by Betty Neels
She found herself standing beside the colonel, who, once you got to know him, wasn’t peppery at all but talked about his garden, and when she told him what she planned to do with the cottage garden he promised her some seedlings in the spring. They were joined presently by Mr Simpkins, who, it appeared, was as keen a gardener as the colonel, and the doctor, watching from the other side of the room, saw Matilda’s absorbed face, alight with interest.
How was it that he had considered her plain? She was nothing of the sort; her face was one at which it was a delight to look. He listened with apparent attention to Lady Truscott’s descriptions of the various delights in store at the Christmas bazaar, assured her that he would be there, and added, ‘This has been a delightful evening, Mary; you always organise things so well…’
Lady Truscott laughed. ‘What else can an elderly widow do with her days, Henry? Do you have to go so soon?’
‘I’m taking Matilda home.’
‘What a dear creature she is, and so pretty in that dress. A pity she doesn’t get out more but her mother assures me that she is a homebird and doesn’t care for much social life.’
A remark which he very much doubted.
He went across the room to Matilda and gently prised her away from the milkman and the colonel, watched her as she bade them goodbye and thanked her hostess with pretty manners, found her coat for her and stuffed her into the car.
‘What a lovely evening,’ declared Matilda. ‘I wish it could have gone on for ever!’ She glanced sideways at the doctor’s calm profile. ‘Thank you for inviting me; parties like that make it seem like Christmas, don’t you think?’
She chatted on happily. ‘Lady Truscott is such a friendly person and I thought the sandwiches at the party were delicious. I’m not sure what I had to drink; it tasted a bit like strong lemonade.’
‘A special drink which I believe the committee agreed upon,’ said the doctor gravely, knowing it was hardly lemonade and certainly potent enough—despite Lady Truscott’s excellent coffee—to loosen Matilda’s normally prudent tongue.
‘I’m quite sleepy,’ volunteered Matilda, and then added, ‘We’re on holiday next week…’
‘Indeed we are.’
‘Are you going away?’
‘For two or three days.’
He had stopped by the cottage gate and leaned across to undo her safety belt. ‘Oh, of course—to the South of France,’ said Matilda, and nodded. For a moment the lemonade got the upper hand. ‘You’re making a mistake!’ she told him.
She walked up the garden path with his arm around her, and waited while he unlocked the door. He pushed her gently inside.
She looked up at him with sleepy eyes. ‘I’ll never forget,’ she told him. He didn’t answer, only smiled down at her and closed the door quite quietly.
She had been right, of course, he reflected as he got into the car and sat waiting until he saw a light go on in an upstairs room. He had made a mistake.
In the cold light of early Sunday morning Matilda tried to remember just what she had said to the doctor. She suspected that she had spoken with an unguarded tongue but her recollection was a little vague. He hadn’t said much, though, so she couldn’t have allowed her tongue to run away with her.
Her mother asked if she had enjoyed herself.
‘Very much. The hall was packed and there was a good band. And just before midnight we went to Lady Truscott’s and had coffee and sausage rolls and mince pies.’
‘Lady Truscott’s? Who else was there?’
‘Mrs Simpkins and her husband, and the milkman and that nice old colonel—and most of the ladies with whom you play bridge. Oh, and the pub owner and his wife.’
‘Not at Lady Truscott’s, surely?’ Mrs Paige sounded horrified.
‘Oh, yes. She was at the dance; so were Mr and Mrs Milton—and that nice man who runs the bank on the opening days.’
‘The doctor brought you home?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘If I had known,’ said Mrs Paige, ‘I could have gone to this dance; I didn’t realise that it was for everyone. I could have got someone to come and give your father an hour or two’s company, or I could have gone with Dr Lovell…’
‘But it was me he invited,’ said Matilda mildly.
‘Only because Lucilla Armstrong is away, so I hear. He had to take someone, I suppose.’ She added crossly, ‘I’m not going to church; I’ve one of my sick headaches coming on. If anyone enquires about me you can say that I haven’t been very well for the past few days.’
So Matilda went to church with her father and, beyond a few brief remarks at her mother’s absence, no one showed much interest. The congregation, considering how late most of them had been up the night before, was large, and beyond a quick good morning she had no need to say anything to the doctor. However, she couldn’t help hearing him tell the vicar that he was leaving directly after lunch, and she heard the vicar urging him to drive carefully—‘For you are going quite a distance, Henry.’
All the way to the South of France, reflected Matilda.
She thought about him for the rest of Sunday and all of Monday—a day given over to the washing and ironing and rummaging in cupboards in search of the best china and the silver coffee spoons while her mother sat at the kitchen table planning her coffee morning.
‘Wouldn’t coffee and biscuits do?’ asked Matilda.
‘Certainly not. There had better be hot chocolate and some of those herb teas. No biscuits—petit fours and tiny sausage rolls and mince pies and those almond biscuits. And you needn’t look like that,’ said Mrs Paige sharply. ‘Your father has given me the housekeeping money. The money you pay me each week will tide us over…’
‘Until when?’ asked Matilda.
‘Well, your next week’s wages, of course. Really, Matilda, you are most ungrateful. I am going to a great deal of trouble to entertain the right people.’
Her mother went to Taunton the next day, grumbling because she had to go by bus, and Matilda took the opportunity to tidy her father’s desk and make sure that there weren’t any bills tucked in among his books and papers. And since it was a fairly mild day the pair of them took a short walk, talking about the garden and what Matilda hoped to do in the spring.
They ate their lunch in the kitchen because it was the warmest room in the house, and Matilda conjured up an economical supper before she lighted the fire in the sitting room. They sat round it eating buttered toast and doing the Telegraph crossword puzzle, very content in each other’s company.
Mrs Paige was to return on the afternoon bus, but since by the time it reached Much Winterlow it was dark Matilda walked down to the village to meet her and carry the parcels.
Mrs Paige had had a splendid day having her hair done and shopping, but she was quick to point out that returning on the bus had quite spoilt the day. ‘So crowded,’ she complained, ‘and I had so many parcels. I must talk to your father and persuade him that we must have a car.’
‘There isn’t enough money, Mother,’ said Matilda bleakly. ‘Besides, you don’t need to go to Taunton every day.’
‘If I had a car I could get away from this dull place.’
‘Mother, if only you would try and like it—there’s so much to do in the village and I don’t mean bridge parties.’
She was told not to talk rubbish as her mother went past her into the cottage.
Matilda, unpacking bags and boxes under her mother’s eye, noted with a sinking heart the expensive vol-au-vents, petit fours, tiny buns filled with cream and salmon mousse tartlets. Far too much for a friendly coffee morning and heaven only knew what they had cost.
‘I’ve tired myself out,’ declared her mother. ‘You must hoover the sitting room and make sure the house is fit to be seen. You’ll have all day tomorrow in which to do it…’
As it happened, Matilda found time to go into the garden too. It was a wild day with a cold wind but she was soon glowing, collecting up the last of the fallen leaves, ra
king the beds clear of debris. The dark sky and wild, scudding clouds suited her mood. Was she to be condemned for ever to her mother’s beck and call? she wondered. The plain answer was yes, because of her father.
Matilda, preparing for the coffee morning, hardly noticed what she was doing. Tomorrow she would be going to Aunt Kate’s house and she could hardly wait. And because she was so happy about that she did everything she could to please her mother. And Mrs Paige needed a lot of pleasing; her coffee morning was to be an elegant affair not easily forgotten.
Lady Truscott came; so did Mrs Milton and the various acquaintances Mrs Paige had made at bridge parties she had been to. And if they were surprised at the elaborate spread put before them they didn’t say so. They were happy living at Much Winterlow and felt sorry for anyone who wasn’t. Of course they realised that, after the busy life of committees, meetings and parochial gatherings, Mrs Paige might find village life dull. Dull from her point of view, of course, not theirs. There was more than enough to keep life interesting: Farmer Squire’s cow having triplets, Mrs Trim winning a few hundred pounds in the lottery, the Kentons’ eldest boy getting a scholarship to Sherborne, and now Christmas looming…
They drank the excellent coffee and ate the dainties they were offered, then told their hostess quite sincerely they had enjoyed themselves, at the same time urging her to join in the village activities.
‘I know that you couldn’t leave your husband,’ said Lady Truscott kindly, ‘but you would have enjoyed the dance. How beautifully Matilda dances. She and the doctor made a splendid pair and she never lacked for partners. She is very popular in the village, you know; a charming girl.’
When everyone had gone and they were clearing up Mrs Paige remarked with a little laugh, ‘Lady Truscott said you were charming. A pity Dr Lovell is going to marry Lucilla Armstrong; you might have stood a chance with him.’
‘Most unlikely, said Matilda cheerfully. ‘I work for him.’ Her smile hid the hurtful thought that even with no competition she had no chance of attracting him. She would go on working for him too until she retired, like Miss Brimble, to look after an aged parent.
Then she remembered that she was going to stay with Aunt Kate and life became once more an adventure, for who knew what lay around the next corner?
Miss Lovell, in sensible tweeds and a severe hat, arrived punctually in the morning. She accepted coffee, listening to Mrs Paige’s account of her coffee morning and enjoying a brief talk with Mr Paige before putting down her cup and saucer and declaring that they must be off.
‘I’ll bring Matilda back on Sunday evening,’ she told them. ‘After supper.’
In the car, driving like Jehu through the country roads, Aunt Kate observed, ‘You’re looking pale, Matilda. Does Henry work you too hard?’
‘Heavens, no! I’m only part-time, you know, and I love the work. It’s not at all hard.’
‘Done any Christmas shopping yet?’
Aunt Kate avoided a farm trailer by a hair’s breadth.
‘No—well, I bought my Christmas cards from Mrs Simpkins’ shop, and wrapping paper and labels. I must go to Taunton and buy presents.’
‘Or you can do some shopping in Somerton. The town shops are exciting but I find I can get all I want in the local shops.’
Matilda, her purse moderately filled for once, agreed happily. She hadn’t many presents to get and she knew what she wanted to buy. She had worried about the doctor. Should she give him a present? Something impersonal like a diary? She suspected that he got several from the medical firms who were always sending samples. You couldn’t give a man flowers unless he was in bed ill; he didn’t smoke. A desk calendar, perhaps.
Miss Lovell stopped with a flourish before her door and Mrs Chubb was there, bidding them to come in from the cold, bustling around them, urging Matilda up the stairs to her room with the warning to go straight downstairs again to drink her coffee before it got cold.
‘And I can see you’re in need of a bit of cosseting. Been working too hard, I’ll be bound. All work and no play…you know what they say!’
‘But I went to the annual village dance on Saturday, Mrs Chubb. It was lovely.’
‘That’s as may be; you could do with a few more pounds on you too.’
Saying which, Mrs Chubb took herself downstairs again.
‘She don’t look happy, Miss Lovell,’ she declared, carrying in the coffee tray. ‘Now why is that? In love?’
Aunt Kate picked up the coffee pot. ‘I think there is that possibility,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘We’ll know soon enough.’
‘If you say so, ma’am.’
A few moments later Matilda uttered a small sigh as she entered the sitting room. There was a splendid fire burning, the coffee smelled delicious and Taffy went to meet her.
‘He remembers me,’ said Matilda happily. Her small nose wrinkled with pleasure. Life for the moment was everything—well, almost everything—she could wish for.
They lunched presently: one of Mrs Chubb’s nourishing soups, a soufflé as light as feathers and a winter salad. And a glass of wine with it.
‘And now make your list, child,’ said Miss Lovell. ‘We will go to Somerton and take a look round the shops.’
There was more than enough choice for Matilda’s modest list. A silk scarf for her mother, and after a search around a bookshop just the book her father had mentioned he would like to have. Fine lawn hankies for Mrs Inch and chocolates for Kitty and, after consultation with Aunt Kate, a bead necklace for Mrs Chubb. There was still Aunt Kate, of course, and the doctor, but she was running out of money and their gifts would need a good deal of thought.
They had tea at an elegant little café—toasted teacakes and a dish of mouth-watering cream cakes and a large pot of tea. Aunt Kate wasn’t a woman to do things by halves.
It had begun to rain as they left the café and it was already dark, which made Aunt Kate’s sitting room a haven of comfort and warmth when they reached it. And presently they sat down to supper: steak and kidney pie, its pastry lid a masterpiece of perfection, Brussels sprouts and potatoes mashed to a creamy smoothness, and then one of Mrs Chubb’s trifles. All helped down with a glass of claret.
Matilda, curled up in her pretty bed, slept all night. Her last thoughts were of Dr Lovell, of course, as were her waking ones too.
The rain disappeared during the night and the next day it was chilly with a strong wind. But here and there were patches of pale blue sky.
‘Brisk walk,’ said Miss Lovell, watching Matilda spooning her porridge. ‘Nothing like it. We’ll take the footpath to Thors Magna and have coffee at the pub there.’
Which they did—a couple of miles across country with the promised coffee at the end of it. There was time for a quick look round the church before they walked back to another of Mrs Chubb’s nourishing meals.
‘I shall take a nap after lunch,’ declared Aunt Kate. ‘Put on a coat and explore the garden if you would like to. There are books and magazines in the garden room, so help yourself. Tea at half past four.’
So presently Matilda got into the elderly hooded cloak which Mrs Chubb offered her and went into the garden. She had been there before but now she explored it thoroughly, admiring the brick paths between the flowerbeds, the little summer house right at the end of the garden and the vegetable patch hidden behind a cunningly planted circle of small fruit trees. She would do something like that, she decided. Once winter was over she could spend more time in the garden. And a little summer house would be just the thing for her father. She went and had another look at it, wondering how much it would cost, poking her head inside to get a better look.
Dr Lovell, coming silently across the lawn, stopped to watch her. There wasn’t much of her to be seen for the cloak enveloped her entirely and he smiled as he spoke.
‘You are in there under the tent thing?’ he asked.
Matilda shot up, got entangled in the cloak and had to be set back on her feet. She said the first thing to enter
her head and then bitterly regretted it.
‘Why aren’t you in the South of France?’
‘Am I supposed to be there?’
Matilda wrapped the cloak tightly around her. It was a kind of refuge and she felt in need of one. ‘Well, no, I just thought that that was where you would be with Lucilla.’
‘I had no idea that you were so interested in my private life, Matilda.’
Matilda said coldly, ‘You are mistaken; I am not in the least interested.’ And that was a waste of breath for he laughed. She turned her back on him then and wished that he would go away although in her heart she knew she would hate it if he did…
‘Let us bury the hatchet,’ said the doctor mildly. ‘Let us ignore our private lives—yours as well as mine—and I for one am prepared to show a true Christmas spirit and invite you to have dinner with me this evening.’
‘Dinner? With you? What about Aunt Kate? I mean, she’ll come with us?’
He said silkily, ‘Afraid to be alone in my company, Matilda?’
‘Of course not. What a very silly thing to say. I’d like to have dinner with you if Aunt Kate wouldn’t mind.’
‘Then let us go indoors and tell her. Mrs Chubb was rattling the teacups when I arrived.’
He put a vast arm around her shoulders and walked her back into the kitchen, where he unwound her from the cloak, waited while she kicked off the wellies she had borrowed, and urged her into the sitting room.
Miss Lovell had had her nap and was knitting. She looked up as they went in. ‘You’ll be wanting your tea. What do you think of the garden, Matilda?”
‘It’s lovely—I was looking at the little summer house.’ She blushed, remembering the pure joy she had felt at the sound of the doctor’s voice. ‘I’d like one in our garden, for Father in the warm weather…’