by Betty Neels
He sat down with Bob’s head on his feet. He had liked the old lady on sight, but wondered if he was making a mistake. He would know that when he had told her about Loveday.
He got up and took the tea tray from her as she came back into the room. He set it on a small table, then waited until she had sat down before resuming his seat. Good manners came to him as naturally as breathing. Miss West, pouring the tea, liked him for that.
‘If I might introduce myself?’ suggested the doctor, accepting a cup of tea. ‘Andrew Fforde—I’m a doctor. I have a practice in London and work at a London hospital.’
Miss West, sitting very upright in her chair, nodded. ‘Give Bob a biscuit. Is he good with cats?’
‘My housekeeper has a cat; they get on well together.’
‘Then be good enough to open the kitchen door so that my cats and Tim can come in.’
He did as he was asked and three cats came into the sitting room. None of them in their first youth, they ignored Bob and sat down in a tidy row before the fire. Plodding along behind them was an odd dog, with a grey muzzle and a friendly eye, who breathed over Bob and sat down heavily on the doctor’s feet.
Miss West passed him the cake dish. ‘I have not seen Loveday since she was a very small girl. She wrote to me when her other aunt died. She made it plain that she was living in easy circumstances and has never asked for help of any kind. We exchange cards at Christmas. I have thought of her as one of these young women with a career and a wish to live their own lives without encumbrances of any sort.’ She sipped her tea from a delicate china cup. ‘Perhaps I have been mistaken?’
When he didn’t answer, she said, ‘Tell me what you have come to tell me.’
He put down his cup and saucer and told her. He added no embellishments and no opinions of his own, and when he had finished he added, ‘It seemed to me right that you should know this…’
‘Is she pretty?’
‘No, I think perhaps one would call her rather plain. But she has a beauty which has nothing to do with looks. She has beautiful green eyes and soft mousy hair. She is small and she has a charming voice.’
‘Fat? Thin?’
‘Slim and nicely rounded.’
‘You’re in love with her?’
‘Yes. I hope to marry her, but first she must recover from her meeting with Charles.’
Miss West stroked a cat which had climbed onto her lap. ‘How old are you?’
‘Thirty-eight. Loveday is twenty-four.’
‘I like you, Dr Fforde. I don’t like many people, and I have only just met you, nevertheless, I like you. Do whatever you think is the best for Loveday, and bring her here until she is ready to go with you as your wife.’
‘That will be for her to decide,’ he said quietly. ‘But if she chooses to go her own way, then I shall make sure that she has a good job and a secure future.’
Miss West said, ‘You love her as much as that?’
‘Yes.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you for seeing me and giving me your willing help. May I let you know if our plans will be possible? It depends upon Loveday.’
‘If Loveday decides to come and stay with me I shall make her welcome. And I wish you luck, Dr Fforde.’
‘Thank you.’ He would need it, he reflected on his way back to the pub. He had no right to interfere in Loveday’s life and she would probably tell him so…
The small bar was full, and although he was stared at with frank curiosity, they were friendly stares.
The landlord, drawing him a pint, asked cheerfully if he had found Miss West. ‘Nice old lady—lived here for a lifetime, she has. Don’t hold with travel. There’s a steak pie and our own sprouts for your supper, sir. Seven o’clock suit you? And if you let me know what your dog will eat…?’ He eyed Bob, braced against the doctor’s legs. ‘Nice little beast. Seeing as he’s an invalid, like, I’ll put an old rug in your room for him.’
The doctor slept soundly. He had done what he had come to do, though whether it was the right thing only time would tell.
As for Bob, he was with his master and that was all that mattered to him. He had had a splendid supper and the old rug was reassuringly rich in smells: of wood ash and spilt food and ingrained dirt from boots. Just the thing to soothe a dog to sleep.
The doctor left after an unhurried breakfast, taking his time over the return trip to London. He had a lot to think about and he could do that undisturbed. He stopped for coffee and to accommodate Bob’s needs and then, since the road was almost empty, he didn’t stop again until he reached home.
Mrs Duckett spent Sunday afternoons with her sister and the house was quiet. But there was soup keeping warm on the Aga and cold meat and salad set out on the kitchen table. There was a note from Mrs Duckett telling him that she would cook him his dinner when she returned later.
He fed Bob and went to his study, to immerse himself in work. There was always plenty of paperwork; even with the secretary who came twice a week his desk was never empty. It wasn’t until a faint aroma of something delicious caused him to twitch his splendid nose that he paused. Mrs Duckett was back and he was hungry.
Loveday went to bed early in her little flat, happily unaware of the future which was to be so soon disturbed.
The next day the doctor was due to go to the hospital after he had seen his patients at the consulting rooms, and he would be there for the rest of the day, but there was almost half an hour before he needed to leave. He went into the waiting room and found Loveday filing away patients’ notes and writing up his daily diary ready for the morning.
She looked up as he went in. ‘I’ll type those two letters and leave them on your desk,’ she told him. ‘If there’s anything urgent I could phone you at the hospital?’
‘Yes, I’m booked up for the morning, aren’t I? Use your discretion and fit in patients where you can. Anything really urgent, refer them to me at the hospital. I shall be there until six o’clock at least.’
He leaned against the desk, looking at her. ‘I had a letter from Miss Priss. Her mother has died and she asks to come back to work in ten days’ time; she also asks if she might have the flat in which to live. She has no family and her mother’s house was rented.’
Loveday had gone a little pale. ‘I’m so sorry Miss Priss’s mother has died. But I’m glad that she has somewhere to come to where she can make her home. When would you like me to leave?’
‘In a week’s time? That gives me ample opportunity to ask around and find another similar job for you. I know a great many people and it shouldn’t be too difficult.’
She said quickly, ‘That is very kind of you, but I’m sure that I can find work…’
He said harshly, ‘You will allow me to help you? I have no intention of allowing you to be homeless and workless. You came here to fill an emergency at my request; you will at least allow me to pay my debt.’
‘Isn’t a week rather a short time? I mean to find another job for me? Besides, you’re busy all day…’
It was just the opening he had hoped for. ‘Perhaps it may take longer than a week. You told me that you have an aunt living in Devon. Would you go and stay with her until I can get you fixed up?’
‘But I’ve never seen her, at least not since I was a very little girl, and she might not want to have me to stay. And it’s miles away…’
He said quietly, ‘I went to see your aunt on Saturday, after I received Miss Priss’s letter. You see, Loveday, I had to think of something quickly. She is quite elderly and I liked her—and she is both eager and willing for you to stay with her until you can get settled again.’
‘You went all that way to see my aunt? Your weekend wasted…?’
‘Not wasted, and, as I said, I like to pay my debts, Loveday.’
He straightened up and went to the door. ‘Will you think about it and let me know in the morning? It’s a sensible solution to the problem, you know.’
He smiled at her then, and went away. He wanted very much to stay and comfort
her, to tell her that she had no need to worry, that he would look after her and love her. Instead he had told her everything in a matter-of-fact voice which gave away none of his feelings. The temptation to cajole her into accepting his offer was great, but he resisted it. He wanted her to love him—but only of her own free will.
Loveday sat very still; she felt as though someone had hit her very hard on the head and taken away her power to think. She had managed to answer the doctor sensibly, matching his own matter-of-fact manner, but now there was no need to do that. A week, she thought—seven days in which to find a job. She would have to start finding it at once, for of course there was no question of her accepting his offer of help.
She began to cry quietly. Not because she was once more with an undecided future but because that future would be without him. This calm, quiet man who had come to her rescue and who, she had no doubt, once he had made sure that she had another job, would dismiss her from his mind. She gave a great sniff, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. After all, he had Mrs Seward, hadn’t he?
Loveday, who had never felt jealous in her life before, was suddenly flooded with it.
Presently she stopped crying; it was a waste of time and was of no help at all. She put away the rest of the patients’ notes, and then, since she would have the afternoon to get things ready for the next day, she selected the most likely newspapers and magazines to contain job advertisements and took herself off to the flat.
She explained it all to Sam, who yawned and went back to sleep, so she made a pot of tea, cut a sandwich and sat down to look through the job vacancy columns. There were plenty of vacancies—all of them for those with computer skills or, failing that, willing to undertake kitchen duties or work in launderettes. Since she had no knowledge of computers it would have to be something domestic. And why stay in London? Since she wouldn’t see the doctor again, the further away she got from him the better.
‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ said Loveday, and because she was unhappy, and a little afraid of the future, she started to cry again.
But not for long. Presently she restored her face to its normal, or almost normal appearance and went back to the consulting room. She tidied up and got everything ready for the next day, made several appointments too, and brought the daily diary up to date, and when Mrs Seward phoned during the afternoon she answered her in a pleasant manner.
It was hard to dislike Mrs Seward; she was friendly and she had a nice voice. She sighed when Loveday told her that the doctor was at the hospital.
‘I’ll ring there and see if I can leave a message,’ she told Loveday, ‘but leave a note on his desk, will you? It’s not urgent, but I do want to talk to him.’
Loveday went to bed early, since sitting alone in the flat while her thoughts tumbled around in her head was of no use, but her last waking thought was that nothing would persuade her to accept the doctor’s suggestion.
When she sorted out the post in the morning there was a letter for her. From her aunt.
It was a long letter, written in a spidery hand, and, typically of Miss West, didn’t beat about the bush. She had had a visit from Dr Fforde and agreed with him that the sensible thing to do was for Loveday to spend a few days with her while suitable work was found for her.
It is obvious that he is a man who has influence and moreover feels that he is indebted to you, as indeed he is. We know nothing of each other, but I shall be glad of your company. We are, after all, family. I live very quietly, but from what I hear from Dr Fforde you are not one of these modern career girls. I look forward to seeing you.
There was a PS: Bring your cat with you.
Dr Fforde, wishing her good morning later on that day, noted that she had been crying, but her ordinary face, rather pink in the nose and puffed around the eyes, was composed.
‘I have had a letter from my aunt, explaining that you have been to see her and inviting me to stay until I’ve another job.’
And when he didn’t answer, but stood quietly, watching her, she said, ‘I expect it would be more convenient to you if I go and stay with her. So may I leave on Saturday? I expect Miss Priss would like to come as soon as it can be arranged.’ She gave him a brave smile which tore at his heart. ‘If I go early on Saturday morning she could have the weekend to move in. I’ll leave everything ready for her.’
‘That sounds admirable. I will drive you down to your aunt on Saturday morning.’
She said quickly, ‘No, no. There’s no need. I haven’t much luggage and I’m sure there is a splendid train service.’
‘None the less I will drive you and Sam, Loveday.’
She knew better than to argue when he spoke in that quiet voice.
‘Well, thank you. And if you will write and let me know if you hear of a job?’ She added hastily, ‘Oh, I’m sure you will, because you said so, but I could always go to Exeter. There is sure to be something there…’
She looked very young standing there, and he was so much older. He was sure she probably thought of him as middle-aged. He said gently, ‘If you would trust me, Loveday…’
‘Oh, I do. You must know that.’
He smiled then, and went to his consulting room.
Loveday and he would be leaving, she told Sam, and she bought a cat basket which he viewed with suspicion. He was suspicious too when she started to spring-clean the flat. The little place must be left pristine, she told herself.
It kept her busy when she wasn’t at work, so that she was tired enough to sleep for at least part of the night, but waking in the early hours of the morning there was nothing else to do but go over and over her problems.
The greatest of these, she quickly discovered, was how she was going to live without seeing the doctor each day. She supposed that she hadn’t thought much about it before; he was always there, each day, and she had accepted that, not looking ahead. Even when she had supposed her heart to be broken by Charles there had always been the thought that the doctor was there, quiet in the background of her muddled mind.
He had become part of her life without her realising it and now there was nothing to be done about it. Falling in love, she discovered, wasn’t anything like the infatuation she had had for Charles. It was the slow awareness of knowing that you wanted to be with someone for the rest of your life…
The days passed too quickly. She packed her small possessions, scoured the flat once more, said goodbye to Todd, and left the waiting room in a state of perfection and the filing cabinet in perfect order.
At the doctor’s quiet request she presented herself with her case and Sam in his basket sharp on Saturday morning at nine o’clock. Somehow the leaving was made easier by the fact that he had told her to leave anything she wouldn’t need at her aunt’s, in the attic next to the flat. It seemed to her a kind of crack in the door, as it were.
With Sam grumbling in his basket on the back seat and Bob beside him, they set off. The doctor had bidden her a cheerful good morning, observing that it should be a pleasant trip.
‘I have always liked the late autumn,’ he told her, ‘even though the days are short. You’ve brought warm clothing with you? Miss West has a charming house, and the village is just as charming, but it is rather remote—though I believe there’s a bus service to Ashburton once a week.’ He glanced sideways at her small profile and added cheerfully, ‘Probably you won’t be there long enough to try it out.’
‘You haven’t heard of anything that I could do?’ she asked, then added quickly, ‘I’m sorry. There was no need for me to say that. How can you have had the time? I thought that if there is nothing after a week or ten days I could go into Exeter and look around for a job there.’
‘A good idea,’ said the doctor, not meaning a word of it. He knew exactly what he was going to do.
They stopped for coffee at a small wayside café on the A303, and Bob, his legs out of plaster now, went for a careful walk. Sam in his basket, somnolent after a big breakfast, hardly stirred.
It was impossible to feel unhappy; the man she had discovered that she loved was here beside her. Perhaps after today she might not see him again, but just for the moment she was happy. They didn’t talk much, but when they did it was to discover that they liked the same things—the country, books, animals, winter evenings by the fire, walking in the moonlight. Oh, I do hope Mrs Seward likes the same things, thought Loveday. I want him to be happy.
They stopped for lunch at a hotel a few miles short of Exeter and then went on their way again—on the Plymouth road now, until they reached Ashburton and turned away from the main road and presently reached the village.
Miss West had the door open before the doctor had stopped the car in front of it. He got out, opened Loveday’s door and tucked her hand in his.
‘Your niece Loveday, Miss West,’ he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
LOVEDAY had grown more and more silent the nearer they had got to Buckland-in-the Moor. It had been a grey overcast day, and once they had left Ashburton behind the moor had stretched before them, magnificent and remote. She had had the nasty feeling that she shouldn’t have come; her aunt might not like her, the doctor might not be able to find her another job and, worst of all, she might never see him again.
The lane they’d been driving along had taken a sharp bend and there before them had been the village, tucked beside the river Dart, and as though there had been a prearranged signal a beam of watery sunshine had escaped from the cloud.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Loveday had said, and had suddenly felt much better. She’d turned to look at the doctor.
‘I knew you would like it, Loveday,’ he had said quietly, but he hadn’t looked as he’d driven into the cluster of cottages, past the church, and stopped at Miss West’s house.
She’d said in sudden panic, ‘You won’t go…?’
‘No, I shall spend the night at the pub and drive back tomorrow.’
She had let out a small sigh of relief and got out when he’d opened her door, then stood for a moment looking at her aunt’s home. There was no front garden, only a grass verge, and at this time of year the grey stone walls looked bleak and unwelcoming, but she had forgotten that when the door had opened and her aunt had stood there with a welcome warm enough to cheer the faintest heart.