Читать книгу Dearest Love - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

DEAR Sir,

With reference to your advertisement in this week’s Lady magazine, I wish to apply for the post of Caretaker/Housekeeper.

I am twenty-seven years of age, single with no dependants, and have several years’ experience in household management including washing, ironing, cleaning and cooking. I am a cordon bleu cook. I have a working knowledge of minor electrical and plumbing faults. I am able to take messages and answer the telephone.

I would wish to bring my cat with me.

Yours faithfully,

Arabella Lorimer

IT WAS the last letter to be read by the elderly man sitting at his desk in his consulting-room, a large apartment on the ground floor of a Regency house, one of a terrace, in Wigmore Street, London. He read it for a second time, gave a rumble of laughter, and added it to the pile before him. There were twelve applicants in all and Arabella Lorimer was the only one to enclose references—the only one to write legibly, too, neatly setting down all the relevant facts. It was a pity that she wasn’t a man…

He began to read the letters again and was interrupted halfway through by the entry of his partner. Dr Titus Tavener came unhurriedly into the room, a very tall man with broad shoulders and a massive person. He was handsome with a high-bridged nose, a firm mouth and rather cold blue eyes. His hair, once fair, was pepper and salt, despite which he looked younger than his forty years.

Dr James Marshall, short and stout and almost bald, greeted him with pleasure. ‘Just the man I want. The applications for the caretaker’s post—I have them here; I’ve spent the last hour reading them. I’ve decided which one I shall accept. Do read them, Titus, and give me your opinion. Not that it will make any difference to my choice.’ He chortled as Dr Tavener sat himself down and picked up the little pile of letters. He read them through, one after the other, and then gathered them neatly together.

‘There are one or two possibles: the ex-bus driver—although he admits to asthma attacks—then this Mrs Butler.’ He glanced at the letter in his hand. ‘But is she quite the type to open the door? Of course the joker in the pack is Miss Arabella Lorimer and her cat. Most unsuitable.’

‘Why?’

‘Obviously a maiden lady down on her luck. I don’t think I believe her skills are quite what she claims them to be. I’d hesitate to leave a stopped-up drain-pipe or a blown fuse to her ladylike hands.’

His partner laughed. ‘Titus, I can only hope that one day before it’s too late you will meet a woman who will turn you sides to middle and then tramp all over you.’

Dr Tavener smiled. ‘Unlikely. Perhaps I have been rather hard on the lady. There is always the possibility that she is an Amazon with a tool-kit.’

‘Well, you will soon know. I’ve decided that she might do.’

Dr Tavener got up and strolled to the window and stood looking out on to the quiet street. ‘And why not? Mrs Lane will be glad to leave. Her arthritis isn’t getting any better and she’s probably longing to go and live with her daughter. She’ll take her furniture with her, I suppose? Do we furnish the place?’

‘It depends—Miss Lorimer may have her own stuff.’ Dr Marshall pushed back his chair. ‘We’ve a busy day tomorrow; I’ll see if your Amazon can come for an interview at five o’clock. Will you be back by then?’

‘Unlikely—the clinic is overbooked as it is. In any case, I’m dining out.’ He turned to look at his partner. ‘I dare say you’ve made a good choice, James.’ He strolled to the door. ‘I’ve some paperwork to deal with. Shall I send Miss Baird home? You’re going yourself? I shall be here for another hour yet—see you in the morning.’

He went to his own consulting-room, going through the elegant waiting-room with a smile and a nod for their shared receptionist Miss Baird, before going down the passage, past the stairs to the basement and his separate suite. This comprised a small waiting-room, a treatment-room where his nurse worked and his own room facing the garden at the back of the house. A small, narrow garden but well-tended and bright with early autumn flowers. He gave it a brief look before drawing the first of the patients’ notes waiting for his attention towards him.

Dr Marshall read Miss Arabella Lorimer’s letter once more and rang for Miss Baird. ‘Send a note by special messenger, will you? To this address. Tell the lady to come here at five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. A pity she hasn’t a telephone.’ He got up and switched off his desk light. ‘I’m going home, Miss Baird. Dr Tavener will be working for some time yet, but check that he’s still here before you leave.’ He nodded and smiled at her. ‘Go as soon as you’ve got that message seen to.’

He went home himself then, to his wife and family, and much later Dr Tavener got into his Rolls-Royce and drove himself home to his charming house overlooking the canal in Little Venice.

Arabella read Dr Marshall’s somewhat arbitrary note sitting in the kitchen. It was a small, damp room, overlooking a weary-looking patch of grass and some broken fencing, but she preferred it to the front room where her landlady sat of a Sunday afternoon. It housed the lady’s prized possessions and Arabella hadn’t been invited in there because of her cat Percy, who would ruin the furniture. She hadn’t minded; she had been grateful that Billy Westlake, the village postman, had persuaded his aunt, Miss Pimm, to take her in for a few days while she found a job and somewhere to live.

It hadn’t been easy leaving Colpin-cum-Witham, but it had been necessary. Her parents had died together in a car accident and only then had she discovered that her home wasn’t to be hers any longer; it had been mortgaged to the hilt and she had to leave. There was almost no money. She sold all but the basic furniture that she might need and, since there was no hope of working in or near the village and distant aunts and uncles, while full of good advice, made no offer to help her, she took herself and Percy to London. She had no wish to live there but, as the postman had said, it was a vast city and somewhere there must be work. She had soon realised that the only work she was capable of was domestic. She had no skills other than cordon bleu cooking and, since she had never needed to work in any capacity, she had no experience—something which employers demanded.

Now she read the brief letter again; she had applied almost in desperation, anxious to get away from Miss Pimm’s scarcely veiled impatience to get rid of her and Percy. She had agreed to take them in for a few days but it was already a week and, as she had said to Arabella, she was glad of the money but she was one who kept herself to herself and didn’t fancy strangers in her home.

Arabella sat quietly, not allowing herself to be too hopeful but all the same allowing herself to picture the basement room which went with the job. She would furnish it with her own bits and pieces and with any luck there would be some kind of a garden behind the house where Percy could take the air. She went up to her little bedroom with Percy at her heels and inspected her small stock of clothes. To be suitably dressed was important.

She arrived at Wigmore Street with two minutes to spare—the clocks were striking the hour as Miss Baird ushered her into Dr Marshall’s consultingroom. He was sitting behind his desk as she went in and put down his pen to peer at her over his glasses. Just for a moment he was silent, then he said, ‘Miss Lorimer? Please sit down. I must confess I was expecting someone more—more robust…’

Arabella seated herself without fuss—a small, nicely plump girl with mousy hair pinned on top of her head, an ordinary face and a pair of large grey eyes, thickly fringed. Anyone less like a caretaker it would be hard to find, reflected Dr Marshall with an inward chuckle, and just wait until Titus saw her.

He said pleasantly, ‘I read your letter with interest, Miss Lorimer. Will you tell me about your last job?’

‘I haven’t had one. I’ve always lived at home—my mother was delicate and my father was away a good deal; he had his own business. I always did the housekeeping and dealt with minor repairs around the house.’

He nodded. ‘Why do you want this job?’

She was sitting very quietly—no fidgeting, he noticed thankfully.

‘My parents were killed recently in a car accident and now my home is no longer mine. We lived at Colpin-cum-Witham in southern Wiltshire; there is no work there for someone with no qualifications.’ She paused. ‘I need somewhere to live and domestic work seems to be the answer. I have applied for several jobs but they won’t allow me to have Percy.’

‘Percy?’

‘My cat.’

‘Well, I see no objection to a cat as long as he stays in your room—he can have the use of the garden, of course. But do you suppose that you are up to the work? You are expected to clean these rooms—mine, the reception and waiting-room, the passage and the stairs, my partner’s rooms—and polish all the furniture and brass, and the front door, then answer the bell during our working hours, empty the bins, lock up and unlock in the mornings… Are you of a nervous disposition?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Good. Oh, and if there is no one about you will answer the telephone, run errands and take messages.’ He gave her a shrewd glance. ‘A bit too much for you, eh?’

‘Certainly not, Dr Marshall. I dare say I should call you sir? I would be glad to come and work for you.’

‘Shall we give it a month’s trial? Mrs Lane who is retiring should be in her room now. If you will go with Miss Baird she will introduce you. Come back here, if you please, so that we can make final arrangements.’

The basement wasn’t quite what Arabella had imagined but it had possibilities. It was a large room; its front windows gave a view of passing feet and were heavily barred but the windows at the other end of the room, although small, could be opened. There was a door loaded down with bolts and locks and chains beside them, leading out to a small paved area with the garden beyond. At one side there was a door opening into a narrow passage with a staircase leading to the floor above and ending in another heavy door and, beside the staircase, a very small kitchen and an even smaller shower-room. Mrs Lane trotted ahead of her, pointing out the amenities. ‘Of course I shall ’ave ter take me things with me, ducks—going up ter me daughter, yer see; she’s got a room for me.’

‘I have some furniture, Mrs Lane,’ said Arabella politely. ‘I only hope to be able to make it as cosy as you have done.’

Mrs Lane preened. ‘Well, I’ve me pride, love. A bit small and young, aint yer?’

‘Well, I’m very strong and used to housework. When did you want to leave, Mrs Lane?’

‘Just as soon as yer can get ’ere. Bin ’appy ’ere, I ’ave, but I’m getting on a bit—the stairs is a bit much. ’Is nibs ’as always ’ad a girl come in ter answer the door, which save me feet.’ She chuckled. ‘’E won’t need ’er now!’

Back with Dr Marshall, Arabella, bidden to sit, sat.

‘Well, want to come here and work?’

‘Yes, I do and I will do my best to satisfy you, sir.’

‘Good. Fix up dates and so on with Mrs Lane and let me know when you’re going to come.’ He added sharply, ‘There must be no gap between Mrs Lane going and you coming, understand.’

Outside in the street she went looking for a telephone box to ring the warehouse in Sherborne and arrange for her furniture to be brought to London. It was a matter of urgency and for once good fortune was on her side. There was a load leaving for London in three days’ time and her few things could be sent with it and at a much smaller cost than she had expected. She went back to Mrs Lane, going down the few steps to the narrow door by the barred window and explaining carefully, ‘If I might come here some time during the morning and you leave in the afternoon, could we manage to change over without upsetting your routine here?’

‘Don’t see why not, ducks. Me son-in-law’s coming with a van so I’ll clear off as soon as yer ’ere.’

‘Then I’ll let Dr Marshall know.’

‘Do that. I’ll ’ave ter see ’im for me wages—I’ll tell ’im likewise.’

Back at Miss Pimm’s, Arabella told her that she would be leaving in three days and ate her supper—fish and chips from the shop on the corner—and went to bed, explaining to Percy as she undressed that he would soon have a home of his own again. He was a docile cat but he hadn’t been happy at Miss Pimm’s; it was a far cry from the roomy house and garden that he had always lived in. Now he curled up on the end of her narrow bed and went to sleep, instinct telling him that better times were in store.

Dr Marshall sat at his desk for some time doing nothing after Arabella had gone. Presently he gave a rich chuckle and when Miss Baird came in he asked her, ‘Well, what do you think of our new caretaker?’

Miss Baird gave him a thoughtful look. ‘A very nice young lady, sir. I only hope she’s up to all that hard housework.’

‘She assures me that she is a most capable worker. She will start in three days’ time and I must be sure and be here when Dr Tavener sees her for the first time.’

It wasn’t until the next morning, discussing a difficult case with his partner, that Dr Marshall had the chance to mention that he had engaged a new caretaker. ‘She will start in two days’ time—with her cat.’

Dr Tavener laughed. ‘So she turned out to be suitable for the job? Let us hope that she is quicker at answering the doorbell and emptying the wastepaper baskets.’

‘Oh, I imagine she will be.’ Dr Marshall added slyly, ‘After all, she is young.’

‘As long as she does her work properly.’ Dr Tavener was already engrossed in the notes in his hand and spoke without interest.

Despite misgivings that her furniture wouldn’t arrive, that Percy would disappear at the last minute or that Dr Marshall would have second thoughts about employing her, Arabella moved herself, her cat and her few possessions into the basement of Wigmore Street without mishap. True, empty it looked pretty grim and rather dirty, but once the floor had been cleaned and the windows washed, the cobwebs removed from the darker corners, she could see possibilities. With the help of the removal men she put her bed in a corner of the room, put a small table and chair under the back window and stacked everything else tidily against a wall. Her duties were to commence in the morning and she conned Mrs Lane’s laboriously written list of duties before she made up the bed, settled Percy in his cardboard box and rolled up her sleeves.

There was plenty of hot water and Mrs Lane had left a variety of mops and brushes in the cupboard by the stairs. Arabella set to with a will; this was to be her home—hers and Percy’s—and she intended to make it as comfortable as possible. Cleanliness came before comfort. She scrubbed and swept and polished and by evening was satisfied with her work.

She cooked her supper on the newly cleaned stove—beans on toast and an egg—gave Percy his meal and sat at the table, well pleased with her efforts, while she drank her tea and then made a list of the things she still needed. It was not a long list but she would have to buy a little at a time each pay-day. Her rather muddled calculations showed her that it would be Christmas before she had all she wanted but that didn’t worry her—after the last awful months this was all that she could wish for.

She washed her dishes and opened the back door with Percy tucked under one arm. The garden was surrounded by a high brick wall and ringed by flowerbeds but there was a good-sized strip of lawn as well. She set Percy down and watched him explore, at first with caution and then with pleasure. After Miss Pimm’s little yard this was bliss…

She perched on a small rustic seat, tired now but happy. It had been a fine day but it was getting chilly now and dusk had dimmed the colourful garden. She scooped up Percy and went back indoors and then, mindful of Mrs Lane’s instructions, went up the stairs and inspected each room in turn, making sure that the windows were closed and locked, the doors bolted and all the lights turned out. The two floors above her were lived in, Mrs Lane had told her, by a neurologist and his wife. They had a side entrance, a small door at the front of the house, and although he was retired he still saw the occasional patient. ‘But nothing ter do with us,’ Mrs Lane had said. ‘Yer won’t ever see them.’

All the same it was nice to think that the house wasn’t quite empty. She took her time in locking up, looking at everything so that she would know where things were in the morning and, being of a practical turn of mind, she searched until she found the stopcock, the fire-extinguisher and the gas and electricity meters. She also searched for and eventually found a box containing such useful things as a hammer, nails, spare light-bulbs, a wrench and adhesive tape. They were hidden away in a small dark cupboard and she felt sure that no one had been near it for a very long time. She put everything back carefully and reminded herself to ask for a plunger. Blocked sinks could be a nuisance, especially where people would be constantly washing their hands. Satisfied at last, she went back to her room, had a shower and got into bed, and Percy, uninvited but very welcome, climbed on too and settled on her feet.

She was up early, tidied the room and made the bed, fed Percy and escorted him into the garden, ate a sketchy breakfast and took herself off upstairs, wearing her new nylon overall.

There was everything she might need—a vacuum cleaner, polish and dusters. She emptied the wastepaper baskets, set the chairs to rights, arranged the magazines just so, polished the front door-knocker and opened the windows. It looked very nice when she had finished but a little austere. She went back downstairs and out into the garden; she cut Michaelmas daisies, dahlias and one or two late roses. She bore them back, found three vases, arranged the flowers in them and put one in each of the consulting-rooms and the last one in the waiting-room. They made all the difference, she considered, and realised that she had overlooked the second waiting-room. Back in the garden, she cut asters this time, arranged them in a deep bowl and put them on the table flanked by the magazines.

She hadn’t met Dr Marshall’s partner; she hoped he was as nice as that gentleman.

She went back to the basement then, tidied herself, made sure that her hair was neat and when the doorbell rang went to answer it. It was Dr Marshall’s nurse, who had introduced herself as Joyce Pierce and then exclaimed, ‘You’re the new caretaker? Well, I must say you’re a bit of a surprise. Do you think you’ll like it?’

‘Well, yes. I can live here, you see, and I don’t mind housework.’

She was shutting the door when the second nurse arrived, small and dark and pretty. ‘The caretaker?’ she asked and raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever’s come over Dr Marshall?’ She nodded at Arabella. ‘I’m Madge Simmons. I work for Dr Tavener.’ She spoke rather frostily. ‘Come on, Joyce, we’ve time for a cup of tea.’

The first patient wouldn’t arrive until nine o’clock so Arabella sped downstairs. There was still a tea-chest of bed-linen, table-linen and curtains to unpack. As soon as she could she would get some net and hang it in the front window, shutting off all those feet…

At a quarter to nine she went upstairs again. There was no sign of the two nurses, although she could hear voices, and she stood uncertainly in the hall—to turn and face the door as it was opened. The man who entered seemed to her to be enormous. The partner, she thought, eyeing his elegance and his good looks and was very startled when he observed, ‘Good lord, the caretaker!’ and laughed.

The laugh annoyed her. She wished him good morning in a small frosty voice and went down to her room, closing the door very quietly behind her. ‘He’s what one would call a magnificent figure of a man,’ she told Percy, ‘and also a very rude one!’

The front doorbell rang then, and she went upstairs to admit the first patient. For the next hour or so she trotted up and down the stairs a dozen times until finally she shut the door on the last patient and Miss Baird came to tell her that Dr Marshall wanted to see her.

He eyed her over his specs. ‘Morning, Miss Lorimer. Where did you get the flowers?’

The question surprised her. ‘From the garden—only the ones at the back of the beds…’

‘Nice idea. Finding your feet?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘Miss Baird will tell you what to do when we’ve gone. We’ll be back this afternoon, one or other of us, but not until three o’clock. You’re free once you’ve tidied up and had your lunch, but be back here by quarter to. We sometimes work in the evening, but not often. Did Mrs Lane tell you where the nearest shops were?’

‘No, but I can find them.’

He nodded and looked up as the door opened and Dr Tavener came in. ‘Ah, here is my partner, Dr Tavener. This is our new caretaker.’

‘We have already met,’ said Arabella in a chilly voice. ‘If that is all, sir?’

‘Not quite all,’ said Dr Tavener. ‘I owe you an apology, Miss…’

‘Lorimer, sir.’

‘Miss Lorimer. I was most discourteous but I can assure you that my laughter was not at you as a person.’

‘It was of no consequence, sir.’ She gave him a fierce look from her lovely eyes which belied the sober reply and looked at Dr Marshall.

‘Yes. Yes, go along, Miss Lorimer. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.’

A practical girl, Arabella paused at the door. ‘I should like a plunger, sir.’ She saw that he was puzzled. ‘It is used for unstopping sinks and drains. They’re not expensive.’

Not a muscle of Dr Tavener’s handsome features moved; he asked gravely, ‘Have we a blocked sink, Miss Lorimer?’

‘No, but it’s something which usually happens at an awkward time—it would be nice to have one handy.’

Dr Marshall spoke. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Very wise. We have always called in a plumber, I believe.’

‘It isn’t always necessary,’ she told him kindly.

‘Ask Miss Baird to deal with it as you go, will you?’

Dr Tavener closed the door behind her and sat down. ‘A paragon,’ he observed mildly. ‘With a plunger too! Do we know anything about her, James?’

‘She comes from a place called Colpin-cum-Witham in Wiltshire. Parents killed in a car crash and—for some reason not specified—she had to leave her home. Presumably no money. Excellent references from the local parson and doctor. She’s on a month’s trial.’ He smiled. ‘Have you got flowers in your room too?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ He added, ‘Don’t let us forget that new brooms sweep clean.’

‘You don’t like her?’

‘My dear James, I don’t know her and it is most unlikely that I shall see enough of her to form an opinion.’ He got up and went to look out of the window. ‘I thought I’d drive up to Leeds—the consultation isn’t until the afternoon. I’ll go on to Birmingham from there and come back on the following day. Miss Baird has fixed my appointments so that I have a couple of days free.’

Dr Marshall nodded. ‘That’s fine. I’m not too keen on going to that seminar in Oslo. Will you go?’

‘Certainly. It’s two weeks ahead, isn’t it? If I fly over it will only take three days.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better do some work; I’ve that article to finish for the Lancet.’ He went to the door. ‘I’ve two patients for this evening, by the way.’

As for Arabella, she went back to her room, had lunch, fed Percy and, after a cautious look round, went into the garden with him, unaware that Dr Tavener was at his desk at the window. He watched her idly, admired Percy’s handsome grey fur, and then forgot her.

Miss Baird had been very helpful. There were, she had told Arabella, one or two small shops not five minutes’ walk away down a small side-street. Arabella put on her jacket and, armed with a shopping-basket, set off to discover them. They were tucked away from the quiet prosperous streets with their large houses—a newsagents, a greengrocer and a small general store. Sufficient for her needs. She stocked up with enough food for a couple of days, bought herself a newspaper and then went back to Wigmore Street. On Saturday, she promised herself, she would spend her free afternoon shopping for some of the things on her list. She was to be paid each week, Miss Baird had told her and, although she should save for an uncertain future, there were some small comforts she would need. She would have all Sunday to work without interruption.

After that first day the week went quickly; by the end of it Arabella had found her feet. She saw little of the nurses and still less of Dr Marshall, and nothing at all of his partner. It was only when she went to Miss Baird to collect her wages that she overheard one of the nurses remark that Dr Tavener would be back on Monday. ‘And a good thing too,’ she had added, ‘for his appointments book is full. He’s away again in a couple of weeks for that seminar in Oslo.’

‘He doesn’t get much time for his love-life, does he?’ laughed the other nurse.

Arabella, with her pay-packet a delightful weight in her pocket, even felt vague relief that he would be going away again. She had been careful to keep out of his way, although she wasn’t sure why, and the last two days while he had been away she had felt much more comfortable. ‘It’s because he’s so large,’ she told Percy, and fell to counting the contents of her pay-packet.

While her parents had been alive she had lived a comfortable enough life. There had always seemed to be money; she had never been spoilt but she had never gone without anything she had needed or asked for. Now she held in her hand what was, for her, quite a large sum of money and she must plan to spend it carefully. New clothes were for the moment out of the question. True, those she had were of good quality and although her wardrobe was small it was more than adequate for her needs. She got paper and pen and checked her list…

It took her until one o’clock to clear up after the Saturday morning appointments and then there was the closing and the locking up to do, the answering machine to set, the few cups and saucers to wash and dry, the gas and electricity to check. She ate a hasty lunch, saw to Percy’s needs then changed into her brown jersey skirt and the checked blouson jacket which went with it, stuck her rather tired feet into the Italian loafers she had bought with her mother in the happy times she tried not to remember too often, and, with her shoulder-bag swinging, caught a bus to Tottenham Court Road.

The tea-chests had yielded several treasures: curtains which could be cut to fit the basement windows and make cushion covers, odds and ends of china and kitchenware, a clock—she remembered it from the kitchen; a small radio—still working; some books and, right at the bottom, a small thin mat which would look nice before the gas fire.

She needed to buy needles and sewing cottons, net curtains, scissors and more towels, shampoo and some soap and, having purchased these, she poked around the cheaper shops until she found what she wanted: a roll of thin matting for the floor—it would be awkward to carry but it would be worth the effort. So, for that matter, would the tin of paint in a pleasing shade of pale apricot. She added a brush and, laden down with her awkward shopping, took a bus back to Wigmore Street.

Back in the basement again, she changed into an elderly skirt and jumper and went into the garden with Percy. It was dusk already and there were no lights on in the rooms above. The house seemed very silent and empty and there was a chilly wind. Percy disliked wind; he hurried back indoors and she locked and bolted the door before getting her supper and feeding him. Her meal over, she washed up and went upstairs to check carefully that everything was just as it should be before going back to lay the matting.

It certainly made a difference to the dim little room; the matting almost covered the mud-coloured flooring, and when she had spread an old-fashioned chenille tablecloth over the round table its cheerful crimson brightened the place further. It had been at the bottom of one of the tea-chests, wrapped around some of the china, and the curtains were of the same crimson. It was too late to start them that evening but she could at least sew the net curtains she had bought. It was bedtime by the time she had done that, run a wire through their tops, banged in some small nails and hung them across the bars of the windows. She went to bed then, pleased with her efforts.

She woke in the middle of the night, for the moment forgetful of where she was and then, suddenly overcome with grief and loneliness, cried herself to sleep again. She woke in the morning to find Percy sitting on her chest, peering down at her face—part of her old life—and she at once sat up in bed, dismissing self-pity. The walls had to be painted and if there was time she would begin on the curtains…

‘We have a home,’ she told Percy as she dressed, ‘and money in our pockets and work to keep us busy. It’s a lovely morning; we’ll go into the garden.’

There was a faint chill in the air and there was a Sunday morning quiet. She thought of all the things she would do, the places she would visit in the coming weeks, and feeling quite cheerful got their breakfasts.

She had covered the drab, discoloured wallpaper by the late afternoon and the room looked quite different. The pale apricot gave the place light and warmth and she ate her combined tea and supper in great content.

The smell was rather overpowering; she opened the door to the garden despite the chilly evening and cut up the curtains ready to sew, fired with enthusiasm. As she wielded the scissors she planned what to buy with her next pay-packet: a bedspread, a table-lamp, a picture or two—the list was neverending!