No Need to Say Goodbye. Бетти Нилс

to shake her hand was grey-haired and looked as though he needed a thorough dusting. ‘Young Mr Ridgely,’ intoned the thin woman and left them. Louise took the chair she was offered, wondering just how old the elder Mr Ridgely might be if this was the young one, and dismissed the thought as frivolous.

      ‘You are Miss Louise Payne?’ The dusty gentleman sounded suspicious. She opened her bag and produced her birth certificate, thankful that she had had the wit to bring it with her. He read it carefully and slowly, and nodded several times, and then opened the file in front of him.

      ‘You know of your great-aunt’s house and where it is situated?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Although I haven’t been there for a very long time. My parents took us there several times when they were alive.’ Just in case he was still suspicious, she added, ‘A small white house on a corner with trees around it.’

      ‘Just so, Miss Payne. There are of course some changes in Much Hadham; it is a much sought-after area in which to live, being near enough to London for those who work here to commute. You could get a very good price for the house…’

      Louise shook her head. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk it over with my sisters and brother, but I think they will want to live there—I know I do.’

      He looked at her over his old-fashioned, gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘I understand that you are a night sister at St Nicholas’s Hospital? You will be able to continue your work there if you should decide to live in your great-aunt’s house?’

      ‘Oh, no. I would have to find another job—Bishop’s Stortford or Stevenage, I suppose, but it would be marvellous for Christine and Michael; they’re still both at school and not very happy where they are now. Zoë, who is nearly nineteen, is just finishing a secretarial course and, I hope, will get a job.’

      ‘There is very little money in your great-aunt’s estate; she has made provision for her housekeeper—’ he glanced at the files ‘—Miss Wills, who is already in receipt of her retirement pension.’ He coughed drily. ‘The sum of one thousand, four hundred and twenty three pounds, eighty-five pence is available to you; such debts, funeral expenses and so forth have already been discharged.’

      Louise, with a bank balance of slightly less than a thousand pence, managed to restrain her yelp of delight. She asked, she hoped not too eagerly, ‘Is the house furnished?’

      ‘Yes. I should add that when I was last there, a good deal of it was too large for the house; mid-Victorian. Do you have your own furniture?’

      ‘Well, yes, not a great deal, but what there is is rather nice—left from the house where we lived before we came to London.’

      ‘Then if I might advise you, Miss Payne, I should visit your great-aunt’s house—your house, I should say! It is called Ivy Cottage, by the way—and decide what you wish to keep; the rest you might sell and add to your capital. The money due to you will be paid into your bank if you will be so good as to let me have particulars of that before you go. The house is empty and I will give you the keys now.’

      He handed over a bunch of old-fashioned keys, each one labelled. ‘If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to let me know. Now, if I might have the name of your bank?’

      They parted soberly, because young Mr Ridgely would have been shocked if she had hugged him or danced a jig of pure joy on his Turkish carpet. She walked away from the sombre building with her feet upon air, her head full of a hundred and one ideas, most of them highly impractical. It was an occasion for champagne, singing and dancing, none of which would go down well in High Holborn. A bus home, she decided, allowing the sensible side of her nature to get the upper hand, a strong cup of tea and a good think.

      Here fate took a hand: Dr van der Linden, going about his own business on the opposite side of the street, caught sight of her and, even at that distance, he could see the glow of sheer happiness on her face. Intrigued, he crossed over.

      ‘Either you have won the pools or you have accepted an offer of marriage from a millionaire,’ he observed, not bothering with a good morning.

      Louise raised her lovely eyes to his. She was in such a state that it seemed perfectly natural that he should join her there on the pavement; rather like a dream, when the most extraordinary things seemed quite normal.

      ‘I don’t know any millionaires, and I can’t afford the pools, but yes, something quite marvellous has happened.’

      ‘In that case, come and tell me all about it.’

      He didn’t wait for her to answer, but took her arm and walked up Grays Inn Road and turned into Theobald’s Road, where he ushered her into a smart brasserie.

      As they went inside, Louise said half-heartedly, ‘But I must get home.’

      ‘Of course, but you may as well lunch with me now we are here.’

      It was not yet one o’clock; they had a table for two by the window and Dr van der Linden said, ‘Whatever it is, you are in no state to order a meal. Allow me?’

      She would have eaten dry bread and water quite cheerfully; as it was, she polished off salmon mousse, a cheese soufflé of incredible lightness and fresh pineapple doused in kirsch and whipped cream, all the while only half listening to her companion’s easy flow of small talk. It was only when the coffee-tray had been set before them that he said, ‘Now, supposing you unburden yourself; it won’t seem real until you do.’

      She still felt as though she were in a dream, which was perhaps why she began without preamble. ‘I’ve inherited a house—from a great-aunt I haven’t seen in years. The marvellous thing is this, our landlord actually gave us notice to move out of our house because it’s been sold, and I had no idea what I could do.’ She poured their coffee, beaming at him across the little table. ‘Now we can go to Much Hadham…’

      He interrupted her abruptly. ‘Much Hadham? The village near Ware?’

      She was still too bemused to notice the abruptness. ‘Yes. It’s a small house called Ivy Cottage. There’s a garden, a real one, not just a dusty strip of grass, and trees, and Mike and Christine can go to decent schools and Zoë is bound to get a good job…’

      ‘And you?’ he prompted.

      ‘Me? No, I mean I, don’t I? I’ll get a job at Bishop’s Stortford or Stevenage.’ Her practical mind was beginning to take over again. ‘I’m sorry to bore you with all this; you’ve been very kind. I think I was so bowled over that I could have danced a jig in the middle of Holborn. You see, it’s a miracle…’

      His voice was reassuringly matter of fact. ‘They do occur.’

      He gave her an abstracted smile and she said hurriedly, ‘Thank you for my lunch, I did enjoy it. I must be getting back.’

      He made no effort to detain her, but paid the bill and walked back the way they had come. In High Holborn she stopped. ‘There is my bus stop…’

      He ignored her, and lifted an arm to a passing taxi, put her inside, closed the door on her with a suave, ‘Allow me,’ and paid the driver and gave her address. She sat there, too astonished to speak, while the cab bore her homewards. He hadn’t even said goodbye, she remembered; he must have been bored out of his mind. She went a bright pink at the idea and the cabby, glancing back in his mirror, thought what a very pretty girl she was.

      Dusty was delighted to see her again and, since there was no one else to talk to, she told him all about it while she hoovered and polished and hung out lines of washing, impatient for the others to come home.

      She had tea ready for them, and over that meal told them the news.

      ‘We would have had to move anyway,’ she finished, ‘but now we will have a real home of our own and no rent to pay…’

      They sat and stared at her, speechless until Mike let out a whoop of delight. ‘I’ll be able to leave this school…’

      ‘So will I,’ crowed