Mrs. Chubb looked at Matilda’s happy face. “Enjoyed ourselves, I’ll be bound.”

“Yes, oh, yes!” said Matilda. She turned to the doctor, beaming up at him. “Thank you very much for taking me out to dinner.” She sounded like a well-mannered child. “It was a wonderful evening, you know—the kind of evening one always remembers….”

“Indeed, I shall always remember it, too,” said the doctor. “Sweet dreams, Matilda.” And he bent and kissed her, very much to Mrs. Chubb’s satisfaction and even more to Matilda’s.

And, with a smiling glance at Mrs. Chubb, he was gone.

Matilda turned a dreamy face to the housekeeper. “I’ll go to bed,” she said, and kissed the smiling lady and floated upstairs to her room, for the moment wrapped in a dream world of her own.

About the Author

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.

Matilda’s Wedding
Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

DR LOVELL looked across his desk to the girl sitting in front of it. She would have to do, he supposed; none of the other applicants had been suitable. No one, of course, could replace the estimable Miss Brimble who had been with him for several years before leaving reluctantly to return home and nurse an aged parent, but this girl, with her mediocre features and quiet voice, was hardly likely to upset the even tenor of his life. There was nothing about her appearance to distract him from his work; her mousy hair was in a smooth French pleat, her small nose was discreetly powdered, and if she wore lipstick it wasn’t evident. And her clothes were the kind which were never remembered… She was, in fact, suitable.

Matilda Paige, aware that she was being studied, watched the man on the other side of the desk in her turn. A very large man, in his thirties, she guessed. Handsome, with a commanding nose and a thin mouth and hooded eyes and dark hair streaked with silver. She had no intention of being intimidated by him but she thought that anyone timid might be. A calm, quiet girl by nature, she saw no reason to stand in awe of him. Besides, since the moment she had set eyes on him, not half an hour ago, she had fallen in love with him…

‘You are prepared to start work on Monday, Miss Paige?’

Matilda said yes, of course, and wished that he would smile. Probably he was tired or hadn’t had time for a proper breakfast that morning. That he had a good housekeeper she had already found out for herself, whose brother did the gardening and odd jobs. She had also discovered that he was engaged. A haughty piece, Mrs Simpkins at the village shop had said—been to stay accompanied by her brother once or twice, hadn’t liked the village at all and said so.

‘Rude,’ Mrs Simpkins had said. ‘Them as should know better should mind their manners; grumbled ’cos I didn’t ’ave some fancy cheese they wanted. Well, what’s good enough for the doctor should be good enough for them. ’E’s a nice man, none better, just as ’is dad was a good man, too. A pity ’e ever took up with that young woman of ’is.’

Matilda, sitting primly on the other side of his desk, heartily agreed with Mrs Simpkins. All’s fair in love, she reflected, and got up when he gave his watch a brief glance.

Dr Lovell got up too; his manners were nice… She bade him a brisk goodbye as he opened the surgery door for her and then, shepherded by his practice nurse, left the house.

It was a pleasant old house in the centre of the village. Queen Anne, red-bricked with massive iron railings protecting it from the narrow main street. Lovells had lived there for generations, she had been told, father passing on his profession to son, and this particular twentieth-century son was, from all accounts, acknowledged to be quite brilliant. He had refused offers of important posts in London and preferred to remain at his old home, working as a GP.

Matilda walked briskly down the street, smiling rather shyly at one or two of the passers-by, still feeling that she didn’t belong. The village was a large one, deep in rural Somerset, and as yet had escaped the attention of developers wanting to buy land and build houses, probably because it lay well away from a main road, astride a tangle of narrow country lanes. Because of that, inhabitants of Much Winterlow were slow to accept newcomers. Not that there was anything about the Reverend Mr Paige, his wife and daughter to which they could take exception. Upon his retirement owing to ill health, her father had been offered by an old friend the tenancy of the small house at the very end of the village and he had accepted gratefully. After the rambling vicarage he had lived in for many years, he found the place cramped but the surroundings were delightful and quiet and he would be able to continue writing his book…

Matilda could see her new home now as she came to the end of the last of the cottages in the main street. There was a field or two, ploughed up in readiness for the spring next year, and the house, facing the road—square and hardly worth a second glance, built a hundred years or so earlier as home for the agent of the big estate close by and then later left empty, to be rented out from time to time. Her mother had burst into tears when she had first seen it but Matilda had pointed out that they were fortunate to have been offered it at a rent her father could afford. She’d added cheerfully, ‘It may look like a brick box but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have a pretty garden.’

Her mother had said coldly, ‘You are always so sensible, Matilda.’

It was a good thing that she was, for her mother had no intention of making the best of a bad job; she had led a pleasant enough life where her husband had been rural dean; true, the house had been too big and if it hadn’t been for Matilda living at home and taking most of the household chores onto her shoulders there would have been little time to play the role of vicar’s wife. A role Mrs Paige had fulfilled very well, liking the social status it gave her in the small abbey town. But now she was forced to live in this village in a poky house with barely enough to live on…

Matilda pushed open the garden gate and went up the brick path to the front door. The garden was woefully neglected; she would be able to do something about that while the evenings were still light.

She opened the door, calling, ‘It’s me,’ as she did so, and, since no one replied, opened the door on the left of the narrow hallway.

Her father was at his desk, writing, but he looked up as she went in.

‘Matilda—it isn’t lunchtime, surely? I am just about to…’

She dropped a kiss on his grey head. He was a mild-looking man, kind-hearted, devoted to his wife and to her, content with whatever life should offer him, unworried as to where the money would come from to pay their way. He hadn’t wanted to retire but when it had become a vital necessity he had accepted the change in his circumstances with a good grace, accepted the offer of this house from an old friend and settled down happily enough to write.

That his wife was by no means as content as he was was a worry, but he assumed that, given time, she would settle down to their new life. Matilda had given him no worries; she had accepted everything without demur, only declaring that if possible she would find a job.

When she had left school she had taken a course in shorthand and typing, learned how to use a computer and simple bookkeeping. She had never had the chance to use these skills, for her mother had needed her at home, but now, several years later, she was glad that she would be able to augment her father’s pension. It had been a lucky chance that Mrs Simpkins had mentioned that the doctor needed a receptionist…

She left her father with the promise of bringing him a cup of coffee and went in search of her mother.

Mrs Paige was upstairs in her bedroom, sitting before her dressing table, peering at her face. She had been a pretty girl but the prettiness was marred by a discontented mouth and a frown. She turned away as Matilda went in.

‘The nearest decent hairdresser is in Taunton—miles away. Whatever am I going to do?’ She cast Matilda a cross look. ‘It’s all very well for you; you’re such a plain girl, it doesn’t really matter…’

Matilda sat down on the bed and looked at her mother; she loved her, of course, but there were times when she had to admit that she was selfish and spoilt. Hardly Mrs Paige’s fault—she had been an only child of doting parents and her husband had indulged her every whim to the best of his ability and Matilda had been sent away to boarding-school so that she had never been close to her daughter.

And Matilda had accepted it all: her father’s vague affection, her mother’s lack of interest, her life at the vicarage, helping Sunday school, the Mother’s Union, the annual bazaar, the whist drives… But now that was all over.

‘I’ve got the job at the doctor’s,’ she said. ‘Part-time, mornings and evenings, so I’ll have plenty of time to do the housework.’

‘How much is he paying you? I can’t manage on your father’s pension and I haven’t a farthing myself.’

When Matilda told her she said, ‘That’s not much…’

‘It’s the going rate, Mother.’

‘Oh, well, it will be better than nothing—and you won’t need much for yourself.’

‘No. Most of it must go for the housekeeping; there might be enough for you to have help in the house once or twice a week.’

‘Well, if you are working for most of the day I shall need someone.’ Her mother smiled suddenly. ‘And poor little me? Am I to have something too? Just enough so that I can look like a rural dean’s wife and not some poverty-stricken housewife.’

‘Yes, Mother, we’ll work something out without disturbing Father.’

‘Splendid, dear.’ Her mother was all smiles now. ‘Let me have your wages each week and I’ll see that they are put to good use.’

‘I think I shall put them straight into Father’s account at the bank and just keep out enough for you and me.’

Her mother turned back to the mirror. ‘You always have been selfish, Matilda, wanting your own way. When I think of all I have done for you…’

Matilda had heard it all before. She said now, ‘Don’t worry, Mother, there will be enough over for you.’

She went across the small landing to her own room, where she sat down on her bed and did sums on the back of an envelope. She was well aware of the inadequacies of her father’s pension; if they lived carefully there was just enough to live on and pay the bills; anything extra had to be paid for from his small capital—smaller still now with the expense of his illness and their move.

He had received a cheque from his parishioners when he had left the vicarage, but a good deal of that had been swallowed up by carpets and curtains and having the functional bathroom turned into one in which Mrs Paige could bear to be in. The bathroom as it was had been adequate, but her father loved his wife, could see no fault in her, and since she’d wanted a new bathroom she had had it…

He was an unworldly man, content with his lot, seeing only the best in other people; he was also impractical, forgetful and a dreamer, never happier than when he could sit quietly with his books or writing. Matilda loved him dearly and, although his heart attack had led to his retirement and coming to live in straitened circumstances, she had welcomed it since it meant that he could live a quiet life. Now she had a job and could help financially she had no doubt that once her mother had got over her disappointment they would be happy enough.

She went downstairs to the small kitchen to make coffee, and while the kettle boiled she looked round her. It was a rather bare room with an old-fashioned dresser against one wall, an elderly gas cooker and the new washing machine her mother had insisted on. The table in its centre was solid and square—they had brought it with them from the vicarage—and there were four ladder-backed chairs round it. By the small window was a shabby armchair, occupied by the family cat, Rastus. Once she had a little money, decided Matilda, she would paint the walls a pale sunshine-yellow, and a pretty tablecloth and a bowl of bulbs would work wonders…

She carried the coffee into the living room and found her mother there. ‘I’ll take Father his,’ Matilda suggested, and she crossed the hall to the small, rather dark room behind the kitchen, rather grandly called the study. It was very untidy, with piles of books on the floor awaiting bookshelves, and more books scattered on the desk, which was too large for the room but Mr Paige had worked at it almost all of his life and it was unthinkable to get rid of it.

He looked up as she went in. ‘Matilda? Ah, coffee. Thank you, my dear.’ He took off his spectacles. ‘You went out this morning?’

‘Yes, Father, for an interview with Lovell who has the practice here. I’m going to work for him part-time.’

‘Good, good; you will meet some young people and get some sort of a social life, I dare say. It will not entail too much hard work?’

‘No, no. Just seeing to patients and their notes and writing letters. I shall enjoy it.’

‘And of course you will be paid; you must get yourself some pretty things, my dear.’

She glanced down at the desk; the gas bill was lying on it and there was a reminder from the plumber that the kitchen taps had been attended to.

‘Oh, I shall, Father,’ she said in an over-bright voice.

On Monday morning Matilda got up earlier than usual, took tea to her parents and retired to her room. She couldn’t turn herself into a beauty but at least she could be immaculate. She studied her face as she powdered it and put on some lipstick. She wiped it off again, though. She hadn’t worn it at the interview, and although she didn’t think that Dr Lovell had noticed her at all there was always the chance that he had. She suspected that she had got the job because she was as near alike to Miss Brimble as her youth allowed.

She had met that lady once: plain, bespectacled, clad in something dust-coloured. There had been nothing about her to distract the eye of Dr Lovell, and Matilda, unable to find anything in her wardrobe of that dreary colour, had prudently chosen navy blue with a prim white collar. Such a pity, she reflected, dragging her hair back into its French pleat, that circumstances forced her to make the least of herself.

She pulled a face at her reflection. Not that it mattered. She had as much chance of attracting him as the proverbial pig had of flying. Falling in love with a man who hadn’t even looked at you for more than a moment had been a stupid thing to do.

The surgery was at one side of the house and a narrow path led to the side door. It was already unlocked when she got there and a woman was dusting the row of chairs. Matilda bade her good morning and, obeying the instructions she had been given, went into the surgery beyond. The doctor wasn’t there; she hadn’t expected him to be for it was not yet eight o’clock.

She opened a window, checked the desk to make sure that there was all that he might need there, and went back to the waiting room where her desk stood in one corner. The appointments book was on it—he must have put it there ready for her and she set to, collecting patients’ notes from the filing cabinet by the desk. She had arranged them to her satisfaction when the first patient arrived—old Mr Trimble, the pub owner’s father. He was a silent man with a nasty cough and, from his copious notes, a frequent visitor to the surgery. He grunted a greeting and sat down, to be joined presently by a young woman with a baby. Neither the mother nor the baby looked well, and Matilda wondered which one was the patient.

The room filled up then and she was kept busy, aware of the curious looks and whispers. Miss Brimble had been there for so many years that a newcomer was a bit of a novelty and perhaps not very welcome.

Dr Lovell opened his surgery door then, bade everyone a brisk good morning, took Mr Trimble’s notes from Matilda and ushered his patient inside. He ushered him out again after ten minutes, took the next lot of notes from her and left her to deal with Mr Trimble’s next appointment.

It wasn’t hard work but she was kept busy, for the phone rang from time to time, and some of the patients took their time deciding whether the appointments offered them were convenient, but by the time the last person had gone into the surgery Matilda was quite enjoying herself. True, Dr Lovell had taken no notice of her at all, but at least she’d had glimpses of him from time to time…

She dealt patiently with the elderly woman who was the last to go for she was rather deaf and, moreover, worried about catching the local bus.

‘My cats,’ she explained. ‘I don’t like to leave them for more than an hour or two.’

‘Oh, I know how you feel,’ said Matilda. ‘I have a cat; he’s called Rastus…’

The door behind her opened and Dr Lovell said, with well-concealed impatience, ‘Miss Paige…’

She turned and smiled at him. ‘Mrs Trim has a cat, and so have I. We were just having a chat about them.’

She bade Mrs Trim goodbye, shut the door behind her and said cheerfully, ‘I’ll tidy up, shall I?’

He didn’t answer, merely stood aside for her to follow him back into the surgery. As they went in, the door leading to the house opened and a tall, bony woman came in with a tray of coffee.

Matilda bade her good morning. ‘How nice—coffee, and it smells delicious.’

The doctor eyed her with an inscrutable face. Matilda had seemed so meek and quiet during her interview. He said firmly, ‘While you drink your coffee, please make a note of various instructions I wish to give you.’

She didn’t need to look at him to know that she had annoyed him. She said, ‘I talk too much,’ and opened her notebook, her nose quivering a bit at the aroma from the coffee pot.

‘Be good enough to pour our coffee, Miss Paige. I should point out that, more frequently than not, you may not have time for coffee. This morning was a very small surgery and normally I depart the moment the last patient has gone, leaving you to clear up and lock the door and the cabinets. I should warn you that the evening surgery is almost always busy.’

He opened a drawer and handed her a small bunch of keys. ‘If I am held up then I rely upon you to admit the patients and have everything ready, or as ready as possible, for me. Miss Brimble was most efficient; I hope that you will be the same.’

Matilda took a sip of coffee. Strange, she mused, that, of all the millions of men in the world, she should have fallen in love with this coldly polite man with cold blue eyes and, for all she knew, a cold heart as well.

‘I shall do my best to be as like Miss Brimble as possible,’ she told him, and after he had given her a list of instructions she asked, ‘Do you want me for anything else, Doctor? Then I’ll just tidy the waiting room and lock up.’

He nodded, not looking up from the pile of notes on his desk. ‘I shall see you this evening, Miss Paige.’ He glanced up then. ‘This is not a job where one can watch the clock too closely.’

She got up and went to the door, where she said in a quiet little voice, ‘I expect you miss Miss Brimble. We must hope for the best, mustn’t we?’

She closed the door quietly behind her and the doctor stared at it, surprise on his handsome face. But presently he allowed himself to smile. Only fleetingly, though. Miss Paige must conform to his ways or find another job.

Matilda went home, donned an apron and began to load the washing machine. Her father was in the study; her mother was getting coffee in the kitchen.

‘Well, how did you get on?’ she asked. ‘I don’t suppose it was hard work. Is he nice? Your father has to see him within the next few days. Such a nuisance that he has to see the doctor so often; I should have thought that once he had got over his heart attack he would have been cured.’

‘Well, he is cured, Mother, but it’s possible to have another attack unless a doctor keeps an eye on him. He’s feeling fine, though, isn’t he? This is the ideal life for him…’

Mrs Paige said fiercely, ‘Oh, it’s perfect for him but what about me? There’s nothing to do here in this poky little village…’

‘It’s not poky. It’s really quite large and Mrs Simpkins was telling me that there’s always something going on. There’s amateur theatricals in the winter, and bridge parties, and tennis in the summer and cricket. Once you get to know the people living here—’

‘And how do I do that? Knock on people’s doors? We’ve been here almost two weeks.’

‘If you went to the village more often…’ began Matilda. ‘Everyone goes to the village shop…’

‘Everyone? Who’s everyone? No one I can make a friend of. When I think of the pleasant life we had at the vicarage—my friends, the interesting people who came to see your father…’

‘I’m sure there are interesting people here, too,’ said Matilda. ‘Are you going to have coffee with Father? I had some at the surgery. Shall I make a macaroni cheese for lunch?’

Her mother shrugged. ‘What is he like? Dr Lovell? A typical country GP, I suppose.’

Matilda didn’t answer that; she didn’t think that Dr Lovell was typical of anyone, but then, of course, she was in love with him.

She took care to be at the surgery well before five o’clock. She had the patients’ notes ready on his desk and was sitting at her own desk in the waiting room when the first patient arrived. The doctor had been right; there was a steady stream of patients—several nasty coughs, a clutch of peevish children and two young men with bandaged hands. She had seen from the notes that most of them had come from outlying farms, and since they all appeared to know each other the room was full of cheerful voices interspersed with coughing fits and whining small voices.

There was no sign of the doctor and it was already well after five o’clock. Matilda left her desk to hold a fractious toddler while its mother took an older child to the loo. She was still holding it when the surgery door opened and the doctor invited his first patient, an old man with a cough, to come into the surgery.

He looked at Matilda with raised eyebrows but made no comment and by the time he called for his second patient she was back at her desk, busy with the appointments book, very aware that she was being looked over by everyone there. After all, she was a newcomer to the village, and although Mrs Simpkins had given her opinion that Matilda was a nice young lady—a bit quiet, like, but polite—the village had no intention of making up its mind in a hurry.

Parson’s daughter, they told each other—well, Miss Brimble had been that, too, but twice this one’s age. They bade her a lot of cheerful good evenings as they went home and over their suppers gave their varied opinions: a nice enough young lady, not much to look at but with a ready smile.

As for the doctor, dining at the Reverend Mr Milton’s table that evening, he professed himself satisfied with his new receptionist. He had no more to say about her than that, though.

The week progressed. Tuesday was an evening surgery only for he held the post of anaesthetist at Taunton Hospital and spent the day there. On Wednesday the surgery bulged with victims of the first serious chills of winter and on Thursday there was no surgery in the evening. Matilda enjoyed her work although she wished it could have been conducted in a clearer atmosphere than the surgery, redolent of damp coats and the earthy smells clinging to farm workers who came in straight from their work. But she had found her sensible feet by now and she was happy despite the doctor’s chilly politeness towards her. At least she saw him each day and sooner or later he would stop comparing her with Miss Brimble and decide that she was quite nice, really…

And, Matilda being Matilda, she already had a few plans. A potted plant for the waiting room, a small vase of flowers for the doctor’s desk, a chamber pot for the small children—she wondered why Miss Brimble hadn’t thought of that—and some container where people could put their dripping umbrellas. There were still a lot of odds and ends her mother had consigned to the garden shed; there might be something suitable there…

After the first morning she had politely refused coffee after the morning surgery, standing by his desk, listening to whatever it was he needed to tell her and then bidding him a cheerful good morning, shutting the door quietly behind her.

There was no point in sitting there drinking coffee when he was so obviously unaware of her. She would then tidy the waiting room, lock up and go home.

There was an envelope on her desk on Friday morning. She had asked at her interview if she could be paid each week and in cash, and he had agreed without comment. She put it in her handbag and bade the first patient good morning. Her father had taught her that money was no easy path to happiness but she couldn’t help feeling rich…

There was a small branch of her father’s bank in the village, open on three days a week for a few hours. Matilda paid most of the money into his account, bought sausages from Mrs Simpkins and went home, treading on air.

There was a car parked outside the gate when she reached it: an elderly Rover, immaculately kept. It belonged to the Reverend Mr Milton and she was pleased to see it for it meant that that gentleman had come to visit her parents. He had called briefly a day or so after they had moved in but the place had been in chaos and he hadn’t stayed.

He was in the living room and his wife was with him. Mrs Milton was a small, placid lady with a kind face, and according to Mrs Simpkins was very well liked in the village.

Matilda shook hands and, bidden by her mother, went to fetch more coffee, sorry that she hadn’t brought some biscuits with her. She handed around second cups and sat down to answer Mrs Milton’s gentle questions.

She liked her job with Dr Lovell? Such a dear, good man but very overworked; so fortunate that he had found Matilda to replace Miss Brimble. And did Matilda play tennis? In the summer there was a flourishing club—and amateur theatricals in the winter. ‘You must meet some of the younger ones here,’ said Mrs Milton.

Mrs Paige interrupted her in the nicest possible way. ‘Matilda isn’t a very sociable girl,’ she said. ‘Quite a homebird in fact, which is so fortunate for I’m not very strong and all the worry of my husband’s illness has upset my nerves.’

Mrs Milton said that she was sorry to hear it. ‘I was hoping you would enjoy meeting a few people here and perhaps join me on one or two of our committees. We do a good deal for charity in a quiet way. And the Mother’s Union flourishes. Lady Truscott is our president and we meet each month at her house. The Manor, you know…’

‘I shall be delighted to do that and give what help I can.’ Mrs Paige had become quite animated. ‘And anything else that I can do in my small way.’ She gave a rueful little laugh. ‘This is all so strange. And I do miss the house—and the social life attached to the church. And, of course, the ease with which one could obtain things. It seems I must go all the way to Taunton to a hairdresser.’

‘There’s Miss Wright in the village; she is really not at all bad. I must confess that I go to Tessa’s in Taunton. If you would like it I’ll give you her phone number and if you mention my name I’m sure she will fit you in.’

‘That’s most kind. It would have to be on the day the bus goes to Taunton; I’m told that there is one.’

‘You don’t drive?’

‘No, unfortunately not, and, of course, Jeffrey isn’t allowed to, so we sold the car.’

Mrs Milton turned to Matilda. ‘You don’t drive, my dear?’

Matilda just had time to say yes, before her mother said quickly, ‘There seemed no point in keeping the car just for Matilda’s use. She enjoys walking and there is a bicycle she can use.’

‘In that case,’ said Mrs Milton, ‘I’ll be glad to offer you a lift the next time I go to Taunton. Matilda, too…’

‘One of us has to stay home just in case Jeffrey isn’t well, but I’d be glad of a lift; it’s most kind of you to offer. Perhaps I could fit it in with the hairdresser and have time for a quick shop. I’m sure the shop in the village is excellent but there are several things I need which I’m sure aren’t stocked there.’

‘We will arrange something soon and I’ll let you know about joining our committee.’ Mrs Milton got to her feet. ‘I’m glad you have come here to live and I’m sure you will be happy once you have settled in.’

She caught her husband’s eye and he rose reluctantly from the earnest talk he was enjoying with Mr Paige. Goodbyes were said and Matilda saw them out of the gate and into their car, waving them away with a friendly hand.

‘A very nice girl,’ said Mrs Milton, ‘but I don’t imagine she has much of a life. Her mother…’

‘Now, my dear, don’t be too hasty in your judgement, although I do see what you mean. We must endeavour to find Matilda some friends.’

‘I wonder how she gets on with Henry?’

‘Presumably well enough; I don’t imagine he’s a hard taskmaster. Once they have got used to each other I’m sure she will prove every bit as efficient as Miss Brimble.’

Which wasn’t what Mrs Milton had meant at all, although she didn’t say so.

Mrs Paige followed Matilda into the kitchen. ‘Did you get paid?’

Matilda stacked cups and saucers by the sink. ‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Good. If Mrs Milton phones I can go to Taunton. I need one or two things as well as having my hair done. If you’d let me have twenty-five pounds? You must see that if I’m to meet all these women I must look my best, and you’ll have the rest of your money…’

‘I’ve paid it into Father’s account at the bank.’

‘Matilda—are you out of your mind? His pension will be paid in in a week or so and we can open an account at the shop.’

‘There’s a gas bill overdue and the plumber to be paid…’

Mrs Paige said tearfully, ‘I can’t believe that my own daughter could be so mean.’ She started to cry. ‘I hate it here; can’t you understand that? This poky little house and no shops and nothing to do all day. There was always something at the vicarage—people calling, wanting advice or help; things happening.’ She added, ‘Of course you don’t care; I don’t suppose you miss your friends and it isn’t as if there were any men keen on you. It’s just as well, for I doubt if you’ll meet anyone here who’ll want to marry you.’

Matilda said quietly, ‘No, I don’t suppose I will. I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Mother, but perhaps you will meet some people you will like when you see Mrs Milton again.’

She took some notes out of her handbag. ‘Here is twenty-five pounds.’ She laid the money on the table. ‘I’ll get lunch, shall I?’

Her mother said something but she didn’t hear it, for she was fighting a strong wish to run out of the house, go somewhere where she wasn’t reminded that she was dull and plain and mean. Life would have been so different if she had been pretty…

She gave herself a shake. Self-pity was a waste of time; and life wasn’t all that bad. She had a job, she liked the village and the people she had met were friendly, and there was Dr Lovell. If they hadn’t come here to live she would never have met him. The fact that he didn’t like her overmuch made no difference to the fact that she was in love with him. That coloured her dull days and perhaps in time, if she could be more like Miss Brimble, he would like her after all. She didn’t expect more than that; her mother had made it plain that there was nothing about her to attract a man such as he.

She got the lunch, listened to her father’s cheerful comments about their visitors and her mother’s plans to go to Taunton and then, with Rastus for company, Matilda went into the garden. It had once been very pretty but was now woefully overgrown. She began raking the leaves which covered the patch of grass in front of the house.

It was chilly and there was a fresh wind, so that her hair blew free from its tidy pleat, and she had tied a sack over her skirt. The doctor, driving past, thought she looked very untidy, obviously not bothering about her appearance. He dismissed her from his mind and was vaguely irritated to find himself remembering all that pale brown hair, tossed about by the wind.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was nothing about Matilda’s appearance on Monday morning to remind him of her scruffy appearance in the garden. The picture of neatness, she dealt with the patients with good-humoured patience and real pleasure, for she felt that she had been accepted by the village, included in their gossip as they waited their turn. It was to be hoped, she reflected, that Dr Lovell would accept her, too…

It was a chilly, drizzly morning and she was glad that she had lugged the chimney pot she had found in the garden shed down to the doctor’s house and installed it in the waiting room. It wasn’t ideal but at least it was somewhere to put the umbrellas. She was sure that the doctor hadn’t noticed it; hopefully he wouldn’t notice if she brought some of the neglected chrysanthemums from the back garden and put them on the table in the waiting room—and on his desk; they might cheer him up…!

The surgery over, she tidied up, received a few instructions about the evening surgery, refused his offer of coffee and went down the street to the shop. Mrs Simpkins sold everything, or such was her proud boast and sure enough from the depths of her shop she produced a small plastic pot.

‘That’s what I call sensible,’ she declared. ‘Miss Brimble never thought of it. Well, a maiden lady such as she were wouldn’t ’ave, would she? A real blessing it’ll be for all the mums with little ’uns.’

She peered across the counter through the shop window. ‘Doctor’s just gone past so you can pop across with it.’

Which Matilda did.

At home she found her mother in the best of good spirits. Mrs Milton would be going to Taunton on Wednesday and had offered her a lift. ‘You only work in the morning,’ she reminded Matilda, ‘so you can be here with your father. I don’t know how long I shall be gone; perhaps Mrs Milton will ask me to tea. Will you make some coffee? Your father has a headache; a cup might make him feel better. I must iron a few things—perhaps you would get a fire going in the sitting room? It’s such a miserable day.’

After lunch Matilda, in an old mac and headscarf, went into the garden. The back garden was quite large and so overgrown it was hard to see what it was once like. But almost hidden against the end fence were the chrysanthemums, deep pink and a bit bedraggled. She picked the best of them, filled a vase for the living room and put the rest in a plastic bag to take with her to the surgery that evening. And while she was about it she rooted round in the garden shed and found two vases. No longer neglected, the chrysanthemums perked up, in one vase on the waiting-room table, and the other on the windowsill in the surgery. Several patients remarked upon them but if the doctor noticed he didn’t choose to say anything…

In fact, he had seen them the moment he entered the surgery, given them a quick glance and turned his attention to his first patient. He hoped that Matilda wasn’t going to strew cushions around the place or nurture pot plants on the windowsills. Perhaps he had better nip any such ideas in the bud…

But he had no chance to do so that evening; a farm worker on one of the outlying farms had fallen off a ladder and he was needed there. He left with a brisk goodnight, leaving Matilda to pack up and lock the doors. And, of course, the next day there was no surgery until the evening.

When she got there he was already at his desk, writing, and she made haste to get out the patients’ notes, and when the phone rang, which it did continuously, answered it. It wasn’t until she ushered out the last patient that Dr Lovell came into the waiting room.

Matilda was on her knees, grovelling under the row of chairs collecting the toys the smaller patients had been playing with, so she was not at her best.

His cool, ‘Miss Paige,’ brought her to her feet, pleased to see him but unhappily aware that she wasn’t looking her best.

‘I see that you have introduced one or two—er—innovations. And while I appreciate your efforts I must beg you not to make too many drastic alterations.’

Matilda tucked a wisp of hair behind an ear. ‘Well, I won’t,’ she assured him. ‘Only the umbrellas dripping all over the floor are nasty and you can’t expect a toddler to perch on a loo, you know. And I thought a few flowers would cheer the place up a bit. A potted plant or two?’ she added hopefully.

‘If you have set your heart on that, by all means, but I must make it clear that I do not wish for a plant in my surgery.’

She said warmly, ‘Oh, do they give you hay fever or something?’

The doctor, self-assured and used to being treated with a certain amount of respect, found himself at a loss for a reply. Being in the habit of advising others as to their various illnesses, he hardly expected to hear an opinion passed as to his own health.

When Matilda got back from the Wednesday morning clinic her mother had already left with Mrs Milton.

‘Most fortunate,’ her father observed as they drank their coffee together, ‘that your mother has the opportunity to enjoy a day out; she has so few pleasures.’

‘Well,’ said Matilda, ‘Mrs Milton is going to introduce Mother to her friends and I’m sure she will be asked to join in the social life around here. I suppose there is some…’

‘Oh, I believe so. Lady Truscott has a large circle of friends; your mother will enjoy meeting them.’ He added, ‘Perhaps there will be some young people for you, my dear.’

She agreed cheerfully. She would have dearly liked to go dancing, play tennis, and even venture into amateur theatricals, but only if the doctor was there too, and somehow she couldn’t imagine him as an actor. Tennis, yes—he would be a good tennis player and a good dancer—a bit on the conservative side, perhaps. She allowed herself a few moments of daydreaming, waltzing around some magnificent ballroom in his arms. She would, of course, be exquisitely dressed and so very pretty that she was the object of all eyes… But only Dr Lovell’s eyes mattered.

Not that he showed any signs of interest in her at the surgery; indeed, she had the strong feeling that as a person she just wasn’t there—a pair of hands, yes, and a voice for the telephone and someone to find old notes. He was engaged to be married, she reminded herself, and quite rightly didn’t notice any female other than his betrothed…

Later in the day Mrs Paige came back from Taunton, bubbling over with the delights of her day.

‘A marvellous hairdresser, Matilda, worth every penny, and the shops are excellent. Of course I had no money but next time there are several things I simply must have.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’m to go with Mrs Milton to Lady Truscott’s—the next committee meeting for some charity or other—so I must smarten up a little. You wouldn’t want your mother to look shabby, would you?’

Her father said, ‘My dear, I’m sure I can let you have a little extra. Matilda should have her own money to spend how she likes.’

Matilda slipped out of the room. She had heard her father’s mild remonstrance often enough but it went unheeded. Once the outstanding bills had been paid she would go to Taunton herself and buy some new clothes, have her hair done, a manicure, new cosmetics… Dr Lovell hadn’t noticed her yet; perhaps he never would. He was going to marry, she reminded herself then, and remembered that Mrs Simpkins hadn’t liked his fiancée.

Matilda, peeling potatoes, made up her mind to find out more about her.

After morning surgery next day, since it was a fine day with a strong wind blowing, she filled the washing machine and went into the garden and began to sweep up the leaves lying thick on the neglected grass, suitably but unglamorously dressed in an elderly sweater and skirt and wellies. Since there was no one to see, she had tied her hair back with a bit of string from the garden shed. She had found a rake there and set to with a will, for the moment happy; her small worries were forgotten as she planned just how the garden would look once she had tamed its wildness and cared for it. She paused to lean on the rake.

‘Roses,’ she decided, ‘and lavender and peonies and lupins and hollyhocks.’

She had been talking to herself, something she quite often did even if Rastus wasn’t there to listen. ‘It’ll look lovely, I promise you.’

She flung an arm wide and nearly fell over when the doctor said, an inch or so from her ear. ‘Do you often talk to yourself?’

She shot round to face him and he thought that she looked quite pretty with colour in her cheeks and her hair hanging loose.

‘Of course not.’ She sounded tart. ‘I was talking to the garden. Flowers like being talked to. The Prince of Wales talks to his…’

‘So he does.’ The doctor sounded mild. ‘I’ve never found the time.’

‘No—well, of course I don’t suppose you would. Anyway, you would want to spend it with your…’

She paused, not liking the cold look he gave her. She went on quickly. ‘Is it me you want to see about something? Or Father…?’

‘Your father.’ He watched her idly. The shabby clothes she was wearing did nothing for her but he had to admit that he liked her hair—and he was intrigued by her naturalness. Not his type, of course…

He said briskly, ‘Your father is home?’

‘Oh, yes. He’ll be in his study—he’s writing a book.’

She led the way to the front door, kicked off her wellies and ushered him into the narrow hall. ‘Mother’s in the sitting room…’

‘I’ll see your father first if I may.’

Matilda put her head round the study door. ‘Father, here’s Dr Lovell to see you.’

He went past her with a brief nod and closed the door gently behind him, and as he did so her mother came out of the sitting room. ‘Who is that?’ She frowned. ‘You should have fetched me, Matilda…’

‘Dr Lovell said he’d see Father first.’

‘Well, you go back into the garden; I’ll have a talk with him.’

Mrs Paige went back to the sitting room and had a look in the old-fashioned mirror over the fireplace. She looked all right, she decided, but it wouldn’t harm her to add a little lipstick. And perhaps a touch more powder…

Dr Lovell shook hands with his patient and drew up a chair. He said easily, ‘I’ve had all your notes from your previous doctor—Dr Grant, wasn’t it? I’ve met him; you couldn’t have been in better hands. But I’d like you to tell me how you feel now and then perhaps I might take a look at you?’

He took his time, listening patiently to Mr Paige’s vague recital of how he felt. ‘Of course, I’m aware that I may have another heart attack at any time, but I feel well; I find it most restful living here and I have my writing, and possibly later on I shall be able to assist Mr Milton from time to time should he wish it.’

Dr Lovell listened gravely and said presently, ‘Well, if I might take a look?’

That done, he sat back in his chair. ‘As far as I can judge you are in excellent shape. I shall write you up for some different pills and I advise you to take a walk each day. Well wrapped up and for half an hour. Taking reasonable precautions you should be able to enjoy a normal life.’

‘Splendid. I feel a fraud that you should visit me; I could quite well come to your surgery.’

‘Better that I look in on you from time to time, but let me know if you are worried about anything.’

‘Indeed I will; Matilda can always take a message. I hope she is proving satisfactory? She seems very happy working at your surgery. Perhaps she will meet some young people once she gets to know the village. She leads a quiet life and, of course, she is indispensable to my wife here in the house.’ Mr Paige nodded contentedly. ‘We are indeed lucky to have such a caring daughter.’

The doctor, who almost never thought of Matilda, felt a sudden pang of pity for her, destined to play the role of dutiful daughter—and why was she indispensable to her mother?

‘Your wife is an invalid?’

‘No, no, nothing like that, but she has always been delicate—her nerves.’

So the doctor was forewarned when he found Mrs Paige waiting for him in the sitting-room doorway.

She held out a hand. ‘Dr Lovell, so good of you to come. I do worry so much about my husband; it upsets me so. My wretched nerves…’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’m not at all strong and having to move here to this poky little house has upset me, too. My husband loves it and so does Matilda, so I suppose I must learn to make a new life. They are both content with so little.’

He said blandly, ‘I’m sure you will be glad to know that Mr Paige is doing well. I’ve advised him to go out for a short time each day for a brisk walk.’

‘Such a pity we gave up the car. But, of course, he doesn’t drive any more and I have never learned.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Silly me.’

‘Your daughter drives?’

‘Matilda? Oh, yes, but there was no point in keeping the car just for her. Won’t you come and sit down for a while?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t stay; I’m on my afternoon round.’ He smiled—a professional smile with no warmth—and shook hands and went out of the open door into the garden.

Matilda was still raking leaves but when she saw him she went to meet him. ‘Father? He’s all right? I won’t keep you; you are on your visits, aren’t you?’

She went with him to his car and he said, ‘He’s pretty fit. I’ll give you some pills for him and please see that he walks for a while each day. Let me know if you are worried.’ His smile was kind.

He got in and drove away with a casual nod and she watched the grey Bentley slide away down the lane. She thought about the smile; he had looked quite different for a moment. She wondered what he was really like beneath his calm, professional face. Would she ever find out? He was courteous towards her but in a cool, offhand way which daunted her; quite obviously he had no wish to add warmth to their relationship.

And quite right too, reflected Matilda that evening, nodding her sensible head. If I were engaged to marry someone I wouldn’t bother with anyone else. She wished very much that she could meet his fiancée, for, loving him as she did, it was important to her that he should be happy.

‘I am a fool,’ said Matilda, addressing Rastus, making the pastry for a steak and kidney pie. The butcher’s van called twice a week in the village and it was a meal that her father enjoyed. Rastus gave her a long, considering look and turned his back.

There was always pay day to cheer her up. She prudently paid most of her wages into the bank and crossed the street to the shop, intent on buying one or two extras for the larder. She also needed tights and toothpaste, and Mrs Simpkins stocked a certain shampoo guaranteed to bring out the highlights on one’s hair.

The shop was quite full. Matilda wasn’t the only one to be paid on a Friday, and Mrs Simpkins was doing a brisk trade, enjoying a good gossip at the same time. Matilda, waiting her turn, listened to the odd snippets of gossip. Bill Gates up at Hill Farm had had to have the vet out to one of his cows. Triplets, doing well. Time he had a bit of luck. There had been a small fire out at Pike’s place—a chip pan left on the stove. ‘And what do you expect from that Maisie Coffin? She bain’t no housewife…’ There were matronly nods all round in agreement and Matilda felt a pang of sympathy for Maisie.

‘Coming this weekend, so I hear?’ said a stout matron, waiting for her bacon to be sliced. ‘Staying with Dr Lovell, of course, bringing that brother of hers with her.’

Matilda edged a little nearer, anxious not to miss anything.

‘Time they married,’ said another voice. ‘Though she is not to my liking, mind you. A real town lady; don’t want nothing to do with the likes of us.’

There was a murmur of agreement. ‘But pretty as a picture,’ said another voice.

Mrs Simpkins spoke up. ‘Men don’t want a pretty picture for a wife; they wants a wife to make an ’ome for ’im and kiddies. And ’im such a good man, too.’

There was a collective sigh of regret and Matilda wondered what the doctor would say if he could hear the gossip about him. She didn’t think that he would mind; he would be amused. And he had no need to worry; he was well liked and respected. In the eyes of the village he was on a par with the Reverend Mr Milton.

Matilda bought her tights and toothpaste and a hand cream Mrs Simpkins assured her was just the thing if she was going to do a lot of gardening. She added back bacon, a cauliflower, cooking apples and a packet of chocolate biscuits to her purchases, answered Mrs Simpkins’ questions as to life at the surgery and how her mother and father were.

‘If the weather’s all right, I hope Father will be able to come to church on Sunday,’ said Matilda. ‘And, of course, Mother will be with him. Mr Milton has kindly offered to drive them to church.’

‘You too?’

‘Well, yes, I hope so…’

Mrs Simpkins nodded. ‘Time you got around a bit and met a few of us. Church is as good a place as any.’

Matilda said that, yes, she was quite right, and went off home. It was a dry day and she would be able to get into the garden. Her mother, with the prospect of going to church on Sunday, was happy. She would meet some of the people Mrs Milton had mentioned and it was a splendid opportunity for people in the village to get to know them. She fell to wondering what she should wear until Mr Paige said gently, ‘My dear, we are going to church, not a social gathering.’ He smiled lovingly at her and turned to Matilda. ‘My dear, a man is coming to reconnect the telephone on Monday; your mother—we both feel it is a necessity.’

‘Yes, Father. Did you have a letter about it?’

‘Yes, it’s on my desk, I believe. I should have thought that it could have been done without cost for there has been a telephone here previously, but it seems there is a payment to make.’

Matilda, finding it buried under a pile of books, saw that if she had had any ideas about spending next week’s wages on anything she could forget them. And, to be on the safe side, she warned her mother that that particular bill would have to be paid at once. News which Mrs Paige took with some annoyance. ‘I was hoping that you could lend me some money; I simply must have a few things. I’ll pay you back when your father gets his pension.’

‘I’m sorry, Mother; once the bills are paid…’

‘Bills, bills, why can’t they wait? Really, Matilda, you’re nothing but a prig—too good to be true. I suppose you tell everyone that you hand over your money each week because it’s your saintly duty to do so.’

Matilda said quietly, ‘No, I don’t tell anyone, Mother.’ She sighed. ‘I expect you’re right. I’m not quite sure what a prig is exactly, but it sounds like me. I’ve been a disappointment to myself. I should have liked to have been pretty and clever and well dressed, I should have liked the chance to go dancing and have fun, but there was always some reason why I didn’t—helping Father in the parish, taking over most of the household chores so that you had more time to be the vicar’s wife and any chance I might have had to leave home and get a job is finally squashed, isn’t it?’

She saw from her mother’s face that she wasn’t really listening. She said woodenly, ‘I’m going into the garden.’

Digging the flowerbeds, cutting back overgrown shrubs, grubbing up weeds helped, and all the while she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks while she sniffed and grizzled. But she felt better presently and when she went indoors she looked very much as usual.

On Saturday morning she walked down to the village armed with the grocery list. It was a long one and she saw that she would have to supplement the housekeeping with some of her own money.

‘Let me know how much you spent,’ her mother had said. ‘I’ll let you have it back when your father gives me the month’s housekeeping.’

Matilda was walking back, with two plastic shopping bags weighing her down, and had reached the doctor’s house when its handsome door was opened and three people emerged—the doctor, a short, thick-set man, a good deal younger than he, and a young woman. A very handsome one, too, Matilda saw out of the corner of her eye. She was tall and fair and slim and dressed in the height of fashion. Not quite suitable for Much Winterlow, reflected Matilda, allowing herself to be catty, but the woman was distinctly eye-catching.

They came down the short path to the gate set in the iron railings separating the house from the street, and had reached it as Matilda drew level with it. The doctor wished her good morning. ‘Been shopping?’ he asked.

Well, of course; any idiot could see that, thought Matilda. But he was being polite. She said ‘Yes,’ and ‘Good morning, Doctor,’ and walked on.

She wasn’t out of earshot when she heard the young woman’s voice—well modulated but carrying. ‘What a quaint little thing,’ she remarked.

And what had she meant by that? reflected Matilda. She had reached the field and could utter her thoughts out loud. ‘I’m plain and a bit dowdy, I suppose, but otherwise I look as normal as anyone else. Well, I shan’t let it upset me.’

All the same she dressed carefully for church on Sunday—her good suit of timeless cut, and the small felt hat which went with it. Her gloves and shoes had seen better days but they were good and she didn’t need a handbag; she tucked her collection money into her glove.

Mrs Milton came early to fetch them and since Matilda was not quite ready, her mother and father were driven away in the car and she walked to the village, getting to the church just as the bell ceased.

The congregation was quite large and she saw that her mother and father were sitting in one of the front pews with Mrs Milton, but her plan to slip into a pew at the back of the church was frustrated by her mother who had turned round and seen her. When she reached the pew she saw the doctor and his guests sitting on the opposite side of the aisle just behind them. She had only a glimpse as she went past but it was enough to see that the girl with him was the picture of elegance…

Matilda reminded herself that she was in church as she said her prayers and sang the hymns and listened to the sermon, but once the service was over and they were outside in the churchyard, meeting various people kind Mrs Milton was introducing to her mother and father, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on the doctor and his companions, standing close by, talking to Lady Truscott. She edged away from them and took shelter behind Mrs Milton, only to find the two groups merging.

Mrs Milton said, ‘Of course you’ve met Mr and Mrs Paige, haven’t you? And Matilda works for you.’

She looked enquiringly at him and he said easily, ‘Two friends of mine, spending the weekend: Lucilla Armstrong and her brother Guy.’

He turned to look at them. ‘Mrs Milton, the vicar’s wife, and the Reverend Mr Paige and Mrs Paige—and their daughter, Matilda.’

Lucilla acknowledged the introductions with a cool nod. ‘We saw you yesterday.’ Her eyes roamed over Matilda’s person. ‘I wondered who you were.’

Matilda said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘I’d been to do the shopping. I’m surprised that you remembered me. I must have looked quaint laden down with plastic bags.’ She smiled sweetly and the doctor choked back a laugh. Miss Matilda Paige had revealed an unexpected side of her nature—or was he mistaken? Had her remark been as guileless as her ordinary face?

There was polite talk for a few more minutes before Mrs Milton said, ‘We mustn’t stand around too long. I’m going to drive Mr and Mrs Paige back home—and you too, of course, Matilda.’ She smiled at the circle of faces around her.

‘I hope you have a pleasant weekend here. I’m sure it’s good for Henry to relax from his work.’

Henry, thought Matilda, taking care not to look at him. A nice old-fashioned English name. She looked at his other guest instead. Guy Armstrong was good-looking, she conceded, but he had a weak chin and he laughed too much; besides, by the time he was forty he would be fat…

She added her polite goodbyes to everyone else’s and got into Mrs Milton’s car, sitting in the back with her father because her mother wanted to ask about some extra committee Mrs Milton had suggested that she might like to join.

And back home over lunch, while her mother talked animatedly of the people she had met at church and the prospect of a social life even if limited to the village, Matilda had ample free time to think about Dr Lovell. She thought about Lucilla, too, who would be an ideal wife for him. She was not as young as Matilda had first thought—indeed, Lucilla must be edging very close to thirty—but she was so beautifully cared for that no man would believe that… And, of course, her lovely clothes helped.

I’m jealous, thought Matilda, but I can’t help that. I should be glad that he has found someone who will make him happy.

She went to the kitchen to wash up, while her mother, still happily making plans, went with her father to the sitting room.

‘Perhaps I should find another job.’ Matilda addressed Rastus, who gave her a considering look before tucking into his dinner. ‘But if I did I’d not see him, would I? And I couldn’t bear that. Of course when they marry she will get me the sack. She doesn’t like me, which is silly, for I’m hardly a rival, am I?’

Rastus, nicely full, sat and stared at her. ‘You’re not much help, are you?” said Matilda.

It was pouring with rain on Monday morning. Matilda, wringing herself dry before she opened the surgery door, mopped her face and tugged her wet hair back into a semblance of tidiness and, still a bit damp, got out the notes for the morning’s patients. She then opened the door, casting a quick look round the waiting room as she did so. It was spotlessly clean and the chrysanthemums she had brought from the garden made a cheerful spot of colour beside the tidy pile of magazines on the table; the place was nicely warm too.

The first patients arrived, shedding wet macs, umbrellas and leaving muddy marks on the floor, and punctually at eight o’clock the doctor opened his door and requested the first patient.

By the time the last patient had left it was well past ten o’clock. Matilda started to tidy the place, lock away the notes, rearrange the magazines and collect up forgotten gloves, a scarf or two and a child’s plastic toy, and, tucked away in a corner, a shopping bag of groceries. She would take it over to Mrs Simpkins’ shop since the surgery door would be locked…

The door opened and the doctor stood looking at her.

‘You had better have a cup of coffee before you go,’ he said briskly.

Matilda put the shopping bag on the table. ‘Thank you, Doctor, but I’d rather not stop.’

‘You mustn’t allow hurt pride to interfere with common sense,’ he observed. ‘Far be it from me to send you out into this weather without so much as a warm drink inside you.’

‘Hurt pride?’ said Matilda, and then added, ‘Oh, the first morning when you told me not to watch the clock. Oh, that’s all right; I’m not one to bear a grudge!’

She smiled and went past him into the surgery where the coffee tray stood on his desk.

‘You are happy working here?’ asked Dr Lovell, taking his coffee and offering her a biscuit from the tin.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘It is rather a quiet life for you,’ went on the doctor. ‘Miss Armstrong wondered if you found life here dull.’

‘How kind of her to concern herself about me,’ said Matilda in a quiet voice which gave away none of the powerful rage engulfing her. The interfering busybody… A first step towards getting her the sack.

‘She pointed out that you are very young for such a dull job. Of course Miss Brimble was elderly.’

‘As long as you are satisfied with my work,’ said Matilda, ‘I wish to stay here. And if I stay long enough I’ll be elderly like Miss Brimble! Won’t I?’

She put down her coffee cup. ‘Is there anything you would like me to do before I go?’

‘No, I think not.’

‘Thank you for the coffee. I’ll be here this evening.’

She skipped through the door, locked up and went out into the rain, crossing the road to the shop.

‘Someone left their groceries at the surgery,’ she told Mrs Simpkins. ‘Shall I leave the bag here? Or if you know who the owner is I could take it.’

‘Bless you, miss; that’s a kind thought. It’s old Mrs Harding’s weekly shopping. Lives just down the street, number fourteen on the other side. She’s that forgetful. If it’s not troubling you…’

Mrs Simpkins leaned comfortably across the counter. ‘Saw you in church,’ she said. ‘Very nice you looked, too—a sight better than that madam with our doctor. Mrs Inch— ’is ’ousekeeper, you know—told me she acted like she was in an ’otel. Can’t think what ’e sees in ’er.’

‘She’s quite beautiful,’ said Matilda. ‘I’ll have a piece of tasty cheese, Mrs Simpkins, and some of those dry cheese biscuits.’

Mrs Simpkins reached for the cheese. ‘Bin inside ’is ’ouse? Lovely, so I’m told—furniture ’anded down from way back in the family. Bin in the village for years and years. ’E don’t need to earn ’is living, of course; plenty of family money as you might say. A fine catch for that Miss Armstrong.’

She reached up for a packet of biscuits. ‘I hear your mum’s going to Lady Truscott’s for the charity committee meeting. Don’t see much of ’er in the village, though. Poorly, is she, like your dad?’

‘No, no, Mother’s very well, but you know how it is when you move house. But we’ve settled in nicely and my father is so much better now that he has retired.’

Matilda said goodbye, and left to deliver the shopping bag, then hurry home in the rain. Mrs Simpkins, watching her go, thought what a dull life she must lead with two elderly parents and no young man.

Another week went by and another pay day, and even after bolstering up the housekeeping purse and paying the small outstanding debts Matilda had some money. True, her mother had wheedled some of it for herself so that she might go to Taunton once again. She must look her best when she went to Lady Truscott’s, she’d pointed out; she would make do with the clothes she had but her hair must be trimmed and set and a few highlights added. Surely Matilda could understand that. ‘And really you have nothing to spend your money on, Matilda. There’s nothing to be done about your hair except bundle it up like you do, and you don’t need to look fashionable. No one sees you at the surgery and you’ve got that winter coat once it gets really cold.’

All of which was perfectly true. Matilda said nothing for the simple reason that if she did she might say something she would regret afterwards.

But on the following Tuesday, her day free until evening surgery, she took the local bus to Taunton. She hadn’t told her mother or father that she was going until she’d taken them their early morning tea.

‘That’s right, my dear,’ said her father. ‘You go and have a pleasant day. Have you sufficient money?’

She kissed the top of his head. ‘Yes, thank you, Father.’

There was no chance to say more for her mother had sat bolt upright in bed. ‘You’re going to Taunton? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone with you; I need several things. How thoughtless of you, Matilda—and why do you want to go?’

‘To shop,’ said Matilda, ‘and I must go now or I’ll miss the bus. I’ll be back before tea.’

‘I should feel mean, but I don’t,’ said Matilda to herself, hurrying down to the bus stop outside Mrs Simpkins’. There were several people there already, and the doctor, standing at his dining-room window, watched her join the little group. He thought idly that if he had known she had wanted to go to Taunton he would have given her a lift for he would be at the hospital for most of the day. He turned away and went to eat his breakfast.

Matilda hadn’t much money but she knew what she wanted. The doctor only saw her during surgery hours, so it made sense to make herself as attractive as possible during that time. Well, not sense, actually, since he never looked at her, but even if she had no hope that he would like her that wasn’t going to stop her from doing something about her looks.

Silly, really, thought Matilda, making for the shops.

It would have to be Marks & Spencer; she hadn’t enough money for any of the smart boutiques. She would go there first, anyway…

Maybe the doctor would never look at her; she would still find solace in the wearing of the grey jersey dress she found almost at once. It was suitably short but not too much so and it had a white collar and pretty buttons, and since it was jersey it wouldn’t crease.

And there was some money left over—enough for a navy sweater to wear with her last year’s pleated skirt. She checked the money in her purse then, had a cup of coffee and a roll, and went in search of something tasty for supper, as well as the boiled sweets her father liked to suck while he worked and a tiny bottle of the perfume her mother liked.

By then it was time to get the bus back to Much Winterlow.

CHAPTER THREE

THE bus went from the castle buildings and Matilda had overlooked the fact that she had walked some distance from it. She hurried now; there was no other bus; it was a once-weekly event. Much Winterlow was far too isolated to merit more than that and how would she get back if she missed it? She broke into a run, much hampered by her parcels.

Dr Lovell, driving himself home after a day at Trinity Hospital, caught sight of her as he turned the car into East Street from North Street. She was dancing with impatience, waiting for the lights to allow her to cross over to the bus depot, now tantalisingly close. He turned the car into the bus park and stopped by the bus. He opened his door and got out as she came galloping along.

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