When Two Paths Meet. Betty Neels

her present surroundings.

      ‘I feel that it’s time for Robin to start simple lessons. There is no reason why you shouldn’t spend an hour with him each morning, teaching him his letters and simple figures.’

      ‘What a good idea,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘He’s quite out of hand, you know, because he hasn’t enough to occupy his brain. What will Sarah do while I’m busy with Robin?’

      ‘Why, she can stay in the room with you.’

      ‘Out of the question.’ She was still cheerful. ‘He wouldn’t listen to a word. Perhaps Joyce could spare an hour?’

      Her sister-in-law pushed back her chair. ‘Whatever next? Where am I to find an hour, even half an hour? You can argue it out between you.’

      ‘The thing to do,’ observed Katherine mildly, ‘would be to take him with you when you go to work, and drop him off at that playschool in Wilton. He needs other children, you know. Perhaps Joyce could take her car and collect him at lunch time?’ She felt Henry’s fulminating eye upon her, and added calmly, ‘I’m sure several children from the village go there. I dare say they would give Robin a lift?’

      She took no notice of his shocked silence, but began to clear the table. Mrs Todd strongly objected to washing the supper dishes when she arrived in the morning.

      The subject of Robin’s education didn’t crop up again for several days. Indeed, Henry showed his displeasure at Katherine’s lack of co-operation by saying as few words to her as possible, something she didn’t mind in the least. As for Joyce, they met at meals, but very seldom otherwise. Katherine, her days full of unending chores, had no time to worry about that. In bed, in the peace and quiet of her room, she strengthened her resolve to find a job of some sort. Lack of money was the stumbling point, and she hadn’t found a way round that yet, but she would. She promised herself that each night, before allowing her thoughts to dwell on Dr Fitzroy. It was a pity that she was too tired to indulge in this for more than a minute or two.

      She was in the kitchen, washing up the supper dishes, more than a week since she had answered the knock on the door which had so changed her feelings, when Henry’s voice, loud and demanding, caused her to put down the dishmop and hurry along the passage to the drawing-room. One of the children, she supposed, not bothering to take off her apron; they had been almost unmanageable all day, and were probably wrecking the nursery instead of going to sleep. She opened the door and put her untidy head round it.

      ‘I’m washing up,’ she began. ‘If it’s the children…’

      Dr Fitzroy was standing in the middle of the room, while Henry stood with his back to the fireplace, looking uneasy, and Joyce sat at a becoming angle in her chair, showing a good deal of leg.

      ‘Dr Fitzroy wishes to speak to you, Katherine.’ Henry was at his most ponderous.

      ‘Hello,’ said the doctor, and smiled at her.

      Her face lit up with delight. ‘Oh, hello,’ said Katherine. ‘How very nice to see you again!’

      She had come into the room, and stood unselfconsciously in front of him. That she was a deplorable sight hadn’t entered her head; it was stuffed with bliss at the mere sight of him.

      ‘What about the baby? Is he all right?’

      ‘Splendid. Perhaps we might go somewhere and talk?’ He looked at Henry, who went puce with temper.

      ‘Anything you have to say to Katherine can surely be listened to by myself and my wife? I am her brother,’ he blustered.

      ‘Yes, I know.’ The doctor’s voice was silky. He didn’t say any more, so Henry was forced to speak.

      ‘There is the dining-room, although I can’t imagine what you can have to say to Katherine…’

      ‘No, I don’t suppose you can.’ Dr Fitzroy’s voice was as pleasant as his smile. He held the door open, and Katherine went past him to the dining-room. It was chilly there; she switched on the light and turned to look at him.

      Just for a moment he had a pang of doubt. What had made him think that this shabby, small young woman would be just right for the job he had in mind? But, even if he had had second thoughts, the eager face she had turned to him doused them at once. She had shown admirable common sense about the baby; she hadn’t bothered him with a lot of questions, nor had she complained once. And, from what he had just seen, life at home was something she wasn’t likely to miss.

      ‘Do sit down. I’m sorry it’s chilly in here.’

      She sat composedly, her hands quiet in her lap, and waited for him to speak.

      ‘I have a job to offer you,’ he began without preamble. ‘Of course, you may not want one, but I believe that you are exactly right for the kind of work I have in mind.’ He paused and studied her face; it had become animated and a little pink, but she didn’t speak. ‘I have been attending two elderly patients for some years, and they have reached the age when they need someone to look after them. They have help in the house, so there would be no housework…’ His eyes dwelt for a moment on her apron. ‘They refuse to have a nurse—in fact, they don’t really need one. What they do need is someone to fetch and carry, find their spectacles, encourage them to eat their meals, accompany them in the car when they wish to go out, and see them safely to their beds, and, if necessary, go to them during the night. In short, an unobtrusive companion, ready to fall in with their wishes and keep an eye on them. I’ve painted rather a drab picture, but it has its bright side—the house is pleasant and there is a delightful garden. You will have time for yourself each day and be independent. The salary is forty pounds a week…’

      ‘Forty pounds? A week? I’ve never had…’ She stopped just in time from telling him that she seldom had more than forty pence in her pocket. He wouldn’t believe her if she did. She finished rather lamely, ‘A job, I’m not trained for anything, Henry says…’

      ‘Perhaps you will allow me to be the judge of that?’ he suggested kindly. ‘Will it be difficult for you to leave home?’

      She thought for a moment. ‘Yes, but I’m twenty-one. Would you mind very much if I told them now, while you are here?’

      ‘Certainly I will stay. Perhaps if there is any difficulty, I may be able to persuade your brother. When could you come with me to see Mr and Mrs Grainger?’

      She resisted the wish to shout ‘Now!’ and said in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Whenever you wish, Dr Fitzroy.’

      ‘I’ll come for you tomorrow morning, and if you and they like each other, perhaps you could start on the following day?’

      Katherine closed her eyes for a moment. There would be angry words and bad temper and endless arguments, but they couldn’t last for ever. ‘I’d like that.’

      She got up, went to the door and found him there, pushing it open for her, something Henry had never done for her; good manners weren’t to be wasted on a sister that he didn’t particularly like. He was still standing before the fireplace and, from the way that he and Joyce looked at her as she went in, she knew that they had been talking about her. She crossed the room and stood in front of her brother.

      ‘Dr Fitzroy has offered me a job, which I have accepted,’ she told him in a voice which she was glad to hear sounded firm.

      Henry gobbled, ‘A job? What kind of job, pray? And what about the children?’

      She said calmly, ‘I should think you could get a mother’s help—after all, most people do—or Joyce could give up some of her committees.’ She sighed because Henry was working himself into a rage, and Joyce, once the doctor had gone, would be even worse.

      Dr Fitzroy spoke now in a slow, placid manner which disregarded Henry’s red face. ‘Your sister is exactly right for an excellent post with two of my elderly patients. I have been searching for someone for some time, and her good sense when I asked for her help the other morning convinced me that she is exactly what