The Convenient Wife. Бетти Нилс

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE two of them settled down happily. They had a lot in common, for they were of a similar age and they both liked clothes, books and the theatre. Although Venetia had a small wardrobe, her clothes were as good as she could afford, even if not in the forefront of fashion. As for Lottie, a slavish follower of all fashion, but for the moment wearing voluminous garments which none the less contrived to look smart, she studied the latest Harper’s, her pretty head full of the clothes she would buy when the baby was born.

      Mrs Trent came daily to tidy the house and give what she called a good clean through, so Venetia and Lottie had a minimum of chores. They did the shopping, went for a walk each day, and spent the evenings round the fire, roasting chestnuts and knitting garments for the forthcoming infant. Each evening the phone rang, the signal for Venetia to go into the kitchen to start the supper while Lottie spent the next fifteen minutes or so talking to Arthur. It was on their fourth evening there that she remarked, putting down the phone at last, ‘He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, he thinks at least another four days.’

      Venetia came to the open door between the kitchen and the sitting-room. ‘What exactly are they doing?’ she wanted to know.

      ‘Oh, some VIP needed brain surgery. Arthur doesn’t always go with the professor, but now he’s getting much more experienced—the professor’s very generous with his teaching.’ She looked up, smiling. ‘He’s a nice man. Do you see much of him at St Jude’s?’

      ‘Almost nothing, but he was very kind to me when my grandmother died.’ Venetia began to beat the eggs for an omelette. ‘He stitched up my arm, too.’

      Lottie chuckled. ‘I can just imagine the fuss and bother when they discovered that you were on the staff.’

      Venetia spooned in water and did a bit more beating. ‘Yes, it was funny, though I couldn’t have cared less at the time.’

      ‘A nasty experience. I’d have been terrified.’

      ‘Well, I was, and I felt such a fool—I was sick while my arm was being stitched…’

      ‘Not very glamorous, but then medical men expect that kind of thing,’ observed Lottie comfortably.

      But not very senior consultant surgeons who had descended from Olympian heights to do a bit of sewing on a student nurse’s arm. But Venetia didn’t say that out loud.

      It was cold and wet the next day, and they spent it happily enough writing Christmas cards—not that Venetia had many to write, a lack more than made up for by the list Lottie worked her way through.

      ‘Will you be in hospital over Christmas?’ she wanted to know.

      ‘Me? Oh, yes. It’s quite fun, you know. We visit the other wards and sing carols, and each ward has a tree.’

      ‘Could you have leave if you wanted it?’

      Venetia said a little too quickly, ‘Not really. We all get some time off, of course, but it’s split up… Will you be here for Christmas?’

      ‘Yes, Arthur’s got the three days off. We’ll go to his parents’ on Christmas Eve, and mine on Boxing Day, but we’ll have Christmas Day here together.’

      ‘That’s nice. That shop in the village has got some lovely tree decorations in. Do you want to buy some tomorrow?’

      Christmas as a topic of conversation kept them busy until bedtime.

      It was still cold the next morning, and the grey sky held a yellowish tinge. ‘It’s going to snow,’ said Venetia as they walked briskly into the village and returned presently with a basket full of tinsel, baubles and the ingredients for a beef casserole.

      ‘You ought to sort out the decorations,’ suggested Venetia, ‘while I get this casserole into a pot. I’ll just nip into the garden and pull a couple of leeks.’

      Easier said than done—there had been a hard frost for several nights and she had to prise them out with a gardening fork. The first few flakes of snow were falling as she went back indoors. A lovely wave of warm air met her as she opened the kitchen door, to stop short on the threshold and gape at the professor, who was leaning against the kitchen table, eating the carrots she had laid out neatly for the casserole.

      ‘Come in and shut the door, Venetia. You’re letting all the cold air in.’

      She pushed the door shut with one foot and put the leeks beside the carrots. ‘You’re in Holland,’ she said.

      ‘An unnecessary remark, and untrue,’ he pointed out. ‘Arthur and I arrived here not ten minutes ago.’

      ‘Oh, well, I’ll go and—’

      ‘No, you won’t. They haven’t seen each other for a week. Why do you think I am mewed up here with nothing but carrots to eat?’

      She took off her coat and kicked off her boots. She looked small without them. She said tartly, ‘You could get into that car of yours and drive home, and Mrs Todd would give you a super meal.’

      ‘What an unkind girl you are, and what a way to talk to someone of my age! Besides, I’ve been invited to stay for lunch and tea. Will there be muffins?’