Matilda's Wedding

by Betty Neels

  Matilda, who had taught herself not to cry when she was still quite a small girl, swallowed back the tears. He was being kind, she reminded herself. It meant nothing more than that; she must look an object for his pity. The thought banished the tears and she said quite sharply, ‘I am not in the least tired, Doctor. I’m glad you like the decorations.’

  She got her coat and put it on. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening.’

  He opened the door for her and wished her goodnight, locking the door after her, and then stood at the side window watching her walk down the street, her small back very straight and defiant.

  It wasn’t possible to avoid him for they saw each other every day but she retreated behind a businesslike manner if they needed to talk and found an excuse not to drink coffee with him after morning surgery.

  The doctor, a man of no conceit, was at first puzzled and then resigned. He had every intention of marrying her; he would deal with problems as they arose but first he must wait with all the patience he could muster until she fell in love with him.

  Mrs Paige, with most of Matilda’s pay packet in her purse, left on Saturday morning, having begged a lift from Mrs Milton. She would be back on Monday, she promised, or Tuesday at the latest. With Christmas only a little more than a week away, she would be needed at home.

  ‘I’ll bring you some of that game pâté,’ she promised her husband, ‘from that delicatessen I told you about.’

  They waved as she was driven away in Mrs Milton’s car.

  ‘Your dear mother, always so thoughtful of me,’ said Mr Paige. Matilda took his arm as they went indoors. She agreed cheerfully because she loved him and her mother made him happy. The trouble is, reflected Matilda, making coffee for them both, they shouldn’t have had me.

  She went to the village presently and did the weekend shopping, and as she left the shop Lucilla Armstrong and her brother got out of a car and rang the doctor’s bell. Her brother carried a weekend case. He turned and waved to Matilda but Lucilla ignored her.

  ‘I hope he has a simply beastly weekend,’ Matilda muttered as she went home. ‘Oh, how could anyone love a person so horrid as Lucilla?’

  There was no one to answer her. The cow leaning over the hedge looked sympathetic but what she really wanted was a shoulder to cry on, preferably the doctor’s.

  Lucilla and her brother were in church with the doctor on Sunday morning. Matilda wished them an unsmiling good morning, and went back with her father in Mrs Milton’s car to cook their dinner.

  Her father was quiet and she looked anxiously at him and felt relief when he remarked that he was missing her mother. ‘But she will be home again tomorrow. We must make this a happy Christmas, our first in this cottage. I am happy here, my dear, and I believe that your mother will settle down just as happily once the winter is over.’

  But there was a phone call while Matilda was at the surgery on Monday morning; her mother hadn’t had time to do all her shopping. She would be home on Wednesday afternoon.

  It was three o’clock on Wednesday morning when Mr Paige had another heart attack. Matilda would never know why she felt compelled to get out bed and cross the landing to her parents’ room. She found her father ashen and sweating and only partly conscious. She choked back her fright, found her voice and told him not to worry, she was getting the doctor, and flew downstairs to the phone.

  ‘Lovell,’ said his calm voice in her ear, and she found her voice again.

  ‘It’s my father; he’s having a heart attack. Do come quickly.’ She added, ‘It’s me, Matilda.’

  ‘Five minutes. Leave the door open and go up and reassure him.’

  He came in quietly, large and reassuring and matter-of-fact. He bent over Mr Paige and then opened his bag.

  ‘Go and get dressed, but first of all call an ambulance. Tell them that you are phoning for me and that it is urgent.’

  He turned back to the bed and she went to the phone again and tore into her clothes. If her father had to stay in hospital he would need a bag packed. She did that, even remembering to put in his little bible and his favourite anthology of English verse. And by then the ambulance was at the door and they were carrying her father carefully down the stairs on a stretcher.

  ‘I’ll take you with me in the car,’ said the doctor, and she hurried to lock doors and windows and leave food and water for Rastus. And all the while she didn’t allow herself to think.

  She was there as they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, to peer into her father’s unconscious face and hold his hand for a moment; then, obedient to the doctor’s hand on her arm, she got into his car beside him.

  Waiting for the ambulance to lead the way, she asked in a whisper, ‘He’ll be all right?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, Matilda. It’s a pretty massive heart attack, but once we get him to the hospital everything will be done. He is an excellent patient, quiet and unafraid and otherwise fit for his age. I wish I could tell you more but for the moment it is useless to speculate.’

  At the hospital her father was taken to the intensive care unit. The doctor went with him, leaving her in the care of a young nurse in Casualty.

  She was given a cup of tea and told kindly that once her father was in his bed she would be able to see him. So she sat quietly while nurses bustled to and fro and she tried not to think.

  The doctor came for her after half an hour.

  ‘Come and see your father,’ he said, and he sounded very reassuring. ‘He’s rallied and is responding nicely to treatment. It’s early days to say that he’s out of the wood but at least we can see daylight through the trees.’

  It was quite a long walk to ICU even if you counted the lifts from one floor to the next. And when they reached it she was put into a white gown several sizes too large and taken to her father’s bed.

  He was conscious and smiled a little as she bent to kiss him.

  ‘Don’t worry your mother.’ His voice was faint but determined.

  ‘In the morning I’ll let her know that you are better,’ she told him. ‘She will want to know, Father, but I won’t alarm her.’

  ‘There’s a good girl. Go home now and get some sleep.’

  ‘Yes, Father. I’ll come and see you later.’

  She kissed him again and stood quietly while a nurse took her gown, and then made the endless journey to the entrance and got into the doctor’s car again.

  He fastened her seat belt. ‘Don’t come to surgery,’ he told her. ‘Go to bed and sleep. Come in the evening if you feel like it. I’ll keep you posted about your father.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost six o’clock; you should ring your mother when you get home.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that. Her friends will bring her home. And if you don’t mind I’d rather come to work. You see, if I’m busy, I don’t think so much.’

  ‘Just as you like.’

  He took the key from her when they reached the cottage and went in with her, turned on the lights, put on the kettle and found the teapot.

  ‘We both need a hot drink. I’ll make tea while you phone your mother.’

  It took a few minutes for Mrs Paige to be roused and fetched to the phone.

  ‘In hospital? And Christmas only a few days away. Oh, dear, this is terrible news. I must go to him at once. Is he very ill? I was going out to lunch.’

  ‘You’ll come home today, Mother?’

  ‘I can’t think now, Matilda, I’m so upset. I’ll phone you later.’

  The doctor looked at her as she went into the kitchen. ‘Your mother is upset? She will go straight to the hospital, will she not? And then come home. There are several people in the village who will willingly take her to see him whenever she wishes.’

  He poured their tea, watching her pale face; she had tied her hair back and her eyes looked huge. She needed a warm bed and someone like Mrs Inch or Aunt Kate to comfort her, but he was too wise to insist on her not coming to the surgery in an hour’s time. Hopefully she would be so exhausted by
the end of it that she would go home to bed and her mother would be there. Mrs Paige was a selfish, idle woman but she was Matilda’s mother…

  He went away then with a casual, ‘See you shortly,’ and she fed Rastus, had a bath and got dressed. There wasn’t much time for breakfast but in any case she wasn’t hungry; nonetheless she swallowed toast and drank tea and then walked briskly to the surgery.

  It was as busy as usual, full of people with minor ailments and all very cheerful because it was Christmas, and there was so much chatter that her unusual silence went unnoticed.

  She was tired as the door shut for the last time. She would hurry home and get a meal ready for her mother, light the fire and ring the hospital.

  The surgery door opened. ‘I’ve rung the hospital.’ His arm swept her into the surgery and into a chair. ‘He’s making progress; that’s good news.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad. How soon will they know if he’s going to be quite well again? I mean to come home?’ She looked away. ‘That’s a silly question, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. A natural one. It may be ten days or more and he will have to lead a careful life for a time.’

  Mrs Inch came in then with coffee and a plate piled high with hot buttered toast. ‘You’ll neither of you have had breakfast,’ she said severely, ‘and you’re to eat every crumb.’ She paused by Matilda. ‘I’m that sorry, Matilda. We’re all hoping for good news.’

  The doctor drove her home, saying that he had to pass the cottage anyway, but he didn’t stay. Which was just as well as the phone rang as he drove away. Her mother.

  ‘I’ve seen your father; he seems better. I won’t come home; the Gibbs have persuaded me to stay with them. It will be so convenient for them to take me to the hospital each day. I’m terribly upset, of course, but everyone is being so kind. The doctors tell me that your father will have to remain in hospital for a week or ten days…’

  ‘Over Christmas…’

  ‘Yes. Of course I’d like to come home, Matilda, but you can understand that I must stay here so that I can see your father each day. You’ll be all right? I dare say Mrs Milton will give you a lift if you ask her. I’ll phone tomorrow; I must go now as we’re going out to lunch.’

  Matilda went into the kitchen, let Rastus out into the back garden and then went and sat down at the kitchen table. Of course her mother was very upset and there had been no time to discuss anything. Perhaps she would go to the Gibbs’ and stay over Christmas with her mother? But what about Rastus? Or, if her father was out of danger, perhaps her mother would come home, just for Christmas, and hire a car to take them to the hospital on Christmas Day?

  There was no point in worrying about it; first of all her father must recover. She went upstairs and made the bed up with clean linen and opened the windows. A few hours’ sleep might be a good idea. She went downstairs and let Rastus in and then, with him for company, undressed and got into bed.

  Her alarm clock woke her and she got up and showered and dressed and went to the kitchen to make herself a light meal. Later, after surgery hours, she would cook something. Then it was time for her to leave for the evening surgery but first she phoned the hospital. Her father was holding his own, she was told, and resting comfortably, and, yes, said the brisk voice at the other end of the phone, her love would be conveyed to the patient.

  The doctor had a more detailed and reassuring message to give her when surgery was over. ‘I won’t bother you with all the technical details,’ he told her. ‘Your father is responding well but he will stay in ICU for the next day or two. You have heard from your mother?’

  ‘Yes, she has been to see him and will go again tomorrow.’

  ‘You are all right on your own until she returns home?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, thanks, I’m fine.’

  ‘I’ll drive you to the hospital before surgery tomorrow. It will have to be early—six-thirty?’

  ‘Six-thirty will be fine. Thank you.’

  ‘Will your mother’s friends bring her back home?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure they will…’

  ‘Then why not give them a ring and get them to pick you up at the hospital? I expect your mother will be there.’

  She said too quickly, ‘Yes, of course I can do that. They’re very old friends.’

  ‘Good. I’ll drive you home; get your coat.’

  ‘There’s no need. I always walk home…’

  ‘But there is usually someone there when you get there. Come along.’

  When they arrived he went into the cottage with her, turning on the lights, and as she went to the door with him he said, ‘Phone me if you need me. Goodnight, Matilda.’

  He didn’t like leaving her there on her own, but her mother would be back tomorrow. He stood in the doorway looking down at her, small and matter-of-fact and independent. He bent and kissed her hard then went back to his car and drove away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MATILDA, being a sensible girl, cooked herself some supper, had a bath, attended to Rastus and went to bed early, not sure if she would sleep. But she did, soundly, until her alarm clock woke her the next morning. The day was going to be a long one so breakfast had to be eaten in case she had to miss lunch, Rastus had to be seen to, the cottage locked up and what money she had stowed away in her handbag. The doctor hadn’t said that he would pick her up so she locked the door and started down the path. She got to the gate as he drew up and got out. His good morning held a question.

  ‘I was going to walk to the surgery,’ she told him, not quite meeting his eye, the memory of his kiss very vivid in her mind. Perhaps he had forgotten it; his greeting had sounded businesslike.

  He hadn’t forgotten it; indeed, he wondered for one mad moment if he would kiss her again. But he didn’t; he opened the car door for her and she got in, to be welcomed by Sam’s pleased rumble.

  The hospital’s day was already under way. They went together to see her father and Matilda thought that he looked much better. He was pleased to see her. ‘I shall be home again quite soon,’ he assured her. ‘Your mother spends much of each day with me. You are all right at the cottage?’

  She assured him that she was and slipped away to allow the doctor to take her place. She waited quietly while he talked to the elderly doctor who had joined him and then went back with him to the car.

  He took her back to the surgery, patiently answering her questions. Her father was making an excellent recovery but there was no question of him going home before Christmas.

  ‘Your mother will be coming home today? There is no need for her to stay at the hospital each day.’

  He wasn’t looking at her so it was easier to assure him that she would be home very shortly. He said, ‘Good. I know Mrs Milton will take either of you in at any time. Your father is out of danger and there is no reason why he shouldn’t be perfectly well for years yet.’

  He got out of the car, unlocked the door and went in with her. ‘See you later,’ he said, and, with a casual nod, disappeared into his room.

  It was quiet and rather cold in the cottage, but there didn’t seem much point in lighting the sitting-room fire. She went around the house, hoovering and dusting quite unnecessarily, until it was time to get her lunch. She sat at the kitchen table with Rastus beside her, eating scrambled eggs, fighting self-pity.

  It was a dreary, cold day but there was plenty to do in the garden. In an old mac, her hair tied into a scarf, she worked until the early dusk, raking up dead twigs, leaves and all the debris of a neglected garden. She went indoors then, feeling better, glowing from the exercise, and made tea and phoned the hospital.

  ‘A continued improvement,’ said the voice at the other end, ‘and your mother left a message for you. She will ring you tomorrow morning after you get home.’

  It was a dark night and the cottage seemed forlorn and very empty. Supper and bed seemed a good idea. She wasn’t a nervous girl but she couldn’t help thinking of the empty fields between her and the village. Rastus, sensing her unease, crep
t close to her, and presently, lulled by his warmth and purr, she slept.

  A few minutes after she had left the surgery the doctor had put down the phone. Lucilla had demanded that he should drive over to her home that evening.

  ‘I don’t want to spend Christmas at your house,’ she had told him. ‘I can’t think why I ever agreed to it. Guy said I’d been a fool to agree. He’s going to a hotel at Cheltenham with the Fergusons—remember them? He suggests we both join him there. I think it’s a splendid idea…’

  ‘Why don’t you want to come here?’

  ‘Oh, Henry, it’ll be so dull—church and carols and just us and your mother and aunt and family. When we are married I intend to change your lifestyle—we might even move to Taunton or Cheltenham, or even Gloucester.’

  ‘No,’ the doctor had said.

  ‘What do you mean, no? You don’t intend to spend the rest of your life and mine in that old house?’

  He’d said evenly, ‘My family have spent their lives here for two hundred years or more; I intend to do the same.’

  ‘Well, I don’t.’

  ‘If you wish to break our engagement I shall understand. I shan’t change my mind, Lucilla.’

  ‘Nor shall I, so you can forget that we were going to marry.’

  She had slammed the receiver down and he’d sat for a long time at his desk. Kindly fate had offered him a helping hand…

  The next day, Matilda, with the plea of urgent shopping to be done as soon as surgery was over, gave him no chance to do more than bid her good morning. She spent some of her pay packet on groceries and went home. Perhaps her mother would change her mind now that her father was no longer in danger and come home.

  But Mrs Paige had no intention of doing that. ‘What would I do if I came home?’ she wanted to know. ‘Oh, I know someone would give me a lift in to the hospital if I asked, but you’re not home much and I’d just sit in that cottage and be bored out of my mind.’

  When Matilda didn’t speak she added, ‘Christmas would have been a very dull affair with just the two of us and I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do. Everyone here is so kind, cheering me up, taking my mind off your father’s illness. He’ll be coming home soon, the doctor told me, and I’ve insisted that a nurse comes to attend him; I couldn’t possibly manage. But you and she could do whatever has to be done.’ And when Matilda still remained silent she said, ‘You’re still there? I hope you’re not sulking?’