Stormy Springtime. Бетти Нилс

She had no doubt that Mrs Culver had little idea of what went on behind the scenes; she was charming, easy and very kind, and had very likely grown up and lived all her life with people to do her bidding.

      But it had been a surprise to Meg when Mrs Culver had insisted on her taking her meals with her. And when she had demurred, she had insisted, ‘Nonsense, child. You’ve sat at this table all your life; you will continue to do so or upset me very much.’

      So Meg sat at the table she had laid so carefully, getting up to clear the dishes and fetch the food from the kitchen, for Betsy had enough to do and her legs hurt in any case, and she entirely approved of the arrangement. The dear soul still thought of her as the lady of the house. Mrs Culver was a nice enough lady, indeed, one couldn’t wish for a better, but there had been Collinses living there for a long time, and she didn’t take easily to change.

      Meg was happy; she was still in her own home, she enjoyed the work even though her days were long and there was little time to get into the garden. Cora had phoned to say that her share of the money was paid into her account and to ask, rather casually, if she were happy. And when she had a satisfactory answer, ‘Then I’ll not bother you, Meg; let me know when you leave and I’ll help in any way I can.’

      She had a much longer call from Doreen, who wasted little time on questions but plunged at once into her news. She had discovered who Mr Culver was—a Professor, a consultant radiologist, based at one of the big teaching hospitals but with a large area to cover. ‘He’s well known,’ said Doreen, ‘goes to any number of hospitals for consultations—one of the best men in his field—Europe too. When is he going to visit his mother, Meg?’

      ‘I’ve no idea. Did you want to see him about something? Shall I ask Mrs Culver?’

      ‘I wish you’d grow up, Meg! Of course I want to see him, but only to get to know him. He’s not married…’

      Meg tried to imagine him as a future brother-in-law. ‘He’s quite old,’ she pointed out in her practical manner.

      ‘Rubbish—thirty-eight at the most. Quite brilliant at his work, too—he’ll end up with a knighthood.’

      ‘I thought you were keen on that registrar…’

      ‘Oh, him! Listen, darling, if you hear that he’s coming down to see his mother, give me a ring, will you?’

      ‘Why?’ asked Meg, being deliberately dim. She heard her sister’s exasperated sigh as she hung up.

      As it happened she had no chance to do that, and she was glad, for it smacked of disloyalty to Mrs Culver and to him. After all, she was in Mrs Culver’s employ. The Professor walked in as they sat at lunch a day or two later. He had a dirty, half-starved dog under one arm which was cringing away from the sight of them, and Meg got up at once and said, ‘Oh, the poor beast, let me have him. Have you come to lunch? There’s plenty…’

      It was a quiche Lorraine and she had just begun to cut it.

      ‘Take it back to keep warm, Meg,’ said Mrs Culver, ‘it won’t spoil for ten minutes or so. Bring a towel or something with you to put that dog on.’

      The Professor stood, the animal still in his arms, waiting for Meg to come back. ‘Found him in the road—been knocked down and left. Not hurt, I fancy, and, by the look of him, lost or abandoned.’

      His mother rose to the occasion. ‘Just what we could do with here—a guard dog. What is he?’

      ‘Difficult to say. Ah, there you are—if you will put the towel on that table I’ll take a look at him. A little warm milk perhaps?’ Meg went off to the kitchen again and came back with a bowl of milk, standing patiently while he examined the beast with gentle hands. ‘Nothing broken.’ He glanced at her and smiled. ‘Just worn out, hungry and frightened. He’ll be a splendid addition to the household.’

      Meg proffered the milk; it disappeared with the speed of dust into a vacuum cleaner. ‘There’s a big box and some old blankets. I’ll fetch them.’

      ‘A nice child,’ observed Mrs Culver when she had gone, ‘and so sensible.’

      ‘And a good housekeeper, I hope?’

      ‘Excellent. I’ve been to visit Kate; she’s doing well, but it will be a month at least…’

      ‘No need to hurry her,’ said the Professor easily, ‘since Meg suits you so well. No problems?’

      ‘None, my dear. And she is so happy to be here. It must be dreadful for her having to give up her home to strangers.’

      ‘Do you see anything of her sisters?’ He glanced at his mother. ‘I met her younger sister—a very pretty girl; she’s at the Royal—staff nurse hoping to be made a Sister. She had no regrets leaving here, nor, I understand, had her elder sister.’

      ‘The married one—I believe she’s just as handsome. Are you on your way home, dear, or are you going back to town?’

      ‘Back to town. I’ve a dinner date. But may I have lunch?’

      Meg came back with the box and blankets and the dog was laid gently down and promptly went to sleep. Which left her free to fetch the quiche back and lay another place. She put the plates before Mrs Culver and said in her calm way, ‘If you wanted to talk together I’ll go away…’

      ‘No need,’ said the Professor before his mother could speak. ‘Besides, we have to plan this animal’s future. I’ll phone the vet if I may, Mother, and if he’s not injured, presumably he may stay?’

      ‘Of course, my dear.’ Mrs Culver turned to Meg. ‘You know about dogs, Meg?’

      ‘Oh, yes, Mrs Culver.’ Nothing in her quiet voice betrayed the fact that she would have to get up earlier than ever to take him for a walk, that he would have to be groomed, fed and generally looked after. Not that she minded; she liked animals, and he would be company for Silky.

      ‘Then that settles the matter. If you’re not already engaged, Mother, I’ll come over after church on Sunday and take you back for lunch.’

      So he can’t live far away, thought Meg, collecting plates and piling them tidily on a tray and carrying it out to the kitchen, where she loaded it up again with light-as-air castle puddings and hot jam sauce.

      ‘Your cook is excellent,’ observed the Professor, accepting a second helping.

      ‘Oh, but Meg made these, didn’t you, dear?’

      His look of polite astonishment annoyed Meg; he could have no opinion of her at all! She said, ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,’ in a tart voice and went to fetch the coffee.

      ‘Don’t you like her, dear?’ asked his mother.

      The look on his face gave her food for thought. ‘I hardly know her,’ he said at length. ‘I dare say she might grow on one—missed when she’s no longer there…’

      ‘Such a waste,’ said Mrs Culver vaguely, watching him. ‘And so easily overlooked, especially when her sisters are with her.’

      As Meg came back in with the tray the Professor got up to close the door behind her and watched her pour the coffee. She was wearing the severe grey dress and she had pinned up her pale brown hair into a tidy bun, under the impression that it made her look like a housekeeper. She was really nothing to look at; he was at a loss to understand why the thought of her crossed his mind from time to time. She handed him his cup and looked at him with her lovely grey eyes. They were cool and clear, like a child’s. She said, ‘It was kind of you to rescue the dog. I’ll take great care of him.’

      ‘Yes, I know. That’s why I brought him here.’ He smiled, and his severe expression melted into a charm which took her by surprise. She didn’t like him, but just for a moment she glimpsed another man entirely.

      She slipped away presently, pleading some household duty which kept her occupied until she heard the Rolls sigh its way down the drive. By then