Читать книгу Matilda's Wedding - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

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

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

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

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

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

Which Matilda did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said briskly, ‘Your father is home?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Your wife is an invalid?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Your daughter drives?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You too?’

‘Well, yes, I hope so…’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door opened and the doctor stood looking at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, thank you.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘No, I think not.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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