Читать книгу A Winter Love Story - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And Tombs?’

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

‘Have you any children?’

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

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

He said loftily, ‘I cannot understand you…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Me neither.’ They both looked at Tombs.

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

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

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

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

‘And Rob?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Well, yes…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘And Tombs?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Of course.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Good. Now, when will you marry?’

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

‘You’ll stay with him, of course?’

‘Mrs Pratt and Tombs will be with me.’

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

‘Perhaps this evening.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Have you had a chance to tell Tombs?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘A pity about the servants…’

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

‘There was a butler, you said.’

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

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

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

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

She picked up her case and went into the hospital.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘A cousin of sorts.’

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

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

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