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‘So sorry,’ said Louise, ‘but it is a surprise. Shall I come and see you today?’
‘By all means. I shall place your affairs in the hands of Mr Gerald Ridgely, who will apprise you of all the details. If you could make it convenient to see him at noon, today?’
She got there with a few minutes to spare; there had been time for her to change into the suit she had bought at Country Casuals’ sale; it wasn’t quite warm enough for the chilly March day, but she felt well dressed in it. Her abundant hair she had pinned neatly into a chignon, and her shoes were well polished. After all, it was a momentous occasion, worthy of her best efforts.
The solicitors had rooms in an old house just off Holborn; steep stairs led her to the first floor, where she found a vinegar-faced and very thin woman at a desk. Upon hearing her name, the woman led her wordlessly to a door at the end of a short passage.
The man who rose to shake her hand was grey-haired and looked as though he needed a thorough dusting. ‘Young Mr Ridgely,’ intoned the thin woman and left them. Louise took the chair she was offered, wondering just how old the elder Mr Ridgely might be if this was the young one, and dismissed the thought as frivolous.
‘You are Miss Louise Payne?’ The dusty gentleman sounded suspicious. She opened her bag and produced her birth certificate, thankful that she had had the wit to bring it with her. He read it carefully and slowly, and nodded several times, and then opened the file in front of him.
‘You know of your great-aunt’s house and where it is situated?’
‘Oh, yes. Although I haven’t been there for a very long time. My parents took us there several times when they were alive.’ Just in case he was still suspicious, she added, ‘A small white house on a corner with trees around it.’
‘Just so, Miss Payne. There are of course some changes in Much Hadham; it is a much sought-after area in which to live, being near enough to London for those who work here to commute. You could get a very good price for the house…’
Louise shook her head. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk it over with my sisters and brother, but I think they will want to live there—I know I do.’
He looked at her over his old-fashioned, gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘I understand that you are a night sister at St Nicholas’s Hospital? You will be able to continue your work there if you should decide to live in your great-aunt’s house?’
‘Oh, no. I would have to find another job—Bishop’s Stortford or Stevenage, I suppose, but it would be marvellous for Christine and Michael; they’re still both at school and not very happy where they are now. Zoë, who is nearly nineteen, is just finishing a secretarial course and, I hope, will get a job.’
‘There is very little money in your great-aunt’s estate; she has made provision for her housekeeper—’ he glanced at the files ‘—Miss Wills, who is already in receipt of her retirement pension.’ He coughed drily. ‘The sum of one thousand, four hundred and twenty three pounds, eighty-five pence is available to you; such debts, funeral expenses and so forth have already been discharged.’
Louise, with a bank balance of slightly less than a thousand pence, managed to restrain her yelp of delight. She asked, she hoped not too eagerly, ‘Is the house furnished?’
‘Yes. I should add that when I was last there, a good deal of it was too large for the house; mid-Victorian. Do you have your own furniture?’
‘Well, yes, not a great deal, but what there is is rather nice—left from the house where we lived before we came to London.’
‘Then if I might advise you, Miss Payne, I should visit your great-aunt’s house—your house, I should say! It is called Ivy Cottage, by the way—and decide what you wish to keep; the rest you might sell and add to your capital. The money due to you will be paid into your bank if you will be so good as to let me have particulars of that before you go. The house is empty and I will give you the keys now.’
He handed over a bunch of old-fashioned keys, each one labelled. ‘If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to let me know. Now, if I might have the name of your bank?’
They parted soberly, because young Mr Ridgely would have been shocked if she had hugged him or danced a jig of pure joy on his Turkish carpet. She walked away from the sombre building with her feet upon air, her head full of a hundred and one ideas, most of them highly impractical. It was an occasion for champagne, singing and dancing, none of which would go down well in High Holborn. A bus home, she decided, allowing the sensible side of her nature to get the upper hand, a strong cup of tea and a good think.
Here fate took a hand: Dr van der Linden, going about his own business on the opposite side of the street, caught sight of her and, even at that distance, he could see the glow of sheer happiness on her face. Intrigued, he crossed over.
‘Either you have won the pools or you have accepted an offer of marriage from a millionaire,’ he observed, not bothering with a good morning.
Louise raised her lovely eyes to his. She was in such a state that it seemed perfectly natural that he should join her there on the pavement; rather like a dream, when the most extraordinary things seemed quite normal.
‘I don’t know any millionaires, and I can’t afford the pools, but yes, something quite marvellous has happened.’
‘In that case, come and tell me all about it.’
He didn’t wait for her to answer, but took her arm and walked up Grays Inn Road and turned into Theobald’s Road, where he ushered her into a smart brasserie.
As they went inside, Louise said half-heartedly, ‘But I must get home.’
‘Of course, but you may as well lunch with me now we are here.’
It was not yet one o’clock; they had a table for two by the window and Dr van der Linden said, ‘Whatever it is, you are in no state to order a meal. Allow me?’
She would have eaten dry bread and water quite cheerfully; as it was, she polished off salmon mousse, a cheese soufflé of incredible lightness and fresh pineapple doused in kirsch and whipped cream, all the while only half listening to her companion’s easy flow of small talk. It was only when the coffee-tray had been set before them that he said, ‘Now, supposing you unburden yourself; it won’t seem real until you do.’
She still felt as though she were in a dream, which was perhaps why she began without preamble. ‘I’ve inherited a house—from a great-aunt I haven’t seen in years. The marvellous thing is this, our landlord actually gave us notice to move out of our house because it’s been sold, and I had no idea what I could do.’ She poured their coffee, beaming at him across the little table. ‘Now we can go to Much Hadham…’
He interrupted her abruptly. ‘Much Hadham? The village near Ware?’
She was still too bemused to notice the abruptness. ‘Yes. It’s a small house called Ivy Cottage. There’s a garden, a real one, not just a dusty strip of grass, and trees, and Mike and Christine can go to decent schools and Zoë is bound to get a good job…’
‘And you?’ he prompted.
‘Me? No, I mean I, don’t I? I’ll get a job at Bishop’s Stortford or Stevenage.’ Her practical mind was beginning to take over again. ‘I’m sorry to bore you with all this; you’ve been very kind. I think I was so bowled over that I could have danced a jig in the middle of Holborn. You see, it’s a miracle…’
His voice was reassuringly matter of fact. ‘They do occur.’
He gave her an abstracted smile and she said hurriedly, ‘Thank you for my lunch, I did enjoy it. I must be getting back.’
He made no effort to detain her, but paid the bill and walked back the way they had come. In High Holborn she stopped. ‘There is my bus stop…’
He ignored her, and lifted an arm to a passing taxi, put her inside, closed the door on her with a suave, ‘Allow me,’ and paid the driver and gave her address. She sat there, too astonished to speak, while the cab bore her homewards. He hadn’t even said goodbye, she remembered; he must have been bored out of his mind. She went a bright pink at the idea and the cabby, glancing back in his mirror, thought what a very pretty girl she was.
Dusty was delighted to see her again and, since there was no one else to talk to, she told him all about it while she hoovered and polished and hung out lines of washing, impatient for the others to come home.
She had tea ready for them, and over that meal told them the news.
‘We would have had to move anyway,’ she finished, ‘but now we will have a real home of our own and no rent to pay…’
They sat and stared at her, speechless until Mike let out a whoop of delight. ‘I’ll be able to leave this school…’
‘So will I,’ crowed Christine. Not a demonstrative family by nature, they hugged each other, talking a good deal of nonsense and making outrageous plans. Louise went to the dark little pantry and fetched out a bottle of sherry she had been saving for Zoë’s nineteenth birthday and opened it, and they sat round, the washing up forgotten, while she told them her own sensible plans. They agreed to everything that she suggested; she was the eldest and a good deal older than they were, and they had become accustomed to go to her for help and advice. If she said that it was the best thing for them to move, then move they would, and be overjoyed to do it.
On her first morning after her return to night duty, she went to the office and handed in her resignation; she had always got on well with the senior nursing officer, and now she was listened to with sympathy.
‘In the circumstances,’ declared Miss Pritchard, ‘I can understand that you have no choice but to move to this house which you have been left—most fortuitously, I must add. I shall be very sorry to lose you, Sister, and can but hope that you will be able to find another post near your new home. You can rely upon me to give you an excellent reference, and if I can help in any way, I shall be glad to do so.’
Her friends at the hospital received her news with mixed feelings; she was well liked and, moreover, they had all known each other for a number of years, but they echoed Miss Pritchard’s opinion; there was nothing else for Louise to do. There was no question of selling the house at Much Hadham, she would never get sufficient for it to buy anything similar in London, and in a way, she reflected on her journey home, it was nice not having to make up her mind about it; circumstances had done that for her. She composed a letter to the landlord before she went to bed, and slept soundly for the first time in days.
CHAPTER TWO
ON THE first day of Louise’s next nights off they all went to Much Hadham, Dusty, on his best behaviour, going with them. It was a short journey and they were there before ten o’clock, walking down the village street with its charming mixture of sixteenth and seventeenth-century cottages and large Georgian town houses. The house was more or less in the centre of the village, standing cornerwise on to the junction of a side lane and the main street. It wasn’t large but, even so, bigger than their house in Hoxton, and there was, as far as they could see as they approached it, a sizeable garden. Louise unlocked the front door and they crowded in silently, to stand in the narrow hall and gaze around them. The passage ran from the front door to the back, where there was another stout door, and on either side there were two doors, with a pretty little staircase near the backdoor.
After a few moments Louise walked to the back door and opened it. The garden was nicely old-fashioned, although neglected, but there was a fair-sized grass plot, flowerbeds and, along the end wall, what had been a vegetable patch with the garden shed at one end of it. Still silently she led the others into the first room: the kitchen, with a stone-flagged floor, a very elderly Aga cooker, an old-fashioned dresser and Windsor chairs around a wooden table. Its windows overlooked the garden at the back.
Louise said at once, ‘Someone to see to the stove; we can paint the walls and plan to make curtains and polish the furniture…’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but led the way across the hall and opened another door. A small room with worn lino on its floor and faded curtains, but the desk in it was a charming one of rosewood, badly in need of a polish, with a sabrelegged Regency chair drawn up to it, and there was a library table against one wall, flanked by two matching chairs.
‘Nice,’ commented Louise, and led her party back into the hall and into the room facing the small front garden. It must have been the drawing-room, they decided, for there were several easy chairs, shabby but whole, a long case clock and a glass-fronted bookcase, as well as a pier table under the window. The carpet under their feet was faded but still good, if somewhat grubby. ‘A good scrub,’ said Louise as they went into the last room. The dining-room, small and rather dark by reason of the gloomy wallpaper and heavy serge curtains. But the table at its centre was solid mahogany, as were the four chairs around it, and there was a sideboard of the same wood.
They looked at each other and smiled happily and went up the stairs.
The bathroom was almost a museum piece with a bath on claw feet in the centre of the bare floor, but the geyser above it looked modern enough. The washbasin was large and, like the bath, white, with brass taps and a wooden cupboard beneath it concealing a multitude of pipes. There was lino on the floor here, too, badly in need of replacement.
There were three bedrooms, one large enough for Zoë and Christine, and two smaller ones for Mike and Louise, and at the back of the landing a tiny curved staircase leading to an attic with windows back and front.
Louise caught Mike’s look. ‘Once we are in and things have got sorted out, we might turn this into a room for you, Mike; that would give us a spare room. What do you all think of it? Will you be happy here?’
Their chorus of delight almost deafened her.
‘We’ll go and find somewhere where we can have coffee. Then, Mike, will you check the lights? Zoë and Christine, you have got the tape measure? We shall need curtains everywhere; I’m going to see if I can get hold of someone to look at that Aga, and we’ll have to have the floors done. But first we must clean up the place and polish the furniture; we can use most of it except that big bed upstairs. I think there will be enough money to get emulsion and do the painting—if we all come here on my next nights off, we should be able to get a good deal done. We’ll have to picnic.’ She frowned. ‘I might be able to find someone in the village who would give us bed and breakfast…’
A question solved for her, for, when they got back after having coffee, Miss Wills knocked briskly on the door, introduced herself and suggested without preamble that they might be glad of her help.
‘You intend to live here? I thought that you might; it is a dear little house, and so convenient. If you will allow me, I will point out what needs to be done.’
Which she did, at the same time giving the names and addresses of those who might undertake the various repairs. Her sharp eyes swept over the little group surrounding her. ‘I expect you will do your own painting and cleaning?’
Louise nodded. ‘Oh, yes. We haven’t much money, but I can see that there are some repairs which must be done before we can move in. I can’t leave my job for another three weeks, although I can come down for my nights off.’
Miss Wills coughed. ‘I have retired, as you must know; my sister and I share a house in the village. We do bed and breakfast, but at this time of the year we have rooms to spare. You are all welcome to have beds and breakfasts at a nominal sum.’
Louise gazed at the elderly lady facing her; she had spoken briskly and her severe features had relaxed only slightly, but Louise sensed that she was being friendly and sincere. She said, ‘That is very kind of you, Miss Wills. I haven’t got things worked out yet, but I think that we might all come down on my next nights off and get the house cleaned and begin the painting. Do you suppose that it would be too soon if I were to come back tomorrow and see about carpets and the Aga? If the floors are done, it will be so much easier to move the furniture around and bring down what we have in Hoxton.’
‘I don’t see why not. You need Mr Baxter for the Aga and Ted Poolley for the floors—you’ll need to do the cleaning and painting first before he comes, of course, but you could discuss what you need and get an estimate.’
So matters were arranged, and Miss Wills took herself off with a further recommendation to Louise to let her know if she needed a bed at any time.
‘Well, I must say,’ declared Louise when she had gone, ‘it’s as though our fairy godmother has turned up at last.’
It seemed as if she were right. Mr Baxter, when she saw him the next day, undertook to deal with the Aga, put new washers on all the taps and give the plumbing what he called the ‘once over’, and Ted Poolley, a tall, spidery man who had almost nothing to say, agreed to measure up the kitchen and bathroom floors for a good hardwearing covering and left a book of samples for carpeting. Louise wasn’t sure if there would be enough money for that and she said so, whereupon he advised her to put an advertisement in Mrs Potter’s newspaper shop window, and sell anything she didn’t want in the house. She thanked him, went round the place with pencil and paper and found that there were quite a few tables and chairs, as well as the bed, which she didn’t need. She wrote out her advertisement before she did anything else, and took it with her when she went to buy Harpic, liquid soap and a strong disinfectant. She bore these back with her and began a vigorous cleaning session, draped in an old apron she had found hanging in the kitchen. She paused for sandwiches and a pot of tea in the middle of the day and, satisfied with the cleanliness of the kitchen, started on the bedroom. She was on her knees poking under the cupboard when she heard footsteps in the hall below. Someone come to inspect the furniture she hoped to sell? She got to her feet, just in time to see Dr van der Linden open the door wide and come in.
She stood, a deplorable sight in her old apron, her hair tied back anyhow, her face shining with her efforts, her hands and arms wrinkled from hot soapsuds, and she gaped at him. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’ She added a ‘sir’ hastily, and closed her mouth with something of a snap.
‘I happened to be passing; I’ll give you a lift back.’
‘But I’m not ready, it’s only three o’clock—I mean to catch the train that leaves just after five. It’s very kind of you…’
‘I don’t intend to leave until five o’clock in any case.’ He smiled at her, and she wondered why he looked so amused.
‘Oh, you’ve a patient here?’
‘No—at least, not one that I need to visit. I live here.’
Her pretty mouth dropped open once more. ‘Live here? Do you? In Much Hadham?’
He came right into the room and sat down on a chair. ‘Yes. In the High Street.’ He named one of the large eighteenth-century houses, dignified bow-windowed residences with splendid doorways, opening straight on to the street, but with large walled gardens at their backs.
‘Well, I never,’ observed Louise rather inadequately. ‘I thought you lived somewhere in London.’ She blushed as she spoke, because it sounded as though she took an interest in his private life.
He watched the blush with pleasure. ‘I have a flat there, but I do my best to spend as much time as possible here.’ He stretched his long legs comfortably. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your work. When do you move?’
‘Oh, in a week or two; there’s quite a lot to be done first, and we can stay in Hoxton until the month’s notice is up.’ She began to wash the paintwork of the cupboard; it was all very well for her visitor to take his ease; she needed every minute of her free time if the house was to be fit to move into.
‘Have you found another job?’ he wanted to know.
She gave the cupboard a final wipe, and sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. ‘Well, I haven’t had much time,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘I thought I’d try Stevenage; it’s a pretty big place, and there’s a lot of industry there and probably the hospital could do with more staff…’
‘But perhaps not a sister’s post—will you settle for day duty?’
He spoke idly and she answered him with unthinking frankness. ‘Oh, lord, yes. I’m not going to be fussy. I shan’t have any rent to pay here; you have no idea what a fantastic difference that will make; so I can take anything I’m offered. I’d rather have a ward, of course, but I’m not out for promotion; this—’ she waved a soapy arm around her ‘—is quite the most wonderful thing that has happened to us for ages…for a longtime.’
‘Since your parents died?’ said Dr van der Linden softly.
She scrubbed a windowsill with vigour; her quite wretched tongue, running away with her like that. She said ‘yes’, shortly and added, ‘It’s a lovely day…’
The doctor’s eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Indeed it is. Do you know anyone living here?’
‘No—Well, Miss Wills, who kept house for my great-aunt, she called yesterday and was very helpful—about plumbers and all that.’
‘A nice old lady—very respected in the village. There are some good schools round and about, but I expect you know that.’
‘No, I didn’t, but I hoped there would be.’ Louise put up a wet hand and swept back a lock of dark hair. ‘State or private?’
‘Both. Possibly your brother and sister might get scholarships. Are they happy where they are at present?’
She was polishing a small toilet mirror on the chest of drawers; it was apple wood, not valuable but nicely made with a well-fitting drawer beneath it; with the dust washed off it, it was quite charming. ‘They hate it,’ she told him.
‘And you? You have hated living in Hoxton?’
She nodded. ‘It’s been worse for Zoë—she’s young and so pretty, and she has had no fun.’
He gave her a thoughtful look; he could only see her profile. She had a determined chin; probably she was an obstinate girl, and proud.
‘Very pretty,’ he agreed blandly. ‘I have no doubt that she will find a job and friends without any difficulty. How long are you going to kneel there, scrubbing?’
‘Until five o’clock, Dr van der Linden.’ Something in her voice implied that it was time that they got back to their usual relationship of cool, friendly respect.
He ignored it. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Louise? After all, you are not on duty now.’ He didn’t wait for her to answer, but got to his feet and strolled to the door. ‘I’ll be back here at five o’clock; we’ll have tea and I will drive you back home.’
He had gone while she was still trying to find a good reason for not accepting his invitation.
‘Well,’ said Louise indignantly, addressing the empty room, ‘it was more of an order.’ She frowned. ‘And I talked too much. Whatever came over me?’
She attacked the bedside table with unnecessary force; it was an ordinary white-painted piece of furniture, like the bed, but when the room was carpeted and curtained and there were flowers and ornaments around it would do very well. She worked with a will; by five to five she was finished and had tidied away the bucket and brush, washed out the apron, combed her hair and done something to her face. Her hands were still red, but at least they were clean and she had nice nails, well kept and a good shape. She was locking the back door when Dr van der Linden opened the front door and walked in.
‘Punctual,’ he commented pleasantly. ‘You bring your disciplined working life into your private living. Very commendable.’
A remark to which for some reason Louise took exception.
At the back of her head had been the vague idea that he would take her to his house for tea, but she was wrong. He ushered her into the car and drove off through the village, and, when they reached Stanstead Abbots, stopped at Briggens House and ushered her inside its elegant portals and ordered tea and delicate little sandwiches and mouth-watering cakes. She enjoyed it all; all the same she felt disappointment at not going to his house—after all, it was so close to Ivy Cottage. Perhaps his wife was there—but was he married? She had never bothered about his private life before and there was no point in starting now, she reminded herself smartly, carrying on the kind of conversation she was in the habit of having with the consultant at the hospital when they stopped to chat upon occasion.