Dearest Love. Бетти Нилс

her a cheerful good morning when she had arrived, even the two nurses had smiled as she opened the door to them, and after that for some time she was opening and closing the door for patients, ignored for the most part—a small, rather colourless creature, not worth a second glance.

      She had no need to go to the shops at lunchtime—the milkman had left milk and she had everything she needed for making bread. She made the dough, kneaded it and set it to rise before the gas fire while she started on the curtains. She was as handy with her needle as she was with her cooking and she had them ready by the time she had to go back upstairs to let in the first of the afternoon patients. She would hang them as soon as everyone had gone later on.

      By half-past five the place was quiet. The last patient had been seen on his way, the nurses followed soon afterwards and lastly Miss Baird. Dr Marshall had already gone and she supposed that Dr Tavener had gone too. It would take her an hour to tidy up and make everything secure for the night but she would hang the curtains first…

      They looked nice. Cut from the crimson curtains which had hung in the dining-room of her old home they were of heavy dull brocade, lined too, so that she had had very little sewing to do. She admired them drawn across the hated bars, and went upstairs to begin the business of clearing up.

      She had a plastic bag with her and emptied the wastepaper baskets first—a job Miss Baird had impressed upon her as never to be forgotten. She went around putting things in their proper places, shaking the cushions in the waiting-room chairs, turning off lights, picking up magazines and putting them back on the table. She went along to Dr Tavener’s rooms presently and was surprised to find the light on in his consulting-room.

      He was at his desk and didn’t look up. ‘Be good enough to come back later, Miss Lorimer. I shall be here for another hour.’

      She went away without saying anything and went back to the basement and began to get her supper. Percy, comfortably full, sat before the fire and the bread was in the oven. She whipped up a cheese soufflé, set the table with a cloth and put a small vase of flowers she had taken from the garden in its centre. She had been allowed to take essential things when she left her home—knives and spoons and forks and a plate or two. She had taken the silver and her mother’s Coalport china plates and cups and saucers; she had taken the silver pepperpot and salt cellar too, and a valuable teapot—Worcester. She would have liked to have taken the silver one but she hadn’t quite dared—though she had taken the Waterford crystal jug and two wine-glasses.

      She ate her soufflé presently, bit into an apple and made coffee before taking the bread from the oven. By then almost two hours had elapsed. She put her overall on once again and went upstairs to meet Dr Tavener as he left his rooms.

      He stopped short when he saw her. ‘Something smells delicious…’

      ‘I have been making bread,’ said Arabella, cool and polite and wishing that he would hurry up and go so that she could get her work done.

      ‘Have you, indeed? And do I detect the smell of paint? Oh, do not look alarmed. It is very faint; I doubt if anyone noticed it.’ He stared down at her. ‘You are not afraid to be here alone?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      He wished her goodnight then, and she closed the door after him, bolting it and locking it securely. He paused on the pavement and looked down at the basement window. She had drawn the curtains and there was only a faint line of light showing. He frowned; he had no interest in the girl but living in that poky basement didn’t seem right… He shrugged his shoulders; after all, she had chosen the job.

      A week went by and Arabella had settled into a routine which ensured that she was seldom seen during working hours. Tidying Miss Baird’s desk one evening, she had seen the list of patients for the following day, which gave her a good idea as to the times of their arrival. Now she checked each evening’s list, for not all the patients came early in the day—once or twice there was no one until after ten o’clock, which gave her time to sweep and dust her own room and have a cup of coffee in peace. Nicely organised, she found life bearable if not exciting and, now that her room was very nearly as she wished it, she planned to spend part of her Sundays in the London parks. She missed the country. Indeed, come what may, she had promised herself that one day she would leave London but first she had to save some money before finding a job near her old home.

      ‘We will go back,’ she assured Percy, ‘I promise you. Only we must stay here for a while—a year, perhaps two—just until we have enough money to feel safe.’

      Only Dr Marshall came in on the Monday morning. Dr Tavener would be in directly after lunch, Miss Baird told her. He was taking a clinic at one of the nearby hospitals that morning. ‘He’s got a lot of patients too,’ she warned Arabella. ‘He probably won’t be finished until early evening—he doesn’t mind if he works late; he’s not married and hasn’t any ties.’ She added kindly, ‘If you want to run round to the shops I’ll see to the phone and the door.’

      ‘Thank you. If I could just get some vegetables? I can be back in fifteen minutes.’

      ‘Don’t hurry. You do cook proper meals for yourself?’

      ‘Oh, yes. I have plenty of time in the evening.’

      It was a cheerless morning, not quite October and already chilly. Arabella nipped smartly to the row of little shops, chose onions and turnips and carrots with care, bought meat from the butcher next door and hurried back. A casserole would be easy, she could leave it to cook gently and it wouldn’t spoil however late she might have her supper. A few dumplings, she reflected and a bouquet garni. It would do for the following day too.

      She prepared it during the lunch hour, gave Percy his share of the meat and tidied herself ready to open the door for the first of Dr Tavener’s patients.

      The last patient went just before six o’clock and Arabella, having already tidied Dr Marshall’s rooms, started to close the windows and lock up. There was still no sign of Dr Tavener when she had done this so she went down to the basement, set the table for her supper and checked the casserole in the oven. It was almost ready; she turned off the gas and set the dish on top of the stove, lifted the lid and gently stirred the contents—they smelled delicious.

      Dr Tavener, on the point of leaving, paused in the hall, his splendid nose flaring as he sniffed the air. He opened the door to the basement and sniffed again and then went down the stairs and knocked at the door.

      There was silence for a moment before he was bidden to enter—to discover Arabella standing facing the door, looking uncertain.

      Neither of them spoke for a moment. Arabella was surprised to see him—she hadn’t known who it was and had secretly been a little frightened—and as for Dr Tavener, he stood looking around him before remarking, ‘Dear me, you have been busy and to very good effect.’ He glanced at the table, nicely laid with a white cloth, the silver, one of the Coalport plates, a Waterford glass and a small vase of flowers. Their new caretaker was, indeed, a little out of the common. ‘I hope I didn’t startle you; something smelled so delicious that I had to see what it was. Your supper?’

      She nodded.

      He said with amusement, ‘Are you a cordon bleu cook as well as a plumber?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Surely if that is the case you could have found a more congenial post?’

      ‘No one would have Percy.’

      Dr Tavener studied the cat sitting before the little fire staring at him. ‘A handsome beast.’ And then, since their conversation was making no progress at all, ‘Goodnight, Miss Lorimer.’ As he turned away he added, ‘You will lock up?’

      ‘I have been waiting to do so, sir.’ Her voice was tart.

      His smile dismissed that. ‘As long as you carry out your duties, Miss Lorimer.’

      He had gone then, as quietly as he had come.

      ‘He isn’t just rude,’ Arabella told Percy. ‘He’s very rude!’