Читать книгу The Convenient Wife - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

OCTOBER ebbed slowly into November, bringing with it chilly rain and wind and darkening mornings. Watts Ward was busy and Venetia trotted to and fro, and when her days off came round went thankfully to the cottage in Percy Lane. It was pleasant to get up in her own room in the morning and make tea for her grandmother and do the shopping, and all without having to keep an anxious eye on the clock. In the evenings they sat by the fire and talked, which was pleasant, and her grandmother knitted and Venetia wound wool or did nothing at all.

She had seen nothing of the professor. He came very seldom to Watts Ward, but he was to be glimpsed from time to time going in or out of the hospital. It was Caroline who told her that he had gone back to Holland. ‘What a lovely life,’ she added. ‘Think of all the people he meets. He must be rolling in cash—I bet he’s got a marvellous house somewhere.’

‘It’s to be hoped that he has,’ said Venetia sedately. ‘If he’s married his wife and children will need a roof over their heads.’

Caroline giggled. ‘Venetia darling, there’s not a scrap of romance in you. I’ve got a date with one of the housemen in his team—I’m going to find out something more about our professor.’

Venetia raised her eyebrows and then smiled. ‘I dare say if I were as pretty as you, Caro, I’d do that, too.’

But Caroline discovered nothing of the professor’s private life. Tim Dobson either didn’t know or wasn’t going to tell, and Venetia, caught up in a week even busier than usual, forgot to ask.

She felt that days off made a more than welcome break, even when it meant queueing in the cold rain for a bus after a long day. Venetia, struggling off the bus, made for Percy Lane as fast as her tired feet would allow, thinking of her supper and her grandmother’s welcome. It surprised her to see that the cottage was in darkness, and when no one answered the door she had a moment’s apprehension, which she explained away with her usual common sense. Her grandmother had a number of friends living in Hampstead, and it was barely seven o’clock—she could have lingered after having tea with one of them. She got out her key, opened the door and let herself into the narrow hall.

As she switched on the light she called, ‘Granny,’ but the little house was silent. She put down her bag and went into the sitting-room, turning on the light as she did so. The fire had burned low and her grandmother was sitting in her chair, her knitting in her lap, and Venetia knew before she reached her and felt for her pulse that she wouldn’t be able to find it. She said, ‘Granny?’ again in a frightened voice, and put her young arms around the elderly shoulders. She stayed like that for a few minutes, thrusting back grief. That could come later…

There was no telephone in the cottage. She crossed the road to one of the neighbours and phoned her grandmother’s doctor, and then went back and waited quietly for him to come, sitting very still, her granny’s hand in hers.

It was the end of the month before the professor returned to St Jude’s, and, after discussing the operation he intended doing on the following day, he got into his car and drove himself to his house. He was going through Hampstead when he saw Percy Lane’s narrow opening, and on an impulse he turned the car into it. He wasn’t sure why he was going—Venetia probably wouldn’t be there. He was being foolish, and he was annoyed at that.

There was a light shining between the drawn curtains and the front door was open. He got out of the car and pushed the door wider, and noticed then that there was a house agent’s board fastened on to the wall beside it. He said, ‘Venetia, I’m coming in,’ and pushed the sitting-room door open. She was sitting at the little round table by the window, her hands in her lap, and the face she turned to him was so white and weary that he said quickly, ‘What’s the matter? Are you ill?’ His dark eyes swept round the little room; it was scrupulously tidy, and also very cold. ‘Your grandmother?’ he asked.

Venetia supposed that she should have felt surprise at seeing him, but she didn’t. She said in her quiet way, ‘She died rather suddenly, two weeks ago.’

‘My poor girl.’ He undid his coat, tossed his gloves on to the table and sat down opposite her. ‘The house is up for sale. Why are you sitting here in the cold alone?’

She said steadily, ‘Well, you see, this house doesn’t belong to Granny now—there was some arrangement she made a long time ago—she sold it to some kind of company, and they let her have the money for it then so that she had an income.’ She added seriously, ‘The rates are rather high, you know, and there wasn’t any other money, only her pension. That’s why I’m here—someone’s coming with some papers for me to sign…’

‘Have you no solicitor?’

‘Oh, yes, but you see it wasn’t convenient for him to come here in the evening, and he said it was all right for me to sign them.’ She went on in her sensible way, ‘The furniture is mine.’

‘You have family?’

‘No. At least, only a cousin of my father, whom I’ve never met. He and my father didn’t like each other, and I don’t suppose he would want to hear from me.’

He got up and shut the door. ‘When is this man coming?’

She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Now, if he’s punctual. Can I get you a cup of tea? I’m so sorry I didn’t ask you…’

Someone knocked on the door and he got up. ‘I’ll answer that. Are you having days off?’ And when she nodded he added, ‘And sleeping here?’

‘They said I could stay until the end of the month. There are things to pack up.’

He nodded and went to the front door, and presently he ushered in a businesslike-looking man with a briefcase. ‘Go ahead,’ he invited him. ‘I’m merely here in an advisory capacity.’

A remark which made Venetia blink with surprise. She still wasn’t thinking straight, but she was conscious of relief that the professor should have appeared on her doorstep just when she knew she needed someone. She wished the man good evening, and set herself to read the papers he offered her. Then she passed them over to the professor, who read them, too. They were quite in order, and it was no good pointing out that if the house had been Venetia’s on her grandmother’s death she would have been able to sell it for three times the amount her grandmother had received for it.

Venetia sighed, offered tea and was refused, and watched the professor see the man to the door. When he came back into the room she got up.

‘Thank you very much, Professor,’ she said politely. ‘It was very kind of you to stay. Now I have only to pack up and get somewhere to store the furniture.’ She added, unconsciously wistful, ‘Would you like a cup of tea before you go?’

‘No. Get whatever you need for the night. You’re coming back with me.’

Her white face flushed faintly. ‘Indeed, I am not, Professor. It is very kind of you to suggest it—’

‘I’m not being kind, I’m being sensible. You can’t stay alone. My housekeeper will look after you, and you can return in the morning and do whatever you have to do.’

He sounded reassuringly disinterested.

‘But won’t it interfere with your evening?’

‘Why should it? I’m going out to dinner, and shall not be back until late, and I’m operating in the morning. I suggest that you spend your two nights at my house and come and go as you please.’ He turned a frowning look upon her. ‘I’m already a little late.’

Put like that, there wasn’t much that she could do about it and, indeed, she hadn’t quite regained her usual independent spirit. She pushed a few things into her overnight bag, locked up and put on her coat, to be bustled out and into the Bentley, greatly to the interest of the neighbours.

It was a dark, misty evening and later there would be a frost. Venetia was grateful for the warmth of the big car, and at the same time realised that she was hungry. She hadn’t waited for tea at the hospital, and her midday dinner had been gobbled because she had been delayed on the ward by old Mr Thirsk, who was recovering from a stomach operation and had mislaid his glasses. It had taken her a few minutes to find them among the bedclothes, and by then his neighbour was demanding that his water jug be filled. Somehow her hunger was the last straw; she had just parted with what had been her home for some years, and she had very little idea what to do next. Go on nursing, of course, but there was the question of the furniture, and the solicitor had mentioned several outstanding bills. To her horrified shame her eyes filled with tears. They dripped down her cheeks, getting worse every moment. She put out her tongue and did her best to catch them, and sniffed discreetly, but she was quite unable to stop. It was a good thing that her companion was looking ahead of him. She turned her head away and gazed unseeingly out of the window.

The professor had turned into a wide road skirting the Heath, with houses standing well back, surrounded by large gardens, overlooking the fields and trees. He turned into an open gateway and stopped before the lighted porch of the house at the very end of the road, switched off the engine and asked quietly, ‘Why are you crying, Venetia?’ At the same time he offered her a handkerchief.

She mopped her eyes, blew her small nose defiantly, and said in a sodden voice, ‘You’re so kind.’ She looked at him over the hanky. ‘I’m very sorry—Mother always said that nothing annoyed a man more than women weeping.’ She gave a gulp and scrubbed at her face. ‘It’s just that it’s one thing on top of another,’ she mumbled.

He put out an arm and drew her close so that her head was on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but the comfort of it started her weeping once more. He let her cry for several minutes and then said, ‘We’ll sort things out tomorrow. I’ll be home after lunch for a couple of hours. I think it will be best if you stay here until I get back, then we can talk about it. It will be easier with two.’

She sniffed into his coat. ‘I’m not usually so silly, but it was all a bit sudden.’

‘And you had no one to turn to,’ he said softly. He disentangled her from his shoulder and undid her seat-belt, then got out to open her door. ‘Mrs Todd will look after you and give you supper.’ He had opened the door with his key, and ushered her inside. The hall was large and square, lit by a crystal chandelier hanging from a plastered ceiling, and a curved staircase rose from one side. There were a number of doors leading from it, and from one of these came a small, round woman with grey hair piled high in elaborate rolls, wearing a neat dark dress.

‘There you are, sir.’ She trotted to meet them. ‘Todd’s laid out your things. And can I get you anything…?’ Her small twinkling eyes studied Venetia.

‘Mrs Todd, I’ve brought Miss Venetia Forbes back here for a couple of nights. Will you see that she has supper? And give her the room overlooking the back garden, will you? Perhaps you would take her there now, and then come back to me.’

Mrs Todd smiled and nodded. ‘Right, sir. If Miss Forbes would like to come upstairs…’

It was a lovely house, thought Venetia, following Mrs Todd obediently. Not only lovely to look at, but it felt…she sought for a word…like home, warm and welcoming and softly lit. She had no doubt, either, that it was run on oiled wheels. She sighed and Mrs Todd turned round to say kindly, ‘You’re tired, miss. I can see that. A nice supper and then bed—there’s nothing like a night’s sleep to get you on your feet again.’

She opened a door on the balcony above the staircase and ushered Venetia inside. The room was quite large, with a large window draped in old rose chintz; the counterpane on the bed matched exactly, and the rose colour was repeated on the small armchair and the bedside lights. The carpet was thick, a rich cream colour which, reflected Venetia, her housewifely instincts aroused, would be quite a problem to keep pristine. She glanced guiltily at her own shoes and then apologetically at Mrs Todd, who only smiled in a cosy way and led her into the adjoining bathroom.

‘You just tidy yourself, miss, and then come downstairs. Todd’ll be there to show you where to go. And just you ask me if there’s anything you need.’

Examining the dressing-table, a dainty affair of maple wood, and then the bathroom, Venetia decided that someone had provided everything a girl could want cosmetic-wise. It would be lovely to use them, but she decided against that; she was only there for a couple of nights, and she supposed that anything used, however sparingly, would have to be replaced. She washed her face and hands, powdered her prosaic features, tidied her hair and went down the stairs.

Todd was waiting for her, a small round man, exactly right for Mrs Todd, but with a great deal of dignity. He bade her good evening, opened a door and silently ushered her into what she supposed was the drawing-room. It extended from the front of the house to the back, its parquet floor strewn with silky rugs, and a number of comfortable armchairs and sofas disposed about it. The professor rose from an outsize chair by the open fire and came to meet her. ‘Ah—just time for us to have a drink before I go out. I made it clear that you are to spend your nights off duty here? You will have a good deal to do during the next few days. It would be satisfactory if you could settle everything before you go back to St Jude’s.’

He handed her a glass of sherry and sat down opposite her chair. ‘I shall be here shortly after two o’clock tomorrow. It would be helpful if you had decided by then exactly what you intend to do with your possessions, so that arrangements can be made.’

She took a sip of sherry and said thoughtfully, ‘You are awfully kind, Professor, but please don’t bother. I’m very grateful for your hospitality, but I’ll manage quite well—’

‘Are you telling me not to interfere?’ His voice was chilly.

‘My goodness me, no. Only I think I’ve been enough bother to you already.’

‘Which is no reason for us to leave things half done.’

A remark which struck her as decidedly indifferent to her feelings, to say the least.

He went away presently with a polite wish that she should enjoy her evening and go to bed at a reasonably early hour, and she in her turn was invited by Todd to accompany him to a pleasant room at the back of the house, where she dined deliciously and in solitary state, and then, not wishing to disrupt the household more than necessary, elected to go to bed.

To her surprise the professor was in the hall, magnificent in a dinner-jacket and looking ill-tempered. He was listening to someone on the telephone, and said curtly, ‘I have been delayed, unavoidably so.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I should with luck be with you in twenty minutes.’ He put down the phone, frowned at her, rumbled something which might have been goodnight, and let himself out of the house.

Venetia stood on the bottom stair and listened to the car being driven away. A staid tabby cat had arranged itself comfortably on one of the high-backed chairs in the hall, and she addressed it for lack of any other audience. ‘Poor man. I am being a nuisance, but he didn’t have to make it quite so obvious, did he? I dare say that was his girlfriend telling him off.’

The cat settled herself just so and began on a meticulous toilet, and Venetia turned and went upstairs. ‘I am lapped in luxury,’ she told herself as she went, ‘so I have no reason to feel lonely.’ But she was.

She spent all of ten minutes wondering about the professor, guessing wildly at his life, wondering, too, whereabouts he lived in Holland. No wife, she decided. Somehow he didn’t strike her as the kind of man to leave his wife at home while he took up residence somewhere else for weeks on end. She was inventing a beautiful blonde sitting opposite him in some exclusive restaurant at the very moment when she fell asleep.

A cheerful girl brought her early-morning tea, wished her a good morning and begged her to stay in bed, since Mrs Todd was even then cooking her breakfast and would bring it up herself.

Which that good lady did, not ten minutes later: scrambled eggs, crisp toast, orange juice and a pot of coffee. ‘And mind you eat every crumb, miss,’ she urged. ‘You could do with a bit more flesh on your bones. A nasty time you’ve been having, by all accounts, and a good lie-in will do you the world of good. There’ll be coffee if you want it when you come downstairs, and I’ll dish up a nice little lunch at half-past twelve sharp, since the professor expects to be home earlier than he thought. Phoned he did, ten minutes ago. He’ll have a sandwich and a glass of beer at the hospital and then come right home.’

Venetia longed to ask questions, there was so much she wanted to know about the professor, but she held her tongue. Mrs Todd was a kind little chatterbox, but she suspected that to chatter about her employer would be the last thing the housekeeper would do.

She ate her breakfast, had a bath—much too hot and lengthy—dressed and went downstairs. Todd, with the cat trailing him, came to meet her in the hall. ‘Good morning, miss. The professor asked me to suggest to you that you should decide which firm you wish to employ to dispose of your furniture. It will save time this afternoon, and allow arrangements to be made.’

He opened the door to the room where she had had dinner. There was a fire burning brightly, and coffee on a tray placed invitingly on a drum table, by a small armchair. ‘I have put the local telephone directory on the table in the window, miss. Also today’s newspaper.’

After the bleak weeks she had struggled through it seemed like a dream world. She sipped coffee and studied the lists of firms who might be suitable. There were one or two things she would like to keep: a papier-mâché work-table which had belonged to her mother, a small collection of her grandmother’s books, one or two pieces of silver left from more affluent days… She made a tidy list of these, picked out the more modest firms who might dispose of the furniture, and opened the Daily Telegraph, suppressing a feeling of guilt because she wasn’t going to do anything useful.

She lunched deliciously: watercress soup, cream sitting on its smooth green; a cheese soufflé; baked apple dumplings with a rich custard; and more coffee afterwards. She was just finishing her second cup when the professor walked in. He was followed by Todd, bringing fresh coffee, and sat down at the table. Venetia wished him good afternoon and received a beetle-browed stare. Evidently he was in no need of the niceties of speech; she finished her coffee and waited silently.

‘If you have decided what you wish to do with your furniture and who is to deal with it, there is no reason why the business shouldn’t be settled at once. Presumably you don’t have any more days off for another week?’

‘No, I don’t. And I should like to get everything settled today and tomorrow. I have chosen a firm I think will do. A local business—perhaps they could collect the furniture before I go back to the hospital.’

He put down his cup. ‘Then let us go without delay.’

‘Give me two minutes,’ begged Venetia, and belted upstairs to fetch her coat and handbag. He was obviously impatient to get the whole business settled; indeed, she suspected that he probably regretted even offering to help her in the first place. Well, two could be businesslike; she nipped down to the hall, intent on getting through the afternoon’s business as quickly as possible.

Things went smoothly. At the professor’s instigation, someone from the house furnishers she had elected to go to accompanied them to her grandmother’s house and, since it was a small place and there wasn’t a great deal of furniture, within the hour he had assessed its contents and named a price, with the undertaking that it would be removed on the following day and a cheque for the amount paid to her if she cared to call in the afternoon. Moreover, he offered to store the one or two pieces she wished to keep. The matter nicely settled, they all drove back to his place of business where Venetia arranged to call on the following day.

The professor had had little to say, but what he had said had been very much to the point and with no words wasted. She got back into the car and they drove back to his house and went indoors. In the hall he said, ‘I suggest that you telephone your solicitor and anyone else concerned with your affairs. There’s a phone in the small sitting-room.’ He turned away. ‘You will excuse me if I leave you? I have some letters to dictate before I go back to St Jude’s.’

‘Thank you very much for your help, Professor. I’m very grateful.’

He paused at his study door. ‘You have no relations other than your father’s cousin who has no interest in you?’

‘No.’ He was frowning so heavily that she added kindly, ‘But it doesn’t matter at all, I’ve lots of friends.’

He nodded. ‘I shall be out this evening. Feel free to come and go as you please. You return to your duties tomorrow?’

She made haste to assure him that she would return to the hospital when she had been to receive the cheque from the furniture company. ‘I—I’ve promised to go out in the evening,’ she fibbed, in case he might think that she would want to stay for dinner.

He regarded her thoughtfully, aware of her small lie, even guessing why she had told it. ‘Just as you wish.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I dare say that we shall see each other occasionally in St Jude’s.’

‘Oh, yes, but not to talk to, of course. I’m not supposed to talk to consultants, only to answer them if they ask me something.’

She gave a brisk nod and went upstairs to take off her coat. When she went down again the house was quiet as she went to the small sitting-room and did her telephoning. That done, she sat quietly until Todd came in with the tea-tray and the news that the professor had returned to the hospital and would only come back for a brief visit in order to change for the evening.

She was saved from loneliness by the presence of the cat, who curled up on the chair on the other side of the hearth and went to sleep while she sat with paper and pen, making plans. The money from the furniture sale wasn’t a great deal, but she felt emboldened to spend a little of it; she needed new boots for the winter as well as a topcoat. The remainder she would put in the bank to swell her tiny capital against a rainy day.

And tomorrow, she reflected, she would leave during the morning, for she felt that she had tried the professor’s hospitable instincts to their limit. She could look at the shops, have a snack lunch, collect her cheque and go back to St Jude’s. Having decided things to her satisfaction, she drank the sherry Todd handed to her and sat down to her dinner. It was a pity that her grandmother wasn’t there to share the delicious food. For a moment her firmly suppressed grief threatened to engulf her, but Granny had had no time for self-pity. She was young, and once she had trained she would have a safe, interesting job for as long as she wanted, or until she retired, she supposed. She dreamed of marrying, as any girl of her age would, but she had no looks to speak of and, according to her friends at the hospital, looks were of paramount importance when it came to getting a husband.

She was a sensible girl, and she didn’t dwell on the lack of romance in her future, but made civil conversation with Todd, who was presiding over her dinner. He excused himself when he had served her pudding, and she heard him talking in the hall, and then the professor’s deep voice. Todd came back presently, and after a little while she heard the professor’s step in the hall and the sound of the heavy front door being shut.

She explained to Todd when she went down to breakfast that she would be leaving that morning, refusing his offer of a nice lunch, although she agreed that she wouldn’t go until he had brought her coffee later on in the morning. And, when it came to the point of leaving, she felt real regret as she thanked the Todds for their kindness; the professor’s home had spelt security and calm just when she had needed it. She refused the taxi Todd offered her, and walked to the High Street, where she idled away an hour before having lunch in a small café and then going to collect her cheque. That done, there was nothing to keep her there any longer. She made her way to Percy Lane and found the little house already empty, and, mindful of the solicitor’s instructions, left the keys on the sitting-room mantelshelf and then went quickly away, closing the door behind her and not looking back.

In a way it was a relief to be back at work, even though Staff Nurse Thomas was sharper tongued than usual and there were several testy patients who wanted attention all the time, never mind how busy the nurses were.

Of the professor there was no sign. It wasn’t for a day or two after her return that Caroline, sharing a pot of tea with her before bed, observed that he had gone back to Holland.

‘How do you know?’ asked Venetia. ‘I mean, you knew last time, too…’

‘Tim told me. But he’ll be back. I heard Theatre Sister telling Sister Bolt that there was a brain tumour being sent over from Jersey—he’s bound to be back to deal with it. It’s a teaser, she said, and they always have him over for the nasty ones.’

Two days later she met him in one of the long downstairs corridors. She was on her way to collect a drug which had to be given immediately, and was racing along much too fast. His long arm, shooting out to try to stop her, brought her to a halt.

He had his registrar with him, which probably accounted for his bland, ‘Ah, Nurse Forbes. Your domestic difficulties are at an end, I trust?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’ She had gone a little pink with the unexpectedness of the meeting, and when he nodded in a dismissive manner she smiled a little uncertainly at him and hurried off on her errand. Seeing him brought back the memories she had been trying so hard to stifle. All at once she longed for her grandmother and the little house in Hampstead—more than that, she longed for an anchor, somewhere to call home, somewhere to go when she was free. She hadn’t moped, she had done her best, spending her free days visiting museums and art galleries, eating economical meals in busy cafés so that she had people around her, assuring her friends when they asked her that she simply loved exploring London, anxious not to infringe upon their kind concern for her. And now the professor was back to upset her. She had some holiday due, she would use some of her little capital and go away. Right away, although just for the moment she had no idea where.

The answer came from an unexpected source the very next day. The professor’s registrar stopped her as she was crossing the entrance hall, intent on giving a message to whoever was in the porter’s lodge.

‘Spare a minute?’ he asked pleasantly, and, since he had always been friendly and she liked him, she stopped willingly enough. ‘I say, you may find this awful cheek, but I’m in a spot. I have to go over to Holland with Professor ter Laan-Luitinga, and it means leaving my wife for a week or ten days. She’s expecting a baby and hates to be on her own, and none of her family or mine is free to go and stay with her. Sister Giles was complaining about being short of a nurse while you were on leave, and I wondered—if you hadn’t anything better to do, if you would stay with Lottie?’

She had met his wife once, at Christmas when Mr Miles had brought her round the wards. They had liked each other, but they hadn’t met since. Venetia said slowly, ‘Well, I wasn’t going anywhere—but how does your wife feel about it?’

‘When I suggested it she was pleased. You have met, haven’t you? I remember she liked you. Would you think about it? The professor will be going back to Holland in two or three days’time—he’s got this tricky case to see to, and a backlog of patients to deal with. When do you start your holiday?’

Nothing in his manner suggested to her that he might already know.

‘Well, I’ve days off on Monday and Tuesday, and then my holiday starts.’

‘Couldn’t be better, I believe we’re to go on the Tuesday evening.’

He smiled in his friendly fashion. ‘Leave a message at the lodge if you would like to come; we’d be eternally grateful.’

‘If you’re sure—?’ began Venetia.

‘Quite sure, and you’ve no idea what a load it would be off my mind.’

She thought about it for the rest of the day. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to get away from hospital life, and, when she came to think about it, hadn’t someone told her that Mr Miles had bought a small cottage—somewhere near Beaconsfield? Penn, that was the name, and, although he and his wife had a small flat in one of the new blocks built by the Thames where the docks once were, they spent his free weekends and holidays there. She was a little surprised that he had asked her, but there probably wasn’t anyone suitable free. By the end of the day she had made up her mind to accept his offer.

On the Friday evening he came on to the ward, very properly asked Sister Giles if he might have a word with Venetia, and drew her to one side.

‘Lottie and I are so glad that you will come. She’s at the flat, but if you could be ready to go with us on Tuesday afternoon, we’ll collect you on the way down to the cottage at Penn; she would rather be there.’

He smiled kindly at her and went away, leaving her feeling pleasantly excited at the prospect of a change of scene.

She felt a little anxious as she waited for Mr Miles to fetch her; supposing his wife didn’t like her after all? And what would they do all day? And would she be expected to help in the house? She wasn’t really a guest, but, on the other hand, she wasn’t employed by the Mileses, either.

She need not have worried; she was popped into the car, her luggage was stowed in the boot, and it was evident from the first moment that she and Mr Miles’s wife were going to like each other.

‘Call me Lottie,’ begged the pretty girl sitting beside him, ‘and I shall call you Venetia. You don’t mind?’

It took a little while to leave London behind them, but once on the motorway they were going through Beaconsfield and turning off for Penn in no time at all. It was a charming village, just as Venetia had hoped it would be, with a green and a duck pond, surrounded by seventeenth-century cottages overlooked by the church and the Crown Inn. The Mileses’ cottage was down a narrow lane, standing sideways on to the road; a small, neat house, its garden bare now, although very tidy. Inside there was a welcoming fire in the sitting room, and an appetising smell coming from the kitchen.

‘Mrs Trent,’ explained Lottie. ‘She comes in every day when we’re here, just for an hour or two. Come and see your bedroom—we’ve only got two—Arthur will bring up your case.’

It was a dear little room, pink and blue and white, sparsely furnished, but there was everything one could need. ‘We share the bathroom.’ Lottie beamed at Venetia. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do when baby gets here.’

Venetia peered out of the small window. ‘Couldn’t you build on? There’s lots of room, isn’t there? The garden’s beautiful, and fairly big.’

‘We don’t want to leave here—we love it. Would you like to unpack? Arthur will have to go back almost at once…’

‘Will you wish him a good trip from me? I’d like to unpack, if I may.’

It was obvious from her companion’s face that she had said the right thing. She opened her case and started putting things away, and found that her thoughts, without any prompting from her, had turned to the professor. He would be going home—and to whom?