“You are easily the most beautiful woman here, Beatrice.

“Lift your chin, throw your shoulders back, and do me proud.”

She was so surprised that for a moment she didn’t do anything at all, and when she looked up at him he was smiling.

After that, the evening was a thundering success.

It was late as they drove back to the hotel, and there were very few people in the foyer. They left the doorman to take the car to the garage, and wandered across the carpeted floor toward the staircase.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” said Beatrice, suddenly shy.

The doctor took her hand and turned her round to face him.

“You enjoyed yourself? Good.” He sounded remote. “A change of scene is the best cure for a damaged heart. It seems to be working well.”

It was as if he were reminding her that she was there as one of his patients…. She suddenly wanted to cry without knowing why, but she swallowed back the tears and said very politely, “I’m sure you’re right. Good night.” And she walked, with a very straight back, upstairs.

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.

Hilltop Tryst
Betty Neels

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE SUN, rising gloriously on the morning of Midsummer’s Day, turned the swelling Dorset hills into a wide vista of golden green fields and clumps of trees under a blue sky. Miles away, traffic along the dual carriageway thundered on its way to the west, unheard and unheeded in the quiet countryside around the village of Hindley, its inhabitants for the most part still sleeping in their beds. Farm workers were already about their work, though; the bleating of sheep and the sounds of horses and cattle were blotted out from time to time by the sound of a tractor being started up; but on the brow of the hill rising behind the village these sounds were faint, the bird-song was louder.

Half-way up the hill a girl sat, leaning comfortably against the trunk of a fallen tree, a shaggy dog sprawled beside her. She had drawn up her knees, clasped her arms around them and rested her chin on them—a pretty, rounded chin, but determined too, belying the wide, gentle mouth and the soft brown eyes with their thick black lashes. Her hair was long and brown, plaited and hanging over one shoulder. She flung it back with a well-shaped hand and spoke to the dog.

‘There—the sun’s rising on the longest day of the year, Knotty. Midsummer Madness—the high tide of the year, a day for fairies and elves, a day for making a wish. Do you suppose if I made one it might come true?’

Knotty, usually obliging with his replies, took no notice, but growled softly, cocked his large, drooping ears and allowed his teeth to show. He got to his feet and she put a restraining hand on his collar, turning to look behind her as she caught the sound of steady feet and someone coming along, whistling.

Knotty barked as a man left the line of trees and came towards them. A giant of a man, dressed in an open-necked shirt and elderly trousers, his pale hair shone in the sunlight and he walked with an easy self-assurance. Tucked under one arm was a small dog, a Jack Russell, looking bedraggled.

He stopped by the girl, towering over her so that she was forced to crane her neck to see his face. ‘Good morning. Perhaps you can help me?’ He had put down a balled fist for Knotty to examine, ignoring the teeth.

‘I found this little chap down a rabbit-hole—couldn’t get out and probably been there for some time. Is there a vet around here?’ He smiled at her. ‘The name’s Latimer— Oliver Latimer.’

The girl got to her feet, glad for once that she was a tall girl, and very nearly able to look him in the face. ‘Beatrice Browning. That’s Nobby—Miss Mead’s dog. She’ll be so very glad, he’s been missing for a couple of days—everyone has been out looking for him. Where was he?’

‘About a mile on the other side of these woods—there’s a stretch of common land… The vet?’

‘You’d better come with me. Father will be up by now; he’s leaving early to visit a couple of farms.’

She started down the hill towards the village below. ‘You’re out early,’ she observed.

‘Yes. You too. It’s the best time of the day, isn’t it?’

She nodded. They had left the hill behind them and were in a narrow rutted lane, the roofs of the village very close.

‘You live here?’ he wanted to know. He spoke so casually that she decided that he was merely making polite conversation.

‘My home is here; I live with an aunt in Wilton.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Well, not all the time—I’m staying with her until she can get another companion.’ She went on walking. ‘Actually she’s a great-aunt.’

She frowned; here she was, handing out information which couldn’t be of the slightest interest to this man. She said austerely, ‘What a splendid day it is. Here we are.’ Her father’s house was of a comfortable size surrounded by a large, overgrown garden, and with a paddock alongside for any animals he might need to take under his care. She led the way around the side of the house, so in through the back door, and found her father sitting on the doorstep drinking tea. He wished her good morning and looked enquiringly at her companion. ‘A patient already—bless me, that’s Nobby! Hurt?’

‘Nothing broken, I fancy. Hungry and dehydrated, I should imagine.’

‘Mr Latimer found him down a rabbit-hole the other side of Billings Wood,’ said Beatrice. ‘My father,’ she added rather unnecessarily.

The two men shook hands, and Nobby was handed over to be examined by her father. Presently he said, ‘He seems to have got off very lightly. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t go straight back to Miss Mead.’

‘If you will tell me where to go, I’ll take him as I walk back.’

Beatrice had poured the tea into two mugs. ‘Have some tea first,’ she offered. ‘Do you want to phone anyone? This must have delayed you…’

‘Stay for breakfast?’ suggested her father. ‘My wife will be down directly—I want to be well away before eight o’clock.’ He glanced up. ‘Far to go?’

‘Telfont Evias—I’m staying with the Elliotts.’

‘George Elliott? My dear chap, give him a ring and say you’re staying for breakfast. It’s all of three miles. Beatrice, will you show him where the telephone is? You can take Nobby back while breakfast is being cooked.’

Miss Mead lived right in the village in one of the charming cottages which stood on either side of the main street. Trees edged the cobbled pavement and the small front gardens were a blaze of colour. Mr Latimer strolled along beside Beatrice, Nobby tucked under one arm, talking of this and that in his deep voice. Quite nice, but a bit placid, Beatrice decided silently, peeping sideways at his profile. He was undoubtedly good-looking as well as being extremely large. Much, much larger than James, the eldest son of Dr Forbes, who had for some time now taken it for granted that she would marry him when he asked her…

She decided not to think about him for the moment, and instead pointed out the ancient and famous inn on the corner of the street and suggested that they might cross over, since Miss Mead’s little cottage was on the other side.

Miss Mead answered their knock on her door. She was tall and thin and elderly, and very ladylike. She wore well-made skirts and blouses, and covered them with cardigans of a suitable weight according to the time of year, and drove a small car. She was liked in the village, but guardedly so, for she had an acid tongue if annoyed.

But now her stern face crumpled into tearful delight. ‘Nobby—where have you been?’ She took him from Mr Latimer and hugged him close.

‘You found him. Oh, I’m so grateful, I can never thank you enough—I’ve hardly slept…’

She looked at them in turn. ‘He’s not hurt? Has your father seen him, Beatrice?’

‘Yes, Miss Mead. Mr Latimer found him down a rabbit-hole and carried him here.’

‘He seems to have come to no harm,’ interpolated Mr Latimer in his calm voice. ‘Tired and hungry and thirsty—a couple of days and he’ll be quite fit again.’

‘You’re so kind—really, I don’t know how to thank you…’

‘No need, Miss Mead. He’s a nice little chap.’ He turned to Beatrice. ‘Should we be getting back? I don’t want to keep your father waiting.’

A bit cool, she thought, agreeing politely, wishing Miss Mead goodbye and waiting while she shook hands with her companion and thanked him once again. Perhaps his placid manner hid arrogance. Not that it mattered, she reflected, walking back with him and responding politely to his gentle flow of talk; they were most unlikely to meet again. A friend of the Elliotts, staying for a day or two, she supposed.

He proved to be a delightful guest. Her mother sat him down beside her and plied him with breakfast and a steady flow of nicely veiled questions, which he answered without telling her anything at all about himself. That he knew the Elliotts was a fact, but where he came from and what he did somehow remained obscure. All the same, Mrs Browning liked him, and Beatrice’s three sisters liked him too, taking it in turns to engage him in conversation. And he was charming to them; Ella, fifteen and still at school, Carol, on holiday from the stockbroker’s office where she worked in Salisbury, and Kathy, getting married in a few weeks’ time…

They were all so pretty, thought Beatrice without rancour; she was pretty herself, but at twenty-six and as the eldest she tended to regard them as very much younger than herself, partly because they were all cast in a smaller mould and could get into each other’s size tens, while she was forced to clothe her splendid proportions in a size fourteen.

Mr Latimer didn’t overstay his welcome; when her father got up from the table he got up too, saying that he must be on his way. He thanked Mrs Browning for his breakfast, bade her daughters goodbye and left the house with Mr Browning, bidding him goodbye too as they reached the Land Rover parked by the gate and setting off at a leisurely pace in the direction of Telfont Evias.

‘What a very nice man,’ observed Mrs Browning, peering at his retreating back from the kitchen window. ‘I do wonder…’ She sighed silently and glanced at Beatrice, busy clearing the breakfast-table. ‘I don’t suppose we shall see him again—I mean, Lorna Elliott has never mentioned him.’

‘Perhaps he’s not a close friend.’ Ella, on her way to get the school bus, kissed her mother and ran down the drive.

And after that no one had much more to say about him; there was the washing-up to do, beds to make, rooms to Hoover and dust and lunch to plan, and as well as that there were the dogs and cats to feed and the old pony in the paddock to groom.

Mr Browning came back during the morning, saw several patients, just had his coffee and then dashed away again to see a sick cow; and at lunch the talk was largely about Great-Aunt Sybil who lived in Wilton and to whom Beatrice was acting as a companion until some luckless woman would be fool enough to answer her advertisement. Beatrice had been there three weeks already, and that, she pointed out with some heat, was three weeks too long. She was only at home now because the old lady had taken herself off to London to be given her yearly check-up by the particular doctor she favoured. She was due back the next day, and Beatrice had been told to present herself at her aunt’s house in the early afternoon.

‘If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s family, I wouldn’t go,’ declared Beatrice.

‘It can’t be for much longer, dear,’ soothed her mother, ‘and I know it’s asking a lot of you, but who else is there? Ella’s too young, Carol’s due back in two days’ time and Kathy has such a lot to do before the wedding.’

Beatrice cast her fine eyes to the ceiling. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, and no one applies for the job, I’d better get married myself.’

There was an instant chorus of, ‘Oh, has James proposed?’

And Kathy added, ‘I mean properly, and not just taking you for granted.’

‘He’s not said a word,’ said Beatrice cheerfully, ‘and even if he did I wouldn’t…’ She paused, quite surprised that she had meant exactly that.

Until that very moment she hadn’t bothered too much about James, while at the back of her mind was the knowledge that when he felt like it he would ask her to marry him, or at least allow his intentions to show, but now she was quite sure that she wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth.

‘Oh, good,’ said Kathy. ‘He’s not at all your sort, you know.’

‘No. I wonder why I didn’t see that?’

‘Well, dear—he may never ask you,’ observed her mother.

‘That’s just what I mean,’ went on Kathy, ‘you would have dwindled into a long engagement while he deliberated about the future, and then got married without a scrap of romance.’

‘Great-Aunt Sybil offers an alternative, doesn’t she?’ Beatrice laughed. ‘I only hope she liked this doctor she went to see. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if there were dozens of replies to her advert for a companion? Then I can come back home and help Father.’

Her father drove her over to Wilton the next day after an early lunch. ‘I’m sorry about this, love,’ he said as they drove the few miles to the town, ‘but your great-aunt is my mother’s sister, and I did promise that I’d keep an eye on her.’

‘And quite right too,’ said Beatrice stoutly. ‘Families should stick together.’

Her aunt’s house was Georgian, its front door opening on to the street which divided a square, tree-lined and ringed around by similar roomy old houses. Beatrice kissed her father goodbye, picked up her case and pulled the bell by the door. Mrs Shadwell, the sour-faced housekeeper, answered it and stood aside so that she might go in, and with a final wave to her father Beatrice went into the dim and gloomy hall.

Her aunt hadn’t returned yet; she went to her room and unpacked her few things, and went downstairs again to open the windows and the glass doors on to the garden at the back of the house; her aunt would order them all closed again the moment she came into the house, but for the moment the warm sun lit the heavily furnished room. Too nice to stay indoors, decided Beatrice, and skipped outside. The garden was quite large and mostly lawn bordered by shrubs and a few trees. She went and sat down with her back to one of them and allowed her thoughts to turn to Mr Latimer. A nice man, she decided; a thought dreamy, perhaps, and probably he had a bad temper once roused. She wondered what he did for a living—a bank manager? A solicitor? Something to do with television? Her idle thoughts were interrupted by a sudden surge of movement within the house. Her aunt had returned.

Beatrice stayed where she was; she could hear her aunt’s voice raised in umbrage and she sighed. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she were paid for her companionship—if one could call it that: finding things, running up and down stairs with knitting, books, a scarf, answering the telephone, reading aloud to her aunt until that lady dozed off, only to wake a few minutes later and demand that she should continue reading and why had she stopped? Companion, Beatrice decided after a few days of this, wasn’t the right word—there was no time to be a companion—who should have been someone to chat to and share jokes with and take little jaunts with on fine days. The word was slave.

Her aunt’s voice, demanding to know where Miss Beatrice was, got her slowly to her feet and into the drawing-room.

‘I’m here, Aunt.’ She had a nice, quiet voice and a pleasant, calm manner. ‘Did you have a good trip?’

‘No, I did not. It was a waste of my time and my money—that old fool who saw me told me that I was as sound as a bell.’

She glared at Beatrice, who took no notice, but merely asked, ‘But why don’t you believe him, Aunt?’

‘Because I know better; I am in constant pain, but I’m not one to moan and groan; I suffer in silence. You cannot possibly understand, a great healthy girl like you. I suppose you’ve been at home, idling away the days.’

‘That’s right, Aunt,’ said Beatrice cheerfully. ‘Nothing to do but help Father in the surgery, feed the animals, groom the pony and do some of the housework and the cooking…’

‘Don’t be impertinent, Beatrice! You may go upstairs to my room and make sure that Alice is unpacking my case correctly, and when you come down I wish you to get the telephone number of a heart specialist— No, on second thoughts you had better open the letters. There are bound to be answers to my advertisement.’

But from the little pile of letters Beatrice opened there were only three, and they didn’t sound at all hopeful. The first one made it a condition that she should bring her cat with her, the second stipulated that she should have every other weekend free and the third expected the use of a car.

Beatrice offered them to her aunt without comment, and after they had been read and consigned to the wastepaper basket she observed, ‘Perhaps if you offered a larger salary…?’

Her aunt’s majestic bosom swelled alarmingly. ‘The salary I offer is ample. What does my companion need other than a comfortable home and good food?’

‘Clothes,’ suggested Beatrice, ‘make-up and so on, money for presents, probably they have a mother or father they have to help out, holidays…’

‘Rubbish. Be good enough to take these letters to the post.’

A respite, even though brief; Beatrice lingered in the little town for as long as she dared, and when she got back she was rebuked for loitering. ‘And I have made an appointment with this heart specialist. I shall see him on Wednesday next and you will accompany me. He has rooms in Harley Street.’ She added in her loud, commanding voice, ‘Jenkins will drive us, and I intend to visit several of these agencies in the hope that I may find someone suitable to be my companion.’

‘What a good idea. There’s bound to be someone on their books. Will you interview them here or there, Aunt?’

‘You may safely leave such decisions to me.’ Great-Aunt Sybil turned a quelling eye upon her, only Beatrice took no notice of it; she was a sensible girl as well as a pretty one and had quickly learnt to ignore her aunt’s worse moments. There were plenty of Great-Aunt Sybils in the world and, tiresome though they were, they had families who felt it their duty to keep an eye on them. Only she hoped it wouldn’t be too long before she could go back home again, which thought led to her wondering how Miss Mead’s Nobby was doing and that led naturally to Mr Latimer. An interesting man, she reflected, if only because of his great size and good looks; she speculated as to his age and quickly married him off to a willowy blonde, small and dainty with everybody doing everything they could for her because of her clinging nature. There would be children too, a little girl and an older boy—two perhaps… She was forced to return to her prosaic world then, because her aunt wished for a glass of sherry. ‘And surely you can do that for me,’ she grumbled in her overpowering voice, ‘although you don’t look capable of anything, sitting there daydreaming.’

Beatrice poured the sherry, handed it to her aunt, then gave herself one, tossed it off and, feeling reckless, poured a second one. Great-Aunt Sybil vibrated with indignation. ‘Well, really, upon my word, Beatrice, what would your father say if he could see you now? Worse, what would that young man of yours think or say?’

‘James? He’s not my young man, Aunt Sybil, and I have no intention of marrying him, and I expect that Father would offer me a third glass,’ she answered politely and in a reasonable voice, which gave her aunt no opportunity to accuse her of impertinence…

That lady gave her a fulminating look; a paid companion would have been dismissed on the spot, but Beatrice was family and had every right to return home. She said in a conciliatory voice, ‘I dare say that you have had several opportunities to marry. You were a very pretty young girl and are still a pretty woman.’

‘Twenty-six on my last birthday, Aunt.’

Beatrice spoke lightly, but just lately faint doubts about her future were getting harder to ignore. Somehow the years were slipping by; until her sudden certainty that she couldn’t possibly marry James, she supposed that she had rather taken it for granted that she and James would marry, but now she knew that that wouldn’t do at all. She didn’t love him and she didn’t think he loved her. Perhaps she was never to meet a man who would love her and whom she could love. It was getting a bit late in the day, she thought wryly.

‘Time you were married and bringing up a family,’ declared Aunt Sybil tartly. ‘A woman’s work…’

And one which her aunt had never had to do, reflected Beatrice. Perhaps if she had had a husband and a handful of children, she might not have become such a trying old lady: always right, always advising people how to do things she knew nothing about, always criticising and correcting, expecting everyone to do what she wanted at a moment’s notice…

‘Well,’ said Beatrice naughtily, ‘when you find another companion and I can go home again, perhaps I’ll start looking for a husband.’

‘Do not be impertinent, Beatrice,’ was all her aunt said quellingly…

Wednesday came to break the monotony of the days, and since it was a lovely summer morning Beatrice got into a rather nice silky two-piece in a pale pearly pink, brushed her hair into a shining chignon, thrust her feet into high-heeled sandals and got into the elderly Daimler beside her aunt.

Her aunt eyed her with disapproval. ‘Really, my dear, you are dressed more in the manner of someone going to a garden party than a companion.’

‘But I’m not a companion,’ observed Beatrice sweetly. ‘I’m staying with you because you asked me to. And it’s a lovely day,’ she added, to clinch the matter.

‘We will lunch,’ stated Great-Aunt Sybil in a cross voice, ‘and visit some of these agencies. The sooner I can approve of a companion the better. You are becoming frivolous, Beatrice.’

Beatrice said meekly, ‘Yes, Aunt Sybil, perhaps I’m having a last fling before I dwindle into being an old maid.’

Jenkins drove them sedately Londonwards, and at exactly the right time deposited them outside a narrow Regency house in a row of similar narrow houses. Beatrice rang the bell and then followed her aunt’s majestic progress into a pleasant waiting-room, where they were greeted by an elderly receptionist and asked to sit down.

‘My appointment is for half-past eleven,’ pointed out Aunt Sybil, ‘and it is exactly that hour.’ She drew an indignant breath so that her corsets creaked.

‘That’s right, Miss Browning.’ The receptionist spoke smoothly. ‘But the doctor is engaged for the moment.’

‘I do not expect to be kept waiting.’

The receptionist smiled politely, picked up the telephone and became immersed in conversation. She was putting it down again when a door at the end of the room opened and a woman came out. Beatrice could hear her saying goodbye to someone on the other side of the door and sighed thankfully; any minute now and her aunt would be whisked away by the nurse who had come into the room.

‘You will accompany me,’ decreed her aunt. ‘I may need your support.’ She sailed in the wake of the nurse and was ushered through the door, and Beatrice, walking reluctantly behind her, came to a sudden halt. The eminent doctor, a cardiologist of the first rank, according to her aunt, coming forward to shake her aunt’s hand, was Mr Latimer.

A rather different Mr Latimer, though; this elegant man in his sober grey suit and spotless linen was a far cry from the casual walker in his old trousers and shirt. He showed no surprise at the sight of her, but greeted her aunt quietly and then waited with a slightly lifted eyebrow until Great-Aunt Sybil said testily, ‘Oh, this is a great-niece of mine. I have a delicate constitution and may require her support.’

Mr Latimer said ‘How do you do?’ to Beatrice with a blandness which led her to suppose that he had forgotten her completely, observed that he had an excellent nurse in attendance and asked in what way could he advise his patient?

‘You are a very young man,’ observed Miss Browning in a suspicious voice. ‘I trust that you are adequately trained to diagnose illness?’

Beatrice blushed and looked at her feet; her aunt was going to be awful.

‘If I might know the nature of your illness?’ asked Mr Latimer with just the right amount of professional dignity. He glanced at the folder on his desk, containing letters from various colleagues on the subject of Miss Browning.

Miss Browning fixed him with a cold stare. ‘I suffer great pain in my chest. It is at times unendurable, but I do not wish to bother those around me with complaints: I have learnt to conceal my suffering. I think I may say that I have more than my share of courage and patience. The pain is here,’ she patted her massive bosom gently, ‘and I will explain exactly…’

Which she did at great length, while Dr Latimer sat quietly watching her, though now and again he took a quick look at Beatrice, still examining her feet and wishing the ground would open beneath her.

Presently he interrupted her aunt’s flow of talk. ‘Yes. Well, Miss Browning, I think the best thing is for me to examine you. If you will go with Nurse, she will prepare you.’

Miss Browning swept out, pausing by Beatrice to beg her in ringing tones to come to her aid of she were to fall faint. ‘For this will be an ordeal.’

Beatrice mumbled and peeped across the room to where Dr Latimer sat behind his desk. He was looking at her and smiling, and after a moment she smiled back.

‘Don’t you miss your green fields and hills?’ he asked.

She nodded. After a moment she said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’

‘No? I rather feel it was inevitable that somehow we should meet.’

He got up in response to the buzzer on his desk and went to the examination-room, leaving her to wonder what on earth he meant.

She had plenty of time to ponder his words, for it was quite fifteen minutes before he came back, and there was nothing in his face to tell her what his examination had revealed. He sat down and began to write until after another five minutes his patient came back.

Miss Browning swept in on a tide of ill temper, sat herself down and addressed herself in quelling tones to the impassive man sitting behind his desk.

‘I very much doubt,’ began Great-Aunt Sybil, ‘if you are qualified to diagnose my particular illness. It seems to me that you have failed to appreciate my suffering.’

Dr Latimer appeared unworried. He said smoothly, ‘Miss Browning, you have a sound heart; your pain is caused by indigestion. I will give you a diet which, if you choose to follow it, will dispel the pain. From what you have told me, your diet is too rich. I will write to your doctor and inform him of my diagnosis.’

He stood up and went to her chair. ‘What a relief it must be to you that you are so splendidly healthy.’ He offered a hand, and she had perforce to take it. ‘Nurse will give you the diet sheet.’

He accompanied her to the door, and Beatrice was relieved to see that for once her aunt had met her match: Dr Latimer’s silky manners screened a steely intention to be in command of the situation. They were ushered out without Miss Browning having the time to utter any of the telling replies she might have had in mind.

The nurse had gone ahead to open the waiting-room door, and for a moment Beatrice and Dr Latimer were alone.

He held out a large, firm hand. ‘Goodbye for the present,’ he said.

‘Oh, do you intend to see my aunt again?’

‘Er—no—but we shall meet again.’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘You don’t live with your aunt?’

‘Heavens, no! Her companion left and I’m staying with her until we can find another one.’ She paused. ‘I did tell you.’

Aunt Sybil had turned at the doorway and was looking back at them. ‘Come at once, Beatrice. I am exhausted.’

‘Dear, oh, dear,’ murmured Dr Latimer at his most soothing, ‘we must see about that companion, mustn’t we?’

She thought that he was merely being comforting, but then, she didn’t know him well.

Lunch was a stormy meal, taken at her aunt’s favourite restaurant. Naturally it consisted of all the things Miss Browning had been advised not to eat, and while they ate she gave her opinion of doctors in general and Dr Latimer in particular. ‘He should be struck off,’ she declared.

‘Whatever for?’ asked Beatrice. ‘I thought he had beautiful manners.’

‘Pooh—any silly woman could have her head turned by the professional civility these men employ—I am able to see through such tricks.’

Beatrice poured the coffee. ‘Aunt Sybil, I think you might at least give his advice an airing…’

‘I shall do just as I see fit. We will go now to that agency I have written to; there must be any number of women needing work. Just look at the unemployment…’

But there was no one suitable, nor was there at the other two agencies they visited. Beatrice, a cheerful girl by nature, allowed herself to get despondent at the prospect of weeks of Great-Aunt Sybil’s irascible company.

Only it wasn’t to be weeks, after all. Three days after her aunt’s visit to Dr Latimer, a letter came. The writer, having seen Miss Browning’s advertisement, begged to apply for the post of companion, and was willing to present herself at an interview whenever it was convenient.

‘Let her come this afternoon,’ said Great-Aunt Sybil grandly. ‘She sounds a sensible woman.’

‘Well, she could hardly get here and back again today,’ Beatrice pointed out. ‘It’s a London address—besides, there’s the fare, she might not have it.’

‘I cannot think what these people do with their money.’

‘They don’t have any—or not much to do anything with.’

Her aunt frowned. ‘You have this habit of answering back, Beatrice—most unbecoming. Write a letter and tell her to come the day after tomorrow in the early afternoon. You had better take some money from my desk and enclose it.’

Beatrice, addressing the envelope to Miss Jane Moore, hoped fervently that she would be suitable.

It was obvious from the moment that she faced Great-Aunt Sybil in the drawing-room that she was not only suitable but quite capable of holding her own with the old lady. Polite but firm, she allowed Miss Browning to see that she had no intention of being a doormat—indeed, she stipulated that she should have regular hours of freedom and a day off each week—but she sweetened this by pointing out that she was able to undertake all secretarial duties, keep accounts, drive the car, and read aloud. ‘I also have some nursing skills,’ she added composedly.

Beatrice thought she looked exactly the right person to live with her aunt. Middle-aged, small and wiry, with her pepper and salt hair and a severe bun, Miss Moore exuded competence, good nature and firmness.

Whether she would be able to stand up to her great-aunt’s peevish ill humours was another matter. At the moment, at any rate, her aunt seemed more than satisfied. Miss Moore was engaged with the option of a month’s notice on either side, and agreed to come in two days’ time, Miss Browning’s good humour lasting long enough for her to arrange for Miss Moore to be collected with her luggage at the station.

‘So now you can go home,’ said Miss Browning ungratefully as she and Beatrice sat at dinner that evening. If Beatrice expected thanks, she got none, but that didn’t worry her; she telephoned her mother, packed her bag, and at the end of the next day returned home.

It was lovely to be back in her own room again, to unpack and then go down to the kitchen and help her mother get the supper.

‘Do you think she’ll last, this Miss Moore?’ asked her mother.

‘I think she might. I mean, Great-Aunt Sybil’s other companions have always been so timid, but not Miss Moore—one could think of her as a ward sister used to geriatrics—you know—quite unflustered, but very firm and kind.’

She paused in the enjoyable task of hulling strawberries. ‘I shall get up early tomorrow and take Knotty for a long walk before breakfast.’

‘Yes, dear. Your father will be glad to have you back to give a hand. Carol’s back in Salisbury and Kathy’s staying with the in-laws. Ella will be glad, too. You always help her so nicely with her Latin.’

Beatrice woke as the sun, not yet visible, began to lighten the cloudless sky. She was out of bed, had washed her face, got into an old cotton dress she kept for cleaning out the chicken house, tied back her hair and was in the kitchen within minutes. Knotty was waiting, and together they left the house and started to climb the hill. Knotty had bounded on ahead, and Beatrice, almost at the top, looked up to see why he was barking.

She wasn’t alone on the hill; Dr Latimer was there too, waiting for her.

CHAPTER TWO

BEATRICE gaped, half a dozen questions rushing to her tongue.

‘Later,’ said Dr Latimer. ‘Let us watch the sunrise first.’

They sat side by side with Knotty panting between them, while the sky in the east turned pink and gold, and the sun rose slowly between the distant hills. Only when the whole of its shining splendour was visible did Beatrice speak. ‘You don’t live here…?’ And then, ‘But it’s only just gone five o’clock.’

‘Miss Moore told me that you had returned home, and I knew that you would be here.’

How did he know? She let that pass for the moment. ‘Miss Moore—do you know her? She’s gone as companion to Great-Aunt Sybil.’

She turned her head to look at him, sweeping her hair over her shoulders out of the way. ‘Did you tell her about the job?’

He said placidly, ‘Yes. She is a retired ward sister who worked for me for several years. Not quite ready to sit back and do nothing much—it suits her to live with your aunt for the time being. She will be able to save every penny of the salary she gets—and I must admit that I found it remarkably poor. She intends to share a small house with a widowed sister, but it won’t be vacant for some months.’

‘She seemed awfully capable.’

‘Oh, indeed she is.’

He sat back with nothing more to say, and presently she asked, ‘Have you a day off?’

‘No, but no patients until noon. Do you suppose your mother would give me breakfast?’

‘I’m sure she will. There’s only Ella home, and unless Father’s been called out he hasn’t a surgery until half-past eight.’

‘You’re glad to be home?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a companion…’

‘You have no ambition to take up a career?’

She shook her head. ‘I suppose that years ago, when I was eighteen and full of ideas, I would have liked to train as a vet, but Father taught me a great deal and I like helping him. Ella’s too young, and anyway she’s not made up her mind what she wants to do, and Carol—she’s the brainy one and works in an office, and Kathy will be getting married in a month.’ She was silent for a moment, then, ‘I’m almost twenty-seven, a bit old to start on a career.’

‘But not too old to marry?’ He paused. ‘I feel sure that you must have had several opportunities. Dr Forbes did mention that his son and you…’

‘People make things up to suit themselves,’ declared Beatrice crossly. ‘James and I have known each other forever, but I have no wish to marry him. I keep saying so, too.’

‘Very tiresome for you,’ agreed her companion, and gave her a kindly smile, so that her ill humour went as quickly as it had come. ‘We had better go if we want breakfast…’

They went unhurriedly down the hill with Knotty cavorting around them, and so to the village and her home, carrying on a desultory conversation and on the best of terms with each other.

Early though it was, the village was stirring; Beatrice called cheerful good mornings as they went, not noticing the smiling, knowing looks exchanged behind her back. She was liked in the village, and although no one had actually said so it was generally thought that she was far too good for Dr Forbes’s son. Her companion, aware of the glances, gave no hint of having seen them, although his eyes danced with amusement.

Mrs Browning was breaking eggs into a large frying pan on the Aga, and bacon sizzled under the grill. She looked up as they went into the kitchen, added two more eggs and said happily, ‘Good morning. I do hope you’ve come to breakfast—such a satisfying meal. A lovely day again, isn’t it? Beatrice, make the toast, will you? Ella’s finishing her maths, and your father will be here directly.’ She dished the eggs expertly and put them to keep warm. ‘Are you on holiday, Dr Latimer?’

‘I only wish I were. I must be back in town by noon…’

‘Good heavens! All that way.’

‘I had a fancy to watch the sunrise.’

He took the knife from Beatrice and began to slice the loaf, and Mrs Browning, bursting with curiosity, sliced mushrooms into the frying pan, reflecting that he couldn’t possibly have driven down from London in time to see the sunrise, in which case, he must have spent the night somewhere nearby. After breakfast, when everyone had gone, she would phone the Elliotts… Lorna would surely know something about him. But her curiosity wasn’t to be satisfied; when everyone was out of the way Mrs Browning phoned her friend, only to discover that she was on the point of going out and had to leave the house on the instant. Mrs Browning put down the receiver with something of a thump.

Beatrice, helping her father with his morning surgery, was wondering about Dr Latimer too; it was two hours’ hard driving to get to London, and he had said that he had patients to see at noon. There had been no sign of a car; he must have had one, though, parked somewhere nearby—or did he live close by?

She had to hold a large, very cross cat while her father gave it an injection, her thoughts far away so that her father asked mildly, ‘Will you take Shakespeare back, my dear? Mrs Thorpe will be waiting for him… I want to see him in two weeks, so make an appointment, will you?’

She bore Shakespeare away to his doting mistress, made an appointment in her neat hand and went back to the surgery where a small boy was standing, clutching a pet rat. She didn’t care for rats or mice, but years of helping her father had inured her to them. All the same, she shuddered slightly as she took the animal from its anxious owner. There was nothing much wrong; advice as to diet and a few words of encouragement, and the small boy went away happy to be replaced by Major Digby with his Labrador. Since he and her father were old friends, a good deal of time was spent in talking about the good fishing locally, the chances against Farmer Bates planting sugar beet instead of winter greens and the vagaries of the weather. Beatrice, aware that she was no longer needed, left the two gentlemen, tidied the waiting-room and went along to the kitchen, where her mother was putting a batch of loaves to rise.

‘I wonder where he lives?’ she asked as Beatrice walked in. ‘I have no idea, Mother. London, I would suppose, since that was where Great-Aunt Sybil went to see him. Probably he likes driving long distances.’

Beatrice spoke rather tartly, and Mrs Browning gave her a quick look.

‘Oh, well,’ she observed, ‘we aren’t likely to see him again.’

She was wrong. It was exactly a week later that Mr Browning had a heart attack—very early in the morning, on his way back from checking Lady Lamborne’s pet donkey. Beatrice, coming down to make early morning tea, found him lying at the kitchen door. He was conscious, but cold and clammy and a dreadful grey colour, and when she felt for his pulse it was fast and faint. She wasn’t a girl to lose her head in an emergency; she put a cushion under his head, covered him with the old rug which was draped over one of the Windsor chairs, told him bracingly that he was going to be all right and went to phone Dr Forbes, fetched her mother and then went back to crouch beside her father.

Dr Forbes was there within ten minutes, listened to Beatrice’s calm voice, examined his old friend and told her to ring for an ambulance. ‘We’ll have to go to Salisbury,’ he told Mrs Browning. ‘I’ll give him an injection and we’ll keep him on oxygen.’ He patted her arm. ‘I think he’ll do, but it’s hard to tell for the moment. Thank heaven that Beatrice found him when she did.’

‘You stay with him while I put some things in a bag for him,’ said Beatrice. Her voice was quite steady, but her hands shook. ‘You’ll go with him? I’ll stay and sort things out here.’

She was back with the bag within minutes, and urged her mother to get what she needed, ready to go in the ambulance. Her father was quiet now, but he looked so ill that she felt sick with fright, although nothing showed of that upon her pale face. She held one limp hand in hers, and stared down at her father, oblivious of everything else, so that she didn’t see Dr Latimer get out of his car at the same time as the ambulance drew up.

A large, gentle hand on her shoulder made her look up. ‘Tell me what has happened, Beatrice.’ His voice was calm and matter of fact, so that she answered him readily.

‘Father—I found him here—Dr Forbes says he’s had a coronary thrombosis.’ She saw the ambulance for the first time. ‘He’s to go to Salisbury. Mother’s going with him.’

Her voice had been steady enough, only it didn’t sound like hers.

Dr Forbes had been talking to the ambulancemen; now he came to his patient. He paused when he saw Dr Latimer. ‘We’ve met,’ he said at once. ‘You gave a talk at the seminar in Bristol last year… Latimer—Dr Latimer, isn’t it?’

He launched into a brief description of Mr Browning’s collapse, and Dr Latimer said, ‘Do you mind if I come to Salisbury and take a look? I know Dr Stevens, we were students together…’

‘I’ll be glad of your advice—I suppose Dr Stevens will be in charge of him?’

‘Oh, yes, but Mr Browning is a friend…’

He bent down and plucked Beatrice on to her feet to make way for the ambulancemen with their stretcher. ‘Beatrice, find your mother, will you? I’ll drive her into Salisbury; we’ll get there ahead of the ambulance. Will you stay here?’

She said in a wispy voice, ‘I must let several people know—farmers, mostly. The small stuff I can manage on my own…Will—will you telephone me if you go to the hospital with Father? I expect Mother will want to stay there.’

‘As soon as we know what’s happening I’ll give you a ring, but stay here, Beatrice, until you hear from me.’

She nodded and went upstairs to find her mother. Mrs Browning, usually so matter of fact and competent, had gone to pieces for the moment. Beatrice took off the pinny she was wearing, got a jacket from the wardrobe, found her handbag and shoes and tidied her hair. ‘Dr Latimer is here, he’s driving you to the hospital so that you’ll be there when Father gets there. He knows the consultant there too, so Father is going to get the best possible care.’

Her mother gave her a blank look. ‘Your father’s never been ill in his life. It’s like a dream—a bad dream.’

Beatrice agreed silently and led her downstairs. The ambulance was just about ready to leave, and Dr Forbes was getting into it to be with his patient. Dr Latimer was waiting patiently at the door, and as they reached him Beatrice said urgently, ‘You will let me know?’

‘Yes. Come along, Mrs Browning.’ He put an arm round her shoulders as he smiled at Beatrice and walked to the dark grey Rolls-Royce parked to one side of the drive. He opened its door and urged Mrs Browning inside, got in himself and, with a wave of the hand, was gone.

Beatrice went slowly inside. There was a great deal to do, but just for a minute she was bewildered by the speed of it all, and the suddenness. It was a blessing that Ella had spent the night with a schoolfriend, but she would have to let Carol and Kathy know. As she went into the house, Mrs Perry, the elderly woman who came each morning to help in the house, caught up with her.

‘I saw an ambulance, Miss Beatrice. ‘as one of them dogs bitten your dad?’

‘Dogs?’ Beatrice gave her a blank look. ‘Dogs—oh, no, Mrs Perry, my father has had a heart attack. My mother has gone with him to the hospital.’

‘Oh, you poor love. I’ll make a cuppa, it’ll pull you together. And don’t you fret, he’ll be fine—them doctors are clever old fellows.’

She bustled into the kitchen and Beatrice went along to her father’s study and opened his appointments book. Miss Scott, who acted as his receptionist-cum-secretary, would be in presently, but in the meantime there were several people expecting him that morning—farmers mostly. They would just have to get hold of another vet.

She began to telephone, drank the tea Mrs Perry brought her, and went along to the surgery. Her father’s practice was mostly widespread among the estates and farms round the village, but there was always a handful of family pets needing pills or injections and occasionally a stitch. The small patients in the surgery now were easily dealt with, and she attended to them with her usual calm; she had helped her father for years and no one thought of disputing her skill. The last patient, old Miss Thom’s elderly cat with ear trouble, was borne away, and Beatrice put the surgery to rights, tidied the waiting-room and started off towards her father’s study. Miss Scott would be there by now and she would have to talk to her. The phone ringing stopped her, and she raced back to the waiting-room and snatched up the receiver.

The voice at the other end sounded reassuring and, at the same time, bracing. ‘Beatrice? Your father’s in intensive care and is holding his own nicely. Don’t leave the house, I’ll be with you in half an hour.’

He rang off before she could say a word. Just as well, as she found that she was crying.

She felt better after a good weep, and with a washed face, well made-up to cover her red nose and puffy eyelids, she went to find Miss Scott. That lady was sensible and middle-aged and could be relied upon to cope with any emergency, and she was sorting the post, bringing the books up to date and going through the appointments book. She looked up as Beatrice went in, and said with real sympathy, ‘I’m so sorry, Beatrice—what a dreadful shock for you all. Your father will be all right, of course; he’s very fit and he’ll have the best of care. Mrs Forbes told me that Dr Latimer has been called in for consultations—a splendid man, it seems. How fortunate that he happened to be here.’

For the first time Beatrice paused to wonder why he had been there, anyway. ‘He phoned a few minutes ago. Father’s holding his own. I waited to phone Carol and Kathy and Ella…’

‘Quite right, my dear. You’d like to do it now? I’ll go and have my coffee with Mrs Perry.’

Carol and Kathy took the news with commendable calm, and both said at once that they would come home just as soon as they could arrange it. Ella wasn’t easy; Beatrice spoke to her headmistress first, so that she was half prepared to hear Beatrice’s news. All the same, she burst into tears and demanded to come home at once.

‘Of course you shall,’ promised Beatrice, ‘just as soon as I get some kind of transport. Be a good girl, darling, and try to be patient, just as Father would expect you to be. I’ll ring you just as soon as I’ve fixed something up—there’s rather a lot to do.’

Her sister’s voice came, penitent in her ear. ‘Sorry, Beatrice. I’ll wait and not fuss. But you won’t forget?’

‘No, love.’

Miss Scott came back then and they set to work ringing round neighbours and neighbouring vets, fitting in the patients already booked by her father. They had almost finished when Dr Latimer joined them.

Beatrice jumped to her feet. ‘Father—how is he?’

‘Holding his own, as I told you; if he can hang on a little longer, he’ll be out of the wood.’ He bade Miss Scott a polite good morning and Beatrice introduced them. ‘We’re handing over most of father’s patients for the moment—I’ve dealt with the minor stuff in surgery this morning.’ She lifted unhappy eyes to his. ‘I’m not sure what we should do…’

‘Get a locum,’ he told her promptly. ‘Your father will need an assistant for a few months. I know you do a great deal to help him, but it will have to be someone qualified if he’s to keep his contacts with the local farmers.’

She could have hugged him for his matter-of-fact acceptance of her father’s recovery. ‘Of course, I’ll get in touch with the agency he uses sometimes—if he’s on holiday or something…’

She smiled for the first time that day, and Dr Latimer studied her unhappy face without appearing to do so. ‘Your father will be in hospital for a week or two, and when he’s home he won’t be able to do much for a time. Do you know of anyone he might like to work for him?’

She shook her head. ‘No. They’ve always been different, and they’ve never been here for longer than three weeks.’

‘Well, see what you can do. Get him here for an interview; it may make things much easier if you like him. Did you ring your sisters?’

‘Yes. Carol and Kathy are driving back, they should be here quite soon. Ella’s at school; I promised her I’d fetch her as soon as I could. I dare say Carol will fetch her.’

‘Where does she go to school?’

‘Wilton…’

‘We’ll go and get her now, shall we? Perhaps I should explain things to her…’

‘Oh, would you? She’s got her exams, and Father was anxious that she should pass well; if she could be reassured it would help a lot.’

Sitting in the soft leather comfort of his car, she said rather shyly, ‘You’re being very kind, and I’m most grateful. I know Mother will be too when she knows. You do think Father will be all right? Dr Stevens is very good, isn’t he? Did he think he would recover?’ She stopped and the bright colour washed over her face. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, you’re much cleverer than he is, aren’t you? I mean, you’re very well-known—Mrs Forbes said so. I expect Dr Stevens does what you suggest, doesn’t he?’

A small sound escaped Dr Latimer’s lips. ‘Well, more or less—we pool our knowledge, as it were; he was good enough to allow me to take a look at your father. Is your Miss Scott reliable? Could she be left for a couple of hours while I take you to the hospital? Your mother wants to stay the night, and asked me to fetch some things for her. There is no reason why all of you shouldn’t see him for a moment.’

‘Thank you, I know we would all like to do that. But don’t you have to work? Don’t you have patients in London and hospital rounds and—and things?’

He said gravely, ‘I take an occasional day off.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. If you turn down the next street, the school’s half-way down.’

Ella was waiting, red-eyed and restless. When she saw Dr Latimer she rushed to him and flung her arms around him. ‘It’s you. Oh, I’m so glad, now Father will be all right. How did you know? Had you come for breakfast?’

He didn’t answer her questions, but said cheerfully, ‘I’m going to take you to see your father, but first Beatrice has to put a few things together for your mother. She will stay at the hospital for a day or two while you help Beatrice to look after the house and the animals.’

He stowed her in the seat beside him and Beatrice got into the back, relieved at the placid way in which he had dealt with Ella, and once they were back home again he exhibited the same placid manner with Carol and Kathy, prevailed upon Miss Scott to stay until they returned, piled them all back into the car and drove back to Salisbury. And Beatrice sat in front beside him, listening to his advice, given in a diffident voice but sound none the less, so that, when he suggested that it might help if he were to be present when she interviewed any applicant for the post of assistant at the surgery, she agreed without a second thought.

‘And it should be as soon as possible,’ he reminded her, ‘so that whoever comes has settled in nicely before your father returns.’

‘I’ll phone as soon as we get home,’ she promised him. ‘How shall I let you know if someone comes for an interview?’

‘I’ll leave you my phone number.’ He drew up before the hospital entrance and they all got out. Ella was crying again, and he paused to mop her face. ‘Your father is on a life-support machine, so there are a number of tubes and wires attached to him; don’t let that frighten you. And you may only stay a few moments. Come along.’

Mrs Browning was sitting on a chair outside intensive care; she looked as pale as her daughters, but gave them a cheerful smile. She looked at Dr Latimer then. ‘I’m eternally grateful,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what we would have done without your help. And I do believe you when you say that Tom is going to get better.’ She gave him a sweet smile. ‘May the girls see him?’

‘Certainly. Two at a time, I think. I’ll just make sure that they won’t be in the way…’

He disappeared, to return presently with a white-gowned Sister. ‘Carol and Kathy?’ he suggested. ‘You’ll have to put on white gowns. Sister will show you.’

They were only gone for a minute or two, and then it was Beatrice’s and Ella’s turn. ‘And not so much as a snuffle from you,’ warned Dr Latimer, giving Ella a gentle push.

Beatrice had steeled herself to see her father’s grey face once more, but despite the tubes and wires he looked more like her father again, with colour in his face, and apparently asleep. The sight of him acted like a tonic upon her; he was alive and he was going to get better. Dr Latimer had said so. She quelled a great desire to burst into tears, and urged Ella back into the waiting-room.

Dr Latimer went away presently, excusing himself on the grounds of a brief consultation with Dr Stevens, leaving them to drink coffee a nursing aide had brought them.

They said goodbye to their mother when he returned, and he drove them back to Hindley, to share the sandwiches which Mrs Perry had made and write his phone number down for Beatrice, with the reminder that she was to phone him as soon as she had an applicant to be interviewed. He wished them all a cheerful goodbye, and for Beatrice at least the house seemed very empty when he had gone.

But she had little time to sit and be sorry for herself; the most pressing necessity was for someone to carry on the practice while her father was away. While her sisters scattered to do the various jobs around the house, she went to the study, found the address of the agency her father had always used and phoned them.

It had been a miserable day so far, now lightened somewhat by the news that there was a newly qualified vet on their books who might be exactly what Beatrice was looking for. An appointment was made for the following day, and she went to find her sisters and tell them the good news.

‘If he can come straight away, we shan’t need to hand over too many of father’s regular accounts. I can manage the surgery for a few more days, and we’ll just have to go on as usual. I expect Mother will come home as soon as Father is out of danger.’

She spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel, although Dr Latimer had told her with quiet certainty that her father would recover.

Dr Latimer phoned again around teatime; Mr Browning was showing a steady improvement, their mother would stay the night at the hospital, but if everything was satisfactory in the morning she would return home by lunchtime. ‘Everything all right your end?’ he wanted to know.

‘Yes, oh, yes, we’re managing. There’s someone coming from the agency tomorrow morning, about eleven o’clock.’

‘I’ll be with you before then.’ He hung up with a brief goodbye.

Tired out with anxiety and worry, they all slept soundly, but Beatrice was up soon after six o’clock, to let Knotty out into the garden, feed the cat, Wilbur, and make a cup of tea. Perhaps it was too early to ring the hospital, she decided, and then changed her mind, knowing that she wouldn’t be content until she had news of her father.

He was continuing to improve, said Night Sister; they hoped to take him off the life-support machine very shortly, and perhaps Beatrice would like to telephone later in the day.

Beatrice drank her tea and set about the day’s chores. There were several cats and dogs convalescing behind the surgery; she attended to them, fed Knotty a dish of tea and the bread and butter he fancied for his breakfast, and then went to wake the others.

Breakfast was almost a cheerful meal. ‘I’ll wait and see Mother,’ said Carol, ‘and then if everything is all right I’ll go back—I can go straight to the hospital if—if I have to.’

‘And I’d better go back, too,’ decided Kathy, ‘but you’ll let me know at once if I’m wanted?’

Beatrice looked at Ella. ‘You’d better go to school, love—Father will be disappointed if you don’t do well in your exams. Yes, I know you don’t want to—supposing we wait until Mother gets here and I drive you back in time for this afternoon’s paper—biology, isn’t it? Father would be so proud if you got good marks for that.’

Beatrice was clearing away after surgery when her mother arrived, and with her Dr Latimer. Her mother kissed her and said quickly, ‘Oliver brought me back—such a good man and so clever. Your father’s going to be all right, and we have Oliver to thank for that. He’ll stay if you want him to just to cast an eye over this locum you’ve arranged to see.’

‘You didn’t mind me seeing to that, Mother? We must keep the practice going well until Father can take over once again.’

‘I’m only too thankful that you were here to deal with everything.’

She turned round as Dr Latimer came in with her case, and Beatrice said, ‘I’ll get Mrs Perry to bring in the coffee; there’s still half an hour before that man comes.’

She smiled at him and thought how tired he looked—she had thought of him as a youngish man, but he looked pale and lined in the morning light. She was too worried about her father to bother much about the doctor; she went off to the kitchen and laid a tray while Mrs Perry made the coffee and got out the biscuits. By the time Beatrice got back, the other three were there as well as Miss Scott, and since everyone had a good deal to say and a great many questions to ask no one noticed that the doctor was rather quiet.

The doorbell interrupted them. ‘You go, dear,’ said Mrs Browning. ‘You know as much about the practice as your father. Do what you think best.’

By the time Beatrice had reached the front door, Dr Latimer was beside her. ‘The study?’ he asked, and went there while she went to the front door.

Worried though she was, she couldn’t help but be pleasantly surprised by the sight of the young man on the doorstep. James Forbes was young, too, but thick-set and slow and pompous; and Dr Latimer, regretfully, seemed a lot older than she had at first thought. This man was splendidly different. She blushed faintly at allowing her thoughts to stray so frivolously. Guilt made her voice stiff. ‘Mr Wood? Will you come in?’

He smiled at her, self-possessed and charming. ‘Miss Browning? The agency did explain…’ They shook hands and she led the way across the hall to her father’s study, where Dr Latimer stood looking out of the window.

He turned round as they went in, and she introduced them. ‘Please sit down, Mr Wood—would you like a cup of coffee?’

‘I stopped in Salisbury, thanks.’ He glanced quickly at the doctor, who met his look with a bland one of his own. ‘I understand your father needs a locum for a month or two. I’m planning to go to Canada in the near future, so perhaps we might suit each other.’

He smiled at Beatrice, who smiled back; he was really rather nice and they might get on well together… She explained about the practice. ‘I have been helping my father for several years; I’m not trained, but I do a good deal round the surgery and help with operations.’

He asked all the right questions and she had time to study him. He was good-looking, with dark hair curling over his collar, pale blue eyes and a delightful smile. She found herself hoping very much that he would take the job.

Dr Latimer had said almost nothing, and she thought pettishly that he might just as well not be there; he was certainly giving her no advice. Not that she would have taken it; when Colin Wood suggested that he might start in two days’ time, she agreed with a readiness which made the doctor raise his eyebrows, but since she wasn’t looking at him that escaped her notice.

Only as she was explaining the working hours and when he might expect to have some free time did the doctor ask gently, ‘References?’

‘Oh, of course.’ Colin Wood shot him an annoyed look, and turned it into a smile as Beatrice looked up. He fished in a pocket and produced an envelope which the doctor took from him before Beatrice could do so. He read the small sheaf of papers closely, murmured, ‘Entirely satisfactory,’ and handed them back again. ‘Were you thinking of a contract of any sort?’ he asked casually.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Beatrice sharply, ‘if we have a gentleman’s agreement.’ She looked at Colin Wood. ‘You are prepared to work here until my father can manage without help?’

‘Oh, of course,’ he said easily, and laughed. ‘There, I’ve said that before a witness—what more can you want?’

‘Would you like to see over the clinic?’ offered Beatrice. ‘And your room—there’s a small sitting-room you can have, too.’

He rose with alacrity. ‘May I?’ He turned to Dr Latimer. ‘I’ll say goodbye, sir. I’ll have to go straight back and pack my things.’

They didn’t shake hands; the doctor bade him a grave goodbye and stood watching them from the window as they crossed the wide sweep of gravel to the surgery on its far side.

Presently he went back to the drawing-room where Mrs Browning was sitting with the three girls.

‘You approve?’ asked Mrs Browning.

‘He has excellent credentials and, what is more important, Beatrice likes him. He can come in two days’ time.’

‘You’ll stay for lunch?’

He shook his head. ‘I would very much like to, but I want to take another look at Mr Browning before I go back to town. But I’ll be down again and I will keep in touch with Dr Stevens.’

‘You’ll wait to say goodbye to Beatrice?’

‘Will you do that for me? I’m glad that things have been settled so quickly.’ He shook hands and within a few minutes had driven away; a few minutes later Beatrice came in with Colin Wood, who was introduced to them all before saying that he simply had to go but looked forward to seeing them again in a couple of days.

Beatrice saw him away in his showy little sports car, and went back to her mother and sisters.

‘Where’s Dr Latimer?’ she asked, and in the same breath, ‘Well, did you like him? I think he’ll be splendid—’

‘Oliver,’ said Mrs Browning gently, ‘has gone back to check on your father’s condition, then he is driving up to London, presumably to work at one of the hospitals. I only hope that he gets a rest during the day; he was up all night…’

‘All night? Oh, I didn’t know; that must have been why he was so quiet.’

Her mother said drily, ‘Probably. You’re satisfied that Mr Wood will do all right, darling?’

Beatrice nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Mother. I’m sure he will, and he doesn’t want a contract or agreement or anything in writing; he plans to go to Canada in a few months and wouldn’t want to stay anyway. He says there aren’t many good openings for a man without capital. He’s ambitious.’

‘I didn’t like him,’ said Ella suddenly.

‘Why ever not?’

‘I don’t know—I just didn’t like him.’

‘Well, that doesn’t really matter, for you’ll not see much of him.’ Beatrice spoke with unusual tartness. ‘There’s the phone—Father…’

It was Dr Stevens. ‘Your father is recovering well, phone here for news some time in the evening. There is no need for your mother to come again today; she needs a rest anyway. Dr Latimer will be down to see him tomorrow afternoon. I suggest your mother comes then, and she can talk to him then about your father.’

‘I’ll tell her. Thank you for all you are doing, Dr Stevens.’

‘It’s Dr Latimer that you should thank—we had a very anxious few hours during the night, but he dealt with the complications. He’s a very sound man, you know; you were lucky to have him.’

‘We are very grateful,’ said Beatrice, and put down the receiver slowly. Of course they were grateful, and she felt suddenly guilty because, in the pleasure of meeting Colin Wood, she had forgotten the doctor.

She did her best to make up for it the following afternoon. She and her mother had visited her father, who was conscious now and feebly cheerful, and then they were ushered into Sister’s office, where Dr Latimer and Dr Stevens were murmuring thoughtfully together. They turned impassive faces towards them as they went in, shook hands and offered chairs.

‘Well,’ began Dr Latimer, ‘your husband is coming along very nicely, Mrs Browning, but it will be a slow job—you do realise that? We’ll keep him here for a week or two, and when you get him home he will have to take things easily for some time.’ He smiled then, and Beatrice thought once again what a very nice man he was.

She said, ‘We are truly grateful to you, Dr Latimer. We can never repay you…’

‘My patient’s recovery is payment enough, Beatrice,’ he told her coolly, and for some reason she felt snubbed, not by his words but by his manner—perhaps in hospital he was impersonal to everyone, but he wasn’t the man who had watched the sunrise with her on Midsummer’s morning, or if he were he was taking care to hide it.

She accompanied her mother back home, and after they had all had tea Carol left to go back to her rooms in Salisbury and Kathy went off with her fiancé. ‘In the morning you can go back to school, Ella,’ said Mrs Browning. ‘The house will seem empty.’

‘Mr Wood will be here,’ observed Beatrice, and felt a little surge of excitement.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.