by Betty Neels
'This is definitely not allowed,' Oliver told him. 'But just this once, since it is a special occasion. I only hope that Bertha's aunt likes dogs.'
Freddie yawned.
They were on their way again after breakfast—bacon, mushrooms freshly picked, fried bread, a sausage or two and egg garnished with a tomato. A meal to put heart into a faint-hearted man—something which the doctor was not. In an hour or so he would see his Bertha again, beyond that he didn't intend to think for the moment. He whistled as he drove and Freddie, no lover of whistling, curled his lip.
It was shortly after ten o'clock when Betsy carried the coffee tray into Miss Soames's sitting room, which was small and pleasant, overlooking the wide stretch of garden at the back of the house. Bertha was out there, walking slowly, her hair in a plait over one shoulder, and wearing one of the pretty winter dresses which Miss Soames had bought for her.
Her aunt, peering over her spectacles at her, observed, 'The girl's not pretty, but there's something about her... Takes after our side of the family, of course.' She poured her coffee. 'Leave the child for the moment, Betsy. She's happy.'
Betsy went away, but she was back again within a minute.
'There's an 'andsome motor car coming up to the door...'
Miss Soames sipped her coffee. 'Ah, yes, I was expecting that. Show the gentleman in here, Betsy, and say nothing to Bertha.'
The doctor came in quietly. 'Miss Soames? I apologise for calling upon you unexpectedly. I believe that Bertha is staying with you?' He held out a hand. 'Oliver Hay-Smythe.'
She took the hand. 'What kept you, young man?' she wanted to know tartly. 'Of course, I knew that you would come, although Bertha is sure that she will never see you again.'
He followed her gaze out of the window; Bertha looked very pretty, and his rather tired face broke into a smile.
‘I told her that if a man was worth his salt he would find her even if he had to search the world for her.' She gave him a level gaze. 'Would you do that, Doctor?'
'Yes. I do not quite understand why she is here. I think that her stepmother wanted her out of the way. That doesn't matter for the moment, but it took me some time to discover where she was.'
'You have driven down from London? What have you done with your patients?'
He smiled. ‘It took a good deal of organising, but I'd planned a holiday this week.'
'You'll stay here, of course.' She looked over his shoulder. 'What is it, Betsy?'
'There's a dog with his head out of the car window.'
'Freddie. Might l allow him out? He's well-mannered.'
'Get the beast, Betsy,' commanded Miss Soames, and when Freddie, on his best behaviour, came into the room, she offered him a biscuit.
'Well, go along, young man. There's a door into the garden at the back of the hall.'
Freddie, keeping close to his heels, gave a pleased bark as he saw Bertha, and she turned round as he bounded towards her. She knelt and put her arms round his neck and watched Oliver crossing the lawn to her. The smile on her face was like a burst of sunshine as she got slowly to her feet. He saw with delight that she had a pretty colour in her cheeks and a faint plumpness which a week's good food had brought about. Moreover, the dress she was wearing revealed the curves which Clare's misfits had so successfully hidden.
He didn't say anything, but took her in his arms and held her close. Presently he spoke. ‘I came as soon as I could, my darling. I had to find you first...'
'How?' asked Bertha. 'Who...?'
'Later, my love.' He bent his head and kissed her.
Bertha, doing her best to be sensible, said, 'But I want to know why my stepmother sent me here— she'll be so angry when she finds out.'
'Leave everything to me, dear heart. You need never see her or Clare again if you don't want to. We'll marry as soon as it can be arranged. Would you like Christmas Eve for a wedding?'
He kissed her again, and eventually, when she had stopped feeling light-headed, she said, 'You haven't asked me—you haven't said—'
'That I love you?' He smiled down at her. ‘I love you, darling Bertha. I fell in love with you the moment I clapped eyes on you in that hideous pink dress. Will you marry me and love me a little?'
She reached up to put her arms round his neck. 'Of course I'll marry you, dear Oliver, and I'll love you very much for always. Will you kiss me again? Because I rather like it when you do.'
Aunt Agatha, unashamedly watching them from her chair, took out her handkerchief and blew her nose, and to Betsy, who was peering over her shoulder, she said, ‘I must need new glasses, for my eyes keep watering!'
She sounded cross, but she was smiling.