A Winter Love Story. Betty Neels

Willis getting the very best advice darling.’

      Claudia stared across the table at him, and he met her look with an impassive face. If he was annoyed he showed no sign of it.

      ‘What do you advise?’ she asked him.

      ‘Dr Willis will come presently. I think we should wait until he is here. He and I will need to talk.’

      ‘But is Great Uncle William ill? I mean, really ill?’

      Her mother interrupted. ‘Claudia, we mustn’t badger Dr Tait-Bullen.’ She looked round the table. ‘More coffee for anyone?’

      Claudia pushed back her chair. ‘No, thank you, Mother. I’ll go and get on with the books. Tombs knows where I am if I’m wanted.’

      She smiled at the butler and whisked herself out of the room, allowing the smile to embrace everyone there.

      Back in the library, she set about clearing the shelves, banging books together in clouds of dust, wielding her duster with quite unnecessary vigour. She had behaved very badly and she was sorry about it—and a bit puzzled too, for she liked him. What had possessed her to be so rude? She had behaved like a self-conscious teenager. She ought to apologise. Tombs, she knew, would come and tell her what was happening from time to time, so when the doctor was about to leave she would say something polite…

      She spent a few minutes making up suitable speeches—a dignified apology, brief and matter-of-fact. She tried out several versions, anxious to get it right. She was halfway through her final choice when she was interrupted.

      ‘If those gracious words were meant for me,’ said Dr Tait-Bullen, ‘I am flattered.’

      He was leaning against the door behind her, smiling at her, and she smiled back without meaning to. ‘Well, they were. I was rude. I was going to apologise to you before you left.’

      ‘Quite unnecessary, Miss Ramsay. One must make allowances for red hair and unpleasant news.’

      ‘Now you’re being rude,’ she muttered, but went on anxiously. ‘You really meant that? Great Uncle William is seriously ill? I can see no reason why I shouldn’t be told. I’m not a child.’

      He studied her briefly. ‘No, you are not a child, but Dr Willis and I must talk first.’ He came into the room, moved a pile of books and sat down on the table. ‘This is a delightful house, but surely rather large for the three of you?’

      He spoke idly and she answered him readily. ‘Well, yes, but it’s been in the family for a long time. Most of the rooms are shut up, so it’s easy enough to run. Tombs has been here for ever, and Mrs Pratt and Jennie have been here for years and years. The gardens have got a bit out of hand, but old Stokes from the village comes up to help me.’

      ‘You have a job?’

      ‘I did have. Path Lab assistant—not trained, of course, just general dogsbody. But London’s too far off. I’ve applied for several jobs which aren’t so far away so that I can come home often.’

      He said casually, ‘Ah, yes of course. Salisbury, Southampton, Exeter—they are all within reasonable distance.’

      ‘And there are several private hospitals too. I didn’t much like London.’ She added chattily, ‘Do you live there?’

      ‘Most of my work is done there.’

      She supposed that he hadn’t added to that because Tombs had joined them.

      ‘Dr Willis has arrived, sir.’ He looked at Claudia. ‘Mrs Ramsay is in the morning room, Miss Claudia. Jennie has lighted the fire there for the convenience of the doctors.’

      ‘Thank you, Tombs.’ She glanced at the doctor. ‘You’ll want to go with Tombs. I’ll come presently— I must just tidy myself.’

      Left to herself, she took off her pinny, dragged a comb through her hair and went in search of her mother.

      Mrs Ramsay was with the two men, making small talk before they began their discussion of their patient’s condition. She was still a strikingly beautiful woman, wearing her fifty years lightly. Her hair, once as bright as her daughter’s, was streaked with silver, but she was still slim and graceful. She was listening to something Dr Willis was saying, smiling up at him, her hand on his coat-sleeve. They were old friends; he had treated her husband before his death several years ago, and since he was a widower, living in a rather gloomy house in the village with an equally gloomy elderly housekeeper, he was a frequent visitor at the Ramsays’ house.

      He looked up as Claudia joined them.

      ‘My dear, there you are. Come to keep your mother company for a while? Are we to stay here, or would you prefer us to go to the study?’

      ‘No, no, stay here. There’s a fire specially lighted for you. Claudia and I will go and see to lunch.’ She paused at the door. ‘You will tell us exactly what is wrong?’

      ‘Of course.’

      In the dining room, helping her mother to set the lunch, Claudia asked, ‘Is Great-Uncle William really very ill, Mother?’

      ‘Well, dear, I’m afraid so. He hasn’t really been very well for some time, but we couldn’t persuade him to have a second opinion. This Dr Tait-Bullen seems a nice man.’

      ‘Nice?’ Claudia hesitated. ‘Yes, I’m sure he is.’ ‘Nice,’ she reflected, hardly described him; it was far too anaemic a word. Beneath the professional polite detachment she suspected there was a man she would very much like to know.

      They were standing idly at the windows, looking out into the wintry garden, when Tombs came to tell them that the doctors had come downstairs from seeing their patient.

      Dr Willis went straight to Mrs Ramsay and took her hand. He was a tall, thin man, with a craggy face softened by a comforting smile as he looked at her. He didn’t say anything. Claudia saw her mother return his look and swallowed a sudden surprised breath. The look had been one of trust and affection. Don’t beat about the bush, Claudia admonished her self silently. They’re in love.

      There was no chance to think about it; Dr Tait-Bullen was speaking. Great Uncle William needed a triple bypass, and without undue loss of time. The one difficulty, he pointed out, was that the patient had no intention of agreeing to an operation.

      Claudia asked quickly, ‘Would that cure him? Would he be able to lead a normal life—be up and about again?’

      ‘The Colonel is an old man, but he should be able to live the life of a man of his age.’

      ‘Yes, but…’

      ‘Claudia, let Dr Tait-Bullen finish…’

      ‘Sorry.’ She flushed and he watched the colour creep into her cheeks before he said, ‘I quite under stand your anxiety. If Dr Willis wishes, I will come again very shortly and do my best to change the Colonel’s mind. I feel sure that if anyone can do that it will be he, for they have known each other for a long time. I can but advise.’

      He glanced at the other man. ‘We have discussed what is best to be done—there are certain drugs which will help, diet, suitable physiotherapy…’

      ‘I’m sure you have done everything within your power, Doctor,’ said Mrs Ramsay. ‘We will do our best to persuade Uncle William, and if you would keep an eye on him?’ She looked at Dr Willis. ‘That is, if you don’t mind, George?’

      ‘I am only too glad of expert advice.’

      ‘Oh, good. You’ll stay for lunch, Dr Tait-Bullen? In half an hour or so…’

      ‘I must return to London, Mrs Ramsay. You will forgive me if I refuse your kind invitation.’

      He shook hands with her, and then with Dr Willis. ‘We will be in touch.’

      ‘Claudia, take Dr Tait-Bullen to his car, will you, dear?’

      They walked through