by Betty Neels
‘And you are sure Rosie will be allowed to stay until this man moves in?’ asked Clotilde.
‘Quite sure. Who knows he might offer her the post of housekeeper when he and his bride take up residence.’
She said with false cheerfulness: ‘That would be marvellous for Rosie.’
‘And you, Clotilde? You intend to remain at St Alma’s?’
She said slowly: ‘I’d love to get away—right away, but I suppose I’m a bit scared—you know, finding another job, making new friends, finding somewhere to live…’ She smiled at him. ‘You’ve been very kind, Mr Trent, seeing to everything for me—it must have been very inconvenient for you, going to France unexpectedly.’
He said gravely: ‘I’m your family solicitor, Clotilde. Do you see anything of Dr Thackery? It seemed to me that he was a true friend when you needed one badly.’
‘He was very kind. I can’t thank him enough.’ She heard her voice, rather stiff and cool. ‘But of course I don’t see him much now—when he comes to the ward, twice a week, to do his round, you know. But he has his own circle of friends—it was just that he offered to help because he saw that I needed it. He would do the same for anyone—he’s a very kind man.’
Mr Trent coughed. ‘And Mr Johnson?’ he asked quite guilelessly.
Clotilde had been expecting that. ‘We aren’t going to be married,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s gone to Leeds, to another post—a better one.’
Mr Trent coughed again. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, but there is an old saying concerning the shutting of one door allowing for another to open.’
He shuffled his papers and she took the hint. ‘If there’s nothing else I’ll go, Mr Trent. And thank you once again.’
They shook hands and she was ushered out into the street, to walk back to St Alma’s along the crowded pavements.
She reached the hospital entrance at the same time as the Bentley, and made to pass it, smiling briefly at Dr Thackery, but he was too quick for her; she had reached the doors when he caught up with her.
‘The very person I want to see! Are you free tomorrow evening? My younger sister is here on a visit and I wondered if you’d be so kind as to have dinner with us. She’s a good deal younger than I—just twenty-one—and she regards me as a bit of an old fogey. She’s dying to go shopping too, and perhaps you could suggest where she could go for the kind of clothes she wears—rather way out they are too!’
He had been kind to her when she had needed kindness, so the least she could do was to accept. She did so in her normal calm manner and they parted to go their separate ways. It wasn’t until she was in her room, getting into uniform, that she admitted to herself that she was excited at the idea of seeing him again. It would be interesting to meet him away from the hospital. She couldn’t count the times she had spent with him at her home; they were hardly sociable occasions, and it might be fun to meet his sister. Perhaps she would find out something about his private life; it would give her something to think about and she was desperate to keep her thoughts busy. That way made it easier to forget Bruce.
Dr Thackery had his round the following morning. He greeted her in his usual placid manner, discussed his patients at some length, listened courteously to Dr Evans’ theories, drank his coffee and took his leave and all without a word as to what time and where she was to meet him that evening. Of course, she reminded herself, he wouldn’t do it while Dr Evans was there, but all the same he could have telephoned. She brooded about it, sitting at her desk, and when the phone rang, answered it, still brooding.
‘Seven o’clock at the front entrance,’ said James in her ear. ‘Katrina insists on dressing up and going somewhere where she can dance—you won’t mind?’
‘No, I’m looking forward to meeting her. I’ll be there at seven o’clock.’
‘Good. I’ll look forward to that.’
Clotilde spent a good part of her lunch hour combing through her dresses. Dressing up meant a long skirt, she supposed, and she spent some time wavering between a silver-grey jersey with a sequin strewn jacket, or a patterned organza in shades of pink. She finally settled for the grey; it was well cut and simple and in excellent taste, and besides, she had no wish to outshine James’s sister.
As luck would have it she came off duty late. Dr Evans had come on to the ward during the medicine round and held everything up, wanting this and that and the other thing. Clotilde had held on to her patience with some difficulty, and when at last she went, repaired to her office to give Sally the report and fly over to the home. A good thing she had decided what to wear, she thought as she showered and dressed and did her hair with minutes to spare. She caught up the soft mohair wrap and her purse and tore downstairs, to slow to a dignified walk as she neared the entrance, quite forgetful that she was breathing very fast still.
The doctor got out of the car as she went through the door. He looked elegant in his dinner jacket, there was no denying it, and Clotilde was glad she had decided on the grey dress.
She smiled and said hullo a little shyly.
‘You’ve been running,’ he observed. ‘Late off duty, I suppose, and it wouldn’t do to race out to meet me as though you couldn’t get there fast enough, would it?’ He chuckled. ‘What did you do? Gallop as far as the back of the entrance hall and then sail to the door as though you had all the evening to spare?’
She laughed. ‘Something like that. But I do like to be punctual.’
He got in beside her and switched on. ‘Oh, dear—and I thought it was because you wanted to see me.’ He spoke lightly and she answered just as lightly:
‘But of course I did, and I’m looking forward to meeting your sister.’
They drove straight to the Savoy and found his sister and a young man waiting for them in the bar. ‘Katrina,’ introduced the doctor, ‘and a family friend who’s over here from Holland, Jan van Hegelstra.’ He waited until Clotilde had sat down beside the girl, then he ordered drinks and sat down opposite them and started to talk to Jan. It gave Clotilde time to study Katrina and she liked what she saw—a very pretty girl, almost as tall as Clotilde herself, with fair hair and bright blue eyes, and she was glad all over again about the grey dress, because Katrina was wearing a bright blue crepe which would have clashed dreadfully with the pink. She sensed with pleasure that they were going to like each other and plunged into conversation. The talk soon became general, though, and presently they went into the restaurant. Clotilde had been once or twice before, but its grandeur struck her afresh. It was a place Bruce had never approved of—too expensive, he had always said, a waste of money when he could take her somewhere else and eat the same food for a third of the price. Not the same food at all, mused Clotilde, deciding between a delicious mousse and rillettes and having decided, weighing the merits of vol-au-vent financière against tournedos sauté Masséna, and having eaten these with a better appetite than she had had for weeks, accepting sherry trifle at the doctor’s suggestion.
They danced presently. She partnered Jan first and then the doctor. As they circled round the floor he looked down at her, studying her face. ‘You don’t have to feel guilty,’ he said softly. ‘Life goes on, you know, your parents would want you to be happy again.’
‘How did you know…?’ she stammered a little. ‘I’m not being a drip, am I? I’d hate to spoil Katrina’s evening.’
‘Don’t worry, you’re a valuable asset to our little party. Have you thought any more about leaving St Alma’s?’
‘Yes, only I’m being cowardly about it, I suppose. Besides, Mr Trent…’ She stopped and coloured faintly, and when he prompted her gently: ‘It’s nothing, really.’
He didn’t answer but when they reached their table again he led her to it, sat her down, glanced round to see the other two on the dance floor and took the chair opposite hers. ‘Well?’ he asked in a voice which expected an answer.
‘I never meant to tell you— I— I seem to pour out all my problems to you, though this isn’t really the place. It’s jus
t that someone’s taken up the mortgage on the house. He doesn’t want to live there yet, Mr Trent said, he’s going to get married. He wants to buy the furniture, and Rosie may stay as housekeeper until he goes there to live.’
‘That’s surely good news?’ James’s voice was casually interested.
‘Oh, yes. But it still only puts off the final bit, doesn’t sit? I mean, sooner or later I must do something about it— I can’t hang around waiting for something to happen.’
‘No, of course not.’ He sounded at his most placid. ‘But neither do you need to rush into something without thinking about it first. Let things lie for a week or so. Shall we dance again?’
She agreed brightly, feeling a little hurt and let down because his interest was so casual even though his advice was sound. She would wait for a few weeks, as he suggested, and then make up her mind where she would go. Perhaps out of England for a time; she would be able to do that if Rosie were settled as a housekeeper.
‘Stop thinking about it,’ said James softly to the top of her head.
They stopped dancing presently and sat talking, and when Katrina asked Clotilde if she would go shopping with her if she had any spare time, she agreed readily. She had days off very shortly; she would drive herself home and spend the day, then return to spend the morning shopping with Katrina, who, if one were to believe her, hadn’t a rag to her back.
It was midnight before the party broke up, Katrina and Jan to return to wherever they were staying; Clotilde supposed with James—and she to be driven back to St Alma’s. As they went she asked diffidently: ‘Do you live in London?’
His laconic, ‘most of the time,’ did nothing to assuage her curiosity.
He got out of the car at the hospital and went in with her. The entrance hall was quiet; the porter in his little office reading a paper glanced up at them and then went back to his reading.
‘It was a lovely evening,’ said Clotilde, and held out a hand. ‘Thank you very much, James.’
‘Delightful, and you look very pretty in that dress, Tilly. Next time we meet you’ll be all starch and navy blue with that ridiculous cap on your head, and I shall have to call you Sister.’
‘Well, that’s what I am,’ she observed matter-of-factly.
‘You’re a great many other things too,’ he told her blandly, and bent and kissed her cheek lightly. ‘Goodnight.’
She was left wondering what he meant and rather put out in case the porter had been watching them. There was no harm in a social kiss, but the hospital grapevine was capable of making a huge fire out of a little smoke!
CHAPTER FIVE
ROSIE WAS DELIGHTED with Clotilde’s news when she got home, at first not believing her and then talking nineteen to the dozen about a rosy future for them both. ‘I knew things would be all right,’ she declared happily. ‘You mark my words, Miss Tilly, everything’s going to be just fine!’
A wish Clotilde heartily endorsed.
She went back to St Alma’s that evening and set out for Harrods at nine o’clock the next morning. She was to meet Katrina there, something which she found frustrating, because she had hoped she would see James’s home at last, but it seemed to her that he intended to keep his private life very much to himself and that she was to have no share in it, despite his friendly manner. Not that it mattered in the very least, she told herself robustly, waiting in the bus queue, for she had every intention of leaving St Alma’s once the matter of the house and Rosie had been satisfactorily settled. A new life, she decided, jumping on to the bus at last, to be squashed between a stout lady in a cloth cap and a mild little man with a drooping moustache, somewhere exciting and sunny and warm—not too warm, of course; she’d have to work, not lie about sunbathing all day. Her vivid imagination had conjured up quite an interesting life for herself by the time she got off the bus, and it was rather a comedown to find herself on the damp pavement, a light drizzle misting her hair and tweed suit. She made for the nearest entrance and got there just as Katrina got out of a taxi and caught her by the arm. ‘Let’s have coffee first,’ she begged, ‘and you can tell me where to go when we’ve looked round here.’
Clotilde smiled. Katrina seemed years younger than herself; she guessed she was the darling of the family, accustomed to having her own way. ‘Well, it depends on what you want to buy,’ she began.
‘Everything,’ said Katrina simply.
So Clotilde ticked off the best shops to go to if Katrina didn’t find all she wanted in Harrods. ‘Although I should think they’ve got just about all you want. Anyway, let’s start with the separates, shall we, and you should find some pretty dresses—long or short?’
They decided this important question while they finished their coffee and then began to shop in earnest. Clotilde was secretly astonished at the amount of money Katrina was spending. The separates were quickly dealt with, the more serious business of choosing clothes for the evening took up an hour or so, and even then Katrina was by no means satisfied.
‘You must go out a great deal,’ observed Clotilde when Katrina added a crêpe trouser suit and a satin sheath to their ever-growing packages.
‘Quite a bit. Now I want something really grand—the Burgermeester’s reception, you know, all white ties and old ladies in satin…’
‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as that or you wouldn’t bother to buy something grand.’
Katrina laughed. ‘You’re right, of course. Where shall I go for such a dress?’
‘Well,’ said Clotilde doubtfully, ‘it’s according to how much you want to pay…’
Katrina looked taken aback. ‘I pay? James said I could choose whatever I liked. I still have a lot of money to spend. See, he’s signed these cheques and I fill them in.’
‘My goodness,’ said Clotilde, ‘and you’ve spent a lot already.’
‘I’m his favourite sister, and when I marry he’ll no longer be able to buy me things, that will be for my husband.’
‘Who’ll need to be a millionaire,’ Clotilde laughed. ‘You really are the limit, Katrina! There’s rather a nice boutique nearby— I bought a dress there when my sister got married.’
An hour later they stood on the pavement. Katrina had her dress, a blue crêpe that matched her eyes, yards and yards of skirt and a tucked bodice with shoestring straps, exactly right for the Burgermeester, she had decided, and handed over another of her brother’s cheques.
‘And that, I think, is everything,’ she observed. ‘Now we’ll take a taxi and go home to lunch.’ She turned a beaming face towards Clotilde. ‘You will come, won’t you, Tilly?’
‘Well, I hadn’t expected to—’ she hesitated. ‘You asked me to go shopping.’
‘But we’ve had a busy morning and now we must eat. Please come; after lunch you’ll stay a little while, and I’ll try everything on and you can say if it’s suitable.’
Katrina had a way with her; her eyes, as blue as her brother’s beseeched her.
Clotilde got into the taxi Katrina had summoned. They were both laden with parcels, although several of the larger boxes were to be delivered. She longed to know where they were going and was still trying out several ways of finding out in her head, when the taxi stopped. They were in South Audley Street waiting for the traffic lights to change, but very swiftly, before she could frame her question, Katrina said: ‘It’s the next turning; James lives in a mews cottage.’
Somehow not in the least what Clotilde had imagined. True, she had never thought about it much, but when she had, the doctor had gone home to a vague modern flat with beige furniture and a daily housekeeper. But when she got out of the taxi she saw how mistaken she had been. The cottage wasn’t really a cottage but a miniature Georgian town house, squashed in a corner of the mews, and with all the right trimmings; geraniums, still flowering on the windowsills despite the autumn chill; a solid black-painted door with a handsome brass knocker, shutters at the windows and a pristine white doorstep. She followed Katrina in as she unlocked the door and wordlessly
handed over her parcels to a motherly soul who put her in mind of Rosie.
‘This is Mrs Brice,’ said Katrina, ‘she does for James.’ She flung an arm around her. ‘She’s done for him for a long time now, he’d die without her.’ She added: ‘And this is Miss Clotilde Collins, my friend.’
Mrs Brice looked pleased, clucked comfortably, said, ‘Go along with you, Miss Katrina,’ and then: ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure, miss. Will you have lunch right away or wait a while?’
‘We’ll have a drink first, I think, but we’ll make ourselves tidy first.’
The hall was square with a small staircase at one side. Its walls were panelled and it was thickly carpeted in a dark red which gave it a cosy glow. Clotilde, going upstairs after Katrina, looked around her with approval. Once inside, with the door shut, it was hard to imagine that one was in the heart of a big city.
The landing was carpeted too and had several doors leading from it as well as a narrow passage at the back. Katrina opened one of the doors.
‘This is my room when I come to visit James,’ she said, ‘and that’s not so often now. Mother and Father live in Dorset, you know, but I’m at Leyden University and live with my grandparents during term time. I like it very much, but I find it difficult to speak English when I’ve spoken nothing but Dutch for weeks on end. James, he had no difficulty, he’s happy speaking both. Of course, we speak Dutch with my mother when we’re at home, although we’re English. You like my room?’
‘It’s charming,’ declared Clotilde, and meant it. It was by no means large, but the bed and dressing table and tall chest were of yew and delicately made, and since the carpet and curtains and chair covers were in pastels the effect was of space and light. The windows overlooked a tiny garden, the merest plot, exquisitely tidy and full of greenery. It had a bird bath in its centre with a ginger cat sitting on its rim.
‘There’s a cat in your garden,’ said Clotilde.
‘Harry—he belongs to James. He’s got a dog too, George—he goes with him sometimes when he has to drive out of town with Millie.’