yes. We haven’t much money, but I can see that there are some repairs which must be done before we can move in. I can’t leave my job for another three weeks, although I can come down for my nights off.’
Miss Wills coughed. ‘I have retired, as you must know; my sister and I share a house in the village. We do bed and breakfast, but at this time of the year we have rooms to spare. You are all welcome to have beds and breakfasts at a nominal sum.’
Louise gazed at the elderly lady facing her; she had spoken briskly and her severe features had relaxed only slightly, but Louise sensed that she was being friendly and sincere. She said, ‘That is very kind of you, Miss Wills. I haven’t got things worked out yet, but I think that we might all come down on my next nights off and get the house cleaned and begin the painting. Do you suppose that it would be too soon if I were to come back tomorrow and see about carpets and the Aga? If the floors are done, it will be so much easier to move the furniture around and bring down what we have in Hoxton.’
‘I don’t see why not. You need Mr Baxter for the Aga and Ted Poolley for the floors—you’ll need to do the cleaning and painting first before he comes, of course, but you could discuss what you need and get an estimate.’
So matters were arranged, and Miss Wills took herself off with a further recommendation to Louise to let her know if she needed a bed at any time.
‘Well, I must say,’ declared Louise when she had gone, ‘it’s as though our fairy godmother has turned up at last.’
It seemed as if she were right. Mr Baxter, when she saw him the next day, undertook to deal with the Aga, put new washers on all the taps and give the plumbing what he called the ‘once over’, and Ted Poolley, a tall, spidery man who had almost nothing to say, agreed to measure up the kitchen and bathroom floors for a good hardwearing covering and left a book of samples for carpeting. Louise wasn’t sure if there would be enough money for that and she said so, whereupon he advised her to put an advertisement in Mrs Potter’s newspaper shop window, and sell anything she didn’t want in the house. She thanked him, went round the place with pencil and paper and found that there were quite a few tables and chairs, as well as the bed, which she didn’t need. She wrote out her advertisement before she did anything else, and took it with her when she went to buy Harpic, liquid soap and a strong disinfectant. She bore these back with her and began a vigorous cleaning session, draped in an old apron she had found hanging in the kitchen. She paused for sandwiches and a pot of tea in the middle of the day and, satisfied with the cleanliness of the kitchen, started on the bedroom. She was on her knees poking under the cupboard when she heard footsteps in the hall below. Someone come to inspect the furniture she hoped to sell? She got to her feet, just in time to see Dr van der Linden open the door wide and come in.
She stood, a deplorable sight in her old apron, her hair tied back anyhow, her face shining with her efforts, her hands and arms wrinkled from hot soapsuds, and she gaped at him. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’ She added a ‘sir’ hastily, and closed her mouth with something of a snap.
‘I happened to be passing; I’ll give you a lift back.’
‘But I’m not ready, it’s only three o’clock—I mean to catch the train that leaves just after five. It’s very kind of you…’
‘I don’t intend to leave until five o’clock in any case.’ He smiled at her, and she wondered why he looked so amused.
‘Oh, you’ve a patient here?’
‘No—at least, not one that I need to visit. I live here.’
Her pretty mouth dropped open once more. ‘Live here? Do you? In Much Hadham?’
He came right into the room and sat down on a chair. ‘Yes. In the High Street.’ He named one of the large eighteenth-century houses, dignified bow-windowed residences with splendid doorways, opening straight on to the street, but with large walled gardens at their backs.
‘Well, I never,’ observed Louise rather inadequately. ‘I thought you lived somewhere in London.’ She blushed as she spoke, because it sounded as though she took an interest in his private life.
He watched the blush with pleasure. ‘I have a flat there, but I do my best to spend as much time as possible here.’ He stretched his long legs comfortably. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your work. When do you move?’
‘Oh, in a week or two; there’s quite a lot to be done first, and we can stay in Hoxton until the month’s notice is up.’ She began to wash the paintwork of the cupboard; it was all very well for her visitor to take his ease; she needed every minute of her free time if the house was to be fit to move into.
‘Have you found another job?’ he wanted to know.
She gave the cupboard a final wipe, and sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. ‘Well, I haven’t had much time,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘I thought I’d try Stevenage; it’s a pretty big place, and there’s a lot of industry there and probably the hospital could do with more staff…’
‘But perhaps not a sister’s post—will you settle for day duty?’
He spoke idly and she answered him with unthinking frankness. ‘Oh, lord, yes. I’m not going to be fussy. I shan’t have any rent to pay here; you have no idea what a fantastic difference that will make; so I can take anything I’m offered. I’d rather have a ward, of course, but I’m not out for promotion; this—’ she waved a soapy arm around her ‘—is quite the most wonderful thing that has happened to us for ages…for a longtime.’
‘Since your parents died?’ said Dr van der Linden softly.
She scrubbed a windowsill with vigour; her quite wretched tongue, running away with her like that. She said ‘yes’, shortly and added, ‘It’s a lovely day…’
The doctor’s eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Indeed it is. Do you know anyone living here?’
‘No—Well, Miss Wills, who kept house for my great-aunt, she called yesterday and was very helpful—about plumbers and all that.’
‘A nice old lady—very respected in the village. There are some good schools round and about, but I expect you know that.’
‘No, I didn’t, but I hoped there would be.’ Louise put up a wet hand and swept back a lock of dark hair. ‘State or private?’
‘Both. Possibly your brother and sister might get scholarships. Are they happy where they are at present?’
She was polishing a small toilet mirror on the chest of drawers; it was apple wood, not valuable but nicely made with a well-fitting drawer beneath it; with the dust washed off it, it was quite charming. ‘They hate it,’ she told him.
‘And you? You have hated living in Hoxton?’
She nodded. ‘It’s been worse for Zoë—she’s young and so pretty, and she has had no fun.’
He gave her a thoughtful look; he could only see her profile. She had a determined chin; probably she was an obstinate girl, and proud.
‘Very pretty,’ he agreed blandly. ‘I have no doubt that she will find a job and friends without any difficulty. How long are you going to kneel there, scrubbing?’
‘Until five o’clock, Dr van der Linden.’ Something in her voice implied that it was time that they got back to their usual relationship of cool, friendly respect.
He ignored it. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Louise? After all, you are not on duty now.’ He didn’t wait for her to answer, but got to his feet and strolled to the door. ‘I’ll be back here at five o’clock; we’ll have tea and I will drive you back home.’
He had gone while she was still trying to find a good reason for not accepting his invitation.
‘Well,’ said Louise indignantly, addressing the empty room, ‘it was more of an order.’ She frowned. ‘And I talked too much. Whatever came over me?’
She attacked the bedside table with unnecessary force; it was an ordinary white-painted piece of furniture, like the bed, but when the room was carpeted and curtained and there were flowers and ornaments around it would do very well. She worked with a will; by five to five she was finished and had tidied away the bucket and brush, washed out the apron, combed her hair and done something to her face. Her hands were still red, but at least they were clean and she had nice nails, well kept and a good shape. She was locking the back door when Dr van der Linden opened the front door and walked in.
‘Punctual,’ he commented pleasantly. ‘You bring your disciplined working life into your private living. Very commendable.’
A remark to which for some reason Louise took exception.
At the back of her head had been the vague idea that he would take her to his house for tea, but she was wrong. He ushered her into the car and drove off through the village, and, when they reached Stanstead Abbots, stopped at Briggens House and ushered her inside its elegant portals and ordered tea and delicate little sandwiches and mouth-watering cakes. She enjoyed it all; all the same she felt disappointment at not going to his house—after all, it was so close to Ivy Cottage. Perhaps his wife was there—but was he married? She had never bothered about his private life before and there was no point in starting now, she reminded herself smartly, carrying on the kind of conversation she was in the habit of having with the consultant at the hospital when they stopped to chat upon occasion.
Dr van der Linden watched her face unobtrusively, reading her thoughts very accurately, while bearing his part in their talk with the cool pleasantness he exhibited when they met at hospital, so that her uneasiness subsided; he was, after all, only doing what any charitable-minded person would do for someone they knew, however slightly.
Bick Street, despite the neatness of its little houses, was a different kettle of fish from Much Hadham. Louise reflected that she wouldn’t feel a spark of regret when they left it. She voiced her thoughts as the doctor stopped before her front door. ‘I shall be glad to leave here,’ she said, and turned to thank him for her lift. But Zoë had opened the door and was already standing by the car, her pretty, eager face beaming at them.
‘I’ve just made tea; come and have a cup with us Dr van der Linden?’
Louise began, ‘Oh, but we’ve…’
But she was forestalled by his calm, ‘That would be delightful,’ and his speedy removal of his vast person from his car. He came and opened the door for her, smiling down at her so that she found it quite impossible to say anything more.
Inside the house they went into the sitting-room, where signs of their departure were much in evidence, with packing cases in corners and books piled tidily. The tea-tray was on a corner of the table by the window, and Zoë said, ‘There is plenty in the pot…’ and raised her voice to call, ‘…Christine, bring that cake Louise made yesterday, and find Mike; tea is made.’ She smiled at Louise. ‘I’ll pour, Louise, you look tired. How come you met Dr van der Linden?’
‘He lives at Much Hadham…’
Christine and Mike had joined them. The three younger members of the family turned surprised faces to their guest and chorused happily, ‘How utterly super—do you live near Ivy Cottage? Are you married? Did you know Great-Aunt Payne?’
Louise’s quiet voice brought them all to a halt. ‘My dears, I hardly think that Dr van der Linden would wish to answer you.’
Zoë said at once, ‘Oh, sorry, we didn’t mean to be rude. It was awfully kind of you to bring Louise back, though; it’s saved her hours. Have some of this cake; she is a marvellous cook.’
Louise was astonished to see him eat a slice with evident appetite, after the splendid tea they had had, too. Of course, he was a very large man; moreover he was kind; he was probably eating it for fear of hurting her feelings. The conversation centred round the trials of moving house, enlivened by Dusty’s antics and Mike’s high-flown ideas as to what he intended to do with the attic at Ivy Cottage. The doctor sat back at his ease, listening with interest and occasionally putting in a question. It was almost an hour before he rose, saying that he had an appointment and would have to go. Louise thanked him again politely as he took his leave, but it was Zoë who went out to the car with him, and stood talking by it for a few more minutes.
Louise, glancing out of the window, frowned thoughtfully. Dr van der Linden and Zoë seemed taken with each other, but her sister was very young, he must be almost twice her age. Besides, he hadn’t answered their questions, had he? She supposed that she could find out easily enough at the hospital if he was married or not, but that was something she would never do. In any case, she told herself they were very unlikely to see much of him; once they had moved the two youngest would be at school, Zoë would get a job and she would, with luck, have a job in Stevenage. With Zoë earning as well as herself, and no rent to pay, there would be more money; Zoë would be able to have some pretty clothes and join a tennis club, get to know young people of her own age. Louise, her thoughts busy with the future, turned away from the window and went along to the kitchen to see what there was for supper.
She made the journey to Ivy Cottage again the next day; she was on duty that night, but it was worth going for the morning at any rate; she was sure she would have time to clean out another bedroom, and perhaps someone would come and buy the bed.
Her hopes were realised; the bedroom was a small room and there wasn’t much furniture in it. She had washed the paint and cleaned the walls ready for the painting they would do the next time they came, and was consulting with Mr Baxter about the Aga, when an elderly couple thumped the knocker.
They had a daughter getting married, they explained, and the bed might do as a wedding present. Louise led them upstairs and watched patiently while they tried the springs, examined the mattress and, finally, offered her rather less than she had asked. She accepted without demur; the money would come in very handy, and the bed would be out of the way. They had a van outside; the bed was dismantled and stowed safely, and both parties parted on the best of terms, well satisfied. If the tables and chairs were sold as easily there would be money enough to have the kitchen modernised a little: she went straight back to Mr Baxter and sounded him out upon the matter. He had just the thing, he assured her, some cupboards and shelves someone had ordered and then cancelled at the last minute. Going cheap; he mentioned a price well within her budget and she sighed with relief; something on the floor and some curtains at the window, and at least one room in the little house would be ready for use.
She had time for a brief nap before she went on duty, and when Dr van der Linden encountered her as he left the women’s medical ward, she looked her usual self, unshakeably calm and as neat as a new pin. His ‘Good evening, Sister,’ was uttered with impersonal politeness before he went on to discuss with her the condition of one of his patients; that he had sat and watched her cleaning furniture in an old apron and with her hair anyhow, smacked of the nonsensical, and from his manner it seemed plain to her that he had dismissed it from his mind. And why not? common sense demanded of her, while at the same time she felt a decided peevishness at his lack of friendliness.
She didn’t see him again until she was on the point of leaving the hospital five days later, with the prospect of two nights off duty, her head full of plans as to what to do first at Ivy Cottage. The last of these days fell, most fortunately, on a Saturday, which meant that all four of them would be able to work there. The sitting-room, she decided, as she changed out of her uniform; if they could do the walls and paintwork, then the carpets could be laid, and in the meantime she could start on the dining-room. They would have to move out of the house in Bick Street in less than a week’s time… She started downstairs on her way out, deep in thought.
Dr van der Linden followed her silent-footed, caught up with her on the first landing, and asked, ‘Nights off? Do you plan to go to Much Hadham today? I shall be driving there this morning. Can I give you a lift? Around ten o’clock?’
She had stopped to look at him, tired eyes from her beautiful face searching his own blue eyes, half hidden under their heavy lids.
‘Thank you,’ she said at length. ‘I did intend going there today, and I’d be grateful.’
‘Good.’ He spoke briskly. ‘I will be outside your place; if there is anything to take down there, it can go in the boot.’
Too good an opportunity to miss; Louise had a number of cardboard boxes and plastic bags tidily lined up in the little hall by the time the doctor arrived. She had seen Mike and Christine off to school, eaten a hasty breakfast with Zoë, attended to Dusty’s wants, and had a shower, so that when she opened the door to him she appeared ready for a day’s work at the cottage. He gave her a searching glance, accepted the coffee she offered, fended off Dusty’s pleased advances, and sat down for all the world as though he had the morning to waste. Louise, in a fever to get on with the manifold jobs awaiting her, and aware that if she sat still for any length of time she would fall asleep, drank her own coffee so fast that she scalded her tongue, and then sat watching him take his time over his own drink. When they were at last in the car with her boxes and bags stowed and Dusty, to his delight, on the back seat—for as Dr van der Linden had pointed out he might just as well spend the day at Ivy Cottage since they would be returning at around five o’clock and could be conveyed without trouble—he observed casually that he for his part had not the least objection to her closing her eyes and taking a refreshing nap.
‘Thank you,’ said Louise frostily, still nettled at his tardiness, ‘I am not in the least sleepy.’ And, within seconds of saying it, had nodded off.
At Ivy Cottage he wakened her gently, took the door key from her and went to open the front door. He deposited her bundles in the hall and led Dusty to the safety of the little back garden. Which gave her time to become thoroughly awake. As he ushered her from the car, he remarked in his calm way, ‘It is not of the least use advising you to get on to the nearest bed and sleep, although that is what you need more than anything else. Fortunately you are a well-built girl with plenty of stamina, even if you are of a managing disposition. I see Mr Baxter is already at work, and Ted Poolley is on his knees measuring the stairs. I have put Dusty in the garden.’
‘You have been very kind. I am sorry I was snappy, it’s just that there is so much to do…’
‘And that reminds me,’ interpolated the doctor, ‘my gardener’s grandson is staying with him—a lad of fifteen or so; he has been helping around the garden, but there is very little for him to do there at the moment and he is at a loose end. You would be rendering me a service by taking him off his grandfather’s hands for an hour or so. Don’t pay him—he has had his week’s wages in advance… His name is Tim.’
‘But I must pay him…’
‘You shall settle up later; don’t complicate things at present. He’s a handy lad; give him some painting to do.’
The doctor nodded briefly, and had taken himself off before she could argue the matter, and five minutes later a tall, skinny youth presented himself at the door. He grinned shyly.
‘Tim, miss, come to give you a hand.’
Louise was no longer tired; a great part of the day was before her, Mr Baxter was putting up shelves with the speed of light, Mr Poolley was in the dining-room now, with his ruler and notebook, and here was willing help. She beamed at Tim. ‘Can you paint?’ she asked happily.
Even with a coffee break, the four of them had got through a prodigious amount of work by one o’clock: the shelves were up, the cupboards were in position, the Aga worked and she had decided on the carpeting with Ted Poolley. It would make a big hole in the small capital, but she could economise on everything else, and he would get it laid before they moved in. The three went to their lunches, and she went into the garden and sat on a rickety garden seat and shared her sandwiches with Dusty, who was lolling happily in the unkept grass.
Mr Baxter had finished by mid-afternoon; Louise gave him a cheque and thanked him nicely. ‘Do anything for a pretty young lady like you, miss,’ mumbled Mr Baxter. ‘Just you send along if you need any jobs done.’
‘Oh, I will,’ declared Louise, and beamed widely at him; life at Much Hadham was going to be a dream after Bick Street.
She made tea for Tim and Ted Poolley, and opened the packet of biscuits she had had the forethought to bring with her. The sitting-room was very nearly finished, and since Ted had promised the carpets would be laid within the week she would be able to stay at home and make the curtains. She saw them off home presently, tidied everything away, did what she could to tidy her own person and locked up. Ted had the second key, and she wouldn’t be coming again until her last free day. She stood by the stout front door and surveyed her house with pride. Mr Baxter had seen to the windows, making them secure, and when they all came in a couple of days’ time, they would clean windows. She sighed with content and turned round in time to see the doctor’s Jaguar slide to a halt by the gate.
Dr van der Linden got out, ushered Dusty on to the back seat, stowed Louise’s bits and pieces in the boot and invited her to make herself comfortable beside him.
Louise, full of the false energy consequent on a sleepless night as well as a busy one, followed by a hard day’s work, was bright-eyed and chatty. He allowed her to run on, merely murmuring placidly when she paused for breath, and when they reached Bick Street, despite the appearance of Zoë with an invitation to stay for tea, he refused, although he qualified his refusal with the suggestion that, once the family had settled in their new home, Zoë might like to have tea with him. ‘After all, I shall be a near neighbour,’ he told her, smiling down at the small, pretty creature.
Louise saw the smile; she wasn’t at all surprised at the effect Zoë was having on the doctor. She was delightfully pretty, with a charming, unselfconscious air. Louise, in the mental no man’s land of one needing her sleep, had the pair of them in love at second sight, engaged and married even while she was bidding Dr van der Linden a polite goodbye at her door; still in the throes of romance, she watched Zoë accompany him across the narrow pavement to his car. Provided he wasn’t married already, and she must discover that as quickly as possible, he would do very nicely for her sister—he was a lot older, of course, but that didn’t matter…
She dumped her boxes and bags in the kitchen, greeted Mike and Christine, handed over Dusty to the former for his walk, and sat down at the kitchen table. Christine was sitting there, doing her homework, but she paused to look at her elder sister.
‘You’re tired,’ she declared. ‘The kettle is boiling; I’ll make tea—there is some cake… Then you go upstairs and lie down, Louise; Zoë and I will get the supper and call you when it’s ready. We can talk then.’
Louise drank her tea and, urged by Christine, took herself off to her room. It overlooked the street and, glancing out of the window, she saw that the doctor was still talking to Zoë. Seeing them, she nodded with sleepy satisfaction and, kicking off her shoes, subsided on to the bed, to sleep within seconds.
Over supper, much refreshed, she described her day and discussed the weighty problem of curtains. Since Zoë was free in the morning, they agreed to go together and buy all the material they needed. ‘And on Saturday,’ said Louise, ‘we’ll all go to Ivy Cottage and do the last odd jobs. I hope someone will buy those odds and ends of furniture before we move.’ She ticked off everything which had to be done before they left Bick Street, and half-way through yawned prodigiously.
‘You go to bed this instant,’ said Zoë firmly. ‘You’re asleep on your feet. We’ll make a list and you can check it in the morning.’
A good night’s sleep worked wonders; Louise and Zoë, their list made to everyone’s satisfaction, made their way to the High Street and spent an hour choosing material for the curtains. The windows of Ivy Cottage were small and the shop specialised in remnants; they returned home well pleased with themselves, laden with all they needed. It remained only to get the curtains made. In the cupboard under the stairs was a very old sewing machine; Louise hauled it out, set it to rights and, with Zoë to help her, got started.
They were all up early the next morning, and with Dusty and a number of bags, and a picnic lunch, they were at Ivy Cottage betimes.
Mr Poolley had been working hard. The lino on the kitchen floor was laid, the dining-room was carpeted and there was a sound of hammering from somewhere upstairs. With such an encouraging start to the day they set to work with a will and, by the time they left, the little house was beginning to look like home. Louise went on duty that evening feeling pleased and excited; in four days’ time she would leave, and once they had settled into their new home she would go after a job.
Her euphoria waned a little as the night wore on. The medical wards were unusually busy; they were always full, but now they were spilling over, with extra beds up and a number of new patients who needed extra care. By the time she was due to go off duty she was tired and peevish, wanting her bed above all things.
It was nice to find breakfast ready and waiting when she got to Bick Street; her sisters and brother clustered round as she ate it, and only when she had finished did Zoë say, ‘We knew you wouldn’t mind, Louise—Dr van der Linden met me when I was out with Dusty yesterday evening—at least, he was driving home, I suppose, and came down this street… He stopped and asked if we wanted a lift tomorrow and I said yes.’ She paused to look at Louise’s face. ‘You don’t mind? It seemed such a splendid chance; we could start on the garden and he said we could have lunch at his house and take Dusty, so you’d have a nice long day to yourself. He’ll bring us back this evening.’
Louise squashed a feeling of self-pity welling up in a threatening manner; it was kind of the doctor, and moreover it rather pointed to the fact that he had his eye on Zoë. Besides, if they went there for lunch they would soon know if he was married, in which case, the quicker he took his eyes off her, the better. In the meanwhile there was safety in numbers.
She said with an instant willingness that she didn’t quite feel, ‘What a splendid notion, my dears. Do remember to take Dusty’s food with you and his bowl; he’ll be quite happy in the garden. Christine, if you finished your curtains yesterday evening, will you take them with you and hang them? There is a spade in the little garden shed at the end of the garden, but perhaps Dr van der Linden wouldn’t mind you taking the garden fork—you could leave it there. Take a bottle of milk—you might want tea.’ She saw their relief as she yawned and declared, ‘Must say, a long sleep will be nice…’
‘Then you don’t mind—truly not?’ asked Mike.
‘Not one bit. I’ve had a rotten night—all go—and I can think of nothing nicer than a bath and bed. Take a key with you just in case I’m gone before you get back.’ Something made her add, ‘I told Night Sister on the surgical wards that I would cover for her for the first half hour—she may be late on duty.’
Which wasn’t true, but she had a reluctance to meet Dr van der Linden, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Urged by the other three, she went upstairs to her room and got ready for bed but, although she was so tired, she was still awake when she heard the doctor’s car stop and then the subdued, cheerful murmur of voices and Dusty’s hastily suppressed barks. They would have a lovely day, she told herself with resolute cheerfulness. ‘And I do hope he’s not married,’ she murmured as she dozed off.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WASN’T until the following morning when she reached Bick Street after another night of non-stop work that she had the details of the outing to Much Hadham, for she had prudently left some time before the working party would return. She hadn’t seen Dr van der Linden, either, although he had been in the hospital to check on several very ill patients, but she had been busy at the time in the accident room and he had sent a message to say that he would leave instructions with the night nurse on duty and Ted Giles would get in touch with her as soon as she was free.
She found her brother and sisters in a high state of excitement; they had had a delightful day, they chorused, at the same time assuring her that they had worked like Trojans. Everything that needed to be done had been done, Zoë assured her, plying her with tea and toast, ‘And we went to Aldo’s house…’
‘Aldo?’
Zoë laughed a little. ‘That’s his name, Dr van der Linden. He said it made him feel old when we called him doctor all the time. Well, it’s at the other end of the village—his house—quite beautiful, Louise, and large with a huge garden at the back. It’s old, eighteenth century, one of those with chequered brickwork, and inside it’s furnished with the loveliest antiques. We only went downstairs, of course, but the hall is vast and there is a staircase, stone and wrought iron—there is a carpet on it, of course. We had a heavenly lunch…’ She was interrupted here by Mike and Christine and a chorus of praise in which grilled mushrooms in a wine sauce, roast chicken and gooseberry tart with lashings of cream, and unlimited lemonade—the genuine kind, they explained—jostled in mouth-watering fashion.
Zoë went on just as though there hadn’t been an interruption. ‘And after lunch we went round the garden; it’s beautiful, Louise, you have no idea…’
Louise said equably that no, she hadn’t, and reflected silently that it seemed unlikely that she ever would, although… She allowed her thoughts to stray for a moment; if Dr van der Linden and Zoë should marry, she might be given the chance. And that reminded her.
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