“I’ll take you to meet a few people.”

Katherine cringed inwardly, knowing just how plain her bargain dress must look.

“I do like that dress.” The doctor smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling. “I thought you might have doubts about coming tonight, but there has to be a beginning—a first step, as it were.”

She stared at him in his elegant dinner jacket. His face was pleasantly calm but obviously tired. “Toward what?” she wanted to know.

“Why, love, marriage, children—a lifetime of happiness.”

“You really believe that?” Katherine asked. When he nodded, she said gravely, “I do, too, but sometimes it’s best not to take the step.”

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

When Two Paths Meet
Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

KATHERINE rolled over in bed and pulled the blankets over her ears; it wasn’t time to get up, she was sure of that, and she resented whatever it was that had awakened her. She tucked her cold feet into her nightie and closed her eyes, only to open them immediately at the steady thumping on the front door below her window. The milkman? Unreasonably early. A tramp? A would-be thief? But he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself.

She got out of bed, thrust her feet into slippers and dragged on her dressing-gown. By the light of her bedside lamp the alarm clock showed well past five in the morning. The thump came again, and she went softly along the landing and down the stairs; her brother and his wife, who slept at the back of the house, and very soundly too, wouldn’t have heard it—nor, with luck, would the two children in the room next to her own.

It took a few moments to open the door, and she left it prudently on the chain, to peer through the narrow opening at the man on the doorstep. It was the tail end of October, and only just beginning to get light, but she could make out what appeared to be a giant.

He spoke from somewhere above her head. ‘Good girl. Let me in quickly.’

He had a deep, unhurried voice which reassured her, nevertheless she asked, ‘Why?’

‘I have a new-born baby here, likely to die of exposure unless it gets warmed up pretty quickly.’

She undid the chain without wasting words, and he went past her. ‘Where’s the kitchen, or somewhere warm?’

‘The end door.’ She waved a hand, and applied herself to locking and bolting the door once more. All at once, she reflected that she could have bolted herself in with an escaped convict, a thief, even a murderer. And it was too late to do anything about it; she hurried him along and opened the kitchen door on to the lingering warmth of the old-fashioned Rayburn. He brushed past her, laid the bundle he was carrying on the kitchen table and unfolded it carefully and, from the depths of his car coat, exposed a very small, very quiet baby. Katherine took one look and went to poke up the fire, quietly, so as not to arouse the household.

When the man said, ‘Blankets? Something warm?’ she went like a small shadow back upstairs to her room and took the sheet and a blanket off her bed. The linen cupboard was on the landing outside her brother’s room, and he or Joyce might hear the door squeaking.

She handed them to the man, who took them without looking at her, only muttering, ‘Sensible girl,’ and then, ‘Warm water?’

There was always a large kettle keeping warm on the Rayburn; she filled a small basin and put it on the table. ‘Now, just stay here for a moment, will you? I’ll go to the car and get my bag.’

‘I’ve locked the door, and my brother might hear if you go through the back door, it creaks. I’ll have to go and unlock…’

He was looking around him; the house was old-fashioned, and the kitchen windows were large and sashed. He crossed the room and silently slid one open, climbed through soundlessly and disappeared, to reappear just as silently very shortly after. He was a very large man indeed, which made his performance all the more impressive. Katherine, who had picked up the blanketed baby and was holding it close, stared at him over the woolly folds.

‘You are indeed a sensible girl,’ observed the man, and put his bag down on the table. ‘This little fellow needs a bit of tidying up…’

It was a relief to Katherine to see a little colour stealing through the scrap on the table. She handed the things he asked for from his bag and whispered, ‘Will he be all right?’

‘I think so, babies are extremely tough; it rather depends on how long he’s been lying on the side of the road.’

‘How could anyone…?’ She stared across the table at him, seeing him properly for the first time. He was a handsome man, with fair hair and sleepy blue eyes under straight brows, and above a wide, firm mouth his nose was pure aquiline. Katherine was aware of a strange sensation somewhere under her ribs, a kind of delightful breathlessness, a splendid warmth and a tingling. She stayed quite still, a small, rather thin girl, with an ordinary face which was redeemed from plainness by a pair of beautiful grey eyes, heavily fringed with black lashes. Her hair, alas, was a pale, soft brown, straight and long. Wrapped as she was in the useful, dark red dressing-gown Joyce, her sister-in-law, had given her the previous Christmas, she presented a picture of complete mediocrity. Which made it entirely unsuitable that she should have fallen in love with a man who was looking at her kindly enough, but with no hint of interest in her person.

She said in her quiet voice, ‘Would you like a cup of tea? And where will you take the baby?’

‘To hospital, as quickly as possible…’ He paused, looking over her shoulder, and she turned round. Joyce was in the doorway.

She was a handsome young woman, but now her good looks were spoilt by the look of amazed rage on her face.

‘Katherine—what on earth is the meaning of this? And who is this man? Have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘If I might explain?’ The man’s voice was quiet, but something in it made Joyce silent. ‘I found a new-born child on the roadside—this house was only a few yards away, I knocked for help. This young lady has most kindly and efficiently provided it. May I trespass on your kindness still further, and ask her to come with me to the hospital so that she may hold the baby?’

Joyce had had time to study him, and her manner changed rapidly. She tossed a long curl over her shoulder, and pulled her quilted dressing-gown rather more tightly around her splendid figure. If Katherine had looked ordinary before, she was now completely overshadowed. Joyce ignored her.

‘You’re a doctor? I must say all this is very unusual. I’ll make you a hot drink. You must be so tired.’ She smiled charmingly at him and said sharply to Katherine, ‘You heard what the doctor said, Katherine. Don’t just stand there, go and get dressed.’

And, when she had slipped away without looking at anyone, ‘My husband’s young sister—she lives with us.’ She gave a tinkling little laugh. ‘Not ideal, of course, but one has certain responsibilities. Now, what about that drink? I don’t know your name…’

‘I’ll not stop for anything, thank you, Mrs…’

‘Marsh—Joyce Marsh.’

He was bending over the baby again. ‘I’ll see that your sister-in-law gets back safely.’ He straightened himself to his full height. ‘Please make my apologies to your husband. Ah, here is Miss Marsh.’

Katherine, very neat in slacks and a short jacket, her hair screwed into a bun, came into the room. Without a word, she held out her arms for the baby, waited while the doctor picked up his coat and bag and bade a courteous goodbye to Joyce, and then followed him down the passage, with Joyce trailing behind. She made rather a thing of unbolting the door.

‘I’m not very strong,’ she murmured. ‘So sorry, and having to get out of my bed at such an unearthly hour.’ She gave her little tinkling laugh again.

‘Wait here,’ the doctor bade Katherine. ‘I’ll get the car.’ He went down the short path to the gate.

It was very quiet and his hearing was excellent, so he couldn’t fail to hear Joyce’s sharp, ‘Just you get back here without wasting any time. I’m not seeing to the children; they’ll have to stay in bed until you’re here to get them up.’

The morning light was strengthening; the car outside the gate looked large. The doctor got out and took the baby from Katherine, bade Joyce a coldly courteous goodbye, and opened the car door. Katherine got in, took the baby on to her lap, and sat without speaking while he got in beside her. She was a little surprised when he picked up the phone and had a brief conversation with someone—the hospital, she supposed. She had heard of phones in cars, but she had never seen one, only on television.

He drove in silence, a little too fast for her liking, along the narrow road which brought them to the main road in Salisbury. The early morning heavy traffic was building up, but he drove steadily and fast, circumventing the city until he reached the roundabout on its outskirts and took the road to the hospital.

They were expected. He drew up smoothly before the accident centre entrance, opened Katherine’s door and urged her through into the hospital. The baby was taken from her at once by a tired-looking night sister, and carried away with the doctor, a young houseman in a white coat, and another nurse behind them. Katherine watched them go and, since there was no one to ask where she should go, she sat herself down on one of the benches ranged around the walls. She would have liked a cup of tea, breakfast would have been even better, but she was a sensible girl, there were other more pressing matters to see to. She suspected that she had already been forgotten.

But she hadn’t; within ten minutes or so she was approached by a young nurse. ‘Dr Fitzroy says you’re to have breakfast. I’ll take you along to the canteen and you are to wait there when you have had it—he’ll join you later.’

‘I have to get back home…’ began Katherine, her thoughts wincing away from Joyce’s wrath if she didn’t.

‘Dr Fitzroy says he’ll take you back, and you are please to do as he asks.’

The nurse so obviously expected her to do so, that Katherine got to her feet, mentally consigning Joyce and the children to a later hour, when she could worry about them at her leisure. For the moment, she was hungry.

The canteen was empty; it was too soon for the night staff going off duty, too early for the day staff, even now getting out of their beds. The nurse sat Katherine down at one of the plastic-covered tables and went over to the counter. She came back with a loaded tray: cornflakes, eggs and bacon, toast, butter and marmalade, and a pot of tea.

‘I haven’t any money with me,’ Katherine pointed out anxiously.

‘Dr Fitzroy said you were to have a good breakfast. I don’t think he meant you to pay for it.’ The nurse smiled and said goodbye and disappeared.

Katherine’s small nose sniffed at the fragrant aroma rising from the tray. To have breakfast served to her, and such a breakfast, was a treat not to be missed. And she applied herself to the cornflakes without further ado.

She ate everything, and was emptying the teapot when Dr Fitzroy joined her.

She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you for my breakfast,’ she said in her quiet, sensible way. ‘Is there no way I can get back without you bothering to take me?’

At the sight of him, her heart had started thumping against her ribs, but she looked much as usual—rather a nonentity of a girl, badly dressed and too thin. Dr Fitzroy sat down opposite her; a kind man, he felt sorry for her, although he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t been taken in by her sister-in-law’s gushing manner. Probably the girl had a dull life, as well as having to live with a woman who obviously didn’t like her overmuch.

He said kindly, ‘If you’re ready, I’ll drive you back and make my excuses to your sister-in-law. They will be wondering where you are.’

Katherine got to her feet at once; the pleasant little adventure was over and she would be made to pay for it, she had no doubt of that. But it would be worth it. Joyce’s spite and her brother’s indifference wouldn’t be able to spoil it. It was ridiculous to fall in love as she had done; she had had no idea that she could feel so deeply about anyone. It would be a dream she would have to keep to herself for the rest of her life; it hadn’t the remotest chance of ever being more than that. She buttoned her jacket and went with him through the hospital and out to the forecourt where the car was standing.

‘Is the baby all right?’ she asked as he drove away.

‘Yes, although it’s rather early days to know for certain that he’s taken no harm. A nice little chap.’

She shivered. ‘If you hadn’t seen him and stopped…’

‘We must try and find the mother.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I hope I haven’t disrupted your morning too much.’

She said, ‘Oh, no,’ much too quickly, so that he looked at her for a second time, but her face was quite calm.

All the same, when they reached the house he said, ‘I’ll come in with you.’

She had her hand on the car door. ‘Oh, really, there’s no need, you must be busy…’

He took no notice, but got out of the car and went round to her door. He opened it for her and they walked up the path to the side door. ‘We don’t use the front door much,’ she explained matter-of-factly. ‘It makes a lot of extra work.’

She opened the side door on to a flagstoned passage, and prayed silently that he would go before Joyce discovered that she was back home. Prayers aren’t always answered—Joyce’s voice, strident with ill temper, came from an open door at the end of the passage.

‘So you’re back, and high time, too! You can go straight upstairs and see to the children, and if you think you’re going to have your breakfast first, you are very much mistaken.’ The door flung wide open and Joyce appeared. ‘You little…’ She stopped short. The change in her manner was ludicrous as she caught sight of the doctor behind Katherine.

‘There you are, dear.’ She smiled widely as she spoke, ‘Do run upstairs and see if the children are ready, will you? I’ve been so busy.’

Katherine didn’t say anything to this, but held out her hand to the doctor. It was engulfed in a firm grasp which was very comforting, and just for a moment she wanted to weep because she wouldn’t see him again, only be left with a delightful dream.

‘Thank you for bringing me back, and for my breakfast, Dr Fitzroy. I hope the little baby will find someone to love him.’

He looked down at her gravely. ‘It is I who thank you, Miss Marsh. Your help undoubtedly helped to save his life. Be sure we shall try and find his mother, and if not, get him adopted.’

She looked up into his face, learning it by heart, for the memory of it was all she would have of him. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, as she went away, past Joyce, into the hall and up the stairs to where Robin and Sarah could be heard wailing and shouting.

They were unlovable children, largely because their mother had no patience with them, and their father, a schoolmaster, had no time for them. They had been thrust into Katherine’s care when she had gone to live with her brother two years ago, after her mother died, with the frequently expressed opinion on his part that, since he was giving her a home, she might as well keep herself occupied by looking after the children. It was something she had been unable to dispute, for she had left school to nurse her mother, and when she died she had been glad to go to her brother’s home. She had been nineteen then, with vague ideas about training for a job and being independent, but now, two years later, without money and with very little time to herself, she was no nearer that. She had made several efforts to leave his house, but somehow she never managed it. The children fell ill with measles, or Joyce took to her bed, declaring that she was too ill to be left. On her last attempt, her brother had reminded her in his cold way that she owed everything to him, and the least she could do was to remain with the children until they were old enough to go to school. Almost two years still to go, she reflected, opening the nursery door on to a scene of chaos. The pair of them had got out of their beds, and were running round, flinging anything they could lay their hands on at each other.

Katherine suppressed a sigh. ‘Hello, dears. Who’s going to get dressed? And what would you like for breakfast?’

They had wet their beds, so she stripped the bedclothes off, caught the children in turn and took off their sopping nightclothes, then bathed and dressed them. Shutting the door on the muddle she would have to sort out presently, she took them down to the kitchen.

Joyce was in the hall, pulling on her gloves. ‘I’m going to the hairdressers. If I’m not back, get lunch, will you? Oh, and take them out for a walk.’

The day was like all her other days: Robin and Sarah to feed and care for, unending ironing and the washing machine in everlasting use, beds to make, the nursery to keep tidy. She went steadily ahead with her chores; she was a girl with plenty of common sense, and months earlier she had realised that self-pity got her nowhere. She was fed and clothed, albeit as cheaply as possible, and she had a roof over her head. Unemployment, her brother had reminded her on a number of occasions, was high; she had no chance of getting a job, not even an unskilled one. When she had protested that she could train as a typist, or get a job in some domestic capacity, he had told her that the chance of a job for a newly qualified typist would be slender, and the training a complete waste of money. And, as for domestic work, what was she thinking of? No sister of his was going to be anyone’s servant!

‘But I would at least get paid,’ she had told him with quiet persistence, in consequence of which he hadn’t spoken to her for several days.

Apart from her lack of money, and the heavy-handed persuasion of her brother, Katherine couldn’t bring herself to leave because of the children. They had no affection for her, nor she for them, but she was sorry for them. Other than herself, no one bothered much about them. Joyce was out a great deal, sitting on a variety of committees in the cause of charity, leaving the running of the house to Katherine and the spasmodic assistance of Mrs Todd from the farm cottages down the road, who came each day to dust and vacuum and, occasionally, when she felt like it, to polish the furniture or wash the flagstone floors in the hall and kitchen. She was a bad-tempered woman, and she disliked the children, so Katherine did her best to keep them out of her way.

In the afternoon, Mrs Todd had signified her intention of washing the kitchen floor, provided those dratted children were out of the way, so Katherine prudently dressed them warmly and took them for a walk. Sarah was still too small to walk far; it meant taking the pushchair and, since Robin declared that he was tired, she pushed them both back from the village, thankful to find when they got in that Mrs Todd had gone, leaving a tolerably clean kitchen and a terse note, reminding Joyce that she was owed two weeks’ wages. Katherine left the note where it was, got the children’s tea and, since there was no sign of Joyce, began to make preparations for the evening meal. Joyce came back just as she was finished with cleaning the vegetables, slammed a parcel down on the kitchen table, said, ‘Sausages,’ and turned to go out of the kitchen again.

‘There’s a note from Mrs Todd,’ Katherine pointed out, ‘and it’s either sausages or children—which do you want to do?’

Joyce cast her a look of dislike. ‘I have never met such an ungrateful, lazy girl—’ she began and caught Katherine’s mildly surprised eyes. ‘Oh, I’ll cook the supper, I suppose, since there’s no one else. Really, too much is expected of me! Here am I, busy all day with Oxfam and Save the Children and that jumble sale for the primary school, and you’ve been at home, doing nothing…’

Katherine let that pass; she had heard the same thing on any number of occasions. She collected the children and bore them off to their baths. While she got them ready for their beds, she thought about Dr Fitzroy. He would be married, of course, to a pretty wife, and there would be children, well-behaved, loving children, and they would live in one of those nice old houses close to the cathedral in Salisbury. Pure envy shot through her at the thought, and was instantly stifled.

Robin, being dried, kicked her shins and ran out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, he ran straight into his father’s path as he was on his way to his room to freshen up for the evening. The boy was led howling back to the bathroom.

‘Really, Katherine, you must control the children! This is surely proof that you are quite unsuitable for any kind of responsible job. I can only hope that you will learn something from us while you are living here.’

She was wrestling a nightie over Sarah’s head and didn’t look up. ‘Don’t be pompous,’ she begged him, ‘and don’t talk nonsense. And I’ve learnt a good deal while I’ve been living here, you know. How to manage without help from either you or Joyce, how to live without so much as a tenpenny piece to call my own…’ She spoke quietly because she was a quiet girl, but inside she was boiling with frustration. She added kindly, ‘Don’t gobble like that, Henry. It’s no good getting in a rage. I do my best, but I’m beginning to wonder why.’

She went past him with a squirming Sarah in her arms, intending to tuck her up in her cot and to go back for Robin, who was bawling his head off.

Supper was by no means a pleasant meal: Joyce, sulking because Henry had been sarcastic about burnt sausages and not quite cooked potatoes, had little to say, while he delivered a few well-chosen words about his day’s work, the pursuit of which had left him, he said, drained of energy. From this, he hinted strongly that the effort to keep his household in comfort was almost too much for him.

Here, Joyce interrupted him in a cross voice. Did he forget, she wanted to know, how hard she worked, getting to know the right people for his benefit? Did he realise how her day was entirely taken up with meeting boring women on committees?

Katherine, sitting between them, ate her sausages because she was hungry, and said nothing at all. Indeed, she wasn’t really listening, she was thinking about Dr Fitzroy, a small luxury she hugged to herself. She had embarked on a pleasant daydream where she fell and sprained an ankle and was taken to hospital, there to find him waiting to treat it while he expressed delight and pleasure at meeting her again…

‘Katherine, I wish that you would attend when I speak to you.’ Henry’s voice snapped the dream in two, and she blinked at him, reluctant to return to 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 Mr and Mrs Grainger need. I shall call for her in the morning so that she may have an interview, and I hope she will be able to go to them on the following day.’

Joyce said shrilly, ‘Who are these people? We know nothing about them! Katherine has never been away from home before; she’ll miss home life…’ She caught the doctor’s sardonic eye and paused. ‘She can go now, as far as I’m concerned,’ she said sulkily.

He ignored her. ‘I’ll be here at nine o’clock, if that suits you?’ He had spoken to Katherine, and then turned to Henry. ‘You may have my word that your sister will be happy as companion to the Graingers. There will be no housework, of course, and she will be paid a salary.’ He added a very civil goodnight, and Katherine, walking on air, took him to the door.

Before she shut it, he asked, ‘You’ll be all right?’

She nodded; there would be a good deal of unpleasantness before she could go to her room and start packing and looking out something suitable to wear in the morning, but she felt capable of outfacing the forthcoming recriminations with the promise of such a splendid future before her. And she would see Dr Fitzroy, too, sometimes. She hugged the thought to herself as she went back to the drawing-room.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS a good thing that Katherine felt so euphoric about her future, for the next hour tried her sorely. Henry, having recovered from his first surprise, had marshalled a number of forceful arguments, hampered rather than helped by Joyce’s ill-natured complaints.

Katherine listened patiently and, when he had quite done, said kindly, ‘Well, Henry, I would have thought that you would have been pleased. You don’t need to be responsible for me any more, do you?’

Henry was an alarming puce once more. ‘Your ingratitude cuts me to the quick,’ he told her. ‘After all this time, giving you a home and food and clothes…’

She smiled at him and said sensibly, ‘And look what you got for that—unpaid housework, someone to look after the children and, because I’m your sister, there was no need to give me an allowance.’ She added, ‘It will be nice to have some money.’ Emboldened by the prospect of a glowing future, she walked to the door, just as Henry got his breath for another speech. ‘I’m rather tired,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I haven’t finished the washing up, but there are only the saucepans left to do. Goodnight, Joyce—Henry.’

In her room, she sat down on her bed and cried. She had tried hard to please Henry and Joyce, she had accepted the care of the children and she had done her best to love them, but it was a singularly unloving household. She had never been happy in it and she was glad to leave it. All the same, it would have been nice if Henry and Joyce had uttered just one word of encouragement or thanks.

She got up presently, and crossed the landing to the children’s room. They needed tucking up once more, and she did this with her usual care, before going to the boxroom and fetching her two cases. Packing wouldn’t take long: her wardrobe was small, and most of it wasn’t worth packing. She had a tweed suit, elderly but well cut and good material; she would have to wear that until she had enough money to buy some decent clothes. She hoped that Mr and Mrs Grainger weren’t the kind of people to dress for dinner; it seemed unlikely, but she had a plain wool dress, very out-of-date, like the suit, but it had at one time been good, and would pass muster at a pinch.

She felt better now she had started her packing. She got ready for bed, hopped between the chilly sheets, closed her eyes and, very much to her surprise, went to sleep at once.

It was a scramble in the morning. Katherine got up earlier than usual, got into the suit and the sensible, low-heeled shoes which were suitable for everyday wear and country walks with the children. Then she did her face carefully with the sketchy make-up she possessed, tied her hair back with a narrow ribbon and went along to the nursery. For once, good fortune was on her side; the children were quite willing to be washed and dressed and given their breakfast. She took them downstairs and made tea for herself, laid the table for the children and for Henry, who wouldn’t be down for half an hour or so, and gave them their breakfast. She was too excited to eat, and she hadn’t considered what meals they would have later on. She wasn’t even sure when she would be back; what was more, she didn’t much care!

She cleared the table, took the children to the playroom and made more tea for Henry, who, on his way downstairs, put his head round the door to wish the children good morning but ignored her. She heard him leave the house presently and Mrs Todd crashing plates and saucepans in the kitchen. She would have to get Joyce out of bed before she went. Dr Fitzroy had said nine o’clock, and it was ten minutes to the hour.

Joyce didn’t answer as she went into the bedroom. Katherine drew back the curtains. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘The children have had their breakfast and are in the playroom. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’

Joyce lifted her head. ‘I feel ill,’ she said pettishly. ‘You simply can’t go—you’ll have to put this interview off until I’m better.’

Katherine took a look at her sister-in-law. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Todd. I dare say she’ll keep an eye on Sarah and Robin. Henry can always come back here—you could phone him.’

Joyce sat right up. ‘I hope these people hate you on sight and you lose the job. It would serve you right! And don’t expect to come crawling back here. Job or no job, out you go tomorrow.’

Katherine turned to go, and the children, bored with their own company, came hurtling past her and flung themselves onto their mother’s bed.

Katherine closed the door quietly behind her. She didn’t like her sister-in-law, but a pang of sympathy shot through her; the children were small tyrants, and Joyce had little patience with them. She would demand a mother’s help and Henry would have to agree. Whoever it was would want a salary and days off and weekends and holidays… Katherine had another pang of sympathy for Henry, who hated to spend his money.

Dr Fitzroy was waiting for her when she opened the door and looked out, and she hurried to the car.

‘Good morning.’ She was a bit breathless with an upsurge of feeling at the sight of him. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting.’

‘Just got here. Jump in.’ He held the door for her, and she settled in the seat beside him. ‘Nervous?’ he asked. ‘You needn’t be.’

He gave her a reassuring smile, and thought what a dim little thing she was in her out-of-date suit and sturdy shoes. But sensible and quiet, just what the Graingers needed, and they would hardly notice what she was wearing, only that her voice was pleasant and she was calm in a crisis. He started the car. ‘I’ll tell you something about Mr and Mrs Grainger. In their seventies, almost eighty, in fact. He has a heart condition and is far too active, can be peppery if he can’t have his own way. Mrs Grainger is small and meek and perfectly content to allow him to dictate to her. She has arthritis and suffers a good deal of pain, but never complains. They are devoted to each other. They lost their only son in an accident some years ago, but they have a granddaughter…’

Something in his voice caught Katherine’s attention; this granddaughter was someone special to him. She had known from the moment she knew that she had fallen in love with him that he would never look at her—all the same, it was a blow. So silly, she told herself silently, he could have been married already, with a houseful of children. At the back of her head, a small, defiant voice pointed out that he might have been heart-whole and single and miraculously bowled over by her very ordinary person. She became aware that he had asked her something and she hadn’t been heeding.

‘So sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘You asked me something?’

They were at the roundabout on the outskirts of Wilton, waiting to find a place in the traffic streaming towards Salisbury. He slipped smoothly between two other cars before he answered. ‘You do understand that there will be no regular hours? You will, of course, have time to yourself each day, but that time may vary. It would be difficult to arrange to meet your friends or make dates.’

She said quietly, in a bleak little voice, ‘I haven’t any friends, and no one to make a date with.’ She added quickly, in case he thought she was wallowing in self-pity, ‘I had lots of friends when my mother was alive, but there wasn’t much time to spare at my brother’s house. I—I like to be busy, and I shan’t mind at all if Mr and Mrs Grainger make their own arrangements about my free time.’

‘That’s settled then.’ He sounded kind but faintly uninterested. ‘But I expect you will want to go shopping.’ He was annoyed that he had said that, for she went pink and turned to look out of her window, very conscious of her dull appearance. All the same, she agreed cheerfully; in a week or two she would indeed go shopping. Clothes made the man, it was said—well, they would make her, too!

She liked Salisbury; the cathedral dominated the city, and its close was a delightful oasis in the city centre. When the doctor drove down High Street and through the great gate, circled the small car park and drew up before one of the charming old houses abutting the close, she declared, ‘Oh, is it here? I’ve always wanted…I came here with Mother…’

‘Charming, isn’t it? And yes, this is the house.’ He got out and went round to open her door. They crossed the pavement together, and he rang the bell beside the pedimented doorway. The door was opened almost at once by a middle-aged woman with a stern face, dressed soberly in black. She gave the doctor a wintry smile and stared at Katherine.

‘Ah, Mrs Dowling, I have brought Miss Marsh to meet Mr and Mrs Grainger. They are expecting us.’

She wished him a reluctant good morning and nodded at Katherine, who smiled uncertainly. ‘You’d better come up,’ she observed dourly.

The house, despite its Georgian façade, was considerably older. A number of passages led off the small, square hall, and half a dozen steps at its end ended in a small gallery with two doors. The housekeeper opened one of them and ushered them inside. The room was large and long, at the back of the house, overlooking a surprisingly large garden.

Its two occupants turned to look at the doctor and Katherine as they went in, and the elderly gentleman said at once, ‘Jason, my dear boy—so here you are with the little lady you have found for us.’ He peered over his glasses at Katherine. ‘Good morning, my dear. You don’t find it too irksome to cherish us, I hope?’

‘How do you do, Mr Grainger?’ said Katherine politely. ‘Not in the least, if you would like me to come.’

‘Take a look at her, my dear,’ begged the old gentleman, addressing himself to the equally elderly lady sitting opposite him.

She was small and frail-looking, but her eyes were bright and her voice surprisingly strong. She studied Katherine and nodded. ‘I believe that she will do very nicely, Albert. A little on the small side, perhaps?’

‘I’m very strong,’ declared Katherine on a faintly apprehensive note.

‘And competent,’ put in the doctor in his calm way. ‘Besides not being wishful to dash off to the discos with a different young man each evening.’

He had pulled a chair forward, and nodded to her to sit down, and Mrs Grainger asked, ‘Have you a young man, my dear?’

‘No,’ said Katherine, ‘and I’ve never been inside a disco.’

The old couple nodded to each other. ‘Most suitable. Will you come at once?’

Katherine looked at the doctor, who said placidly, ‘I’ll take her back to her brother’s house now, and she can pack her things. I dare say, if you wish it, she could be ready to come back here this evening.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Katherine, ‘there’s a bus I could catch…’

‘I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.’ He barely glanced at her. ‘Mrs Grainger, you do understand that Miss Marsh has to have an hour or so to herself each day, and at least a half-day off each week? We have already discussed the salary, and she finds it acceptable.’ He got up. ‘I’m going to have a word with Mrs Dowling, if I may, before I take Miss Marsh back.’

He was gone for ten minutes, during which time Katherine was plied with questions. She answered them readily enough, for she liked her employers.

She was sensible enough to realise that sitting here in this pleasant room wasn’t indicative of her day’s work; she would probably be on the run for a good part of each day and probably the night, too, but after the cheerless atmosphere of Henry’s home this delightful house held warmth, something she had missed since her mother had died.

When Dr Fitzroy returned, she rose, shook hands, declared that she would return that evening, and accompanied the doctor out to his car.

He had little to say as they drove back, only expressed himself satisfied with the interview, warned her to be ready that evening and reminded her that he called to see Mr and Mrs Grainger two days a week, usually on Tuesdays and Fridays, at about eleven o’clock. ‘So I should like you to be there when I call.’ He shot her a quick glance. ‘You will be happy there?’

‘Yes, oh, yes!’ she assured him. ‘I can’t believe it! I’m so afraid that I’ll wake up and find that it’s all been a dream.’

He laughed. ‘It’s true enough, and I do warn you that you may find the work irksome and sometimes tiring.’ He stopped the car outside Henry’s gate and got out. ‘I’ll come in with you and speak to your sister-in-law.’

Joyce was waiting for them in the drawing-room, beautifully turned out and, judging from the din the children were making from the nursery, impervious to their demands.

As Katherine went in with the doctor, she said,’ Katherine, do go upstairs and see to the children. I’m exhausted already—I had to sit down quietly…’

She smiled bewitchingly at the doctor, who didn’t smile back. ‘Mrs Marsh, Miss Marsh will be taking up her job this evening. I shall be here for her at six o’clock. I’m sure you’ll make certain that she has the time to collect her things together before then.’ He smiled at Katherine. ‘You can be ready by then? I have an appointment in the evening and must go to the hospital this afternoon, otherwise I would come for you after lunch.’

‘I’ll be ready.’ Katherine gave him a beaming smile. ‘Thank you for taking me this morning.’

‘You’ll stay for coffee?’ asked Joyce persuasively.

‘Thank you, no.’ He shook her hand and Katherine took him to the door.

‘Scared?’ he asked softly. ‘Don’t worry, if you haven’t been given the chance to pack, I’ll do it for you when I come.’ He patted her briskly on the shoulder. ‘I bless the day I knocked on this door; I’ve been searching for weeks for someone like you.’ Her heart leapt at his words, and then plummeted to her toes as he added, ‘You’re exactly what the Graingers need.’

She stood for a moment or two after he had gone, dismissing sentimental nonsense from her head, preparing herself for the unpleasantness to come. And unpleasant it was, too, for Joyce was at her most vindictive.

Katherine allowed the worst of it to flow over her head and, when Joyce paused for breath, said in her calm way, ‘Well, Joyce, Robin and Sarah are your children, after all. If you don’t want to look after them, Henry can quite afford to get someone who will.’

She went up to her room and finished her packing which, since she had very few possessions, took no time at all. She was just finishing when Mrs Todd called up the stairs. ‘Mrs Marsh ‘as gone out, and them dratted kids is all over my kitchen!’

Katherine had changed back into elderly jeans and a sweater. She pulled on her jacket now and went downstairs. The children were running wild, sensing that something was happening and cheerfully adding to the disruption.

‘Mrs Todd, help me cut some sandwiches and prepare a thermos—I’ll take the children out and we can find somewhere to picnic. I know it’s not much of a day, but it’ll get them out of the house. Leave the key under the mat if we’re not back, will you?’

They set out half an hour later, the children unwilling at first but, once away from the house, walking along the bridle paths, they could race about and shout as much as they wanted to. Katherine suspected that Joyce had taken herself off for the day in the hope that, if she didn’t return, Katherine would feel bound to stay, but Henry would be home by five o’clock, and an hour later Dr Fitzroy would come for her.

She found a hollow out of the wind, and they ate their sandwiches there and then started back home. The children were tired now and, 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 knew, she had no looks to speak of, not like some of the pert young things these days who thought that because they had pretty faces and smart clothes, they could indulge in bad manners towards their elders and betters. She cast an eye over Katherine’s sober appearance.

‘Suits me, Miss…’

‘Would you mind calling me Katherine?’ She smiled at the older woman. ‘I haven’t had a job before, and Miss Marsh is a bit—well, I am going to work here.’

Mrs Dowling folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure—how would Miss Katherine do?’

‘If you prefer that, Mrs Dowling.’

They toured the bedrooms, the bathroom and the small pantry off the front landing, where Katherine would be able to make hot drinks if Mr and Mrs Grainger were wakeful during the night.

‘And that’s often enough,’ observed Mrs Dowling, ‘but the doctor will have told you that.’ She led the way downstairs. ‘Very kind and good he is, too. Of course, him being smitten with Miss Dodie, I dare say he sees more of them than he needs to, though they’re not in the best of health.’

She opened a door in the hall, and Katherine saw the dining-room: a rather gloomy apartment, heavily furnished, with a great deal of silver on the sideboard. There was a small study next to it and a charming little room opposite, used as a breakfast-room and sitting-room, its door leading to the drawing-room and with french windows opening out on to the garden at the back of the house.

‘You’d best go tidy yourself,’ said Mrs Dowling. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock, and they’ll want their drinks poured. There now, you know where the drawing-room is?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Dowling. Do you want me to help with dinner? I could carry in the dishes for you.’

‘They wouldn’t like that, thanks all the same. Besides, you’ll be busy enough; they ring the bell half a dozen times in an evening for me…’

‘Oh, well,’ said Katherine cheerfully, ‘they won’t need to do that now, will they? You must have been busy.’

Mrs Dowling watched her go back upstairs. Not such a bad young woman, after all, she decided. No looks, but a nice voice, and not in the least bossy.

Mr and Mrs Grainger didn’t appear to have moved when Katherine went back into the drawing-room. She poured their sherry, accepted a glass for herself, and made gentle small talk until Mrs Dowling appeared to say that dinner was on the table. And from then on the evening went well. The old people liked to talk; indeed, half the time they talked at the same time, interrupting each other quite ruthlessly.

Katherine fetched their hot milky drinks from the kitchen at ten o’clock and then saw them upstairs, staying with Mrs Grainger until that lady declared that she could very easily manage for herself.

‘And if I wake in the night, my dear, there’s a bell in my room. Mr Grainger has one, too. I must say it’s a comfort to have you here.’ She bade Katherine a kind goodnight. ‘We’ll have a nice little talk in the morning,’ she promised.

Katherine unpacked, admired her room, had a leisurely bath and thought how lovely it was to have a bathroom all to herself. She thought, too, fleetingly of Henry and Joyce, and felt guilty because she hadn’t missed them or the children. I can’t be a very nice person, she reflected as she curled up snugly in her bed. Not that the idea kept her awake; she slept within moments of her head touching the pillow.

Twenty-four hours later, tired though she was, she stayed awake long enough to review her day. Not too bad, she thought sleepily. The highlight of it had been the doctor’s visit, although he had been impersonal in his manner towards her; all the same, he had smiled nicely at her when he left, and expressed the view that she was exactly right for the job. The old people were demanding in a nice way, but they seemed to like her, and even Mrs Dowling had unbent a little. She had had no chance to go out, or even take an hour off, but she had hardly expected that for the first day; it had been filled with undertaking the multiple small tasks the Graingers expected of her. Going upstairs to fetch a forgotten book, Katherine found time to sympathise with Mrs Dowling, who must have been dead on her feet by bedtime…

All the same, she had been happy. The house was warm, cheerful and charmingly furnished, she had a delightful room all to herself, the meals were elegantly served and the whole tempo of life slowed down. And, over and above all that, she would be paid. It was a splendid thought on which to close her eyes.

The week wound to a close. By Saturday she had found her feet, and for the last two days she had gone out while Mr and Mrs Grainger snoozed on their beds after lunch. Mrs Dowling, she discovered, liked to put her feet up after tea for an hour or so, and Katherine had offered to do any small chores for her during that time, an offer accepted rather ungraciously by that lady.

Katherine had spent her two brief outings window-shopping. She saw at once that forty pounds would go nowhere; she would have to buy essentials during the first few weeks then save up. All the same, she was willing to wait until she had enough money to buy the kind of clothes she wanted; good clothes, well cut and well made.

On Saturday night she had gone to bed content; she had found her week’s wages on the breakfast table, and that afternoon she had gone to Marks and Spencer and spent almost all of it on undies. A methodical girl, she had made a list of the clothes she intended to buy, and crossed out the first line with satisfaction; next week it would almost certainly have to be a dress, Marks and Spencer again, something simple and unobtrusive to tide her over until she could afford something better. And perhaps a nightie? She hated the plain cotton ones she had had for so long.

On Sunday the Graingers went to church. It was a major undertaking, getting them there, for they insisted on walking through the close, a journey which took a considerable time at their leisurely pace. Katherine, between them, her arms supporting them, was thankful that the sun shone and that the early morning frost had dwindled away. And when they reached the cathedral there was still quite a long walk through the vast building to the seats they always occupied. But once settled between them, she was able to flex her tired arms and look around her. It was some years since she had been there, and she looked around her with peaceful content. They were seated near the pulpit, and she had a splendid view of the great building; she would be able to come as often as she liked, she thought with satisfaction, for it was barely five minutes’ walk for her. The opening hymn was announced, and she helped her companions to their feet as the choir processed to their stalls.

The congregation was a large one and leaving the cathedral took time. They were outside, beginning their slow progress back home, when Dr Fitzroy joined them. There was a young woman with him, tall and good-looking and beautifully dressed. Dodie, thought Katherine, bristling to instant dislike; and she was right, for the young woman bent to kiss the old lady and then pat her grandfather on his arm with a gentle pressure.

‘Darlings!’ she declared in a clear, high voice. ‘How lovely to see you, and how well you look.’

She had very blue eyes; she turned them on Katherine for an indifferent moment. Her nod, when the doctor introduced Katherine, was perfunctory.

‘So clever of you, Jason, to find someone so suitable.’

‘I can’t take any credit for that,’ he said placidly. ‘Katherine more or less dropped into my lap—an answer to prayer, shall we say.’ He smiled at Katherine, who was vexed to feel her cheeks redden. ‘You’ve settled in? No snags?’

‘None, Dr Fitzroy.’ She heard her voice, very stiff and wooden and awkward-sounding, but for the life of her she couldn’t do anything about it.

Dodie gave a chuckle. ‘I should think not indeed! These are the two dearest, sweetest people I know.’ She kissed them both, smiled at Katherine quite brilliantly, and took the doctor’s arm. ‘We shall be late…’

His goodbyes were brief. Katherine, scooping her elderly companions on to each arm, heard Dodie’s high, penetrating voice quite clearly as they walked away.

‘She will do very well, Jason. Dreadfully dull, poor dear, but I dare say she’s very grateful—living in a pleasant house, good food and wages…’

The doctor’s reply, if he replied, was lost on the wind. Katherine subdued a violent wish to leave her two companions as from that moment and never see them or the doctor again. As for Dodie…words failed her. Common sense prevailed, of course; it was a good job and she did live pleasantly, and it was wonderful to have money to spend. She sighed soundlessly and turned her full attention to Mr Grainger, who was busy pulling the sermon to pieces. She would stay for ever, she mused, while she had the chance of seeing Dr Fitzroy. It was the height of stupidity to love someone who had no interest at all in you. Dodie had said that she was dull, she might as well be stupid, too!

CHAPTER THREE

OCTOBER had given way to November, and the late autumn sunshine had disappeared behind low banks of cloud, tearing around the sky, pushed to and fro by a ferocious wind. The Graingers didn’t venture out; Katherine unpicked knitting, played bezique with Mr Grainger, read the newspapers to him and romantic novels to Mrs Grainger and, in between whiles, gave a hand around the house. The cleaning ladies who came each day were excellent workers, but they did their work and nothing more; Katherine, perceiving how Mrs Dowling’s corns hurt, took to carrying the trays to and from the dining-room and, occasionally, when Mrs Dowling was in need of a rest, she dried the dishes and loaded and unloaded the dishwasher. Mrs Dowling always thanked her rather coldly for these small tasks, but her manner had softened considerably; the small, quiet girl was no threat to her authority, and she was proving a dab hand at keeping Mr and Mrs Grainger happy.

During the second week of Katherine’s stay she was invited to go down to the kitchen each morning before she dressed and share Mrs Dowling’s pot of tea, something she was happy to do, for it made a pleasant start to the day, sitting at the kitchen table, drinking Mrs Dowling’s strong tea and listening to that lady’s views on life in general and the household where she lived and worked in particular.

Within a very few days it was Katherine who carried the early morning tea trays up to Mr and Mrs Grainger. As she pointed out, she was going upstairs anyway, and it would save Mrs Dowling’s corns. But although her days were filled by small chores she had two hours off each afternoon, something she looked forward to; there was so much to do and see. The cathedral was a never-ending source of interest; she pored over the Magna Carta in its library, studied the ancient manuscripts there, and wandered to and fro, examining the tombstones. When she had had her fill, she explored the narrow streets around the close, admiring the houses and wishing that she could live in one of them. The Graingers’ house was delightful but, although she lived in it, she was aware that sooner or later they would die and she would be out of a job. She wondered who would have the house; probably Dodie, who certainly wouldn’t want to employ her in any capacity.

Katherine paused to admire a particularly fine Georgian house bordering on to the close. Dodie wouldn’t want her grandparents’ house; she would be married to Dr Fitzroy by then, and he must surely have a house of his own. She had seen him when he visited his patients, of course, but she knew no more about him than the first time they had met.

At the end of her second week she took herself off to Marks and Spencer again, and bought a dress: pale grey with a white collar and a neat belt—unexciting, but she would not get tired of it as quickly as a brighter colour. She bore it back and wore it that evening. Examining herself in the long glass in her bedroom she was pleased with her appearance, for it was a distinct improvement on anything else hanging in her wardrobe.

She went downstairs feeling pleased with herself, and when Mrs Grainger observed, ‘You look nice, Katherine,’ she beamed with pleasure. A pity that Dr Fitzroy couldn’t see her now…

The wish was father to the thought: she was setting Mrs Grainger’s knitting to rights when Mrs Dowling opened the door. ‘Dr Fitzroy,’ she announced as he came into the room.

He had brought a book which Mr Grainger had wished to read, and stayed only briefly, but he paused by the door to ask Katherine, ‘Everything is all right?’ and when she said ‘Yes,’ he gave her a vague, kindly look. ‘Splendid. You must be looking forward to buying yourself some pretty clothes. I’m sure if you ask her, Dodie will tell you where to go.’

Katherine’s calm face gave away nothing of her feelings about this unfortunate remark. Nothing, just nothing would make her buy anything at a shop recommended by Dodie, even if she could afford it, which she couldn’t. She said in a wooden voice, ‘How kind,’ and shot him a look of such rage that he blinked. There was more behind that composed face than he had thought, and he found himself interested to know what it was.

He said pleasantly, ‘If you should want to visit your brother, let me know. I could drive you out there.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but I hadn’t planned to—to go back for a little while.’ She could hardly tell him that her letters had gone unanswered and a visit from her would be unwelcome. Joyce had said that she didn’t care if she never saw her again… ‘I’m very happy here,’ she told him, and wished him a polite goodnight. Before she undressed that evening, she took a good look at her image in the pier-glass in her room. There was nothing wrong with her new dress; it was suitable, cheap and completely lacking in high fashion, but then, high fashion was something quite useless for someone like herself. It was a very nice dress, she told herself defiantly, and next week she would buy some shoes; high-heeled and elegant. By Christmas she would have an adequate wardrobe; by the time she had bought the basic items, she would be able to save her money and start to pick and choose.

She got into bed, planning what she would buy; clothes which would make Dr Fitzroy look at her twice. She was just dropping off on her hopeful thought when Mr Grainger rang. He couldn’t sleep, he complained, and would she get him a drink? Ovaltine or Bengers…

Another week went by, highlighted by the doctor’s visits, always brief, during which he took blood pressures, listened carefully to his patients’ mild complaints and went away again with barely a word to Katherine. There was a visit from Dodie too, as brief as the doctor’s had been. She arrived just as the old couple were preparing to take their afternoon nap, wrapped in a beautifully cut coat and wearing high patent-leather boots. She had been to the hairdressers, she explained and just had to pop in and see how her darlings were getting on, although she cut her grandfather short when he started to describe his bad chest, laughingly telling him to stop worrying.

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