A Christmas Proposal. Бетти Нилс

seemed quite friendly. Probably he’s sorry for her—she did look a dowd, didn’t she?’

      Clare nibbled at a manicured hand. ‘She looked happy—as though they were sharing a secret or something. Did you know that he has a great deal to do with backward children? He wouldn’t be an easy man… If he shows an interest in Bertha, I shall encourage him.’ She met her mother’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I may be wrong, but I don’t think he’s much of a party man—the Paynes, who brought him, told me that he’s not married and there are no girlfriends—too keen on his work. If he wants to see more of Bertha, I’ll be all sympathy!’

      The two of them smiled at each other.

      Dr Hay-Smythe parted from his friends at their house and took himself off to his flat over his consulting rooms. Cully, his man, had gone to his bed, but there was coffee warm on the Aga in the kitchen and a covered plate of sandwiches. He poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, and the Labrador who had been snoozing by the Aga got up sleepily and came to sit beside him, ready to share his sandwiches. He shared his master’s thoughts too, chewing on cold roast beef and watching his face.

      ‘I met a girl this evening, Freddie—a plain girl with beautiful eyes and wearing a truly awful frock. An uninteresting creature at first glance, but somehow I feel that isn’t a true picture. She has a delightful voice—very quiet. She needs to get away from that ghastly stepmother too. I must think of something…’

      Bertha, happily unaware of these plans for her future, slept all night, happier in her dreams than in her waking hours.

      It was two days later that the doctor saw a way to help Bertha. Not only did he have a private practice, a consultancy at two of the major hospitals and a growing reputation in his profession, he was also a partner in a clinic in the East End of London, dealing with geriatrics and anyone else who could not or would not go to Outpatients at any of the hospitals.

      He had spent the evening there and his last patient had been an old lady, fiercely independent and living on her own in a tiny flat near the clinic. There wasn’t a great deal he could do for her; a hard working life and old age were taking their toll, but she stumped around with a stick, refusing to go into an old people’s home, declaring that she could look after herself.

      ‘I’m as good as you, Doctor,’ she declared after he had examined her. ‘But I miss me books—can’t read like I used to and I likes a good book. The social lady brought me a talking book, but it ain’t the same as a real voice, if yer sees what I mean.’ She added, ‘A nice, quiet voice…’

      He remembered Bertha then. ‘Mrs Duke, would you like someone to come and read to you? Twice or three times a week, for an hour or so?’

      ‘Not if it’s one of them la-de-da ladies. I likes a nice bit of romance, not prosy stuff out of the parish mag.’

      ‘The young lady I have in mind isn’t at all like that. I’m sure she will read anything you like. Would you like to give it a try? If it doesn’t work out, we’ll think of something else.’

      ‘OK, I’ll ’ave a go. When’ll she come?’

      ‘I shall be here again in two days’ time in the afternoon. I’ll bring her and leave her with you while I am here and collect her when I’ve finished. Would that suit you?’

      ‘Sounds all right.’ Mrs Duke heaved herself out of her chair and he got up to open the door for her. ‘Be seeing yer.’

      The doctor went home and laid his plans; Mrs Soames wasn’t going to be easy, a little strategy would be needed…

      Presently he went in search of Cully. Cully had been with him for some years, was middle-aged, devoted and a splendid cook. He put down the silver he was polishing and listened to the doctor.

      ‘You would like me to telephone now, sir?’

      ‘Please.’

      ‘And if the lady finds the time you wish to visit her unacceptable?’

      ‘She won’t, Cully.’

      Cully went to the phone on the wall and the doctor wandered to the old-fashioned dresser and chose an apple. Presently Cully put back the receiver.

      ‘Five o’clock tomorrow afternoon, sir. Mrs Soames will be delighted.’

      The doctor took a bite. ‘Splendid, Cully. If at any time she should ring me here, or her daughter, be circumspect, if you please.’

      Cully allowed himself to smile. ‘Very good, sir.’

      The doctor was too busy during the next day to give much thought to his forthcoming visit; he would have liked more time to think up reasons for his request, but he presented himself at five o’clock at Mrs Soames’ house and was shown into the drawing room by a grumpy maid.

      Mrs Soames, encased in a vivid blue dress a little too tight for her ample curves, rose to meet him. ‘Oliver, how delightful to see you—I’m sure you must be a very busy man. I hear you have a large practice.’ She gave rather a shrill laugh. ‘A pity that I enjoy such splendid health or I might visit your rooms.’

      He murmured appropriately and she patted the sofa beside her. ‘Now, do tell me why you wanted to see me—’ She broke off as Clare came into the room. Her surprise was very nearly real. ‘Darling, you’re back. See who has come to see us.’

      Clare gave him a ravishing smile. ‘And about time, too. I thought you were going away.’

      ‘So did I.’ He had stood up when she’d joined them, and he now took a chair away from the sofa. ‘A series of lectures, but they have been postponed for a couple of weeks.’

      Clare wrinkled her nose enchantingly. ‘Good; now you can take me out to dinner.’

      ‘A pleasure. I’ll look in my appointments book and give you a ring, if I may. I was wondering if you have any time to spare during your days? I’m looking for someone who would be willing to read aloud for an hour or two several times a week to an old lady.’ He smiled at Clare. ‘You, Clare?’

      ‘Me? Read a boring book to a boring old woman? Besides, I never have a moment to myself. What kind of books?’

      ‘Oh, romances…’

      ‘Yuk. How absolutely grim. And you thought of me, Oliver?’ She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘I don’t even read to myself—only Vogue and Tatler.’

      The doctor looked suitably disappointed. ‘Ah, well, I dare say I shall be able to find someone else.’

      Clare hesitated. ‘Who is this old woman? Someone I know? I believe Lady Power has to have something done to her eyes, and there’s Mrs Dillis—you know, she was here the other evening—dripping with diamonds and quite able to afford half a dozen companions or minders or whatever they’re called.’

      ‘Mrs Duke lives in a tiny flat on her own and she exists on her pension.’

      ‘How ghastly.’ Clare looked up and caught her mother’s eye. ‘Why shouldn’t Bertha make herself useful? She’s always reading anyway, and she never does anything or goes anywhere. Of course—that’s the very thing.’

      Clare got up and rang the bell, and when the grumpy maid came she told her to fetch Miss Bertha.

      Bertha came into the room quietly and stopped short when she saw Dr Hay-Smythe.

      ‘Come here, Bertha,’ said Mrs Soames. ‘You know Dr Hay-Smythe, I dare say? He was at Clare’s party. He has a request to make and I’m sure you will agree to it—something to keep you occupied from time to time. Perhaps you will explain, Oliver.’

      He had stood up when Bertha had come into the room, and when she sat down he came to sit near her. ‘Yes, we have met,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I came to ask Clare to read to an old lady—a patient of mine—whose eyesight is failing, but she suggested that you might like to visit her. I believe you enjoy