A Winter Love Story. Betty Neels

wants me to go and see him tomorrow morning. I think he has something planned. Will you stay here, in case Mr Ramsay wants to talk to us about something?’

      ‘Not likely. But I’ll be here. Take Rob with you, Mother; he doesn’t like dogs.’

      Mr Ramsay spent the next morning going from room to room, taking careful note of his new possessions. The kitchen and its occupants he ignored; they could be dealt with when he was satisfied with his arrangements. He kept Claudia busy answering his questions about the furniture and pictures, all of which he valued.

      ‘We shall sell a good deal,’ he told her loftily. ‘There are several pieces which I think may be of real value. But these…’ He waved an arm at a pair of Regency terrestrial and celestial globes in one corner of the morning room. ‘I doubt if they’d fetch more than a few pounds in a junk shop.’

      Claudia, who happened to know that they were worth in the region of twenty thousand pounds and had been in the family for well over a hundred years, agreed politely.

      ‘And this clock—Monica has no liking for such old-fashioned stuff; that can go.’ He pointed to a William the Fourth bracket clock, very plain and worth at least two thousand pounds.

      He brushed aside a stool. ‘And there are all these around. I have never seen such a collection of out-of-date furniture.’

      The stool was early Victorian, covered with petit-point tapestry. Claudia didn’t mention its value, instead she said politely, ‘There is a very good firm at Ringwood, I believe—a branch of one of the London antiques dealers. But I expect that you would prefer to go to someone you know in York.’

      ‘Certainly not. I am more likely to get good prices from a firm which has some knowledge of this area.’

      Claudia cast down her eyes and murmured. If and when he sold Great-Uncle William’s family treasures, and she could find out who had bought them, she might be able to buy one or two of them back. She had no idea how she would do this, but that was something she would worry about later.

      She knew the elder son of the antiques dealer at Ringwood; he might let her buy things back with instalments. Which reminded her of the letter she had stuffed in her pocket that morning. The post mark was Southampton, and it was the last reply from the batch of applications she had sent. Perhaps she would be lucky…

      She was roused from her thoughts by Mr Ramsay’s sharp, ‘Where is your mother?’

      She looked at him for a moment before replying. She wondered if she dared to tell him to mind his own business, but decided against it.

      ‘Well, she will have gone upstairs to check the linen cupboard with Mrs Pratt—a long job—then she told me that she would be taking Rob for his walk and doing some necessary shopping in the village. She should be back by lunchtime. I don’t know what she will be doing this afternoon.’

      He gave her a suspicious glance. ‘I wish to inform her of my final plans for moving here.’

      ‘Well, I am going to the kitchen now to see about lunch.’

      But first she went into the hall and out of the side door at its end, taking an old coat off a hook as she went and making for the glass house.

      The letter was a reply to her application for the post of general helper at a geriatric hospital on the outskirts of Southampton. She had applied for it for the simple reason that there had been nothing else advertised, and she hadn’t expected a reply.

      Providing that her references were satisfactory, the job was hers. Her duties were vague, and the money was less than she had hoped for, but on the other hand she could start as soon as her references had been checked. It would solve the problem of her immediate future, set her mother’s mind at rest and put a little money into her pocket.

      She didn’t see her mother until the three of them were sitting down to lunch, but she deduced from the faintly smug look on that lady’s face that her talk with Dr Willis had been entirely satisfactory. It wasn’t until they left the house together to take Rob for another walk that they were able to talk.

      ‘When’s the wedding?’ asked Claudia as soon as they had left the house.

      Her mother laughed. ‘Darling, I’m not sure. I won’t marry George until you’re settled…’

      ‘Then he’d better get a licence as soon as he can. I’ve got a job—in Southampton at one of the hospitals. I had the letter this morning.’

      Mrs Ramsay beamed at her. ‘Oh, Claudia, really? I mean, it’s something you want to do, not just any old job you’re taking to make things easy for us?’

      To tell a lie was sometimes necessary, reflected Claudia, if it was to a good purpose, and surely this was. ‘It’s exactly what I’m looking for—quite good money and I can come back here for weekends and holidays, if George will have me?’

      ‘Of course we’ll have you.’ Her mother squeezed her arm. ‘Isn’t it strange how everything is coming right despite Uncle William’s horrid cousin? And George has found a place for Jennie—they were looking for someone up at the Manor, so she will still keep her friends in the village and see Mrs Pratt and Tombs if she wants to.’

      ‘Good. Now, when will you marry?’

      ‘Well, as soon as George can get a licence.’

      ‘You’ll stay with him, of course?’

      ‘Mrs Pratt and Tombs will be with me.’

      ‘Mr Ramsay wants to talk to you about his plans. He didn’t say anything at lunch…’

      ‘Perhaps this evening.’

      He was waiting for them when they got back. ‘Be good enough to come to my study?’ he asked Mrs Ramsay. ‘I dare say Claudia has things to do.’

      Dismissed, she went to her room; there were clothes to pack and small, treasured ornaments she had been given since childhood to be wrapped and stowed in boxes. As soon as Mr Ramsay went back to York Dr Willis would come and load up his car and stow everything they didn’t want in his attics.

      She hoped that the new owner of the house would stay away for several days, for they all intended to be gone, the house empty of people, by the time he and his wife arrived. He had said nothing to Tombs or Mrs Pratt, nor to Jennie; perhaps he expected them to stay on until he saw fit to discharge Tombs. He was arrogant enough to suppose that Mrs Pratt and Jennie would be only too thankful to remain in his service.

      Since it was teatime, she went downstairs and found her mother in the morning room. There was no sign of Mr Ramsay, and at her questioning look Mrs Ramsay said, ‘He’s gone to see the vicar. He’s going to York tomorrow afternoon and returning with Monica in two days’ time. I am to tell Mrs Pratt and Jennie that they are to stay on in his employment—he hasn’t bothered to ask them if they want to—and I’m to dismiss Tombs.’

      ‘Why doesn’t he do his own dirty work?’ demanded Claudia. ‘What else?’

      ‘He avoided asking me where you and I were going; he made some remark about us having friends and he was sure we had sufficient funds to tide us over until we had settled somewhere.’

      ‘Mother, he’s despicable. Does he know about you and George?’

      ‘No, I’m sure he doesn’t, for he made a great thing of offering to send on our belongings once we had left.’

      ‘Have you had a chance to tell Tombs?’

      ‘No, I’d better go now; if he comes back, come and let me know.’

      Not a word was said about their departure during dinner, and the following day Mr Ramsay got into his car and drove himself back to York.

      ‘You may, of course, remain until the day following our return,’ he told Mrs Ramsay. ‘Monica will wish to be shown round the house.’ He looked over her head, avoiding her eyes. ‘Kindly see that Tombs