“I have to go away for a couple of days, and I wanted to see you before I go,” Thomas said.

“Me? Why? Mother’s not ill, or George? Did they ask you to come?” Claudia asked.

“No, they are both, as far as I know, in the best of middle-aged health.”

He smiled at her—a slow, warm smile. “Claudia, before I say anything more, will you answer me truthfully? Are you happy here? Will you tell me what you really wish for?”

“I suppose I wish for what every woman wants—a home and a husband and children.”

“Not love?” Simon asked.

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

A Winter Love Story
Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

CLAUDIA leaned up, took another armful of books from the shelves lining the little room, put them on the table beside her and sneezed as a cloud of mummified dust rose from them. What had possessed her, she wondered, to take on the task of dusting her great-uncle William’s library when she could have been enjoying these few weeks at home doing as she pleased?

She picked up her duster, sneezed again, and bent to her task, a tall, slim but shapely girl with a lovely face and shining copper hair, which was piled untidily on top of her head and half covered by another duster, secured by a piece of string. Her shapely person was shrouded in a large print pinny several sizes too big, her face had a dusty smear on one cheek and her nose shone. Nevertheless she looked beautiful, and the man watching her from the half-open door smiled his appreciation before giving a little cough.

Claudia looked over her shoulder at him. There was nothing about him to make her feel uneasy—indeed, he was the epitome of understated elegance, with an air of assurance which was in itself reassuring. He was a big man, very tall and powerfully built, not so very young but with the kind of good looks which could only improve with age. His hair was pepper and salt, cut short. He might be in his late thirties. Claudia wondered who he was.

‘Have you come to see Great-Uncle William or my mother? You came in through the wrong door—but of course you weren’t to know that.’ She smiled at him kindly, not wishing him to feel awkward. He showed no signs of discomfort. ‘Colonel Ramsay.’ His commanding nose twisted at the dust. ‘Should you not open a window? The dust…’

‘Oh, they don’t open. They’re frightfully old—the original ones from when the house was built. Why do you want to see Colonel Ramsay?’

He looked at her before he answered. ‘He asked me to call.’

‘None of my business?’ She clapped two aged tomes together and sent another cloud of dust across the room. ‘Go back the way you came,’ she told him, ‘out of the side door and ring the front doorbell. Tombs will admit you.’

She gave him a nod and turned back to the shelves. Probably someone from Great-Uncle William’s solicitor.

‘I don’t think I like him much,’ said Claudia to the silent room. All the same she had to admit that she would have liked to know more about him.

She saw him again, not half an hour later, when, the duster removed from her head and her hands washed, she went along to the kitchen for coffee.

The house was large and rambling, and now, on the edge of winter, with an antiquated heating system, several of its rooms were decidedly chilly. Only the kitchen was cosy, with the Aga warming it, and since there were only her mother, Mrs Pratt the housekeeper, Jennie the maid and, of course, Tombs, who seemed to Claudia to be as old as the house, if not older, it was here that they had their morning coffee.

If there were visitors Mrs Ramsay sat in chilly state in the drawing room and dispensed coffee from a Sèvres coffee pot arranged on a silver tray, but in the kitchen they all had their individual mugs. However, despite this democratic behaviour, no one would have dreamt of sitting down or drinking their coffee until Mrs Ramsay had taken her place at the head of the table and lifted her own special mug to her lips.

Claudia breezed into the kitchen with Rob the Labrador at her heels. Her mother was already there, and sitting beside her, looking as though it was something he had been doing all his life, was the strange man. He got to his feet as she went in, and so did Tombs, and Claudia stopped halfway to the table.

She didn’t speak for a moment, but raised eloquent eyebrows at her mother. Mrs Ramsay said comfortably, ‘Yes, I know, dear, we ought to be in the drawing room. But there’s been a fall of soot so the fire can’t be lighted. And Dr Tait-Bullen likes kitchens.’

She smiled round the table, gathering murmured agreements while the doctor looked amused.

‘Come and drink your coffee, Claudia,’ went on Mrs Ramsay. ‘This is Dr Tait-Bullen who came to see Uncle William. My daughter, Claudia.’

Claudia inclined her head, and said, ‘How do you do?’ in a rather frosty manner. He could have told her, she thought, instead of just walking away as he had done. ‘Uncle William isn’t ill?’ she asked.

The doctor glanced at her mother before replying. ‘Colonel Ramsay has a heart condition which I believe may benefit from surgery.’

‘He’s ill? But Dr Willis saw him last week—he didn’t say anything. Are you sure?’

Dr Tait-Bullen, a surgeon of some fame within his profession, assured her gravely that he was sure. ‘Dr Willis very wisely said nothing until he had a second opinion.’

‘Then why isn’t he here now?’ demanded Claudia. ‘You could be wrong, whatever you say.’

‘Of course. Dr Willis was to have met me here this morning, but I understand that a last-minute emergency prevented him. I have been called in as consultant, but the decision concerning the Colonel’s further treatment rests with his doctor and himself.’ He added gently, ‘I was asked my opinion, nothing more.’

Mrs Ramsay cast a look at Claudia. Sometimes a daughter with red hair could be a problem. She said carefully, ‘You may depend upon Dr Willis getting the very best advice darling.’

Claudia stared across the table at him, and he met her look with an impassive face. If he was annoyed he showed no sign of it.

‘What do you advise?’ she asked him.

‘Dr Willis will come presently. I think we should wait until he is here. He and I will need to talk.’

‘But is Great Uncle William ill? I mean, really ill?’

Her mother interrupted. ‘Claudia, we mustn’t badger Dr Tait-Bullen.’ She looked round the table. ‘More coffee for anyone?’

Claudia pushed back her chair. ‘No, thank you, Mother. I’ll go and get on with the books. Tombs knows where I am if I’m wanted.’

She smiled at the butler and whisked herself out of the room, allowing the smile to embrace everyone there.

Back in the library, she set about clearing the shelves, banging books together in clouds of dust, wielding her duster with quite unnecessary vigour. She had behaved very badly and she was sorry about it—and a bit puzzled too, for she liked him. What had possessed her to be so rude? She had behaved like a self-conscious teenager. She ought to apologise. Tombs, she knew, would come and tell her what was happening from time to time, so when the doctor was about to leave she would say something polite…

She spent a few minutes making up suitable speeches—a dignified apology, brief and matter-of-fact. She tried out several versions, anxious to get it right. She was halfway through her final choice when she was interrupted.

‘If those gracious words were meant for me,’ said Dr Tait-Bullen, ‘I am flattered.’

He was leaning against the door behind her, smiling at her, and she smiled back without meaning to. ‘Well, they were. I was rude. I was going to apologise to you before you left.’

‘Quite unnecessary, Miss Ramsay. One must make allowances for red hair and unpleasant news.’

‘Now you’re being rude,’ she muttered, but went on anxiously. ‘You really meant that? Great Uncle William is seriously ill? I can see no reason why I shouldn’t be told. I’m not a child.’

He studied her briefly. ‘No, you are not a child, but Dr Willis and I must talk first.’ He came into the room, moved a pile of books and sat down on the table. ‘This is a delightful house, but surely rather large for the three of you?’

He spoke idly and she answered him readily. ‘Well, yes, but it’s been in the family for a long time. Most of the rooms are shut up, so it’s easy enough to run. Tombs has been here for ever, and Mrs Pratt and Jennie have been here for years and years. The gardens have got a bit out of hand, but old Stokes from the village comes up to help me.’

‘You have a job?’

‘I did have. Path Lab assistant—not trained, of course, just general dogsbody. But London’s too far off. I’ve applied for several jobs which aren’t so far away so that I can come home often.’

He said casually, ‘Ah, yes of course. Salisbury, Southampton, Exeter—they are all within reasonable distance.’

‘And there are several private hospitals too. I didn’t much like London.’ She added chattily, ‘Do you live there?’

‘Most of my work is done there.’

She supposed that he hadn’t added to that because Tombs had joined them.

‘Dr Willis has arrived, sir.’ He looked at Claudia. ‘Mrs Ramsay is in the morning room, Miss Claudia. Jennie has lighted the fire there for the convenience of the doctors.’

‘Thank you, Tombs.’ She glanced at the doctor. ‘You’ll want to go with Tombs. I’ll come presently— I must just tidy myself.’

Left to herself, she took off her pinny, dragged a comb through her hair and went in search of her mother.

Mrs Ramsay was with the two men, making small talk before they began their discussion of their patient’s condition. She was still a strikingly beautiful woman, wearing her fifty years lightly. Her hair, once as bright as her daughter’s, was streaked with silver, but she was still slim and graceful. She was listening to something Dr Willis was saying, smiling up at him, her hand on his coat-sleeve. They were old friends; he had treated her husband before his death several years ago, and since he was a widower, living in a rather gloomy house in the village with an equally gloomy elderly housekeeper, he was a frequent visitor at the Ramsays’ house.

He looked up as Claudia joined them.

‘My dear, there you are. Come to keep your mother company for a while? Are we to stay here, or would you prefer us to go to the study?’

‘No, no, stay here. There’s a fire specially lighted for you. Claudia and I will go and see to lunch.’ She paused at the door. ‘You will tell us exactly what is wrong?’

‘Of course.’

In the dining room, helping her mother to set the lunch, Claudia asked, ‘Is Great-Uncle William really very ill, Mother?’

‘Well, dear, I’m afraid so. He hasn’t really been very well for some time, but we couldn’t persuade him to have a second opinion. This Dr Tait-Bullen seems a nice man.’

‘Nice?’ Claudia hesitated. ‘Yes, I’m sure he is.’ ‘Nice,’ she reflected, hardly described him; it was far too anaemic a word. Beneath the professional polite detachment she suspected there was a man she would very much like to know.

They were standing idly at the windows, looking out into the wintry garden, when Tombs came to tell them that the doctors had come downstairs from seeing their patient.

Dr Willis went straight to Mrs Ramsay and took her hand. He was a tall, thin man, with a craggy face softened by a comforting smile as he looked at her. He didn’t say anything. Claudia saw her mother return his look and swallowed a sudden surprised breath. The look had been one of trust and affection. Don’t beat about the bush, Claudia admonished her self silently. They’re in love.

There was no chance to think about it; Dr Tait-Bullen was speaking. Great Uncle William needed a triple bypass, and without undue loss of time. The one difficulty, he pointed out, was that the patient had no intention of agreeing to an operation.

Claudia asked quickly, ‘Would that cure him? Would he be able to lead a normal life—be up and about again?’

‘The Colonel is an old man, but he should be able to live the life of a man of his age.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Claudia, let Dr Tait-Bullen finish…’

‘Sorry.’ She flushed and he watched the colour creep into her cheeks before he said, ‘I quite under stand your anxiety. If Dr Willis wishes, I will come again very shortly and do my best to change the Colonel’s mind. I feel sure that if anyone can do that it will be he, for they have known each other for a long time. I can but advise.’

He glanced at the other man. ‘We have discussed what is best to be done—there are certain drugs which will help, diet, suitable physiotherapy…’

‘I’m sure you have done everything within your power, Doctor,’ said Mrs Ramsay. ‘We will do our best to persuade Uncle William, and if you would keep an eye on him?’ She looked at Dr Willis. ‘That is, if you don’t mind, George?’

‘I am only too glad of expert advice.’

‘Oh, good. You’ll stay for lunch, Dr Tait-Bullen? In half an hour or so…’

‘I must return to London, Mrs Ramsay. You will forgive me if I refuse your kind invitation.’

He shook hands with her, and then with Dr Willis. ‘We will be in touch.’

‘Claudia, take Dr Tait-Bullen to his car, will you, dear?’

They walked through the house together, out of the door and across the neglected sweep of gravel to where a dark grey Rolls Royce stood. Claudia stared at it reflectively.

‘Are you just a doctor?’ she wanted to know. ‘Or someone more important?’ She glanced at his quiet face. ‘Mother called you Doctor, so I thought you were. You’re not, are you?’

‘Indeed, I am a doctor. I am also a surgeon…’

‘So you’re Mr Tait-Bullen. You’re not a professor or anything like that, are you?’

‘I’m afraid so…’

‘You might have said so.’

‘Quite unnecessary. Besides, being called a professor makes me feel old.’

‘You’re not old.’

He answered her without rancour. ‘Thirty-nine. And you?’

She had asked for that. Anyway, what did it matter? ‘I’m very nearly twenty-seven,’ she told him.

He said smoothly, ‘I am surprised that you are not yet married, Miss Ramsay.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve not met anyone I’ve wanted to marry.’ She added pettishly, ‘I have had several proposals.’

‘That does not surprise me.’ He smiled down at her, thinking how unusual it was to see grey eyes allied with such very red hair. He sounded suddenly brisk. ‘You will do your best to persuade the Colonel to agree to surgery, will you?’

When she nodded, he got into his car and drove away. His handshake had been firm and cool and brief.

Claudia went back to the morning room and found her mother and Dr Willis deep in talk. They smiled at her as she went in, and her mother said, ‘He’s gone? Such a pleasant man, and not a bit stiff or pompous. Dr Willis has been telling me that he’s quite an important surgeon—perhaps I shouldn’t have given him coffee in the kitchen.’ She frowned. ‘Do you suppose Uncle will take his advice?’

‘Most unlikely, Mother. I’ll take his lunch up presently, and see if he’ll talk about it.’

Great-Uncle William had no intention of talking to anyone on the subject. When Claudia made an attempt to broach the matter, she was told to hold her tongue and mind her own business. Advice which she took in good part, for she was used to the old man’s irascible temper and had a strong affection for him.

He had been very good to her mother and to her when her father died, giving them a home, educating her, while at the same time making no bones about the fact that he would have been happier living in the house by himself, with his housekeeper and Tombs to look after him. All the same, she suspected that he had some affection for them both, and was grateful for that.

It was a pity that on his death the house would pass to a distant cousin whom she had never met. That Uncle William had made provision for her mother and herself was another reason for gratitude, for Mrs Ramsay had only a small income, and after years of living in comfort it would have been hard for her to move to some small house and count every penny.

They would miss the old house, with its large rooms and elegant shabbiness, and they would miss Tombs and Mrs Pratt and Jennie too, but Claudia supposed that she would have a job somewhere or other and make a life for herself. Somewhere she could get home easily from time to time. Her mother would miss her friends. Especially she would miss Dr Willis, always there to cope with any small crisis.

The days went unhurriedly by. Claudia finished turning out the library and turned her attention to the rather battered greenhouse at the bottom of the large garden. The mornings were frosty, and old Stokes, who came up from the village to see to the garden, tidied the beds and dug the ground in the kitchen garden, leaving her free to look after the contents of the glass house.

It contained a medley of pots and containers, filled with seedlings and cuttings, and she spent happy hours grubbing around, hopefully sowing seed trays and nursing along the hyacinths and tulips she intended for Christmas.

And every day she spent an hour or so with her great-uncle, reading him dry-as-dust articles from The Times or listening to him reminiscing about his military career. He still refused to speak of his illness. It seemed to her anxious eyes that he was weaker, short of breath, easily tired and with an alarming lack of appetite.

Dr Willis came to see him frequently, and it was at the end of a week in which he could detect no improvement in his patient that he told Mrs Ramsay that he had asked Mr Tait-Bullen to come again.

He came on a dreary November morning, misty and damp and cold, and Claudia, busy with her seed lings, an old sack wrapped around her topped by a jacket colourless with age, knew nothing of his arrival. True, she had been told that he was to come again, but no day had been fixed; he was an exceedingly busy man, she’d been told, and his out of town visits had to be fitted in whenever possible.

He had spent some time with the Colonel, and even longer with Dr Willis, before talking to Mrs Ramsay, and when that lady observed that she would send Tombs to fetch Claudia to join them, volunteered to fetch her himself.

Studying the sack and the old jacket as he entered the greenhouse, he wondered if he was ever to have the pleasure of seeing Claudia looking like the other young women of his acquaintance—fashionably clad, hair immaculate, expertly made up—and decided that she looked very nice as she was. The thought made him smile.

She had looked round as he opened the door and her smile was welcoming.

‘Hello—does Mother know you’re here?’ And then, ‘Great Uncle isn’t worse?’

‘I’ve seen the Colonel and talked to your mother and Dr Willis. I’ve been here for some time. Your mother would like you to join us at the house.’

She put down the tray of seedlings slowly. ‘Great Uncle William won’t let you operate—I tried to talk him into it but he wouldn’t listen…’

He said gently, ‘I’m afraid so. And the delay has made an operation questionable.’

‘You mean it’s too late? But it’s only a little more than a week since you saw him.’

‘If I could have operated immediately he would have had a fair chance of recovering and leading a normal quiet life.’

‘And now he has no chance at all?’

He said gravely, ‘We shall continue to do all that we can.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I know that you will. I’ll come. Is Mother upset? Does she know?’

‘Yes.’ He watched while she took off the deplorable jacket and untied the sack and went to wash her hands at the stone sink. The water was icy and her hands were grimy. She saw his look. ‘You can’t handle seedlings in gloves,’ she told him. ‘They are too small and delicate.’

‘You prefer them to dusting books?’ he asked as they started for the house.

‘Yes, though books are something I couldn’t possibly manage without. I’d rather buy a book than a hat.’

He reflected that it would be a pity to hide that glorious hair under a hat, however becoming, but he didn’t say so.

Her mother and Dr Willis were in the morning room again, and Mrs Ramsay said in a relieved voice, ‘Oh, there you are, dear. I expect Mr Tait-Bullen has explained…’

‘Yes, Mother. Do you want me to go and sit with Great-Uncle?’

‘He told us all to go away, so I expect you’d better wait a while. Mr Tait-Bullen is going to see him again presently, but he doesn’t want anyone else there.’ She turned as Tombs came in with the coffee tray. ‘But you’ll have coffee first, won’t you?’

They drank their coffee while the two men sustained the kind of small talk which needed very little reply, and presently Mr Tait-Bullen went back upstairs.

He was gone for some time and Claudia, getting impatient, got up and prowled round the room. ‘I don’t suppose he’ll come again,’ she said at length.

‘There is no need for him to do so, but the Colonel has taken quite a fancy to him. Mr Tait-Bullen calls a spade a spade when necessary, but in the nicest possible way. What is more, his patients aren’t just patients; they are men and women with feelings and wishes which he respects. Your great-uncle knows that.’

Mr Tait-Bullen, driving along the narrow roads which would take him from the village of Little Planting to the M3 and thence to London, allowed his thoughts to wander. He and the Colonel had talked about many things, none of which had anything to do with his condition. The Colonel had made it clear that he intended to die in his own bed, and, while conceding that Mr Tait-Bullen was undoubtedly a splendid surgeon and cardiologist, he wished to have no truck with surgery, which he considered, at his time of life, to be quite worthless.

Mr Tait-Bullen had made no effort to change his mind for him. True, he could have prolonged his patient’s life and allowed him to live for a period at least in moderate health, but he considered that if he had overridden the Colonel’s wishes, the old man would have died of frustration at having his wishes ignored. They had parted good friends, and on the mutual understanding that if and when Mr Tait-Bullen had a few hours of leisure he would pay another visit as a friend.

Something he intended to do, for he wanted to see Claudia again.

He went straight to the hospital when he reached London; he had an afternoon clinic which lasted longer than usual. He had no lunch, merely swallowed a cup of tea between patients. It was with a sigh of relief that he stopped the car outside his front door in a small tree-lined street tucked away behind Harley Street, where he had his consulting rooms.

It was a narrow Regency house in a row of similar houses, three storeys high with bow windows and a beautiful front door with a handsome pediment, reached by three steps bordered by delicate iron railings. He let himself in quietly and was met in the hall by a middle-aged man with a craggy face and a fringe of hair. He looked like a dignified church warden, and ran Mr Tait-Bullen’s house to perfection. He greeted him now with a touch of severity.

‘There’s that Miss Thompson on the phone, reminding you that she expects to see you this evening. I told her that you were still at the hospital and there was no knowing when you’d be home.’ Cork lowered his eyes deferentially. ‘I trust I did right, sir.’

Mr Tait-Bullen was looking through the post on the hall table. ‘You did exactly right, Cork. I don’t know what I would do without you.’ He glanced up. ‘Did I say I would take her somewhere this evening? It has quite slipped my mind.’

Cork drew a deep breath through pinched nostrils. In anyone less dignified it would have been a sniff. ‘You were invited to attend the new play. The opening night, I believe.’

‘Did I say I’d go? I can’t remember writing it down in my diary.’

‘You prevaricated, sir. Said if you were free you’d be glad to accept.’

Mr Tait-Bullen picked up his case and opened his study door. ‘I’m not free, Cork, and I’m famished!’

‘Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes, sir. The young lady’s phone number is on your desk.’

Mr Tait-Bullen sat down at his desk and picked up the receiver. Honor Thompson’s rather shrill voice, sounding peevish, answered.

‘And about time, too. Why are you never at home? It’s so late; I’ll go on to the theatre and meet you there. The Pickerings are picking me up in ten minutes.’

Mr Tait-Bullen said smoothly, ‘Honor, I’m so sorry, but there is absolutely no chance of me getting away until late this evening. I did tell you that I might not be free; will you make my excuses to the Pickerings?’

They talked for a few minutes, until she said, ‘Oh, well, you’re not much use as an escort, are you, Thomas?’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I might as well give you up.’

‘There must be any number of men queueing up to take you out. I’m not reliable, Honor.’

‘You’ll end up a crusty old bachelor, Thomas, unless you take time off to fall in love.’

‘I’ll have to think about that.’

‘Well, let me know when you’ve made up your mind.’ She rang off, and he put the phone down and forgot all about her. He had a teaching round the next morning and he needed to prepare a few notes for that.

He ate the dinner Cork set before him and went back to his study to work. He was going to his bed when he had a sudden memory of Claudia, her fiery hair in a mess, enveloped in that old jacket and a sack. He found himself smiling, thinking of her.

The first few days of November, with their frosty mornings and chilly pale skies, had turned dull and damp, and as they faded towards winter Great-Uncle William faded with them. But although he was physically weaker there was nothing weak about his mental state. He was as peppery as he always had been, defying anyone to show sympathy towards him, demanding that Claudia should read The Times to him each morning, never mind that he dozed off every now and then.

His faithful housekeeper’s endless efforts to prepare tasty morsels for his meals met with no success at all. And no amount of coaxing would persuade him to allow a nurse to attend to his wants. Between them, Claudia, her mother and Tombs did as much as he would allow them to. Dr Willis, inured to his patient’s caustic tongue, came daily, but it was less than a week after Mr Tait-Bullen’s visit when Great-Uncle William, glaring at him from his bed, observed in an echo of his former commanding tones, ‘I shall die within the next day or so. Tell Tait-Bullen to come and see me.’

‘He’s a busy man…’

‘I know that; I’m not a fool.’ The Colonel looked suddenly exhausted. ‘He said that he would come.’ He turned his head to look at Claudia, standing at the window, lingering after she had brought Dr Willis upstairs.

‘You—Claudia, go and telephone him. Now, girl!’

She glanced at Dr Willis, and at his nod went down to the hall and dialled Mr Tait-Bullen’s number. Cork’s dignified voice regretted that Mr Tait-Bullen was not at home.

‘It’s urgent. Do you know where I can get him?’ She added, so as to make things clear, ‘I’m not a friend or anything. My great-uncle is a patient of Mr Tait-Bullen’s and he wants to see him. He’s very ill.’

‘In that case, miss, I will give you the number of his consulting rooms.’

She thanked him and dialled again, and this time Mrs Truelove, Mr Tait-Bullen’s receptionist, answered.

‘Colonel Ramsay? You are his niece? Mr Tait-Bullen has mentioned him. He’s with a patient at the moment. Ring off, my dear; I’ll call you the moment he’s free.’

Claudia waited, wondering if Mr Tait-Bullen would have time to visit Great-Uncle William or even to phone him. She supposed that he was a very busy man; he could hardly be blamed if he hadn’t the time to leave London and his patients to obey the whim of an old man who had refused his services. Then the phone rang, and she picked it up.

‘Yes,’ said a voice in her ear. ‘Tait-Bullen speaking.’

This was no time for polite chit-chat. ‘Great-Uncle William wants to see you. He says he’s going to die in a day or two. He told me to phone you, so I am, because he asked me to, but you don’t have to.’

She wasn’t sure if she had made herself clear, but apparently she had. Mr Tait-Bullen disentangled the muddle with a twitching lip and answered her with exactly the right amount of impersonal friendliness.

‘It is very possible that your great-uncle is quite right. I’m free this evening; I will be with you at about seven o’clock.’

He heard her relieved sigh.

‘Thank you very much. I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed your work.’

‘I’m glad you phoned me.’

She could hear the faint impatience in his voice. ‘Goodbye, then.’ She rang off smartly, and then wondered if she’d been rather too abrupt.

He arrived punctually, unfussed and unhurried. No one looking at his immaculate person would have guessed that he had been up since six o’clock, had missed his lunch and stopped only for the tea and bun his faithful Mrs Truelove had pressed upon him. Dr Willis was waiting for him, and they spent a few minutes talking together before they went up to the Colonel’s room. Dr Willis came down presently. ‘They’re discussing the merits of pyrenaicum aureum as opposed to tenuifolium pumilum…’

Mrs Ramsay looked puzzled. ‘Is that some new symptom? It sounds alarming. Poor Uncle William.’

‘Lilies,’ said Claudia. ‘Two varieties of lily, Mother.’

Dr Willis patted her mother’s arm. ‘Don’t alarm yourself, my dear. Your uncle is enjoying his little chat. It was good of Mr Tait-Bullen to come.’

‘But he’s not doing anything to help Uncle…’

But that was exactly what he was doing, reflected Claudia, although she didn’t say so. Instead she asked, ‘Do you suppose he will stay for supper? Mrs Pratt can grill a couple more chops.’

But when he joined them presently, he declined Mrs Ramsay’s offer of supper, saying that he must return to London.

‘I hope we haven’t spoilt your evening for you—caused you to cancel a date?’

Claudia noticed that he didn’t answer that, merely thanked her mother for her invitation. ‘If I might have a word with Dr Willis?’

They left the two men, returning when they heard them in the hall.

Mrs. Ramsay shook hands. ‘We’re so grateful to you. Uncle did so wish to see you again—although I’m sure you are a very busy man.’

He said gravely, ‘The Colonel is going to die very soon now, Mrs Ramsay; he is content, and in no pain, and in Dr Willis’s good hands.’

He turned to Claudia. ‘I was bidden to tell you to read the editorial in The Times before he has his supper.’ His hand was firm and cool and comforting. ‘He’s fond of you, you know.’

He left then, getting into his car and driving back to his house to eat the meal Cork had ready for him and then go to his study and concentrate on the notes of the patients upon whom he would be operating in the morning. Before that, he paused to think about the Colonel. A courageous old man hidden behind that crusty manner. He hoped that he would die quietly in his sleep.

Great-Uncle William died while Claudia was still reading the editorial. So quietly and peacefully that it wasn’t until she had finished it that she realised.

She said softly, ‘You had a happy talk about lilies, didn’t you, Uncle William? I’m glad he came.’

She bent to kiss the craggy old face and went downstairs to tell her mother.

CHAPTER TWO

THE Colonel had been respected in the village; he had had no use for a social life or mere acquaintances, although he had lifelong friends.

Claudia had very little time to grieve. Her mother saw the callers when they came, arranged things with the undertaker and planned the flowers and the gathering of friends and family after the funeral, but it was left to Claudia to carry out her wishes, answer the telephone and make a tidy pile of the letters which would have to be answered later.

Dr Willis was a tower of strength, of course, but he was more concerned with her mother than anything else, and Mrs Ramsay leaned on him heavily for comfort and support. She needed both when, on the day before the funeral, the cousin who was to inherit the house arrived.

He was a middle-aged man, with austere good looks and cold eyes. He treated them with cool courtesy, expressed a token regret at the death of the Colonel and went away to see the colonel’s solicitor. When he returned he requested that Mrs Ramsay and Claudia should join him in the morning room.

He stood with his back to the fire and begged them to sit down. Already master of the house, thought Claudia, and wondered what was coming.

He spoke loudly, as though he thought that they were deaf. ‘Everything seems to be in order. The will is not yet read, of course, but I gather that there are no surprises in it. I must return to York after the funeral, but I intend to return within two or three days. Monica—my wife—will accompany me and we will take up residence then. My house there is already on the market. You will, of course, wish to leave here as soon as possible.’

Claudia heard her mother’s quick breath. ‘Are you interested as to where we are going?’

‘It is hardly my concern.’ He eyed Claudia coldly. ‘You must have been aware for some time that the house would become my property and have some plans of your own.’

‘Well,’ said Claudia slowly, ‘whatever plans we may have had didn’t include being thrown out lock, stock and barrel at a moment’s notice.’ When he started to speak, she added, ‘No, let me finish. Let us know when you and your wife will arrive and we will be gone in good time. What about Tombs and Mrs Pratt and Jennie? I understand that they have been remembered in Uncle William’s will.’

‘I shall, of course, give them a month’s wages.’ He considered the matter for a moment. ‘It might be convenient if Mrs Pratt remained, and the girl. It will save Monica a good deal of trouble if the servants remain.’

‘And Tombs?’

‘Oh! He’s past an honest day’s work. He will have his state pension.’

‘Have you any children?’

He looked surprised. ‘No. Why do you ask?’

She didn’t answer that, merely said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Well, that’s a blessing, isn’t it?’ Then she added, ‘I’m glad you’re only a distant cousin.’

He said loftily, ‘I cannot understand you…’

‘Well, of course you can’t. But never mind that. Is that all? We’ll see you at dinner presently.’

She saw him go red in the face as she got up and urged her mother out of the room.

In the hall, her mother said, ‘Darling, you were awfully rude.’

‘Mother, he’s going to throw Tombs out, not to mention us. He’s the most awful man I’ve ever met. And I’m sure Mrs Pratt and Jennie won’t want to stay. I’m going to see them now.’

She gave her mother a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘Why don’t you go and phone Dr Willis and see what he says?’

Over a mug of powerfully brewed tea, she told Tombs and Mrs Pratt and Jennie what her cousin had said. They listened in growing unrest.

‘You’ll not catch me staying with the likes of him,’ said Mrs Pratt. She looked at Jennie. ‘And what about you, Jennie, girl?’

‘Me neither.’ They both looked at Tombs.

Claudia hadn’t repeated all her cousin had said about Tombs, but he had read between the lines.

‘I’ll never get another place at my age,’ he told them. ‘But I wouldn’t stay for all the tea in China.’

He turned a worried old face towards Claudia. ‘Where will you and madam go, Miss Claudia? It’s a scandal, turning you out of house and home.’

‘We’ll think of something, Tombs. We’ve several days to plan something.’

‘And Rob?’

‘He’ll come with us. I don’t know about Stokes…’

‘I’ll see that he gives in his notice,’ said Tombs. ‘What a mercy that the Colonel isn’t here; he would never have allowed these goings on.’

‘No, but you see this cousin of his has every right to do what he likes. If you intend to leave when we do, have you somewhere to go? Mother’s on the phone to Dr Willis, who may be able to help. If not then we will all put up at the Duck and Thistle in the village.’

‘I could go home,’ ventured Jennie. ‘Me mum’ll give me a bed for a bit.’ She sounded doubtful, and Claudia said, ‘Well, perhaps Dr Willis will know of someone local who needs help in the house. I think we’d all better start packing our things as soon as the funeral is over.’

She found her mother in the morning room. It was cold there, for the fire hadn’t been lighted, and Mrs Ramsay was walking up and down in a flurried way.

‘Mother, it’s too cold for you here, and you’re upset.’

‘No, dear, there’s nothing wrong—in fact quite the reverse. Only I’m not sure how to talk to you about it.’

Claudia sat her parent down on the sofa and settled beside her.

‘You talked to Dr Willis? He had some suggestions? Some advice?’

‘Well, yes…’

‘Mother, dear, does he want to marry you? I know you’re fond of each other…’

‘Oh, yes we are, love, but how can I possibly marry him and leave you and the others in the lurch? At least…’

‘Yes?’ Claudia had taken her mother’s hand. ‘Do tell. I’m sure it’s something helpful. He’s such a dear; I’ll love having him for a stepfather.’

Mrs Ramsay gave a shaky little laugh. ‘Oh, darling, will you really? But I haven’t said I’d marry him.’

‘But you will. Now, what else does he suggest?’

‘Well, it’s coincidental, but his housekeeper has given him notice—wants to go back to her family somewhere in Lancashire—so Mrs Pratt could take over if she would like the job. And he knows everyone here, doesn’t he? He says it should be easy to find a place for Jennie.’

‘And Tombs?’

‘George said he’s always wanted a butler. His house is quite small, but there would be plenty for Tombs to do. And he’d love to have Rob… Only there’s you, darling.’

‘But, Mother dear, I’ll be getting a job. I’ve already applied for several, you know, and none of them are too far from here. I can come for holidays and weekends, if George will have me.’

‘You’re not just saying that to make it easy for the rest of us?’

‘Of course not. You know that was the plan, wasn’t it? That I should come here for a week or two while I looked for something nearer than London?’

She didn’t mention that she had had two answers that morning from her applications, and both posts had been filled. There was still another one to come…

‘Well, Claudia, if you think that’s the right thing to do. We shall go and tell Tombs and the others.’

‘Yes, but no one had better say a word to Mr Ramsay. When do you see Dr Willis—no, I shall call him George if he doesn’t mind?’

‘After the funeral. He thought it best not to come here.’

‘Quite right too. We don’t want Cousin Ramsay smelling a rat. Mother, you go to the kitchen; I’ll hang around the house in case he comes looking for us.’

Later at dinner, Mr Ramsay made no mention of their plans; he had a good deal to say about the various alterations he intended making in the house. Monica, he told them, was a woman of excellent taste. She would have the shabby upholstery covered and the thick velvet curtains in the drawing room and dining room torn down and replaced by something more up-to-date.

‘The curtains were chosen by Great-Uncle William’s mother,’ observed Mrs Ramsay, ‘when she came here as a bride.’

‘Then it’s high time that they were removed. They are probably full of dust and germs.’

‘Most unlikely,’ said Claudia quickly. ‘Everything in the house has been beautifully cared for.’

He gave her an annoyed look. He didn’t like this girl, with the fiery hair and the too ready tongue. He decided not to answer her, but instead addressed Mrs Ramsay with some query about the following day.

It was after the last of the Colonel’s friends and acquaintances had taken their leave, after returning to the house for tea and Mrs Pratt’s delicious sandwiches and cakes, that Mr Potter, the Colonel’s solicitor, led the way across the hall to the morning room. He had been a friend of the family for years, and his feelings had been hurt when Mr Ramsay had told him that he would no longer require his services.

His father and his father before him had looked after the Ramsays’ modest estate, but he was old himself and he supposed that Mr Ramsay’s own lawyer would be perfectly capable. He said now, ‘If someone would ask Tombs and Mrs Pratt and Jennie to come in here.’ He beamed across at Dr Willis. ‘I had already asked you to be present, George.’

He took no notice of Mr Ramsay’s frown, but waited patiently until everyone was there.

The will was simple and short. The house and estate were to go to Cousin Ramsay, and afterwards to his heirs. Mrs Ramsay was to receive shares in a company, sufficient to maintain her lifestyle, and Claudia was to receive the same amount, but neither of them could use the capital. Tombs received five thousand pounds, Mrs Pratt the same amount, and Jennie one thousand pounds. Claudia heard Cousin Ramsay draw in a disapproving breath at that.

Mr Potter put the will back in his briefcase and said, suddenly grave, ‘If I might have a word with you, Mrs Ramsay, and Claudia, and you, Mr Ramsay?’

When the others had gone, he said, ‘I am afraid that I have bad news for you; the company in which the shares were invested and destined for you Mrs Ramsay, and you, Claudia, has gone bankrupt. I ascertained this the day before the Colonel died, and I intended to visit him on that very day. There is nothing to be done about the terms of the will, but perhaps you, Mr Ramsay, will wish to make some adjustment so that Mrs Ramsay and Claudia are not left penniless.’

He saw no sign of encouragement in Mr Ramsay’s stern features. Nevertheless he persisted. ‘Their incomes would have been small, but adequate. I can advise you as to the amount they would have been. One wouldn’t expect you to make good the full amount, but I’m sure that a small allowance for each of them…’ His voice faded away under Mr Ramsay’s icy stare.

Claudia saw the painful colour in her mother’s face. ‘That is very thoughtful of you, Mr Potter, but I think that neither mother nor I would wish to accept anything from Mr Ramsay.’

Mr Ramsay looked above their heads and cleared his throat. ‘I have many commitments,’ he observed. ‘Any such arrangement would be quite beyond my means.’

Mr Potter opened his mouth to protest, but Claudia caught his eye and shook her head. And, although the old man looked bewildered, he closed it again.

It was Mrs Ramsay who said, in a voice which gave away none of her feelings, ‘You’ll stay for supper, Mr Potter? I remember Uncle William promised you that little painting on the stairs, which you always admired. Will you fetch it, Claudia?’

She smiled at Mr. Ramsay. ‘It is of no value, and one must keep one’s promises, must one not?’

Mr Potter refused supper and, clutching the picture, was escorted to his car by Claudia. ‘It is all most unsatisfactory,’ he told her. ‘Your great-uncle would never have allowed it to happen. How will you manage? Surely even a small allowance—’

Claudia popped him into the car and kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll tell you a secret. Mother is going to marry Dr Willis and I’ve my eye on a good job. We haven’t told Mr Ramsay and we don’t intend to. And Tombs and Mrs Pratt and Jennie are all fixed up. So don’t worry about us.’

He cheered up then. ‘In that case I feel very relieved. You will keep in touch?’

‘Of course.’

She waved and smiled as he drove off, then went back into the house. Despite her cheerful words she would hate leaving the old house, although she told herself sensibly that she would have hated staying on there with Mr Ramsay and his wife, who would doubtless alter the whole place so much that she would never recognise it again.

Later, in her mother’s bedroom she said, ‘You’ll have to marry George now, because I told Mr Potter you were going to.’

‘But, Claudia, there’s nothing arranged…’

‘Then arrange it, Mother dear, as quickly as you can. There’s something called a special licence, and the vicar’s an old friend. Now, what’s to happen when we leave? Is George giving us beds, or shall we go to the Duck and Thistle?’

‘George wants me to go and see him tomorrow morning. I think he has something planned. Will you stay here, in case Mr Ramsay wants to talk to us about something?’

‘Not likely. But I’ll be here. Take Rob with you, Mother; he doesn’t like dogs.’

Mr Ramsay spent the next morning going from room to room, taking careful note of his new possessions. The kitchen and its occupants he ignored; they could be dealt with when he was satisfied with his arrangements. He kept Claudia busy answering his questions about the furniture and pictures, all of which he valued.

‘We shall sell a good deal,’ he told her loftily. ‘There are several pieces which I think may be of real value. But these…’ He waved an arm at a pair of Regency terrestrial and celestial globes in one corner of the morning room. ‘I doubt if they’d fetch more than a few pounds in a junk shop.’

Claudia, who happened to know that they were worth in the region of twenty thousand pounds and had been in the family for well over a hundred years, agreed politely.

‘And this clock—Monica has no liking for such old-fashioned stuff; that can go.’ He pointed to a William the Fourth bracket clock, very plain and worth at least two thousand pounds.

He brushed aside a stool. ‘And there are all these around. I have never seen such a collection of out-of-date furniture.’

The stool was early Victorian, covered with petit-point tapestry. Claudia didn’t mention its value, instead she said politely, ‘There is a very good firm at Ringwood, I believe—a branch of one of the London antiques dealers. But I expect that you would prefer to go to someone you know in York.’

‘Certainly not. I am more likely to get good prices from a firm which has some knowledge of this area.’

Claudia cast down her eyes and murmured. If and when he sold Great-Uncle William’s family treasures, and she could find out who had bought them, she might be able to buy one or two of them back. She had no idea how she would do this, but that was something she would worry about later.

She knew the elder son of the antiques dealer at Ringwood; he might let her buy things back with instalments. Which reminded her of the letter she had stuffed in her pocket that morning. The post mark was Southampton, and it was the last reply from the batch of applications she had sent. Perhaps she would be lucky…

She was roused from her thoughts by Mr Ramsay’s sharp, ‘Where is your mother?’

She looked at him for a moment before replying. She wondered if she dared to tell him to mind his own business, but decided against it.

‘Well, she will have gone upstairs to check the linen cupboard with Mrs Pratt—a long job—then she told me that she would be taking Rob for his walk and doing some necessary shopping in the village. She should be back by lunchtime. I don’t know what she will be doing this afternoon.’

He gave her a suspicious glance. ‘I wish to inform her of my final plans for moving here.’

‘Well, I am going to the kitchen now to see about lunch.’

But first she went into the hall and out of the side door at its end, taking an old coat off a hook as she went and making for the glass house.

The letter was a reply to her application for the post of general helper at a geriatric hospital on the outskirts of Southampton. She had applied for it for the simple reason that there had been nothing else advertised, and she hadn’t expected a reply.

Providing that her references were satisfactory, the job was hers. Her duties were vague, and the money was less than she had hoped for, but on the other hand she could start as soon as her references had been checked. It would solve the problem of her immediate future, set her mother’s mind at rest and put a little money into her pocket.

She didn’t see her mother until the three of them were sitting down to lunch, but she deduced from the faintly smug look on that lady’s face that her talk with Dr Willis had been entirely satisfactory. It wasn’t until they left the house together to take Rob for another walk that they were able to talk.

‘When’s the wedding?’ asked Claudia as soon as they had left the house.

Her mother laughed. ‘Darling, I’m not sure. I won’t marry George until you’re settled…’

‘Then he’d better get a licence as soon as he can. I’ve got a job—in Southampton at one of the hospitals. I had the letter this morning.’

Mrs Ramsay beamed at her. ‘Oh, Claudia, really? I mean, it’s something you want to do, not just any old job you’re taking to make things easy for us?’

To tell a lie was sometimes necessary, reflected Claudia, if it was to a good purpose, and surely this was. ‘It’s exactly what I’m looking for—quite good money and I can come back here for weekends and holidays, if George will have me?’

‘Of course we’ll have you.’ Her mother squeezed her arm. ‘Isn’t it strange how everything is coming right despite Uncle William’s horrid cousin? And George has found a place for Jennie—they were looking for someone up at the Manor, so she will still keep her friends in the village and see Mrs Pratt and Tombs if she wants to.’

‘Good. Now, when will you marry?’

‘Well, as soon as George can get a licence.’

‘You’ll stay with him, of course?’

‘Mrs Pratt and Tombs will be with me.’

‘Mr Ramsay wants to talk to you about his plans. He didn’t say anything at lunch…’

‘Perhaps this evening.’

He was waiting for them when they got back. ‘Be good enough to come to my study?’ he asked Mrs Ramsay. ‘I dare say Claudia has things to do.’

Dismissed, she went to her room; there were clothes to pack and small, treasured ornaments she had been given since childhood to be wrapped and stowed in boxes. As soon as Mr Ramsay went back to York Dr Willis would come and load up his car and stow everything they didn’t want in his attics.

She hoped that the new owner of the house would stay away for several days, for they all intended to be gone, the house empty of people, by the time he and his wife arrived. He had said nothing to Tombs or Mrs Pratt, nor to Jennie; perhaps he expected them to stay on until he saw fit to discharge Tombs. He was arrogant enough to suppose that Mrs Pratt and Jennie would be only too thankful to remain in his service.

Since it was teatime, she went downstairs and found her mother in the morning room. There was no sign of Mr Ramsay, and at her questioning look Mrs Ramsay said, ‘He’s gone to see the vicar. He’s going to York tomorrow afternoon and returning with Monica in two days’ time. I am to tell Mrs Pratt and Jennie that they are to stay on in his employment—he hasn’t bothered to ask them if they want to—and I’m to dismiss Tombs.’

‘Why doesn’t he do his own dirty work?’ demanded Claudia. ‘What else?’

‘He avoided asking me where you and I were going; he made some remark about us having friends and he was sure we had sufficient funds to tide us over until we had settled somewhere.’

‘Mother, he’s despicable. Does he know about you and George?’

‘No, I’m sure he doesn’t, for he made a great thing of offering to send on our belongings once we had left.’

‘Have you had a chance to tell Tombs?’

‘No, I’d better go now; if he comes back, come and let me know.’

Not a word was said about their departure during dinner, and the following day Mr Ramsay got into his car and drove himself back to York.

‘You may, of course, remain until the day following our return,’ he told Mrs Ramsay. ‘Monica will wish to be shown round the house.’ He looked over her head, avoiding her eyes. ‘Kindly see that Tombs has gone by the time we return.’

He turned back at the door. ‘It will probably be late afternoon by the time we get here. Tell Mrs Pratt to have a meal ready and see that the maid has the rooms warm.’

Mrs Ramsay lowered her eyes and said, ‘Yes,’ meekly. She looked very like her daughter. ‘I’m sure that if you think of anything else you will phone as soon as you get home.’

They waited a prudent hour before starting on their packing up. He was, observed Claudia, the kind of man who would sneak back to make sure that they weren’t making off with the spoons. They collected their belongings, taking only what was theirs, and presently, when Dr Willis drove up, loaded his car. Mr Ramsay had said two days before he returned, but to be on the safe side they had decided to move out on the following day.

Dr Willis would have taken them all to his house for supper, but they refused and, while Mrs Pratt got a meal for them, began on the business of leaving the house in perfect condition. Tombs was set to polish the silver, Jennie saw to the bedrooms, and Claudia and her mother hoovered and dusted downstairs. After supper, tired but happy, they all went to bed.

They were up early in the morning, making sure that there was nothing with which the new owner could find fault, and as soon as the morning surgery was over Dr Willis came to fetch them to his house. He had to make two journeys, and Claudia left last of all, wheeling her bike and leading Rob on his lead. Mr Ramsay had a key—he had taken care to have all of the keys in his possession—but she had a key to the garden door which she had kept. She wasn’t sure why and she didn’t intend to tell anyone.

Dr Willis’s housekeeper had already left, and Mrs Pratt slipped into the kitchen as though she had been there all her life, taking Tombs and Jennie with her.

‘There are an awful lot of us,’ worried Mrs Ramsay as they ate the lunch the unflappable Mrs Pratt had produced.

‘The house is large enough, my dear, and Jennie goes to her new job tomorrow.’

‘And I go to mine in a day or two,’ said Claudia.

‘You’re quite happy about it?’ he asked her kindly. ‘There’s no hurry, you know.’

‘It sounds just what I’m looking for. When will you marry? I’d like to come to the wedding.’

‘Darling, we wouldn’t dream of getting married unless you were there.’

‘Within the week, I hope,’ said George. ‘Very quiet, of course, just us and a few friends here at the church. I’ve put a notice in the Telegraph.’

Everyone in the village knew by now that there was a new owner at Colonel Ramsay’s house. Those that had met him didn’t like him overmuch. The postman, who had been spoken to sharply by Mr Ramsay because he whistled too loudly as he delivered the letters and had been discovered drinking tea in the kitchen, had promised that any letters would be delivered to the doctor’s house. The village considered Mr Ramsay an outsider, for he had made no effort to be pleasant. Even the vicar, a mild and godly man, pursed his lips when his name was mentioned.

There was a letter for Claudia the next morning. Her references had been accepted for the post of general assistant and she should present herself without delay to take up her duties. The list enclosed was vague about these, but the off duty seemed fair enough. She was to have two days a week free and the money was adequate. There was accommodation for her within the hospital.

She wrote back at once, accepting the post, and saying that she would present herself for duty in the early evening of the following day. Feeling pleased that things were turning out so well, she went away to unpack and repack what she would need to take with her.

Dr Willis drove her to Southampton after lunch the following day, and that same afternoon, as dusk was gathering, Mr Ramsay came back to take possession of his new home. An arrogant man, and insensitive to other people’s feelings, he had taken it for granted that he would be received suitably—the house lighted and warm, a meal waiting to be put on the table, Mrs Ramsay there to show his wife round, Jennie to see to the luggage. He got out of the car and surveyed the dark, silent house with a frown before unlocking the door.

It was obvious that there was no one there. Monica pushed past him, switched on the lights and looked around her. She saw the letter on the side table and opened it. Mrs Ramsay wrote politely that as Mr Ramsay had requested they had left the house. And, since neither Mrs Pratt or Jennie wished to work for him, they had also left. There was food in the fridge, the fires were laid ready to light and the beds were aired and made up.

Monica laughed. ‘You told them you wanted them out, and they’ve gone. I wonder where they went?’

‘It’s of no consequence. We can get help from the village easily enough, and I had nothing in common with either Mrs Ramsay or that daughter of hers.’

‘A pity about the servants…’

‘Easily come by in a small place like this—they’ll be only too glad to have the work.’

‘There was a butler, you said.’

‘Oh, he was too old to work. I dare say he has found himself a room or gone to live with someone. He’d have his pension.’

His wife gave him a long look. ‘You’re a heartless man, aren’t you? You’d better bring in the luggage while I find the kitchen and see what there is to eat.’

Dr Willis left Claudia at the door of the hospital with some reluctance. The place looked gloomy and down at heel, and he was sorry that he hadn’t found out about it before. True, geriatric hospitals were usually the last ones to get face lifts—probably inside it was bright and cheerful enough, and she had wished him goodbye very happily, with the promise that she would be at the wedding. She poked her head through the open window of the car.

‘I know that you and Mother will be happy. You really are a very nice man, George.’

She picked up her case and went into the hospital.

She knew she wasn’t going to like it before she had gone ten yards from the door, but she ignored that. A tired-looking porter asked her what she wanted, told her to leave her case and follow him and led her down a long passage. He knocked on the door at the end of it. The label on the door said ‘Hospital Manager,’ and when the porter opened the door in answer to the voice inside, she went past him into a small austere room.

It was furnished sparsely, with a desk and chair, two other chairs along one wall, and a great many shelves stuffed with paper files. The woman behind the desk had a narrow, pale face, a straight haircut in an unbecoming bob and small dark eyes. She looked up as Claudia went in, pursing her mouth and frowning a little.

‘Miss Ramsay? It’s too late for you to do much for the rest of the day. I’ll get someone to show you your room and take you to where you will be working. But if you will draw up a chair I will explain your schedule to you.’

Not a very good start, reflected Claudia, but perhaps the poor soul was tired.

Her duties were many and varied and rather vague. She would work from seven o’clock until three in the afternoon three days a week, and her free day would follow that duty, and for the other three days the hours would be three o’clock in the afternoon until ten o’clock at night.

‘The off duty is arranged so that you are free from three o’clock before your day off, and not on duty until three o’clock on the day following.’

Two nights at home, thought Claudia, and felt cheered by the thought.

She asked politely, ‘Am I to call you Matron?’

‘Miss Norton,’ she was told, in a manner which implied that she should have known that without being told. She was dismissed into the care of a small woman with a kind face and a bright smile, who told her that her name was Nurse Symes.

‘You’re on duty in the morning,’ she told her. ‘Ward B—that’s on the other wing. First floor, thirty beds. Sister Clark is in charge there.’

She paused, and Claudia said encouragingly, ‘And…?’

‘She’s terribly overworked, you know—we can’t get the staff. She doesn’t mean half she says.’

‘Tell me, what exactly do I do? General assistant covers a lot of ground, and Miss Norton was a bit vague.’

‘Well, dear, there aren’t many trained nurses, so you do anything that’s needed.’

They got into the lift at the back of the hall and stepped out on the top floor, went through a door with ‘Private’ on it and started down another corridor lined with doors.

‘Here we are,’ said Nurse Symes. ‘Quite a nice room, and the bathrooms are at the end. There’s a little kitchen too, if you want to make tea.’

The room was small, with a bed, a small easy chair, a bedside table and a clothes cupboard. It was very clean and there was a view of chimneypots from its window. There was a washbasin on one corner, and a small mirror over the wide shelf which served as a dressing table. A few cushions and photos and a vase of flowers, thought Claudia with resolute cheerfulness, and it would be quite pretty.

‘We’ll go to the linen room and get you some dresses. You’ll get three, but of course you’ll wear a plastic apron when you’re on duty.’

The dresses—a useful mud-brown—duly chosen and taken to her room, they began a tour of the hospital. It was surprisingly large, with old-fashioned wards with beds on either side and tables with pot plants down the centre. The wards were full, and most of the patients were sitting in chairs by their beds, watching television if they were near enough to the two sets at either end of the wards.

Most of them appeared to be asleep; one or two had visitors. Claudia could see only one or two nurses, but there were several young women shrouded in plastic pinnys, carrying trays, mops and buckets and helping those patients who chose to trundle around with their walking aids.

It wasn’t quite what she had expected, but it was too early to have an opinion, and first impressions weren’t always the right ones.

It was Cork who folded the Telegraph at the appropriate page and silently pointed out the notice of the forthcoming marriage between George Willis and Doreen Ramsay to Professor Tait-Bullen as he ate his breakfast.

He read it in an absent-minded fashion, and then read it again.

‘Interesting,’ he observed, and then, ‘I wonder what will happen to the daughter? Staying on at the Colonel’s house, I suppose.’

He thought no more about it until that evening when, urged by some niggling doubt at the back of his mind, he phoned Dr Willis. His congratulations were sincere. ‘You will be marrying shortly?’

‘In four days’ time. Mrs Ramsay is here with me, so are Mrs Pratt and Tombs. Jennie, their maid, went to the Manor to a new job this morning.’ George added drily, ‘They were turned out by the new owner.’

The professor asked sharply, ‘And the daughter— Claudia?’

‘Fortunately she found a job at Southampton, in a hospital there—geriatrics. Didn’t like the look of the place, but they wanted someone at once.’

‘You mean to tell me that this man turned them all out? Is he no relation?’

‘A cousin of sorts.’

‘Extraordinary.’ The professor had a fleeting memory of a lovely girl with red hair and decided that he wanted to know more. ‘I’m going to Bristol in a couple of days. May I call in and wish you both well?’

‘We’d be delighted. And if you can come to the wedding we should very much like that.’

Mr Tait-Bullen put down the receiver and sat back in his chair. With a little careful planning there was no reason why he shouldn’t go to the wedding.

CHAPTER THREE

BY THE end of her first day at the hospital Claudia knew exactly what a general assistant was: a maker of beds, carrier of trays, bedpans, and bags of bed linen. And when she wasn’t doing this she was getting the old and infirm in and out of bed, finding slippers, spectacles, dentures, feeding those who were no longer able to help themselves and trotting the more spry of the ladies to the loo.

It was non-stop work, and, going off duty soon after three o’clock, she was thankful that she was free until seven o’clock the next morning and that by some miracle she would have her day off on the day following that. The whole day, she thoughtful joyfully, and not on duty until the afternoon after that. She got into her outdoor clothes and hurried out to the nearest phone box.

Her mother and George were to be married in three days’ time; she would be able to go to the wedding, although she would have to leave Little Planting directly after the ceremony. The bus service between Romsey and Southampton was frequent; it was just a question of getting from Romsey to Little Planting and back again.

She would be met, declared her mother; any of their friends in the village would be glad to collect her. ‘Phone me tomorrow and let me know what time the bus gets to Romsey. And don’t worry about getting back to Southampton, there’ll be someone to give you a lift. You’re happy there, Claudia?’

‘Yes,’ said Claudia, ‘I’m sure I shall be happy.’ She was so convincing that her mother observed happily to George that Claudia sounded perfectly content, and wasn’t it lucky that she should be free for the wedding?

Claudia went back to the hospital and had a cup of tea with some of the other girls, then went to her room, kicked off her shoes and curled up on the bed. Her feet ached and she was tired. It had been a hard day’s work, but it wasn’t only that; she felt sad and lonely and uncertain of the future. She was prepared to stay in this job for as long as it took to save enough money for her to train in something which would allow her more freedom. Enough money for her to have nice clothes, and a holiday. A career girl.

It would have to be something to do with computers, shorthand and typing and a knowledge of the business world. A receptionist, mused Claudia, a nine-to-five job with free weekends so that she could go and stay with her mother and George from time to time. And, of course, a nicely furnished flat, and friends to entertain and to be entertained by. She might even meet a man who would fall in love with her and marry her…

Mr Tait-Bullen’s handsome features imposed themselves upon her wishful thinking, but she brushed them away. One didn’t cry for the moon, and she was never likely to meet him again. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure if he had noticed her as a woman. She wondered what he was really like behind that impersonal, impassive face. Probably quite nice…

A thump on the door brought her back to reality, and when she called, ‘Come in,’ a girl opened the door. One of those on the afternoon shift.

‘Oh, good, you’re here. The other two are out and Sister sent me. Mrs Legge—that’s the one with the Zimmer walker—fell over and she’s broken a leg and an arm. She’ll have to go to the City General with a nurse, and that only leaves Sister and me and we’re up to our eyes. Could you come back on duty for an hour or two, just until someone can be found to take over?’

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