A Christmas Proposal. Бетти Нилс

have a moment to myself,’ she declared on a sigh. ‘You can’t imagine how delightful a restful day here is.’

      ‘You would like to live in the country?’ asked Mrs Hay-Smythe.

      ‘In a house like this? Oh, yes. One could run up to town whenever one felt like it—shopping and the theatre—and I dare say there are other people living around here…’

      ‘Oh, yes.’ Mrs Hay-Smythe spoke pleasantly. ‘Oliver, will you ask Meg to bring tea out here?’

      After tea they took their leave and got into the car, and were waved away by Mrs Hay-Smythe. Bertha waved back, taking a last look at the house she wasn’t likely to see again but would never forget.

      As for Mrs Hay-Smythe, she went to the kitchen, where she found Meg and Dora having their own tea. She sat down at the table with them and accepted a cup of strong tea with plenty of milk. Not her favourite brand, but she felt that she needed something with a bite to it.

      ‘Well?’ she asked.

      ‘Since you want to know, ma’am,’ said Meg, ‘and speaking for the two of us, we just hope that the master isn’t taken with that young lady what didn’t eat her lunch. High and mighty, we thought—didn’t we, Dora?’

      ‘Let me put your minds at rest. This visit was made in order to give the other Miss Soames a day out, but to do so it was necessary to invite her stepsister as well.’

      ‘Well, there,’ said Dora. ‘Like Cinderella. Such a nice quiet young lady too. Thanked you for her lunch, didn’t she, Meg?’

      ‘That she did, and not smarmy either. Fitted into the house very nicely too.’

      ‘Yes, she did,’ said Mrs Hay-Smythe thoughtfully. Bertha would make a delightful daughter-in-law, but Oliver had given no sign—he had helped her out of kindness but shown no wish to be in her company or even talk to her other than in a casual friendly way. ‘A pity,’ said Mrs Hay-Smythe, and with Flossie, her little dog, at her heels she went back to the greenhouse, where she put on a vast apron and her gardening gloves and began work again.

      The doctor drove back the way they had come, listening to Clare’s voice and hardly hearing what she was saying. Only when she said insistently, ‘You will take me out to dinner this evening, won’t you, Oliver? Somewhere lively where we can dance afterwards? It’s been a lovely day, but after all that rural quiet we could do with some town life…’

      ‘When we get back,’ he said, ‘I am going straight to the hospital where I shall be for several hours, and I have an appointment for eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I am a working man, Clare.’

      She pouted. ‘Oh, Oliver, can’t you forget the hospital just for once? I was so sure you’d take me out.’

      ‘Quite impossible. Besides, I’m not a party man, Clare.’

      She touched his sleeve. ‘I could change that for you. At least promise you’ll come to dinner one evening? I’ll tell Mother to give you a ring.’

      He glanced in the side-mirror and saw that Bertha was sitting with her arm round Freddie’s neck, looking out of the window. Her face was turned away, but the back of her head looked sad.

      He stayed only as long as good manners required when they reached the Soameses’ house, and when he had gone Clare threw her handbag down and flung herself into a chair.

      Her mother asked sharply, ‘Well, you had Oliver all to yourself—is he interested?’

      ‘Well, of course he is. If only we hadn’t taken Bertha with us…’

      ‘She didn’t interfere, I hope.’

      ‘She didn’t get the chance—she hardly spoke to him. I didn’t give her the opportunity. She was with his mother most of the time.’

      ‘What is Mrs Hay-Smythe like?’

      ‘Oh, boring—talking about the garden and the Women’s Institute and doing the flowers for the church. She was in the greenhouse when we got there. I thought she was one of the servants.’

      ‘Not a lady?’ asked her mother, horrified.

      ‘Oh, yes, no doubt about that. Plenty of money too, I should imagine. The house is lovely—it would be a splendid country home for weekends if we could have a decent flat here.’ She laughed. ‘The best of both worlds.’

      Bertha, in her room, changing out of the two-piece and getting into another of Clare’s too-elaborate dresses, told the kitchen cat, who was enjoying a stolen hour or so on her bed, all about her day.

      ‘I don’t suppose Oliver will be able to withstand Clare for much longer—only I mustn’t call him Oliver, must I? I’m not supposed to have more than a nodding acquaintance with him.’ She sat down on the bed, the better to address her companion. ‘I think that is what I must do in the future, just nod. I think about him too much and I miss him…’

      She went to peer at her face in the mirror and nodded at its reflection. ‘Plain as a pikestaff, my girl.’

      Dinner was rather worse than usual, for there were no guests and that gave her stepmother and Clare the opportunity to criticise her behaviour during the day.

      ‘Clare tells me that you spent too much time with Mrs Hay-Smythe…’

      Bertha popped a morsel of fish into her mouth and chewed it. ‘Well,’ she said reasonably, ‘what else was I to do? Clare wouldn’t have liked it if I’d attached myself to Dr Hay-Smythe, and it would have looked very ill-mannered if I’d just gone off on my own.’

      Mrs Soames glared, seeking for a quelling reply. ‘Anyway, you should never have gone off with the doctor while Clare was in the house with his mother.’

      ‘I enjoyed it. We talked about interesting things—the donkey and the orchard and the house.’

      ‘He must have been bored,’ said her stepmother crossly.

      Bertha looked demure. ‘Yes, I think that some of the time he was—very bored.’

      Clare tossed her head. ‘Not when he was with me,’ she said smugly, but her mother shot Bertha a frowning look.

      ‘I think you should understand, Bertha, that Dr Hay-Smythe is very likely about to propose marriage to your stepsister…’

      ‘Has he said so?’ asked Bertha composedly. She studied Mrs Soames, whose high colour had turned faintly purple.

      ‘Certainly not, but one feels these things.’ Mrs Soames pushed her plate aside. ‘I am telling you this because I wish you to refuse any further invitations which the doctor may offer you—no doubt out of kindness.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘There is an old saying—two is company, three is a crowd.’

      ‘Oh, you don’t want me to play gooseberry. I looked like one today in that frightful outfit Clare passed on to me.’

      ‘You ungrateful—’ began Clare, but was silenced by a majestic wave of her mother’s hand.

      ‘I cannot think what has come over you, Bertha. Presumably this day’s outing has gone to your head. The two-piece Clare so kindly gave you is charming.’

      ‘Then why doesn’t she wear it?’ asked Bertha, feeling reckless. She wasn’t sure what had come over her either, but she was rather enjoying it. ‘I would like some new clothes of my own.’

      Mrs Soames’s bosom swelled alarmingly. ‘That is enough, Bertha. I shall buy you something suitable when I have the leisure to arrange it. I think you had better have an early night, for you aren’t yourself… The impertinence…’

      ‘Is that what it is? It feels nice!’ said Bertha.

      She excused herself with perfect good manners and went up to her room. She lay in the bath for a long time, having a good