by Betty Neels
Immediately she had said that, she worried that Colin might think it strange, for she had been more than willing to go with him on several occasions. She would have been furious if she had known that he wasn’t in the least put out; his conceit allowed him to suppose that it was because she was shy of him since he had allowed her to see his supposedly real feeling for her.
It was her mother who remarked upon it as they were clearing the table after supper. ‘Are you sure you didn’t want to go with Colin, dear? You usually do.’
And at breakfast the next morning Mr Browning, who had got up early, remarked, ‘Beatrice, when Mr Sharpe— Mr Cedric Sharpe—comes this morning, about ten o’clock, bring him to my study, will you?’ At her questioning look he went on, ‘He sounds very suitable as a partner, but of course we need to talk about it.’
Beatrice couldn’t stop herself looking at Colin, but he was looking down at his plate. ‘Colin is going in rather less than two weeks,’ went on her father. He looked across at his assistant. ‘I dare say you will find Canada rather different from here.’
Colin looked up. ‘I’m not sure that I’m going,’ he said. His smile was disarming. ‘In fact, I have great hopes of staying in England.’
He looked across at Beatrice as he spoke and, mindful of Dr Latimer’s advice, she smiled back rather vaguely and said, ‘Oh, really? I feel sure there are plenty of jobs going.’
The morning clinic was busy, and she was kept hard at work, but, when the last four-legged patient had been borne away and she began on the clearing up, Colin strolled over to where she was washing instruments.
‘Are you wondering why I didn’t tell you that I was leaving?’
She made her voice as non-commital as possible. ‘Well, no, I wasn’t. You were only a locum; I knew you would be going as soon as Father felt he could get back into the practice.’
‘With a partner.’ He sighed loudly. ‘That was a bitter blow to me, Beatrice. I had hoped that he would offer a partnership to me. I know I have no capital, but I have brought a lot of up-to-date ideas into the practice, and eventually I could have taken over completely.’
Beatrice began to lay out clean towels. ‘Oh, I don’t think Father would ever retire; he’s not all that old, you know, and he’d die of boredom. I dare say you would do much better in Canada—there must be an enormous scope for vets out there.’
Colin came a little nearer, and she whisked away to the sink and began to wash the bowls they had used.
‘You must know why I want to stay.’ He sounded so sincere that if she hadn’t listened to his conversation on the phone she would have believed him. ‘We get on so well together, Beatrice, you can’t pretend that you don’t know how I feel…’
It was fortunate that the phone rang then, for it saved her from having to answer him. She pounced on the instrument like the proverbial man clutching at a straw, and said ‘Hello,’ so heartily that Dr Latimer at the other end observed softly in her ear, ‘Am I right in thinking that I have phoned at exactly the right moment? In a tight corner, are you? Could you be free on Saturday? I’d like to take you out.’
‘Oh, would you? How nice.’ She was aware that she sounded inane, but she had been taken by surprise. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘A whim—a breath of fresh air, preferably in company. I’ll pick you up about nine o’clock.’
‘I haven’t said…’
‘No. I know. I dare say Ella will do your chores for you. Bring Knotty with you, if you like.’
She put down the phone and Colin asked sharply, ‘Who was that?’
‘A private call. I must go up to the house and see if Mr Sharpe has arrived.’
He was on the doorstep as she reached the front of the house; a stocky, middle-aged man with a mild, craggy face and wispy, greying hair.
‘Just right for Father,’ muttered Beatrice, making herself known and showing him indoors. She left the two men together and went along to the kitchen to make coffee for them. Her mother and Mrs Perry were there, debating the advantages of a steamed jam pudding over treacle tart for supper.
‘He’s here,’ said Beatrice. ‘Mr Sharpe. He looks nice.’
‘So Oliver says,’ said her mother.
‘Oliver? Who’s Oliver?’
‘Dr Latimer, dear. It seems silly to be so formal with him, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes. Well, I suppose so. But how did you you know about Mr Sharpe?’
‘Oh, he recommended him to your father in the first place.’
‘Did he, indeed?’ Beatrice assembled the coffee-tray and bore it to her father’s study, and when she got back to the kitchen Colin was there, exerting his charm on the two ladies. He turned it on Beatrice as she went in.
‘I was just saying how I shall miss you all when I finally go. I feel so completely at home here.’ He pulled a wistful face. ‘Life is going to be very empty.’
‘Not if you get a job, it won’t,’ observed Beatrice cheerfully. It was surprising, she thought, how she could be so casual with him while all the time her heart was—if not broken—severely cracked. In a day or two, she was sure, when she had got over her indignation and shock, she would feel unhappy; she had been almost but not quite in love with him…and she had never doubted that he was attracted to her, had fallen in love with her. Hurt pride was a splendid thing to stiffen one’s backbone.
After a day or two, she got rather good at keeping Colin at a distance. Several times he had hinted strongly that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her, but she had never given him a chance to get any further than that, although it had been tempting to do so—just once, to see what he would say—but pride forbade her.
Her father had accepted Mr Sharpe as a partner, and it was no longer possible for Colin to put off his arrangements for leaving with only a week left before Mr Sharpe and his family moved into the house in the village. He had become reticent as to his future plans, hinting to Beatrice when they were alone that he had no intention of going out of her life. She took no notice of this; she was honest enough to know that she was going to miss him, although she despised him for his pretence. All she wanted now was for him to be gone.
Ella was perfectly willing to do Beatrice’s chores on Saturday; she disliked Colin, but she was good with the animals. It was a pity that at supper on the Friday evening she should have remarked upon Beatrice’s outing with Dr Latimer. Mr and Mrs Browning knew of it, but had remained discreetly silent, so that it was left for Ella to let the cat out of the bag.
‘You’ll have to put up with me in the morning,’ she told Colin. ‘Beatrice is having a day off—Dr Latimer is taking her off somewhere.’
Colin’s face had darkened, and after a moment he pushed back his chair. ‘I’ve just remembered a prescription I had to have ready,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘You’ll excuse me?’ He cast Beatrice a long, reproachful look as he went.
‘Didn’t he know?’ asked Ella innocently.
It had rained overnight, but the sky was a clear blue when Beatrice got up the next morning. She spent a good deal of time going through her wardrobe; Dr Latimer hadn’t said where they were going. How like a man, she thought, wondering whether a blue linen dress and a little jacket would be more suitable than a pale pink cotton dress with a demure collar. Ella, who had wandered in, eating an apple, said, ‘Wear the pink; men like pink.’ She added as she sidled across to the bed and perched on it, ‘I’m sorry I let Colin know about you going out with Oliver—I didn’t know he didn’t know, cross my heart.’
‘No harm done. Who said you could call Dr Latimer Oliver?’
‘Well, Oliver did. Dr Latimer is so stuffy; he must get awfully sick of all the nurses bending the knee and calling him Dr Latimer with every other breath.’
Beatrice poked her head through the pink dress. ‘I believe they call consultants “sir” in hospital.’
‘Really? That makes him sound like a stuffed shirt, and that he most certainly is not.’ Ella tossed the core into the wastepaper bask
et. ‘I shall probably marry him when I’m grown up.’
‘Does he know?’
‘I don’t think I’ll even tell him, in case I meet someone I like better.’
‘Sound thinking,’ observed Beatrice, and started throwing things into her good leather handbag. ‘I wish he’d said where we were going.’
‘Well, you look all right,’ said Ella kindly, ‘and it isn’t as if you’re going out to dinner, is it? Will you be gone all day?’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t say.’
‘I expect you will go into Salisbury and have lunch in some stuffy restaurant.’
Beatrice gave her face a last-minute survey. ‘He said he wanted a breath of fresh air.’
‘A picnic on Salisbury Plain,’ said Ella.
‘I’d like that.’ Beatrice went downstairs and found Colin in the hall, obviously waiting for her.
‘If only I’d been free today,’ he began in an aggrieved voice, ‘we could have spent the day together. But I’ll make up for it once I’ve left here.’
Beatrice wasn’t paying much attention, for she had heard the doctor’s car coming up the drive; it came to a whispering halt and she went to open the door, saying over her shoulder, ‘Yes, you’ll take a holiday, I expect.’
Dr Latimer had got out of his car and was strolling round to the kitchen door, but he stopped when he saw her.
‘I didn’t expect you to be ready,’ he told her. ‘I was going to say hello to your mother. I dare say your father is at the clinic.’
‘Well, no—he’ll be with Mother. It’s Colin’s Saturday duty.’ She frowned as she spoke; he should have been in the clinic, seeing his patients, instead of mooning round the hall. The frown cleared when she heard Ella’s voice shouting for him, her clear young voice raised impatiently.
‘You’ve several patients and it’s five past nine already.’
The doctor lifted an eyebrow, but continued on his way, although he spent barely five minutes with Beatrice’s parents before urging her, quite unnecessarily, to hurry up.
‘But I’ve been ready for ages,’ she protested, and blushed at his,
‘I’m flattered.’
In the car she asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Not far. Would it bore you to loll around in the sun for an hour or so? And perhaps a swim?’
‘It sounds lovely, but I haven’t my swimsuit with me.’
‘Oh, I dare say one can be found for you.’ He began to talk in a pleasant rambling fashion about nothing much, and she sat back and let all the small worries of the week melt away. Colin had been very tiresome once or twice, almost as though he were quite happy to be leaving, and yet hinting that he would still be able to see her…
‘Only another five days,’ said Dr Latimer suddenly. ‘Has it been difficult?’
It was such a comfort to have her thoughts read. ‘Yes. At least, I don’t know why, but Colin makes me feel uneasy; he behaves as though we shall go on seeing each other even though he’s leaving.’
‘Does he, now? A pity you can’t go and stay with your great-aunt, but then you would have to leave your father—your mother looks after him quite splendidly, but I don’t think she could cope with young Wood, and your father must be protected from anything likely to raise his blood pressure.’
‘Oh, I’ll be all right.’
They were on a country road she knew well, going in the direction of Phillip’s House, a large estate only a few miles away, and she wondered where they were going, but she didn’t like to ask again for he hadn’t answered her the first time, only talked about swimming and lying in the sun.
They entered the village just short of the estate, and he slowed the car and turned down a narrow country lane, away from the few houses in its main street.
‘There’s a lovely old house along here,’ said Beatrice chattily, ‘with a red-tiled roof, and it’s all shapes and sizes, just as though whoever lived there needed to add a room or so from time to time. I expect you’ve seen it?’
They were almost level with its open gate, and he slowed the car. ‘Well, yes. I live here.’
She shot round in her seat to look at him. ‘You do? I thought you lived in London.’
‘Well, I do for a good deal of each week, but this is my home. It’s been my family’s home for a long time.’
He drew up in front of the solid door, undid her seat-belt and leaned across to open her door; and when she got out he put a hand under her elbow and ushered her into the house. There was an elderly man standing by the open door.
‘This is Jennings—he and Mrs Jennings look after me.’
She shook hands, aware that a pair of very shrewd blue eyes were studying her. Jennings’ voice held satisfaction. ‘Welcome, Miss Browning.’
He stood aside to let them pass, and it wasn’t until much later that she wondered how he had known her name—the doctor hadn’t mentioned it…
The hall was wide, low-ceilinged and panelled; an oak dower chest against one wall held a bowl of roses, and against the opposite wall there was a solid oak table flanked by two high-backed, cane-seated oak chairs. There were flowers here too, and wall sconces with pale rose-coloured shades. There were doors on either side, and passages leading off left and right with an uncarpeted staircase, its wooden treads worn with age, at the back of the hall.
‘In here,’ said the doctor, and opened a door and swept her before him. The sitting-room was low-ceilinged like the hall, but with plain white walls hung with paintings. There was a bow window at one end with a window-seat beneath it, piled high with cushions, and the fireplace was wide and deep. The chairs and sofas were velvet-covered and looked comfortable, and Mabel got out of one of them to bounce across the floor and greet them. Beatrice bent to pat her and took the opportunity to take a good look around her. She liked what she saw; it was a lived-in room despite the splendid glass-fronted cabinets along its walls, which were filled with porcelain and silver, and the magnificent crimson brocade curtains at the window. The window-panes were latticed and old, but at some time or other a door had been made to open into the garden beyond. She wandered over to look through it and the doctor opened it.
‘The garden’s rather nice,’ he observed. ‘We’ll go round it presently if you would care to.’
‘Oh, I would.’
‘Coffee first, though. Come and sit here and tell me how your father is.’
She thought for a moment. ‘I think he’s improving fast, especially now that he’s arranged for Mr Sharpe to take up a partnership.’ She hesitated. ‘I think he will be glad when Colin’s gone.’
‘Can you tell me why?’
‘I think he feels that he’s being edged out, if you see what I mean.’
‘And you, Beatrice? I understand that you will be glad to see Wood go, but perhaps in your heart you are hoping that there has been a misunderstanding. Have you spoken to him? Asked him to explain his conversation on the phone?’ He paused. ‘Let him see that you are a little in love with him?’
Beatrice raised her lovely eyes to his. ‘I think I’d rather die,’ she said quietly, which somehow made the words all the more dramatic. She went on. ‘I—I shall miss him, and I think I’ve been hoping that he would explain, but he hasn’t, because of course he doesn’t know that I heard him in the first place.’
The doctor agreed gravely, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. ‘Then things should be left as they are, don’t you agree? He will be gone in another few days, and in time you will mend your cracked heart.’
This sensible speech cheered her up; they drank their coffee and presently wandered out into the garden. The grounds were large and beautifully laid out, and when they came to a high, old brick wall the doctor opened a wicket gate and ushered her into the kitchen garden with its rows of orderly vegetables, fruit bushes and raspberry canes. The walls were lined with apricot and peach trees, and there were apple and pear trees growing haphazardly between the beds of peas and beans and beetroots.
‘Oh, this
is fabulous,’ cried Beatrice. ‘It must be looked after by several gardeners.’
‘Old Trott, who’s been with us, man and boy, and his two grandsons, and I like gardening too when I have the time.’
They strolled around in the bright sunshine, and she felt happy for the first time in days—a gentle happiness, very soothing to her trampled ego and gently stoked by her companion’s manner towards her: a well-balanced mixture of casual friendliness and pleasure in her company.
The swimming pool looked inviting, hidden away behind a screen of trees, with lounger chairs arranged invitingly around it. There were small changing-rooms at one end too, and the doctor said placidly, ‘Mrs Jennings found some swimsuits; I dare say one might fit you. Shall we have a swim before lunch?’
There were half a dozen swimsuits in as many sizes. Beatrice, weighing the charm of a dark blue one-piece against the spectacular stripes of a bikini, chose the blue; it did more for her splendid figure than any bikini, but she hadn’t thought about that.
The doctor was already in the water; she slipped in feet first and began a sedate breast-stroke, but by the time she had swum the length of the pool the warmth of the water and the bright sun encouraged her to alter her speed, and in no time at all she was racing her companion up and down its length until they cried a truce and got out to lie in the sun.
The doctor was an undemanding companion; Beatrice lay half asleep, speculating idly as to who else had a choice of the wonderful swimming-suits he had provided. It was a pity, she reflected, that she didn’t know him well enough to ask. She turned her head to look at him, lying on the lounger next to her. He looked even larger in swimming trunks than he did in his formal grey suits; his eyes were closed and she felt a faint flicker of annoyance that he was actually asleep, but at least it gave her the opportunity of studying him at length. Very good-looking, but, now she came to notice, the good looks were etched with lines of weariness. Six feet, five inches at least, she guessed, and a pair of shoulders which wouldn’t disgrace a prize fighter. She lifted her head a little in order to get a better view of his commanding nose, and then drew in her breath sharply when he opened one eye.