When Two Paths Meet. Betty Neels

once they were back in the empty house, they were willing enough to have their outdoor things taken off and to settle at the kitchen table while Katherine got their tea. They had just finished when their father got home.

      Katherine greeted him briskly. ‘Joyce isn’t back—I don’t know where she went. The children have had their tea, and I’ve put everything ready for them to be put to bed presently.’

      ‘What about my supper?’

      ‘I really wouldn’t know, Henry. I’m sure Joyce will have arranged something. Dr Fitzroy is coming for me at six o’clock.’

      He looked aghast. ‘But you can’t leave us like this! Who’s going to put the children to bed and get the supper?’

      He had treated her as a kind of maid of all work for the last two years, but she could still feel sorry for him. ‘Henry, you knew I was taking this job. You need never bother with me again, for you have never liked having me here, have you? Find a nice strong girl to help Joyce with the children, and persuade Joyce to give up some of her committees and spend more time at home.’

      ‘I’ll decide what is best, thank you, Katherine.’ He was being pompous again and her concern for him faded. ‘While you are waiting, you might get the children to bed.’

      ‘They don’t go until half-past six,’ she pointed out. ‘Why not take them to the nursery and read to them? I have a few last-minute things to do…’

      She left him looking outraged.

      It was five minutes to six when Joyce came home. Katherine heard her voice, loud and complaining. ‘Where’s Katherine? Why aren’t the children with her? What about supper? I’m far too tired to do anything—she’ll have to stay until tomorrow, or until someone can be found to help me…’

      Leaving her room, her cases in either hand, Katherine heard her brother’s voice, raised against the children’s shrill voices and then, thankfully, the front door bell.

      She hurried downstairs and opened the door and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Dr Fitzroy, large and reassuring. ‘I haven’t said goodbye,’ she told him, rather pale at the prospect.

      He took her cases from her, put them in the porch and went past her into the hall. ‘I’ll come with you,’ he said and gave an encouraging little smile.

      A waste of time as it turned out; Joyce turned her back and Henry glared at her and began a diatribe about ungrateful girls who would get what they deserved, deserting young children at a moment’s notice. The doctor cut him short in the politest way. ‘Fortunately, they have parents to look after them,’ he observed in a bland voice which held a nasty sharp edge. ‘We will be on our way.’

      Katherine had said goodbye to the children, so she bade Henry and Joyce goodbye quietly and followed Dr Fitzroy out of the house, shutting the door carefully behind her. She got into the car without a word and sat silently as he drove away. It was silly to cry; she would not be missed, not as a person who had been loved, but just for a moment she felt very lonely.

      The doctor said cheerfully, without looking at her, ‘I often think that friends are so much better than relations, and I’m sure you’ll quickly make plenty of friends.’ And then he added very kindly, ‘Don’t cry, Katherine, they aren’t worth it. You are going somewhere where you’re wanted and where you’ll be happy.’

      She sniffed, blew her ordinary little nose and sat up straight. ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right, of course. It’s just that the last two years have been a complete waste of time…’

      ‘How old are you? Twenty-one, you said? I am thirty-six, my dear, and I believe I have wasted a good many more years than two. But they are never quite wasted, you know, and all the other years make them insignificant.’

      She wished with all her heart that she could stay close to his large, confident person for ever, but at least she would see him twice a week. She smiled at the thought as he said, ‘That’s better. Now, listen carefully. I shall only stay a few minutes at the Graingers; they dine at eight o’clock, that gives you time to find your way around and to unpack. They go to bed at ten o’clock, never later. Mrs Dowling likes her evenings to herself once she has seen to dinner, so you will get their bedtime drinks and so forth. She takes up their morning tea at half-past seven, but I don’t expect she will do the same for you. It’s quite a large house to run and she manages very well with two women who come in to help. Your job will be to leave her free to do that; lately she has been run off her feet, now that Mr and Mrs Grainger have become more dependent on someone to fetch and carry.’

      ‘Does she mind me coming?’

      ‘No, I think not, but she has been with them for twenty years or more and she is set in her ways.’

      ‘I’ll help her all I can, if she will let me. Oh, I do hope I’ll make a good job of it.’

      ‘Don’t worry, you will.’ They had reached Salisbury, and he was driving through the streets, quiet now after the day’s traffic. Although the shops in the High Street were still lit, there were few people about, and once through North Gate it was another world, with the cathedral towering over the close and the charming old houses grouped around it at a respectable distance, as was right and proper. The doctor pulled up before the Graingers’ house and got out, opened her door and collected her cases from the boot, then rang the doorbell. The door was opened so briskly that Katherine had no time to get nervous, and anyway it was too late to have cold feet. She bade Mrs Dowling a civil good evening, and accompanied the doctor to the drawing-room. Mr and Mrs Grainger were sitting on each side of a briskly burning fire, he reading a newspaper, she knitting a large woolly garment.

      ‘There you are,’ declared Mrs Grainger in a pleased voice. ‘And I suppose that you must rush away, Jason? But we shall see you tomorrow, of course.’ She beamed at him, and then at Katherine. ‘Such a relief that you are here, my dear. Now, what shall I call you?’

      ‘By her name, of course,’ observed Mr Grainger.

      ‘Katherine,’ said Katherine.

      ‘A very good name,’ said his wife. ‘I had a sister of that name—we called her Katie. She died of the scarlet fever. No one has the scarlet fever nowadays. Are you called Katie, my dear?’

      ‘No, Mrs Grainger, although my mother always called me that.’

      The old lady turned to the doctor. ‘She seems a very nice girl, Jason. Not pretty, but well spoken and with a pleasant voice. I think we shall get on splendidly together.’

      Mr Grainger put down his newspaper. ‘Glad to have you here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Don’t see many young faces these days, only Dodie—our granddaughter, and she has got a life of her own, bless her. You’re only young once.’ He glanced at Dr Fitzroy, standing placidly between them. ‘Seen her lately?’

      ‘Yes, and we’re dining together this evening.’

      ‘Then you won’t want to be hanging around here with us old fogeys.’

      The doctor left very shortly, and Mrs Dowling was summoned to take Katherine to her room. She was led silently up the carpeted stairs with shallow treads and along a short passage leading to the back of the house.

      ‘Here you are,’ said Mrs Dowling, rather ungraciously. ‘The bathroom’s beyond.’ She opened a door, and Katherine went past her into a fair-sized room, prettily furnished, its window overlooking the large garden. Her cases were already there and Mrs Dowling said, ‘Dinner’s at eight o’clock, so you’ll have time to unpack first. They won’t expect you to change this evening. Mrs Grainger asked me to take you round the house. Come downstairs when you are ready and I’ll do that, though it’s not the easiest of times for me, what with dinner to dish up and all.’

      ‘Would you prefer me to come with you now? I can unpack later when I come to bed, and it won’t take me long to tidy myself.’

      Mrs Dowling relaxed her stern expression; the girl looked harmless enough and, heaven