by Neels, Betty
‘Good morning.’ She was a bit breathless with an upsurge of feeling at the sight of him. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting.’
‘Just got here. Jump in.’ He held the door for her, and she settled in the seat beside him. ‘Nervous?’ he asked. ‘You needn’t be.’
He gave her a reassuring smile, and thought what a dim little thing she was in her out-of-date suit and sturdy shoes. But sensible and quiet, just what the Graingers needed, and they would hardly notice what she was wearing, only that her voice was pleasant and she was calm in a crisis. He started the car. ‘I’ll tell you something about Mr and Mrs Grainger. In their seventies, almost eighty, in fact. He has a heart con- dition and is far too active, can be peppery if he can’t have his own way. Mrs Grainger is small and meek and perfectly content to allow him to dictate to her. She has arthritis and suffers a good deal of pain, but never complains. They are devoted to each other. They lost their only son in an accident some years ago, but they have a granddaughter...’
Something in his voice caught Katherine’s attention; this granddaughter was someone special to him. She had known from the moment she knew that she had fallen in love with him that he would never look at her—all the same, it was a blow. So silly, she told herself silently, he could have been married already, with a houseful of children. At the back of her head, a small, defiant voice pointed out that he might have been heart-whole and single and miraculously bowled over by her very ordinary person. She became aware that he had asked her something and she hadn’t been heeding.
‘So sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘You asked me something?’
They were at the roundabout on the outskirts of Wilton, waiting to find a place in the traffic streaming towards Salisbury. He slipped smoothly between two other cars before he answered. ‘You do understand that there will be no regular hours? You will, of course, have time to yourself each day, but that time may vary. It would be difficult to arrange to meet your friends or make dates.’
She said quietly, in a bleak little voice, ‘I haven’t any friends, and no one to make a date with.’ She added quickly, in case he thought she was wallowing in self-pity, ‘I had lots of friends when my mother was alive, but there wasn’t much time to spare at my brother’s house. I—I like to be busy, and I shan’t mind at all if Mr and Mrs Grainger make their own arrangements about my free time.’
‘That’s settled then.’ He sounded kind but faintly uninterested. ‘But I expect you will want to go shopping.’ He was annoyed that he had said that, for she went pink and turned to look out of her window, very conscious of her dull appearance. All the same, she agreed cheerfully; in a week or two she would indeed go shopping. Clothes made the man, it was said— well, they would make her, too!
She liked Salisbury; the cathedral dominated the city, and its close was a delightful oasis in the city centre. When the doctor drove down High Street and through the great gate, circled the small car park and drew up before one of the charming old houses abutting the close, she declared, ‘Oh, is it here? I’ve always wanted...I came here with Mother...’
‘Charming, isn’t it? And yes, this is the house.’ He got out and went round to open her door. They crossed the pavement together, and he rang the bell beside the pedimented doorway. The door was opened almost at once by a middle-aged woman with a stem face, dressed soberly in black. She gave the doctor a wintry smile and stared at Katherine.
‘Ah, Mrs Dowling, I have brought Miss Marsh to meet Mr and Mrs Grainger. They are expecting us.’
She wished him a reluctant good morning and nod- ded at Katherine, who smiled uncertainly. ‘You’d better come up,’ she observed dourly.
The house, despite its Georgian faade, was considerably older. A number of passages led off the small, square hall, and half a dozen steps at its end ended in a small gallery with two doors. The housekeeper opened one of them and ushered them inside. The room was large and long, at the back of the house, overlooking a surprisingly large garden.
Its two occupants turned to look at the doctor and Katherine as they went in, and the elderly gentleman said at once, ‘Jason, my dear boy—so here you are with the little lady you have found for us.’ He peered over his glasses at Katherine. ‘Good morning, my dear. You don’t find it too irksome to cherish us, I hope?’
‘How do you do, Mr Grainger?’ said Katherine politely. ‘Not in the least, if you would like me to come.’
‘Take a look at her, my dear,’ begged the old gentleman, addressing himself to the equally elderly lady sitting opposite him.
She was small and frail-looking, but her eyes were bright and her voice surprisingly strong. She studied Katherine and nodded. T believe that she will do very nicely, Albert. A little on the small side, perhaps?’
‘I’m very strong,’ declared Katherine on a faintly apprehensive note.
‘And competent,’ put in the doctor in his calm way. ‘Besides not being wishful to dash off to the discos with a different young man each evening.’
He had pulled a chair forward, and nodded to her to sit down, and Mrs Grainger asked, ‘Have you a young man, my dear?’
‘No,’ said Katherine, ‘and I’ve never been inside a disco.’
The old couple nodded to each other. ‘Most suitable. Will you come at once?’
Katherine looked at the doctor, who said placidly, ‘I’ll take her back to her brother’s house now, and she can pack her things. I dare say, if you wish it, she could be ready to come back here this evening.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Katherine, ‘there’s a bus I could catch...’
‘I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.’ He barely glanced at her. ‘Mrs Grainger, you do understand that Miss Marsh has to have an hour or so to herself each day, and at least a half-day off each week? We have already discussed the salary, and she finds it acceptable.’ He got up. ‘I’m going to have a word with Mrs Dowling, if I may, before I take Miss Marsh back.’
He was gone for ten minutes, during which time Katherine was plied with questions. She answered them readily enough, for she liked her employers.
She was sensible enough to realise that sitting here in this pleasant room wasn’t indicative of her day’s work; she would probably be on the run for a good part of each day and probably the night, too, but after the cheerless atmosphere of Henry’s home this delightful house held warmth, something she had missed since her mother had died.
When Dr Fitzroy returned, she rose, shook hands, declared that she would return that evening, and accompanied the doctor out to his car.
He had little to say as they drove back, only expressed himself satisfied with the interview, warned her to be ready that evening and reminded her that he called to see Mr and Mrs Grainger two days a week, usually on Tuesdays and Fridays, at about eleven o’clock. ‘So I should like you to be there when I call.’ He shot her a quick glance. ‘You will be happy there?’
‘Yes, oh, yes!’ she assured him. ‘I can’t believe it! I’m so afraid that I’ll wake up and find that it’s all been a dream.’
He laughed. ‘It’s true enough, and I do warn you that you may find the work irksome and sometimes tiring.’ He stopped the car outside Henry’s gate and got out. ‘I’ll come in with you and speak to your sister-in-law.’
Joyce was waiting for them in the drawing-room, beautifully turned out and, judging from the din the children were making from the nursery, impervious to their demands.
As Katherine went in with the doctor, she said, ‘Katherine, do go upstairs and see to the children. I’m exhausted already—I had to sit down quietly...’
She smiled bewitchingly at the doctor, who didn’t smile back. ‘Mrs Marsh, Miss Marsh will be taking up her job this evening. I shall be here for her at six o’clock. I’m sure you’ll make certain that she has the time to collect her things together before then.’ He smiled at Katherine. ‘You can be ready by then? I have an appointment in the evening and must go to the hospital this afternoon, otherwise I would come for you after lunch.’
‘I’ll be ready.’ Katherine gave him a beaming smile. ‘Thank you for taking me this morning.’
‘You’ll stay for coffee?’ asked Joyce persuasively.
‘Thank you, no.’ He shook her hand and Katherine took him to the door.
‘Scared?’ he asked softly. ‘Don’t worry, if you haven’t been given the chance to pack, I’ll do it for you when I come.’ He patted her briskly on the shoulder. ‘I bless the day I knocked on this door; I’ve been searching for weeks for someone like you.’ Her heart leapt at his words, and then plummeted to her toes as he added, ‘You’re exactly what the Graingers need.’
She stood for a moment or two after he had gone, dismissing sentimental nonsense from her head, preparing herself for the unpleasantness to come. And unpleasant it was, too, for Joyce was at her most vindictive.
Katherine allowed the worst of it to flow over her head and, when Joyce paused for breath, said in her calm way, ‘Well, Joyce, Robin and Sarah are your children, after all. If you don’t want to look after them, Henry can quite afford to get someone who will.’
She went up to her room and finished her packing which, since she had very few possessions, took no time at all. She was just finishing when Mrs Todd called up the stairs. ‘Mrs Marsh ‘as gone out, and them dratted kids is all over my kitchen!’
Katherine had changed back into elderly jeans and a sweater. She pulled on her jacket now and went downstairs. The children were running wild, sensing that something was happening and cheerfully adding to the disruption.
‘Mrs Todd, help me cut some sandwiches and prepare a thermos—I’ll take the children out and we can find somewhere to picnic. I know it’s not much of a day, but it’ll get them out of the house. Leave the key under the mat if we’re not back, will you?’
They set out half an hour later, the children unwilling at first but, once away from the house, walking along the bridle paths, they could race about and shout as much as they wanted to. Katherine suspected that Joyce had taken herself off for the day in the hope that, if she didn’t return, Katherine would feel bound to stay, but Henry would be home by five o’clock, and an hour later Dr Fitzroy would come for her.
She found a hollow out of the wind, and they ate their sandwiches there and then started back home. The children were tired now and, once they were back in the empty house, they were willing enough to have their outdoor things taken off and to settle at the kitchen table while Katherine got their tea. They had just finished when their father got home.
Katherine greeted him briskly. ‘Joyce isn’t back— I don’t know where she went. The children have had their tea, and I’ve put everything ready for them to be put to bed presently.’
‘What about my supper?’
‘I really wouldn’t know, Henry. I’m sure Joyce will have arranged something. Dr Fitzroy is coming for me at six o’clock.’
He looked aghast. ‘But you can’t leave us like this! Who’s going to put the children to bed and get the supper?’
He had treated her as a kind of maid of all work for the last two years, but she could still feel sorry for him. ‘Henry, you knew I was taking this job. You need never bother with me again, for you have never liked having me here, have you? Find a nice strong girl to help Joyce with the children, and persuade Joyce to give up some of her committees and spend more time at home.’
‘I’ll decide what is best, thank you, Katherine.’ He was being pompous again and her concern for him faded. ‘While you are waiting, you might get the children to bed.’
‘They don’t go until half-past six,’ she pointed out. ‘Why not take them to the nursery and read to them? I have a few last-minute things to do...’
She left him looking outraged.
It was five minutes to six when Joyce came home. Katherine heard her voice, loud and complaining. ‘Where’s Katherine? Why aren’t the children with her? What about supper? I’m far too tired to do anything—she’ll have to stay until tomorrow, or until someone can be found to help me...’
Leaving her room, her cases in either hand, Katherine heard her brother’s voice, raised against the chil-
dren’s shrill voices and then, thankfully, the front door bell.
She hurried downstairs and opened the door and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Dr Fitzroy, large and reassuring. ‘I haven’t said goodbye,’ she told him, rather pale at the prospect.
He took her cases from her, put them in the porch and went past her into the hall. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said and gave an encouraging little smile.
A waste of time as it turned out; Joyce turned her back and Henry glared at her and began a diatribe about ungrateful girls who would get what they deserved, deserting young children at a moment’s notice. The doctor cut him short in the politest way. ‘Fortunately, they have parents to look after them,’ he observed in a bland voice which held a nasty sharp edge. ‘We will be on our way.’
Katherine had said goodbye to the children, so she bade Henry and Joyce goodbye quietly and followed Dr Fitzroy out of the house, shutting the door carefully behind her. She got into the car without a word and sat silently as he drove away. It was silly to cry; she would not be missed, not as a person who had been loved, but just for a moment she felt very lonely.
The doctor said cheerfully, without looking at her, T often think that friends are so much better than relations, and I’m sure you’ll quickly make plenty of friends.’ And then he added very kindly, ‘Don’t cry, Katherine, they aren’t worth it. You are going somewhere where you’re wanted and where you’ll be happy.’
She sniffed, blew her ordinary little nose and sat up straight. ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right, of course. It’s just that the last two years have been a complete waste of time...’
‘How old are you? Twenty-one, you said? I am thirty-six, my dear, and I believe I have wasted a good many more years than two. But they are never quite wasted, you know, and all the other years make them insignificant.’
She wished with all her heart that she could stay close to his large, confident person for ever, but at least she would see him twice a week. She smiled at the thought as he said, ‘That’s better. Now, listen carefully. I shall only stay a few minutes at the Grain-gers; they dine at eight o’clock, that gives you time to find your way around and to unpack. They go to bed at ten o’clock, never later. Mrs Dowling likes her evenings to herself once she has seen to dinner, so you will get their bedtime drinks and so forth. She takes up their morning tea at half-past seven, but I don’t expect she will do the same for you. It’s quite a large house to run and she manages very well with two women who come in to help. Your job will be to leave her free to do that; lately she has been run off her feet, now that Mr and Mrs Grainger have become more dependent on someone to fetch and carry.’
‘Does she mind me coming?’
‘No, I think not, but she has been with them for twenty years or more and she is set in her ways.’
‘I’ll help her all I can, if she will let me. Oh, I do hope I’ll make a good job of it’
‘Don’t worry, you will.’ They had reached Salisbury, and he was driving through the streets, quiet now after the day’s traffic. Although the shops in the High Street were still lit, there were few people about, and once through North Gate it was another world, with the cathedral towering over the close and the charming old houses grouped around it at a respectable distance, as was right and proper. The doctor pulled up before the Graingers’ house and got out, opened her door and collected her cases from the boot, then rang the doorbell. The door was opened so briskly that Katherine had no time to get nervous, and anyway it was too late to have cold feet. She bade Mrs Dowling a civil good evening, and accompanied the doctor to the drawing-room. Mr and Mrs Grainger were sitting on each side of a briskly burning fire, he reading a newspaper, she knitting a large woolly garment.
‘There you are,’ declared Mrs Grainger in a pleased voice. ‘And I suppose that you must rush away, Jason? But we s
hall see you tomorrow, of course.’ She beamed at him, and then at Katherine. ‘Such a relief that you are here, my dear. Now, what shall I call you?’
‘By her name, of course,’ observed Mr Grainger.
‘Katherine,’ said Katherine.
‘A very good name,’ said his wife. ‘I had a sister of that name—we called her Katie. She died of the scarlet fever. No one has the scarlet fever nowadays. Are you called Katie, my dear?’
‘No, Mrs Grainger, although my mother always called me that.’
The old lady turned to the doctor. ‘She seems a very nice girl, Jason. Not pretty, but well spoken and with a pleasant voice. I think we shall get on splendidly together.’
Mr Grainger put down his newspaper. ‘Glad to have you here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Don’t see many young faces these days, only Dodie—our grand-daughter, and she has got a life of her own, bless her. You’re only young once.’ He glanced at Dr Fitzroy, standing placidly between them. ‘Seen her lately?’
‘Yes, and we’re dining together this evening.’
‘Then you won’t want to be hanging around here with us old fogeys.’
The doctor left very shortly, and Mrs Dowling was summoned to take Katherine to her room. She was led silently up the carpeted stairs with shallow treads and along a short passage leading to the back of the house.
‘Here you are,’ said Mrs Dowling, rather ungraciously. ‘The bathroom’s beyond.’ She opened a door, and Katherine went past her into a fair-sized room, prettily furnished, its window overlooking the large garden. Her cases were already there and Mrs Dowling said, ‘Dinner’s at eight o’clock, so you’ll have time to unpack first. They won’t expect you to change this evening. Mrs Grainger asked me to take you round the house. Come downstairs when you are ready and I’ll do that, though it’s not the easiest of times for me, what with dinner to dish up and all.’
‘Would you prefer me to come with you now? I can unpack later when I come to bed, and it won’t take me long to tidy myself.’