by Betty Neels
‘But not too old to marry?’ He paused. ‘I feel sure that you must have had several opportunities. Dr Forbes did mention that his son and you…’
‘People make things up to suit themselves,’ declared Beatrice crossly. ‘James and I have known each other forever, but I have no wish to marry him. I keep saying so, too.’
‘Very tiresome for you,’ agreed her companion, and gave her a kindly smile, so that her ill humour went as quickly as it had come. ‘We had better go if we want breakfast…’
They went unhurriedly down the hill with Knotty cavorting around them, and so to the village and her home, carrying on a desultory conversation and on the best of terms with each other.
Early though it was, the village was stirring; Beatrice called cheerful good mornings as they went, not noticing the smiling, knowing looks exchanged behind her back. She was liked in the village, and although no one had actually said so it was generally thought that she was far too good for Dr Forbes’s son. Her companion, aware of the glances, gave no hint of having seen them, although his eyes danced with amusement.
Mrs Browning was breaking eggs into a large frying pan on the Aga, and bacon sizzled under the grill. She looked up as they went into the kitchen, added two more eggs and said happily, ‘Good morning. I do hope you’ve come to breakfast—such a satisfying meal. A lovely day again, isn’t it? Beatrice, make the toast, will you? Ella’s finishing her maths, and your father will be here directly.’ She dished the eggs expertly and put them to keep warm. ‘Are you on holiday, Dr Latimer?’
‘I only wish I were. I must be back in town by noon…’
‘Good heavens! All that way.’
‘I had a fancy to watch the sunrise.’
He took the knife from Beatrice and began to slice the loaf, and Mrs Browning, bursting with curiosity, sliced mushrooms into the frying pan, reflecting that he couldn’t possibly have driven down from London in time to see the sunrise, in which case, he must have spent the night somewhere nearby. After breakfast, when everyone had gone, she would phone the Elliotts… Lorna would surely know something about him. But her curiosity wasn’t to be satisfied; when everyone was out of the way Mrs Browning phoned her friend, only to discover that she was on the point of going out and had to leave the house on the instant. Mrs Browning put down the receiver with something of a thump.
Beatrice, helping her father with his morning surgery, was wondering about Dr Latimer too; it was two hours’ hard driving to get to London, and he had said that he had patients to see at noon. There had been no sign of a car; he must have had one, though, parked somewhere nearby—or did he live close by?
She had to hold a large, very cross cat while her father gave it an injection, her thoughts far away so that her father asked mildly, ‘Will you take Shakespeare back, my dear? Mrs Thorpe will be waiting for him… I want to see him in two weeks, so make an appointment, will you?’
She bore Shakespeare away to his doting mistress, made an appointment in her neat hand and went back to the surgery where a small boy was standing, clutching a pet rat. She didn’t care for rats or mice, but years of helping her father had inured her to them. All the same, she shuddered slightly as she took the animal from its anxious owner. There was nothing much wrong; advice as to diet and a few words of encouragement, and the small boy went away happy to be replaced by Major Digby with his Labrador. Since he and her father were old friends, a good deal of time was spent in talking about the good fishing locally, the chances against Farmer Bates planting sugar beet instead of winter greens and the vagaries of the weather. Beatrice, aware that she was no longer needed, left the two gentlemen, tidied the waiting-room and went along to the kitchen, where her mother was putting a batch of loaves to rise.
‘I wonder where he lives?’ she asked as Beatrice walked in. ‘I have no idea, Mother. London, I would suppose, since that was where Great-Aunt Sybil went to see him. Probably he likes driving long distances.’
Beatrice spoke rather tartly, and Mrs Browning gave her a quick look.
‘Oh, well,’ she observed, ‘we aren’t likely to see him again.’
She was wrong. It was exactly a week later that Mr Browning had a heart attack—very early in the morning, on his way back from checking Lady Lamborne’s pet donkey. Beatrice, coming down to make early morning tea, found him lying at the kitchen door. He was conscious, but cold and clammy and a dreadful grey colour, and when she felt for his pulse it was fast and faint. She wasn’t a girl to lose her head in an emergency; she put a cushion under his head, covered him with the old rug which was draped over one of the Windsor chairs, told him bracingly that he was going to be all right and went to phone Dr Forbes, fetched her mother and then went back to crouch beside her father.
Dr Forbes was there within ten minutes, listened to Beatrice’s calm voice, examined his old friend and told her to ring for an ambulance. ‘We’ll have to go to Salisbury,’ he told Mrs Browning. ‘I’ll give him an injection and we’ll keep him on oxygen.’ He patted her arm. ‘I think he’ll do, but it’s hard to tell for the moment. Thank heaven that Beatrice found him when she did.’
‘You stay with him while I put some things in a bag for him,’ said Beatrice. Her voice was quite steady, but her hands shook. ‘You’ll go with him? I’ll stay and sort things out here.’
She was back with the bag within minutes, and urged her mother to get what she needed, ready to go in the ambulance. Her father was quiet now, but he looked so ill that she felt sick with fright, although nothing showed of that upon her pale face. She held one limp hand in hers, and stared down at her father, oblivious of everything else, so that she didn’t see Dr Latimer get out of his car at the same time as the ambulance drew up.
A large, gentle hand on her shoulder made her look up. ‘Tell me what has happened, Beatrice.’ His voice was calm and matter of fact, so that she answered him readily.
‘Father—I found him here—Dr Forbes says he’s had a coronary thrombosis.’ She saw the ambulance for the first time. ‘He’s to go to Salisbury. Mother’s going with him.’
Her voice had been steady enough, only it didn’t sound like hers.
Dr Forbes had been talking to the ambulancemen; now he came to his patient. He paused when he saw Dr Latimer. ‘We’ve met,’ he said at once. ‘You gave a talk at the seminar in Bristol last year… Latimer—Dr Latimer, isn’t it?’
He launched into a brief description of Mr Browning’s collapse, and Dr Latimer said, ‘Do you mind if I come to Salisbury and take a look? I know Dr Stevens, we were students together…’
‘I’ll be glad of your advice—I suppose Dr Stevens will be in charge of him?’
‘Oh, yes, but Mr Browning is a friend…’
He bent down and plucked Beatrice on to her feet to make way for the ambulancemen with their stretcher. ‘Beatrice, find your mother, will you? I’ll drive her into Salisbury; we’ll get there ahead of the ambulance. Will you stay here?’
She said in a wispy voice, ‘I must let several people know—farmers, mostly. The small stuff I can manage on my own…Will—will you telephone me if you go to the hospital with Father? I expect Mother will want to stay there.’
‘As soon as we know what’s happening I’ll give you a ring, but stay here, Beatrice, until you hear from me.’
She nodded and went upstairs to find her mother. Mrs Browning, usually so matter of fact and competent, had gone to pieces for the moment. Beatrice took off the pinny she was wearing, got a jacket from the wardrobe, found her handbag and shoes and tidied her hair. ‘Dr Latimer is here, he’s driving you to the hospital so that you’ll be there when Father gets there. He knows the consultant there too, so Father is going to get the best possible care.’
Her mother gave her a blank look. ‘Your father’s never been ill in his life. It’s like a dream—a bad dream.’
Beatrice agreed silently and led her downstairs. The ambulance was just about ready to leave, and Dr Forbes was getting into it to be with his patient. Dr Latimer
was waiting patiently at the door, and as they reached him Beatrice said urgently, ‘You will let me know?’
‘Yes. Come along, Mrs Browning.’ He put an arm round her shoulders as he smiled at Beatrice and walked to the dark grey Rolls-Royce parked to one side of the drive. He opened its door and urged Mrs Browning inside, got in himself and, with a wave of the hand, was gone.
Beatrice went slowly inside. There was a great deal to do, but just for a minute she was bewildered by the speed of it all, and the suddenness. It was a blessing that Ella had spent the night with a schoolfriend, but she would have to let Carol and Kathy know. As she went into the house, Mrs Perry, the elderly woman who came each morning to help in the house, caught up with her.
‘I saw an ambulance, Miss Beatrice. ‘as one of them dogs bitten your dad?’
‘Dogs?’ Beatrice gave her a blank look. ‘Dogs—oh, no, Mrs Perry, my father has had a heart attack. My mother has gone with him to the hospital.’
‘Oh, you poor love. I’ll make a cuppa, it’ll pull you together. And don’t you fret, he’ll be fine—them doctors are clever old fellows.’
She bustled into the kitchen and Beatrice went along to her father’s study and opened his appointments book. Miss Scott, who acted as his receptionist-cum-secretary, would be in presently, but in the meantime there were several people expecting him that morning—farmers mostly. They would just have to get hold of another vet.
She began to telephone, drank the tea Mrs Perry brought her, and went along to the surgery. Her father’s practice was mostly widespread among the estates and farms round the village, but there was always a handful of family pets needing pills or injections and occasionally a stitch. The small patients in the surgery now were easily dealt with, and she attended to them with her usual calm; she had helped her father for years and no one thought of disputing her skill. The last patient, old Miss Thom’s elderly cat with ear trouble, was borne away, and Beatrice put the surgery to rights, tidied the waiting-room and started off towards her father’s study. Miss Scott would be there by now and she would have to talk to her. The phone ringing stopped her, and she raced back to the waiting-room and snatched up the receiver.
The voice at the other end sounded reassuring and, at the same time, bracing. ‘Beatrice? Your father’s in intensive care and is holding his own nicely. Don’t leave the house, I’ll be with you in half an hour.’
He rang off before she could say a word. Just as well, as she found that she was crying.
She felt better after a good weep, and with a washed face, well made-up to cover her red nose and puffy eyelids, she went to find Miss Scott. That lady was sensible and middle-aged and could be relied upon to cope with any emergency, and she was sorting the post, bringing the books up to date and going through the appointments book. She looked up as Beatrice went in, and said with real sympathy, ‘I’m so sorry, Beatrice—what a dreadful shock for you all. Your father will be all right, of course; he’s very fit and he’ll have the best of care. Mrs Forbes told me that Dr Latimer has been called in for consultations—a splendid man, it seems. How fortunate that he happened to be here.’
For the first time Beatrice paused to wonder why he had been there, anyway. ‘He phoned a few minutes ago. Father’s holding his own. I waited to phone Carol and Kathy and Ella…’
‘Quite right, my dear. You’d like to do it now? I’ll go and have my coffee with Mrs Perry.’
Carol and Kathy took the news with commendable calm, and both said at once that they would come home just as soon as they could arrange it. Ella wasn’t easy; Beatrice spoke to her headmistress first, so that she was half prepared to hear Beatrice’s news. All the same, she burst into tears and demanded to come home at once.
‘Of course you shall,’ promised Beatrice, ‘just as soon as I get some kind of transport. Be a good girl, darling, and try to be patient, just as Father would expect you to be. I’ll ring you just as soon as I’ve fixed something up—there’s rather a lot to do.’
Her sister’s voice came, penitent in her ear. ‘Sorry, Beatrice. I’ll wait and not fuss. But you won’t forget?’
‘No, love.’
Miss Scott came back then and they set to work ringing round neighbours and neighbouring vets, fitting in the patients already booked by her father. They had almost finished when Dr Latimer joined them.
Beatrice jumped to her feet. ‘Father—how is he?’
‘Holding his own, as I told you; if he can hang on a little longer, he’ll be out of the wood.’ He bade Miss Scott a polite good morning and Beatrice introduced them. ‘We’re handing over most of father’s patients for the moment—I’ve dealt with the minor stuff in surgery this morning.’ She lifted unhappy eyes to his. ‘I’m not sure what we should do…’
‘Get a locum,’ he told her promptly. ‘Your father will need an assistant for a few months. I know you do a great deal to help him, but it will have to be someone qualified if he’s to keep his contacts with the local farmers.’
She could have hugged him for his matter-of-fact acceptance of her father’s recovery. ‘Of course, I’ll get in touch with the agency he uses sometimes—if he’s on holiday or something…’
She smiled for the first time that day, and Dr Latimer studied her unhappy face without appearing to do so. ‘Your father will be in hospital for a week or two, and when he’s home he won’t be able to do much for a time. Do you know of anyone he might like to work for him?’
She shook her head. ‘No. They’ve always been different, and they’ve never been here for longer than three weeks.’
‘Well, see what you can do. Get him here for an interview; it may make things much easier if you like him. Did you ring your sisters?’
‘Yes. Carol and Kathy are driving back, they should be here quite soon. Ella’s at school; I promised her I’d fetch her as soon as I could. I dare say Carol will fetch her.’
‘Where does she go to school?’
‘Wilton…’
‘We’ll go and get her now, shall we? Perhaps I should explain things to her…’
‘Oh, would you? She’s got her exams, and Father was anxious that she should pass well; if she could be reassured it would help a lot.’
Sitting in the soft leather comfort of his car, she said rather shyly, ‘You’re being very kind, and I’m most grateful. I know Mother will be too when she knows. You do think Father will be all right? Dr Stevens is very good, isn’t he? Did he think he would recover?’ She stopped and the bright colour washed over her face. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, you’re much cleverer than he is, aren’t you? I mean, you’re very well-known—Mrs Forbes said so. I expect Dr Stevens does what you suggest, doesn’t he?’
A small sound escaped Dr Latimer’s lips. ‘Well, more or less—we pool our knowledge, as it were; he was good enough to allow me to take a look at your father. Is your Miss Scott reliable? Could she be left for a couple of hours while I take you to the hospital? Your mother wants to stay the night, and asked me to fetch some things for her. There is no reason why all of you shouldn’t see him for a moment.’
‘Thank you, I know we would all like to do that. But don’t you have to work? Don’t you have patients in London and hospital rounds and—and things?’
He said gravely, ‘I take an occasional day off.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. If you turn down the next street, the school’s half-way down.’
Ella was waiting, red-eyed and restless. When she saw Dr Latimer she rushed to him and flung her arms around him. ‘It’s you. Oh, I’m so glad, now Father will be all right. How did you know? Had you come for breakfast?’
He didn’t answer her questions, but said cheerfully, ‘I’m going to take you to see your father, but first Beatrice has to put a few things together for your mother. She will stay at the hospital for a day or two while you help Beatrice to look after the house and the animals.’
He stowed her in the seat beside him and Beatrice got into the back, relieved at the placid way in which he had d
ealt with Ella, and once they were back home again he exhibited the same placid manner with Carol and Kathy, prevailed upon Miss Scott to stay until they returned, piled them all back into the car and drove back to Salisbury. And Beatrice sat in front beside him, listening to his advice, given in a diffident voice but sound none the less, so that, when he suggested that it might help if he were to be present when she interviewed any applicant for the post of assistant at the surgery, she agreed without a second thought.
‘And it should be as soon as possible,’ he reminded her, ‘so that whoever comes has settled in nicely before your father returns.’
‘I’ll phone as soon as we get home,’ she promised him. ‘How shall I let you know if someone comes for an interview?’
‘I’ll leave you my phone number.’ He drew up before the hospital entrance and they all got out. Ella was crying again, and he paused to mop her face. ‘Your father is on a life-support machine, so there are a number of tubes and wires attached to him; don’t let that frighten you. And you may only stay a few moments. Come along.’
Mrs Browning was sitting on a chair outside intensive care; she looked as pale as her daughters, but gave them a cheerful smile. She looked at Dr Latimer then. ‘I’m eternally grateful,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what we would have done without your help. And I do believe you when you say that Tom is going to get better.’ She gave him a sweet smile. ‘May the girls see him?’
‘Certainly. Two at a time, I think. I’ll just make sure that they won’t be in the way…’
He disappeared, to return presently with a white-gowned Sister. ‘Carol and Kathy?’ he suggested. ‘You’ll have to put on white gowns. Sister will show you.’
They were only gone for a minute or two, and then it was Beatrice’s and Ella’s turn. ‘And not so much as a snuffle from you,’ warned Dr Latimer, giving Ella a gentle push.
Beatrice had steeled herself to see her father’s grey face once more, but despite the tubes and wires he looked more like her father again, with colour in his face, and apparently asleep. The sight of him acted like a tonic upon her; he was alive and he was going to get better. Dr Latimer had said so. She quelled a great desire to burst into tears, and urged Ella back into the waiting-room.