Читать книгу When Two Paths Meet - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

IT WAS a good thing that Katherine felt so euphoric about her future, for the next hour tried her sorely. Henry, having recovered from his first surprise, had marshalled a number of forceful arguments, hampered rather than helped by Joyce’s ill-natured complaints.

Katherine listened patiently and, when he had quite done, said kindly, ‘Well, Henry, I would have thought that you would have been pleased. You don’t need to be responsible for me any more, do you?’

Henry was an alarming puce once more. ‘Your ingratitude cuts me to the quick,’ he told her. ‘After all this time, giving you a home and food and clothes…’

She smiled at him and said sensibly, ‘And look what you got for that—unpaid housework, someone to look after the children and, because I’m your sister, there was no need to give me an allowance.’ She added, ‘It will be nice to have some money.’ Emboldened by the prospect of a glowing future, she walked to the door, just as Henry got his breath for another speech. ‘I’m rather tired,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I haven’t finished the washing up, but there are only the saucepans left to do. Goodnight, Joyce—Henry.’

In her room, she sat down on her bed and cried. She had tried hard to please Henry and Joyce, she had accepted the care of the children and she had done her best to love them, but it was a singularly unloving household. She had never been happy in it and she was glad to leave it. All the same, it would have been nice if Henry and Joyce had uttered just one word of encouragement or thanks.

She got up presently, and crossed the landing to the children’s room. They needed tucking up once more, and she did this with her usual care, before going to the boxroom and fetching her two cases. Packing wouldn’t take long: her wardrobe was small, and most of it wasn’t worth packing. She had a tweed suit, elderly but well cut and good material; she would have to wear that until she had enough money to buy some decent clothes. She hoped that Mr and Mrs Grainger weren’t the kind of people to dress for dinner; it seemed unlikely, but she had a plain wool dress, very out-of-date, like the suit, but it had at one time been good, and would pass muster at a pinch.

She felt better now she had started her packing. She got ready for bed, hopped between the chilly sheets, closed her eyes and, very much to her surprise, went to sleep at once.

It was a scramble in the morning. Katherine got up earlier than usual, got into the suit and the sensible, low-heeled shoes which were suitable for everyday wear and country walks with the children. Then she did her face carefully with the sketchy make-up she possessed, tied her hair back with a narrow ribbon and went along to the nursery. For once, good fortune was on her side; the children were quite willing to be washed and dressed and given their breakfast. She took them downstairs and made tea for herself, laid the table for the children and for Henry, who wouldn’t be down for half an hour or so, and gave them their breakfast. She was too excited to eat, and she hadn’t considered what meals they would have later on. She wasn’t even sure when she would be back; what was more, she didn’t much care!

She cleared the table, took the children to the playroom and made more tea for Henry, who, on his way downstairs, put his head round the door to wish the children good morning but ignored her. She heard him leave the house presently and Mrs Todd crashing plates and saucepans in the kitchen. She would have to get Joyce out of bed before she went. Dr Fitzroy had said nine o’clock, and it was ten minutes to the hour.

Joyce didn’t answer as she went into the bedroom. Katherine drew back the curtains. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘The children have had their breakfast and are in the playroom. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

Joyce lifted her head. ‘I feel ill,’ she said pettishly. ‘You simply can’t go—you’ll have to put this interview off until I’m better.’

Katherine took a look at her sister-in-law. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Todd. I dare say she’ll keep an eye on Sarah and Robin. Henry can always come back here—you could phone him.’

Joyce sat right up. ‘I hope these people hate you on sight and you lose the job. It would serve you right! And don’t expect to come crawling back here. Job or no job, out you go tomorrow.’

Katherine turned to go, and the children, bored with their own company, came hurtling past her and flung themselves onto their mother’s bed.

Katherine closed the door quietly behind her. She didn’t like her sister-in-law, but a pang of sympathy shot through her; the children were small tyrants, and Joyce had little patience with them. She would demand a mother’s help and Henry would have to agree. Whoever it was would want a salary and days off and weekends and holidays… Katherine had another pang of sympathy for Henry, who hated to spend his money.

Dr Fitzroy was waiting for her when she opened the door and looked out, and she hurried to the car.

‘Good morning.’ She was a bit breathless with an upsurge of feeling at the sight of him. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting.’

‘Just got here. Jump in.’ He held the door for her, and she settled in the seat beside him. ‘Nervous?’ he asked. ‘You needn’t be.’

He gave her a reassuring smile, and thought what a dim little thing she was in her out-of-date suit and sturdy shoes. But sensible and quiet, just what the Graingers needed, and they would hardly notice what she was wearing, only that her voice was pleasant and she was calm in a crisis. He started the car. ‘I’ll tell you something about Mr and Mrs Grainger. In their seventies, almost eighty, in fact. He has a heart condition and is far too active, can be peppery if he can’t have his own way. Mrs Grainger is small and meek and perfectly content to allow him to dictate to her. She has arthritis and suffers a good deal of pain, but never complains. They are devoted to each other. They lost their only son in an accident some years ago, but they have a granddaughter…’

Something in his voice caught Katherine’s attention; this granddaughter was someone special to him. She had known from the moment she knew that she had fallen in love with him that he would never look at her—all the same, it was a blow. So silly, she told herself silently, he could have been married already, with a houseful of children. At the back of her head, a small, defiant voice pointed out that he might have been heart-whole and single and miraculously bowled over by her very ordinary person. She became aware that he had asked her something and she hadn’t been heeding.

‘So sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘You asked me something?’

They were at the roundabout on the outskirts of Wilton, waiting to find a place in the traffic streaming towards Salisbury. He slipped smoothly between two other cars before he answered. ‘You do understand that there will be no regular hours? You will, of course, have time to yourself each day, but that time may vary. It would be difficult to arrange to meet your friends or make dates.’

She said quietly, in a bleak little voice, ‘I haven’t any friends, and no one to make a date with.’ She added quickly, in case he thought she was wallowing in self-pity, ‘I had lots of friends when my mother was alive, but there wasn’t much time to spare at my brother’s house. I—I like to be busy, and I shan’t mind at all if Mr and Mrs Grainger make their own arrangements about my free time.’

‘That’s settled then.’ He sounded kind but faintly uninterested. ‘But I expect you will want to go shopping.’ He was annoyed that he had said that, for she went pink and turned to look out of her window, very conscious of her dull appearance. All the same, she agreed cheerfully; in a week or two she would indeed go shopping. Clothes made the man, it was said—well, they would make her, too!

She liked Salisbury; the cathedral dominated the city, and its close was a delightful oasis in the city centre. When the doctor drove down High Street and through the great gate, circled the small car park and drew up before one of the charming old houses abutting the close, she declared, ‘Oh, is it here? I’ve always wanted…I came here with Mother…’

‘Charming, isn’t it? And yes, this is the house.’ He got out and went round to open her door. They crossed the pavement together, and he rang the bell beside the pedimented doorway. The door was opened almost at once by a middle-aged woman with a stern face, dressed soberly in black. She gave the doctor a wintry smile and stared at Katherine.

‘Ah, Mrs Dowling, I have brought Miss Marsh to meet Mr and Mrs Grainger. They are expecting us.’

She wished him a reluctant good morning and nodded at Katherine, who smiled uncertainly. ‘You’d better come up,’ she observed dourly.

The house, despite its Georgian façade, was considerably older. A number of passages led off the small, square hall, and half a dozen steps at its end ended in a small gallery with two doors. The housekeeper opened one of them and ushered them inside. The room was large and long, at the back of the house, overlooking a surprisingly large garden.

Its two occupants turned to look at the doctor and Katherine as they went in, and the elderly gentleman said at once, ‘Jason, my dear boy—so here you are with the little lady you have found for us.’ He peered over his glasses at Katherine. ‘Good morning, my dear. You don’t find it too irksome to cherish us, I hope?’

‘How do you do, Mr Grainger?’ said Katherine politely. ‘Not in the least, if you would like me to come.’

‘Take a look at her, my dear,’ begged the old gentleman, addressing himself to the equally elderly lady sitting opposite him.

She was small and frail-looking, but her eyes were bright and her voice surprisingly strong. She studied Katherine and nodded. ‘I believe that she will do very nicely, Albert. A little on the small side, perhaps?’

‘I’m very strong,’ declared Katherine on a faintly apprehensive note.

‘And competent,’ put in the doctor in his calm way. ‘Besides not being wishful to dash off to the discos with a different young man each evening.’

He had pulled a chair forward, and nodded to her to sit down, and Mrs Grainger asked, ‘Have you a young man, my dear?’

‘No,’ said Katherine, ‘and I’ve never been inside a disco.’

The old couple nodded to each other. ‘Most suitable. Will you come at once?’

Katherine looked at the doctor, who said placidly, ‘I’ll take her back to her brother’s house now, and she can pack her things. I dare say, if you wish it, she could be ready to come back here this evening.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Katherine, ‘there’s a bus I could catch…’

‘I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.’ He barely glanced at her. ‘Mrs Grainger, you do understand that Miss Marsh has to have an hour or so to herself each day, and at least a half-day off each week? We have already discussed the salary, and she finds it acceptable.’ He got up. ‘I’m going to have a word with Mrs Dowling, if I may, before I take Miss Marsh back.’

He was gone for ten minutes, during which time Katherine was plied with questions. She answered them readily enough, for she liked her employers.

She was sensible enough to realise that sitting here in this pleasant room wasn’t indicative of her day’s work; she would probably be on the run for a good part of each day and probably the night, too, but after the cheerless atmosphere of Henry’s home this delightful house held warmth, something she had missed since her mother had died.

When Dr Fitzroy returned, she rose, shook hands, declared that she would return that evening, and accompanied the doctor out to his car.

He had little to say as they drove back, only expressed himself satisfied with the interview, warned her to be ready that evening and reminded her that he called to see Mr and Mrs Grainger two days a week, usually on Tuesdays and Fridays, at about eleven o’clock. ‘So I should like you to be there when I call.’ He shot her a quick glance. ‘You will be happy there?’

‘Yes, oh, yes!’ she assured him. ‘I can’t believe it! I’m so afraid that I’ll wake up and find that it’s all been a dream.’

He laughed. ‘It’s true enough, and I do warn you that you may find the work irksome and sometimes tiring.’ He stopped the car outside Henry’s gate and got out. ‘I’ll come in with you and speak to your sister-in-law.’

Joyce was waiting for them in the drawing-room, beautifully turned out and, judging from the din the children were making from the nursery, impervious to their demands.

As Katherine went in with the doctor, she said,’ Katherine, do go upstairs and see to the children. I’m exhausted already—I had to sit down quietly…’

She smiled bewitchingly at the doctor, who didn’t smile back. ‘Mrs Marsh, Miss Marsh will be taking up her job this evening. I shall be here for her at six o’clock. I’m sure you’ll make certain that she has the time to collect her things together before then.’ He smiled at Katherine. ‘You can be ready by then? I have an appointment in the evening and must go to the hospital this afternoon, otherwise I would come for you after lunch.’

‘I’ll be ready.’ Katherine gave him a beaming smile. ‘Thank you for taking me this morning.’

‘You’ll stay for coffee?’ asked Joyce persuasively.

‘Thank you, no.’ He shook her hand and Katherine took him to the door.

‘Scared?’ he asked softly. ‘Don’t worry, if you haven’t been given the chance to pack, I’ll do it for you when I come.’ He patted her briskly on the shoulder. ‘I bless the day I knocked on this door; I’ve been searching for weeks for someone like you.’ Her heart leapt at his words, and then plummeted to her toes as he added, ‘You’re exactly what the Graingers need.’

She stood for a moment or two after he had gone, dismissing sentimental nonsense from her head, preparing herself for the unpleasantness to come. And unpleasant it was, too, for Joyce was at her most vindictive.

Katherine allowed the worst of it to flow over her head and, when Joyce paused for breath, said in her calm way, ‘Well, Joyce, Robin and Sarah are your children, after all. If you don’t want to look after them, Henry can quite afford to get someone who will.’

She went up to her room and finished her packing which, since she had very few possessions, took no time at all. She was just finishing when Mrs Todd called up the stairs. ‘Mrs Marsh ‘as gone out, and them dratted kids is all over my kitchen!’

Katherine had changed back into elderly jeans and a sweater. She pulled on her jacket now and went downstairs. The children were running wild, sensing that something was happening and cheerfully adding to the disruption.

‘Mrs Todd, help me cut some sandwiches and prepare a thermos—I’ll take the children out and we can find somewhere to picnic. I know it’s not much of a day, but it’ll get them out of the house. Leave the key under the mat if we’re not back, will you?’

They set out half an hour later, the children unwilling at first but, once away from the house, walking along the bridle paths, they could race about and shout as much as they wanted to. Katherine suspected that Joyce had taken herself off for the day in the hope that, if she didn’t return, Katherine would feel bound to stay, but Henry would be home by five o’clock, and an hour later Dr Fitzroy would come for her.

She found a hollow out of the wind, and they ate their sandwiches there and then started back home. The children were tired now and, once they were back in the empty house, they were willing enough to have their outdoor things taken off and to settle at the kitchen table while Katherine got their tea. They had just finished when their father got home.

Katherine greeted him briskly. ‘Joyce isn’t back—I don’t know where she went. The children have had their tea, and I’ve put everything ready for them to be put to bed presently.’

‘What about my supper?’

‘I really wouldn’t know, Henry. I’m sure Joyce will have arranged something. Dr Fitzroy is coming for me at six o’clock.’

He looked aghast. ‘But you can’t leave us like this! Who’s going to put the children to bed and get the supper?’

He had treated her as a kind of maid of all work for the last two years, but she could still feel sorry for him. ‘Henry, you knew I was taking this job. You need never bother with me again, for you have never liked having me here, have you? Find a nice strong girl to help Joyce with the children, and persuade Joyce to give up some of her committees and spend more time at home.’

‘I’ll decide what is best, thank you, Katherine.’ He was being pompous again and her concern for him faded. ‘While you are waiting, you might get the children to bed.’

‘They don’t go until half-past six,’ she pointed out. ‘Why not take them to the nursery and read to them? I have a few last-minute things to do…’

She left him looking outraged.

It was five minutes to six when Joyce came home. Katherine heard her voice, loud and complaining. ‘Where’s Katherine? Why aren’t the children with her? What about supper? I’m far too tired to do anything—she’ll have to stay until tomorrow, or until someone can be found to help me…’

Leaving her room, her cases in either hand, Katherine heard her brother’s voice, raised against the children’s shrill voices and then, thankfully, the front door bell.

She hurried downstairs and opened the door and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Dr Fitzroy, large and reassuring. ‘I haven’t said goodbye,’ she told him, rather pale at the prospect.

He took her cases from her, put them in the porch and went past her into the hall. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said and gave an encouraging little smile.

A waste of time as it turned out; Joyce turned her back and Henry glared at her and began a diatribe about ungrateful girls who would get what they deserved, deserting young children at a moment’s notice. The doctor cut him short in the politest way. ‘Fortunately, they have parents to look after them,’ he observed in a bland voice which held a nasty sharp edge. ‘We will be on our way.’

Katherine had said goodbye to the children, so she bade Henry and Joyce goodbye quietly and followed Dr Fitzroy out of the house, shutting the door carefully behind her. She got into the car without a word and sat silently as he drove away. It was silly to cry; she would not be missed, not as a person who had been loved, but just for a moment she felt very lonely.

The doctor said cheerfully, without looking at her, ‘I often think that friends are so much better than relations, and I’m sure you’ll quickly make plenty of friends.’ And then he added very kindly, ‘Don’t cry, Katherine, they aren’t worth it. You are going somewhere where you’re wanted and where you’ll be happy.’

She sniffed, blew her ordinary little nose and sat up straight. ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right, of course. It’s just that the last two years have been a complete waste of time…’

‘How old are you? Twenty-one, you said? I am thirty-six, my dear, and I believe I have wasted a good many more years than two. But they are never quite wasted, you know, and all the other years make them insignificant.’

She wished with all her heart that she could stay close to his large, confident person for ever, but at least she would see him twice a week. She smiled at the thought as he said, ‘That’s better. Now, listen carefully. I shall only stay a few minutes at the Graingers; they dine at eight o’clock, that gives you time to find your way around and to unpack. They go to bed at ten o’clock, never later. Mrs Dowling likes her evenings to herself once she has seen to dinner, so you will get their bedtime drinks and so forth. She takes up their morning tea at half-past seven, but I don’t expect she will do the same for you. It’s quite a large house to run and she manages very well with two women who come in to help. Your job will be to leave her free to do that; lately she has been run off her feet, now that Mr and Mrs Grainger have become more dependent on someone to fetch and carry.’

‘Does she mind me coming?’

‘No, I think not, but she has been with them for twenty years or more and she is set in her ways.’

‘I’ll help her all I can, if she will let me. Oh, I do hope I’ll make a good job of it.’

‘Don’t worry, you will.’ They had reached Salisbury, and he was driving through the streets, quiet now after the day’s traffic. Although the shops in the High Street were still lit, there were few people about, and once through North Gate it was another world, with the cathedral towering over the close and the charming old houses grouped around it at a respectable distance, as was right and proper. The doctor pulled up before the Graingers’ house and got out, opened her door and collected her cases from the boot, then rang the doorbell. The door was opened so briskly that Katherine had no time to get nervous, and anyway it was too late to have cold feet. She bade Mrs Dowling a civil good evening, and accompanied the doctor to the drawing-room. Mr and Mrs Grainger were sitting on each side of a briskly burning fire, he reading a newspaper, she knitting a large woolly garment.

‘There you are,’ declared Mrs Grainger in a pleased voice. ‘And I suppose that you must rush away, Jason? But we shall see you tomorrow, of course.’ She beamed at him, and then at Katherine. ‘Such a relief that you are here, my dear. Now, what shall I call you?’

‘By her name, of course,’ observed Mr Grainger.

‘Katherine,’ said Katherine.

‘A very good name,’ said his wife. ‘I had a sister of that name—we called her Katie. She died of the scarlet fever. No one has the scarlet fever nowadays. Are you called Katie, my dear?’

‘No, Mrs Grainger, although my mother always called me that.’

The old lady turned to the doctor. ‘She seems a very nice girl, Jason. Not pretty, but well spoken and with a pleasant voice. I think we shall get on splendidly together.’

Mr Grainger put down his newspaper. ‘Glad to have you here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Don’t see many young faces these days, only Dodie—our granddaughter, and she has got a life of her own, bless her. You’re only young once.’ He glanced at Dr Fitzroy, standing placidly between them. ‘Seen her lately?’

‘Yes, and we’re dining together this evening.’

‘Then you won’t want to be hanging around here with us old fogeys.’

The doctor left very shortly, and Mrs Dowling was summoned to take Katherine to her room. She was led silently up the carpeted stairs with shallow treads and along a short passage leading to the back of the house.

‘Here you are,’ said Mrs Dowling, rather ungraciously. ‘The bathroom’s beyond.’ She opened a door, and Katherine went past her into a fair-sized room, prettily furnished, its window overlooking the large garden. Her cases were already there and Mrs Dowling said, ‘Dinner’s at eight o’clock, so you’ll have time to unpack first. They won’t expect you to change this evening. Mrs Grainger asked me to take you round the house. Come downstairs when you are ready and I’ll do that, though it’s not the easiest of times for me, what with dinner to dish up and all.’

‘Would you prefer me to come with you now? I can unpack later when I come to bed, and it won’t take me long to tidy myself.’

Mrs Dowling relaxed her stern expression; the girl looked harmless enough and, heaven knew, she had no looks to speak of, not like some of the pert young things these days who thought that because they had pretty faces and smart clothes, they could indulge in bad manners towards their elders and betters. She cast an eye over Katherine’s sober appearance.

‘Suits me, Miss…’

‘Would you mind calling me Katherine?’ She smiled at the older woman. ‘I haven’t had a job before, and Miss Marsh is a bit—well, I am going to work here.’

Mrs Dowling folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure—how would Miss Katherine do?’

‘If you prefer that, Mrs Dowling.’

They toured the bedrooms, the bathroom and the small pantry off the front landing, where Katherine would be able to make hot drinks if Mr and Mrs Grainger were wakeful during the night.

‘And that’s often enough,’ observed Mrs Dowling, ‘but the doctor will have told you that.’ She led the way downstairs. ‘Very kind and good he is, too. Of course, him being smitten with Miss Dodie, I dare say he sees more of them than he needs to, though they’re not in the best of health.’

She opened a door in the hall, and Katherine saw the dining-room: a rather gloomy apartment, heavily furnished, with a great deal of silver on the sideboard. There was a small study next to it and a charming little room opposite, used as a breakfast-room and sitting-room, its door leading to the drawing-room and with french windows opening out on to the garden at the back of the house.

‘You’d best go tidy yourself,’ said Mrs Dowling. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock, and they’ll want their drinks poured. There now, you know where the drawing-room is?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Dowling. Do you want me to help with dinner? I could carry in the dishes for you.’

‘They wouldn’t like that, thanks all the same. Besides, you’ll be busy enough; they ring the bell half a dozen times in an evening for me…’

‘Oh, well,’ said Katherine cheerfully, ‘they won’t need to do that now, will they? You must have been busy.’

Mrs Dowling watched her go back upstairs. Not such a bad young woman, after all, she decided. No looks, but a nice voice, and not in the least bossy.

Mr and Mrs Grainger didn’t appear to have moved when Katherine went back into the drawing-room. She poured their sherry, accepted a glass for herself, and made gentle small talk until Mrs Dowling appeared to say that dinner was on the table. And from then on the evening went well. The old people liked to talk; indeed, half the time they talked at the same time, interrupting each other quite ruthlessly.

Katherine fetched their hot milky drinks from the kitchen at ten o’clock and then saw them upstairs, staying with Mrs Grainger until that lady declared that she could very easily manage for herself.

‘And if I wake in the night, my dear, there’s a bell in my room. Mr Grainger has one, too. I must say it’s a comfort to have you here.’ She bade Katherine a kind goodnight. ‘We’ll have a nice little talk in the morning,’ she promised.

Katherine unpacked, admired her room, had a leisurely bath and thought how lovely it was to have a bathroom all to herself. She thought, too, fleetingly of Henry and Joyce, and felt guilty because she hadn’t missed them or the children. I can’t be a very nice person, she reflected as she curled up snugly in her bed. Not that the idea kept her awake; she slept within moments of her head touching the pillow.

Twenty-four hours later, tired though she was, she stayed awake long enough to review her day. Not too bad, she thought sleepily. The highlight of it had been the doctor’s visit, although he had been impersonal in his manner towards her; all the same, he had smiled nicely at her when he left, and expressed the view that she was exactly right for the job. The old people were demanding in a nice way, but they seemed to like her, and even Mrs Dowling had unbent a little. She had had no chance to go out, or even take an hour off, but she had hardly expected that for the first day; it had been filled with undertaking the multiple small tasks the Graingers expected of her. Going upstairs to fetch a forgotten book, Katherine found time to sympathise with Mrs Dowling, who must have been dead on her feet by bedtime…

All the same, she had been happy. The house was warm, cheerful and charmingly furnished, she had a delightful room all to herself, the meals were elegantly served and the whole tempo of life slowed down. And, over and above all that, she would be paid. It was a splendid thought on which to close her eyes.

The week wound to a close. By Saturday she had found her feet, and for the last two days she had gone out while Mr and Mrs Grainger snoozed on their beds after lunch. Mrs Dowling, she discovered, liked to put her feet up after tea for an hour or so, and Katherine had offered to do any small chores for her during that time, an offer accepted rather ungraciously by that lady.

Katherine had spent her two brief outings window-shopping. She saw at once that forty pounds would go nowhere; she would have to buy essentials during the first few weeks then save up. All the same, she was willing to wait until she had enough money to buy the kind of clothes she wanted; good clothes, well cut and well made.

On Saturday night she had gone to bed content; she had found her week’s wages on the breakfast table, and that afternoon she had gone to Marks and Spencer and spent almost all of it on undies. A methodical girl, she had made a list of the clothes she intended to buy, and crossed out the first line with satisfaction; next week it would almost certainly have to be a dress, Marks and Spencer again, something simple and unobtrusive to tide her over until she could afford something better. And perhaps a nightie? She hated the plain cotton ones she had had for so long.

On Sunday the Graingers went to church. It was a major undertaking, getting them there, for they insisted on walking through the close, a journey which took a considerable time at their leisurely pace. Katherine, between them, her arms supporting them, was thankful that the sun shone and that the early morning frost had dwindled away. And when they reached the cathedral there was still quite a long walk through the vast building to the seats they always occupied. But once settled between them, she was able to flex her tired arms and look around her. It was some years since she had been there, and she looked around her with peaceful content. They were seated near the pulpit, and she had a splendid view of the great building; she would be able to come as often as she liked, she thought with satisfaction, for it was barely five minutes’ walk for her. The opening hymn was announced, and she helped her companions to their feet as the choir processed to their stalls.

The congregation was a large one and leaving the cathedral took time. They were outside, beginning their slow progress back home, when Dr Fitzroy joined them. There was a young woman with him, tall and good-looking and beautifully dressed. Dodie, thought Katherine, bristling to instant dislike; and she was right, for the young woman bent to kiss the old lady and then pat her grandfather on his arm with a gentle pressure.

‘Darlings!’ she declared in a clear, high voice. ‘How lovely to see you, and how well you look.’

She had very blue eyes; she turned them on Katherine for an indifferent moment. Her nod, when the doctor introduced Katherine, was perfunctory.

‘So clever of you, Jason, to find someone so suitable.’

‘I can’t take any credit for that,’ he said placidly. ‘Katherine more or less dropped into my lap—an answer to prayer, shall we say.’ He smiled at Katherine, who was vexed to feel her cheeks redden. ‘You’ve settled in? No snags?’

‘None, Dr Fitzroy.’ She heard her voice, very stiff and wooden and awkward-sounding, but for the life of her she couldn’t do anything about it.

Dodie gave a chuckle. ‘I should think not indeed! These are the two dearest, sweetest people I know.’ She kissed them both, smiled at Katherine quite brilliantly, and took the doctor’s arm. ‘We shall be late…’

His goodbyes were brief. Katherine, scooping her elderly companions on to each arm, heard Dodie’s high, penetrating voice quite clearly as they walked away.

‘She will do very well, Jason. Dreadfully dull, poor dear, but I dare say she’s very grateful—living in a pleasant house, good food and wages…’

The doctor’s reply, if he replied, was lost on the wind. Katherine subdued a violent wish to leave her two companions as from that moment and never see them or the doctor again. As for Dodie…words failed her. Common sense prevailed, of course; it was a good job and she did live pleasantly, and it was wonderful to have money to spend. She sighed soundlessly and turned her full attention to Mr Grainger, who was busy pulling the sermon to pieces. She would stay for ever, she mused, while she had the chance of seeing Dr Fitzroy. It was the height of stupidity to love someone who had no interest at all in you. Dodie had said that she was dull, she might as well be stupid, too!