by Neels, Betty
‘Do you feel all right?’ she asked him.
‘Of course I do.’ He sounded so testy that she didn’t say any more, but wished him a goodnight and went back to the kitchen to tidy away the cups and saucers before going to bed herself, to lie and dream about Dr Fitzroy. A useless occupation, but one she seemed unable to avoid.
Thinking about it afterwards, she had no idea what had awakened her, but the sense of urgency caused her to put on her dressing-gown and slippers and go soft-footed first to Mrs Grainger’s room. That lady was asleep, swathed in shawls, snoring lightly, so Katherine turned her steps towards Mr Grainger’s room next door. There was a dim night-light by his bed; he liked to have that and by its faint glimmer she could see that he was sitting up in bed, struggling to breathe.
Dr Fitzroy had told her that the old gentleman had congestive heart failure, a condition he had had for some years, but which had been kept more or less stable. Now, to her frightened eyes, it had erupted with a vengeance. Her first thought was to fly to the telephone and get help, but her good sense sent her to the bedside to reassure the old man and then to open the window so that the over-warm room could cool off.
‘You’re perfectly all right,’ declared Katherine stoutly. ‘I know you can’t breathe properly, but you’ll feel better presently. I’m going to telephone Dr Fitzroy...’
She padded downstairs to the phone and rang the number he had given her. She was answered at once by a brisk, ‘Yes, Dr Fitzroy speaking.’
‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Katherine thankfully. ‘Please will you come? Mr Grainger isn’t well. He can’t breathe properly.’
His calm voice sounded almost placid. ‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes. Leave the front door un- locked. Go back to Mr Grainger and keep him happy until I get there. Oh, and open a window.’
‘I have.’
She heard his grunt of approval as she put the receiver down, glancing at the clock as she did so. Half-past five.
She unbolted the door and flew back upstairs, to find Mr Grainger puffing and panting. If he had had the breath, he would have been snarling with rage, too; he had never been a man to take kindly to illness, and he had no intention of changing his attitude now. He glared at Katherine and began to struggle from his bed. He was old, but he was a big, heavily built man still; she was struggling to keep him quiet against his pillows when Dr Fitzroy came quietly into the room. He didn’t speak, only disentangled Katherine and Mr Grainger, laid his patient gently back and set her back on her feet.
‘Now, let’s see what we can do,’ he observed. He could have been making one of his routine calls at a more conventional hour, the only difference being that he was dressed in casual trousers and a thick sweater. He smiled at Katherine and bent over his patient. His vast, calm presence did much to reassure the old gentleman; Mr Grainger still puffed and panted, but his furious panic had been checked. The doctor examined him without haste and then opened his bag. ‘You’ll do,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m going to give you something to let you sleep, and you’ll feel perfectly all right when you wake up.’ He drew up an injection and pushed up Mr Grainger’s pyjama sleeve, slid in the needle and observed, ‘I dare say you had too heavy a meal—I shall talk to Katherine presently and tell her what you can and can’t eat, and you’ll oblige me by listening to her if she warns you. I’m going to stay here until you drop off—you are quite all right now, so don’t worry, and when I’m gone, Katherine will be here.’
He glanced across the bed to where she was standing, wrapped in the same useful garment in which he had first seen her. Her hair hung down her back, and she was a little pale from fright. There was nothing about her to attract his notice, and yet he glanced at her a second time, and this time she looked up and met his eyes. Not a nonentity, he decided then, not with those beautiful grey eyes. He smiled at her. ‘We’ll have a talk before I go,’ he told her.
Mr Grainger’s breathing had slowed to a reassuring, gentle snore. After five minutes or so, they left him, and Katherine led the way downstairs. ‘I expect you would like a cup of tea? I’m sure Mrs Dowling won’t mind if I make one.’
He put his bag on the kitchen table and sat down beside it. ‘Have one with me? Now, listen carefully, and I will explain what you may expect from Mr Grainger...’
She made the tea and listened. She would have listened all night if he had chosen to go on talking, but he gave her explicit instructions, drank his tea and explained in simple terms exactly what was the matter with Mr Grainger.
‘He is elderly, his heart is tired, and from time to time he overdoes things and nature takes over and stops him. Mrs Grainger worries about him, so skim over the details if you can’ He smiled at her. ‘Go back to bed for an hour or so. You’ll be busy enough in the morning. I’ll call in about lunch time, but telephone me if you’re worried. The hospital will know how to find me.’
She didn’t know what prompted her to ask, ‘Do you live near here, Dr Fitzroy?’ but she wished she hadn’t spoken, for his, ‘Yes, I do,’ was uttered in a voice in which coolness and indifference were nicely blended.
It was the indifference which did it; she had spent two years with Henry and Joyce, fighting their intentions to turn her into a willing doormat, but her new-found freedom had made her courageous, and she said haughtily, ‘I have no wish to pry, I merely wish to know how long it would take you to get here in an emergency.’
He got up from the table and stood looking at her; it was surprising how she grew on one, he thought, despite the fact that as far as he could see she looked no more glamorous than on the occasion of their first meeting. That terrible dressing-gown, fit for a jumble sale!
He asked, ‘Have you been paid?’
‘Yes—each week. It’s over three weeks...’
He went to the door. ‘Oh, good—so you will be able to buy yourself some pretty clothes.’ He had his hand on the door-handle. ‘Don’t bother to see me out, I’ll shut the door behind me.’
She watched him go, loving him to distraction and seething with bad temper. She washed the mugs and emptied the teapot and calculated how many weeks it would take before she could buy some really decent clothes. Not that he would notice!
In this she was quite correct; he had remarked that she would want to buy some clothes because he guessed that she had been deprived of that pleasure for far too long, but he had meant to be kind. He dismissed her from his thoughts as he drove back to his house.
Katherine didn’t go back to bed. It was already half-past six, in half an hour Mrs Dowling would be getting up, and Katherine suspected that Mr Grainger was going to keep her fully occupied during the day. She went to her room and showered and dressed, and went downstairs again just as Mrs Dowling entered the kitchen.
‘Well, I never heard a sound,’ declared that lady when Katherine explained about the night’s events. ‘You’ve had a busy time of it. Sit down for a minute and I’m going to make us a cup of tea.’
After that, there was very little rest for Katherine. Mr Grainger, peevish at having to remain in bed, was prepared to dislike and disagree with everyone, and his wife, convinced that he was dying, spent a good deal of time sitting listlessly in a chair, only brightening when Katherine coaxed her to have something to eat or found time to read aloud one of the romantic novels she loved. Even Dr Fitzroy had difficulty in convincing her that her husband was in no danger. All in all, it was a trying day for everyone, and Kath-erine, for one, was heartily glad when, her two charges safely in their beds and asleep, she was able to get into her own bed. She wondered, as she closed her eyes, why Dodie hadn’t called; another pair of hands would have been welcome, and she professed a deep affection for her grandparents. She was asleep before she could pursue the matter.
The next two days were almost as bad, and on the third morning Dr Fitzroy called, declared that his patient was perfectly fit to get up again, warned him to keep to a light diet for a few days, and took himself off again with no more than a few words to Katherine, and th
ose were concerning Mr and Mrs Grainger.
She showed him to the door, since Mrs Dowling was busy in the kitchen, and he paused on the step, nodded briefly and crossed the pavement to his car. Very touchy, she decided, closing the door after him. Probably, he worked too hard.
Dodie came that very afternoon, just as Katherine had got Mr Grainger out of bed and into a rather splendid dressing-gown, and helped him downstairs to where his wife was waiting in the sitting-room. Dodie was wearing a scarlet coat and soft leather boots, and swinging a shoulder bag to match them. She was as pretty as a picture, and no wonder the doctor doted on her, thought Katherine, wishing her a polite good afternoon.
‘Darlings!’ exclaimed Dodie, and swooped upon them both with little cries and hugs. ‘I would have come sooner, but I had the teeniest cold and I was so afraid of you getting it.’ She pulled up a stool and sat down between them. ‘I’ve come to tea, if you’ll have me.’ She looked over her shoulder at Katherine. ‘You can go out for half an hour, only be back by four o’clock. I suppose Mrs Dowling will get the tea?’
‘I’ll tell her you are here as I go,’ said Katherine. ‘That is, if Mr and Mrs Grainger don’t mind me going out for a while?’
She was told to go; they would be perfectly all right with their darling Dodie to look after them. The two old people hardly looked up as she slipped out of the room.
It was nice to be outside again, even for half an hour. She walked down High Street and into the shopping arcade, looking in its windows—hher next pay would have to go on shoes or boots. Shoes, she decided; the boots she liked were too pricey, but she could get some good shoes... She walked back, happily mulling over her future purchases.
The Bentley was parked outside the house as she reached it. She went upstairs, took off her outdoor things, tidied her hair and went to the sitting-room. Dodie was still there, her hat and coat cast over a chair now, fussing over her grandparents while Dr Fitzroy sat watching her. She looked up as Katherine went in.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she exclaimed, faintly reproachful. ‘I was beginning to think you had forgotten the time. Can we have tea, do you suppose?’
Katherine said, ‘Oh, of course,’ and went along to the kitchen, swallowing resentment. Perhaps she had been away for too long but, after all, Dodie had said half an hour, and she had been exactly twenty-five minutes...
Mrs Dowling was looking impatient. ‘Why don’t they want their tea?’ she wanted to know. ‘Miss Do-die told me to wait until you got back, but I can’t think why. I always take in the tea, and she’s surely able to pour out?’
Katherine thought she knew the answer to that, but she didn’t say so. ‘I dare say Miss Dodie thinks I take up the tea,’ she said peaceably. ‘Dr Fitzroy’s there...’
She fetched another cup and saucer from the dresser and picked up the tray. ‘Do you mind if I take it? Miss Dodie seems to expect it.’
Mrs Dowling nodded rather coldly. ‘Better if you do, I suppose, just this once.’
Katherine arranged the tea tray carefully on the round table by the window, and Dodie said carelessly, ‘All right, Katherine, you can go back to the kitchen. We’ll ring if we want anything.’
She had gone, closing the door quietly behind her, before Dr Fitzroy said quietly, ‘I thought Katherine had tea here?’
‘Oh, does she?’ Dodie sounded vague. ‘Well, I dare say she’ll be glad of a chat with Mrs Dowling,’ she declared, and added, so softly that her grandparents couldn’t hear her easily, ‘She’s been happy enough to do that for the last few days,’ She smiled
at the doctor. ‘I’ve popped in each afternoon, you know.’
He looked a little surprised. ‘Oh, have you? That was thoughtful of you, Dodie.’
She pouted prettily at him. ‘Just because I don’t go around with my hair scraped back and no make-up doesn’t mean to say that I’m not just as capable as any other girl.’ She poured the tea, and urged tiny sandwiches and cakes upon the old people, looking the very picture of sweet domesticity.
Presently, on their way out, they met Katherine coming from the kitchen and the doctor stopped. ‘I’m glad that you’ve had a little time to yourself in the afternoons.’ he observed. ‘Dodie tells me that she’s been standing in for you.’
The hall was rather dim, so he missed the fleeting look of astonishment on her face. ‘Oh—yes. It—was nice to get out.’
Dodie tugged his arm. ‘Darling, do come on, I’ve a dinner date.’ She looked across at him and on to Katherine, and a little smile curled at the corners of her mouth. ‘I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow, Katherine.’
Katherine shut the door after them; if Dodie came the next day, she was prepared to eat her week’s wages!
It was a safe bet, there was no sign of her; but Mrs Dowling rather surprisingly offered to keep an eye on her employers while Katherine had an hour to herself after lunch. The weather had become wintry; Katherine bought a warm and pretty dressing- gown and cosy slippers. She didn’t mind getting up in the night to tend her charges, but it was chilly in the small hours.
The shops were beginning to show signs of Christmas; she drooled over the pretty things on display, at the same time determined not to spend any more money until she had at least three weeks’ wages, so that she could buy an outfit for Christmas. A coat, it would have to be cloth and plain, and a dress to go under it. Besides, there were presents to buy for Henry and Joyce and the children. They wouldn’t want to see her, but all the same she had made up her mind to take her gifts and wish them a happy Christmas. Who knew, they might be glad to see her...
Because she was determined not to buy anything, she took another direction on the following afternoon, past the Graingers’ house, circling the close, past the King’s House and on towards the Bishop’s Palace. The houses here were larger, in a variety of architectural styles, most of it centuries old. Despite the cold wind, she dawdled along, studying them with pleasure, pretending to herself that she had the choice of living in one of them. She found her ideal presently: red-tiled gables, lattice windows and a stout oak door, heavily nailed. Probably a mass of small rooms and narrow passages, a nightmare to keep clean, but all the same a house to love and dream over. There was no one about. She loitered in front of it, trying to picture its interior, momentarily lost to her surroundings, so that when Dr Fitzroy said quietly from behind her, ‘Spying out the land, Kath-erine?’ she gave a squeak, and whirled round to face him.
‘Exploring,’ she said, and beamed up at him. ‘I’ve never been as far as this, only seen it from a distance when I’ve been to the cathedral.’
‘I should have thought that you found the shops more interesting.’
‘Oh, I go there too, but I’m saving up, and that’s easier to do if I keep away from them.’
He said carelessly, ‘Oh, Christmas presents and so on. Will you go to your brother’s?’
She nodded. ‘I hope they’ll be glad to see me— just for an hour or two, I expect...’ She paused, aware that, although he was listening, it was with the air of a man who had other things to do but didn’t wish to be unkind. She felt the colour rush into her cheeks. ‘I must go—I’ve come too far. Goodbye, Doctor.’
She whisked away, going at a great rate, and he stood and watched her small figure until it had disappeared round a curve in the road before crossing to the house she had been admiring and letting himself in.
It was the following afternoon, on her return from a brisk walk, that she went into the drawing-room and discovered that the Graingers had a visitor.
He was sitting between them before the fire, and it was obvious that they were enjoying his company. He turned to look at Katherine as she paused in the doorway, and then stood up. ‘Ah, the estimable Katherine,’ he said genially, and she felt a prick of resentment at his use of her name. ‘I’ve been hearing about you and your many kindnesses to my aunt and uncle.’
They shook hands, which gave her the chance to study him, without appearing to do so. He was n
ot young, forty, she judged, perhaps older, with a round, jovial face, pale blue eyes and receding hair, neither grey nor fair. He smiled too much, decided Katherine at once, and his hands were warm and a little damp. She didn’t care for him at all, but she had no reason to dislike him and he seemed anxious to be on good terms with her. She replied suitably to his rather banal remarks, and went away to fetch the tea; it was one of those days when Mrs Dow-ling’s corns were playing her up.
‘Still there, is he?’ asked that lady as Katherine went into the kitchen. ‘And likely to stay, as far as I can see.’ And, at Katherine’s enquiring look, ‘He’s Mrs Grainger’s step-nephew, if you see what I mean—his mother was her step-sister. Lives in Cheltenham—a bachelor—no money to speak of, but likes to spend it whether he’s got it or no.’
Katherine received these confidences in prudent silence. No doubt Mrs Dowling would be annoyed with herself for airing them, later on. She picked up the tray and murmured suitably before going back to the drawing-room.
Perhaps she had been a bit hasty in her first opinion of the visitor, she reflected as she collected the tea things and bore them back to the kitchen. Tom Fetter hadn’t put a foot wrong during tea. Indeed, he had kept the Graingers amused and interested, and they obviously liked him. It hadn’t surprised her when Mrs Grainger had invited him to stay. ‘For this is quite a large house and we would love to have you—it would be silly to go to a hotel. Besides, you have so much to tell us.’
The old lady was quite animated, and as for Mr Grainger, Katherine had never seen him so good-natured. She excused herself presently and went away to prepare a room for their unexpected visitor.
She was grateful that he didn’t disrupt the mild routine which governed the household. He made no demur when she suggested to the old couple that it was their usual bedtime, and in the morning he arrived punctually at the breakfast table and then took himself off for a walk while Katherine organised the day.