“Well, you see, I wouldn’t marry you for your money,” Arabella said.

“No, no, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Doctor Teverner spoke gravely; she didn’t see the gleam of amusement in his eyes.

She got up. “Thank you for letting me talk and for giving me advice. I hope I haven’t made you late for anything.”

He assured her that she hadn’t, bade her a cheerful good-night and took himself off home where Mrs. Turner met him by saying, “Time you were married, Doctor. And if I’ve said that once, I’ve said it a hundred times!”

“One day I’ll surprise you,” he promised her.

About the Author

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.

Dearest Love
Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

DEAR Sir,

With reference to your advertisement in this week’s Lady magazine, I wish to apply for the post of Caretaker/Housekeeper.

I am twenty-seven years of age, single with no dependants, and have several years’ experience in household management including washing, ironing, cleaning and cooking. I am a cordon bleu cook. I have a working knowledge of minor electrical and plumbing faults. I am able to take messages and answer the telephone.

I would wish to bring my cat with me.

Yours faithfully,

Arabella Lorimer

IT WAS the last letter to be read by the elderly man sitting at his desk in his consulting-room, a large apartment on the ground floor of a Regency house, one of a terrace, in Wigmore Street, London. He read it for a second time, gave a rumble of laughter, and added it to the pile before him. There were twelve applicants in all and Arabella Lorimer was the only one to enclose references—the only one to write legibly, too, neatly setting down all the relevant facts. It was a pity that she wasn’t a man…

He began to read the letters again and was interrupted halfway through by the entry of his partner. Dr Titus Tavener came unhurriedly into the room, a very tall man with broad shoulders and a massive person. He was handsome with a high-bridged nose, a firm mouth and rather cold blue eyes. His hair, once fair, was pepper and salt, despite which he looked younger than his forty years.

Dr James Marshall, short and stout and almost bald, greeted him with pleasure. ‘Just the man I want. The applications for the caretaker’s post—I have them here; I’ve spent the last hour reading them. I’ve decided which one I shall accept. Do read them, Titus, and give me your opinion. Not that it will make any difference to my choice.’ He chortled as Dr Tavener sat himself down and picked up the little pile of letters. He read them through, one after the other, and then gathered them neatly together.

‘There are one or two possibles: the ex-bus driver—although he admits to asthma attacks—then this Mrs Butler.’ He glanced at the letter in his hand. ‘But is she quite the type to open the door? Of course the joker in the pack is Miss Arabella Lorimer and her cat. Most unsuitable.’

‘Why?’

‘Obviously a maiden lady down on her luck. I don’t think I believe her skills are quite what she claims them to be. I’d hesitate to leave a stopped-up drain-pipe or a blown fuse to her ladylike hands.’

His partner laughed. ‘Titus, I can only hope that one day before it’s too late you will meet a woman who will turn you sides to middle and then tramp all over you.’

Dr Tavener smiled. ‘Unlikely. Perhaps I have been rather hard on the lady. There is always the possibility that she is an Amazon with a tool-kit.’

‘Well, you will soon know. I’ve decided that she might do.’

Dr Tavener got up and strolled to the window and stood looking out on to the quiet street. ‘And why not? Mrs Lane will be glad to leave. Her arthritis isn’t getting any better and she’s probably longing to go and live with her daughter. She’ll take her furniture with her, I suppose? Do we furnish the place?’

‘It depends—Miss Lorimer may have her own stuff.’ Dr Marshall pushed back his chair. ‘We’ve a busy day tomorrow; I’ll see if your Amazon can come for an interview at five o’clock. Will you be back by then?’

‘Unlikely—the clinic is overbooked as it is. In any case, I’m dining out.’ He turned to look at his partner. ‘I dare say you’ve made a good choice, James.’ He strolled to the door. ‘I’ve some paperwork to deal with. Shall I send Miss Baird home? You’re going yourself? I shall be here for another hour yet—see you in the morning.’

He went to his own consulting-room, going through the elegant waiting-room with a smile and a nod for their shared receptionist Miss Baird, before going down the passage, past the stairs to the basement and his separate suite. This comprised a small waiting-room, a treatment-room where his nurse worked and his own room facing the garden at the back of the house. A small, narrow garden but well-tended and bright with early autumn flowers. He gave it a brief look before drawing the first of the patients’ notes waiting for his attention towards him.

Dr Marshall read Miss Arabella Lorimer’s letter once more and rang for Miss Baird. ‘Send a note by special messenger, will you? To this address. Tell the lady to come here at five o’clock tomorrow afternoon. A pity she hasn’t a telephone.’ He got up and switched off his desk light. ‘I’m going home, Miss Baird. Dr Tavener will be working for some time yet, but check that he’s still here before you leave.’ He nodded and smiled at her. ‘Go as soon as you’ve got that message seen to.’

He went home himself then, to his wife and family, and much later Dr Tavener got into his Rolls-Royce and drove himself home to his charming house overlooking the canal in Little Venice.

Arabella read Dr Marshall’s somewhat arbitrary note sitting in the kitchen. It was a small, damp room, overlooking a weary-looking patch of grass and some broken fencing, but she preferred it to the front room where her landlady sat of a Sunday afternoon. It housed the lady’s prized possessions and Arabella hadn’t been invited in there because of her cat Percy, who would ruin the furniture. She hadn’t minded; she had been grateful that Billy Westlake, the village postman, had persuaded his aunt, Miss Pimm, to take her in for a few days while she found a job and somewhere to live.

It hadn’t been easy leaving Colpin-cum-Witham, but it had been necessary. Her parents had died together in a car accident and only then had she discovered that her home wasn’t to be hers any longer; it had been mortgaged to the hilt and she had to leave. There was almost no money. She sold all but the basic furniture that she might need and, since there was no hope of working in or near the village and distant aunts and uncles, while full of good advice, made no offer to help her, she took herself and Percy to London. She had no wish to live there but, as the postman had said, it was a vast city and somewhere there must be work. She had soon realised that the only work she was capable of was domestic. She had no skills other than cordon bleu cooking and, since she had never needed to work in any capacity, she had no experience—something which employers demanded.

Now she read the brief letter again; she had applied almost in desperation, anxious to get away from Miss Pimm’s scarcely veiled impatience to get rid of her and Percy. She had agreed to take them in for a few days but it was already a week and, as she had said to Arabella, she was glad of the money but she was one who kept herself to herself and didn’t fancy strangers in her home.

Arabella sat quietly, not allowing herself to be too hopeful but all the same allowing herself to picture the basement room which went with the job. She would furnish it with her own bits and pieces and with any luck there would be some kind of a garden behind the house where Percy could take the air. She went up to her little bedroom with Percy at her heels and inspected her small stock of clothes. To be suitably dressed was important.

She arrived at Wigmore Street with two minutes to spare—the clocks were striking the hour as Miss Baird ushered her into Dr Marshall’s consultingroom. He was sitting behind his desk as she went in and put down his pen to peer at her over his glasses. Just for a moment he was silent, then he said, ‘Miss Lorimer? Please sit down. I must confess I was expecting someone more—more robust…’

Arabella seated herself without fuss—a small, nicely plump girl with mousy hair pinned on top of her head, an ordinary face and a pair of large grey eyes, thickly fringed. Anyone less like a caretaker it would be hard to find, reflected Dr Marshall with an inward chuckle, and just wait until Titus saw her.

He said pleasantly, ‘I read your letter with interest, Miss Lorimer. Will you tell me about your last job?’

‘I haven’t had one. I’ve always lived at home—my mother was delicate and my father was away a good deal; he had his own business. I always did the housekeeping and dealt with minor repairs around the house.’

He nodded. ‘Why do you want this job?’

She was sitting very quietly—no fidgeting, he noticed thankfully.

‘My parents were killed recently in a car accident and now my home is no longer mine. We lived at Colpin-cum-Witham in southern Wiltshire; there is no work there for someone with no qualifications.’ She paused. ‘I need somewhere to live and domestic work seems to be the answer. I have applied for several jobs but they won’t allow me to have Percy.’

‘Percy?’

‘My cat.’

‘Well, I see no objection to a cat as long as he stays in your room—he can have the use of the garden, of course. But do you suppose that you are up to the work? You are expected to clean these rooms—mine, the reception and waiting-room, the passage and the stairs, my partner’s rooms—and polish all the furniture and brass, and the front door, then answer the bell during our working hours, empty the bins, lock up and unlock in the mornings… Are you of a nervous disposition?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Good. Oh, and if there is no one about you will answer the telephone, run errands and take messages.’ He gave her a shrewd glance. ‘A bit too much for you, eh?’

‘Certainly not, Dr Marshall. I dare say I should call you sir? I would be glad to come and work for you.’

‘Shall we give it a month’s trial? Mrs Lane who is retiring should be in her room now. If you will go with Miss Baird she will introduce you. Come back here, if you please, so that we can make final arrangements.’

The basement wasn’t quite what Arabella had imagined but it had possibilities. It was a large room; its front windows gave a view of passing feet and were heavily barred but the windows at the other end of the room, although small, could be opened. There was a door loaded down with bolts and locks and chains beside them, leading out to a small paved area with the garden beyond. At one side there was a door opening into a narrow passage with a staircase leading to the floor above and ending in another heavy door and, beside the staircase, a very small kitchen and an even smaller shower-room. Mrs Lane trotted ahead of her, pointing out the amenities. ‘Of course I shall ’ave ter take me things with me, ducks—going up ter me daughter, yer see; she’s got a room for me.’

‘I have some furniture, Mrs Lane,’ said Arabella politely. ‘I only hope to be able to make it as cosy as you have done.’

Mrs Lane preened. ‘Well, I’ve me pride, love. A bit small and young, aint yer?’

‘Well, I’m very strong and used to housework. When did you want to leave, Mrs Lane?’

‘Just as soon as yer can get ’ere. Bin ’appy ’ere, I ’ave, but I’m getting on a bit—the stairs is a bit much. ’Is nibs ’as always ’ad a girl come in ter answer the door, which save me feet.’ She chuckled. ‘’E won’t need ’er now!’

Back with Dr Marshall, Arabella, bidden to sit, sat.

‘Well, want to come here and work?’

‘Yes, I do and I will do my best to satisfy you, sir.’

‘Good. Fix up dates and so on with Mrs Lane and let me know when you’re going to come.’ He added sharply, ‘There must be no gap between Mrs Lane going and you coming, understand.’

Outside in the street she went looking for a telephone box to ring the warehouse in Sherborne and arrange for her furniture to be brought to London. It was a matter of urgency and for once good fortune was on her side. There was a load leaving for London in three days’ time and her few things could be sent with it and at a much smaller cost than she had expected. She went back to Mrs Lane, going down the few steps to the narrow door by the barred window and explaining carefully, ‘If I might come here some time during the morning and you leave in the afternoon, could we manage to change over without upsetting your routine here?’

‘Don’t see why not, ducks. Me son-in-law’s coming with a van so I’ll clear off as soon as yer ’ere.’

‘Then I’ll let Dr Marshall know.’

‘Do that. I’ll ’ave ter see ’im for me wages—I’ll tell ’im likewise.’

Back at Miss Pimm’s, Arabella told her that she would be leaving in three days and ate her supper—fish and chips from the shop on the corner—and went to bed, explaining to Percy as she undressed that he would soon have a home of his own again. He was a docile cat but he hadn’t been happy at Miss Pimm’s; it was a far cry from the roomy house and garden that he had always lived in. Now he curled up on the end of her narrow bed and went to sleep, instinct telling him that better times were in store.

Dr Marshall sat at his desk for some time doing nothing after Arabella had gone. Presently he gave a rich chuckle and when Miss Baird came in he asked her, ‘Well, what do you think of our new caretaker?’

Miss Baird gave him a thoughtful look. ‘A very nice young lady, sir. I only hope she’s up to all that hard housework.’

‘She assures me that she is a most capable worker. She will start in three days’ time and I must be sure and be here when Dr Tavener sees her for the first time.’

It wasn’t until the next morning, discussing a difficult case with his partner, that Dr Marshall had the chance to mention that he had engaged a new caretaker. ‘She will start in two days’ time—with her cat.’

Dr Tavener laughed. ‘So she turned out to be suitable for the job? Let us hope that she is quicker at answering the doorbell and emptying the wastepaper baskets.’

‘Oh, I imagine she will be.’ Dr Marshall added slyly, ‘After all, she is young.’

‘As long as she does her work properly.’ Dr Tavener was already engrossed in the notes in his hand and spoke without interest.

Despite misgivings that her furniture wouldn’t arrive, that Percy would disappear at the last minute or that Dr Marshall would have second thoughts about employing her, Arabella moved herself, her cat and her few possessions into the basement of Wigmore Street without mishap. True, empty it looked pretty grim and rather dirty, but once the floor had been cleaned and the windows washed, the cobwebs removed from the darker corners, she could see possibilities. With the help of the removal men she put her bed in a corner of the room, put a small table and chair under the back window and stacked everything else tidily against a wall. Her duties were to commence in the morning and she conned Mrs Lane’s laboriously written list of duties before she made up the bed, settled Percy in his cardboard box and rolled up her sleeves.

There was plenty of hot water and Mrs Lane had left a variety of mops and brushes in the cupboard by the stairs. Arabella set to with a will; this was to be her home—hers and Percy’s—and she intended to make it as comfortable as possible. Cleanliness came before comfort. She scrubbed and swept and polished and by evening was satisfied with her work.

She cooked her supper on the newly cleaned stove—beans on toast and an egg—gave Percy his meal and sat at the table, well pleased with her efforts, while she drank her tea and then made a list of the things she still needed. It was not a long list but she would have to buy a little at a time each pay-day. Her rather muddled calculations showed her that it would be Christmas before she had all she wanted but that didn’t worry her—after the last awful months this was all that she could wish for.

She washed her dishes and opened the back door with Percy tucked under one arm. The garden was surrounded by a high brick wall and ringed by flowerbeds but there was a good-sized strip of lawn as well. She set Percy down and watched him explore, at first with caution and then with pleasure. After Miss Pimm’s little yard this was bliss…

She perched on a small rustic seat, tired now but happy. It had been a fine day but it was getting chilly now and dusk had dimmed the colourful garden. She scooped up Percy and went back indoors and then, mindful of Mrs Lane’s instructions, went up the stairs and inspected each room in turn, making sure that the windows were closed and locked, the doors bolted and all the lights turned out. The two floors above her were lived in, Mrs Lane had told her, by a neurologist and his wife. They had a side entrance, a small door at the front of the house, and although he was retired he still saw the occasional patient. ‘But nothing ter do with us,’ Mrs Lane had said. ‘Yer won’t ever see them.’

All the same it was nice to think that the house wasn’t quite empty. She took her time in locking up, looking at everything so that she would know where things were in the morning and, being of a practical turn of mind, she searched until she found the stopcock, the fire-extinguisher and the gas and electricity meters. She also searched for and eventually found a box containing such useful things as a hammer, nails, spare light-bulbs, a wrench and adhesive tape. They were hidden away in a small dark cupboard and she felt sure that no one had been near it for a very long time. She put everything back carefully and reminded herself to ask for a plunger. Blocked sinks could be a nuisance, especially where people would be constantly washing their hands. Satisfied at last, she went back to her room, had a shower and got into bed, and Percy, uninvited but very welcome, climbed on too and settled on her feet.

She was up early, tidied the room and made the bed, fed Percy and escorted him into the garden, ate a sketchy breakfast and took herself off upstairs, wearing her new nylon overall.

There was everything she might need—a vacuum cleaner, polish and dusters. She emptied the wastepaper baskets, set the chairs to rights, arranged the magazines just so, polished the front door-knocker and opened the windows. It looked very nice when she had finished but a little austere. She went back downstairs and out into the garden; she cut Michaelmas daisies, dahlias and one or two late roses. She bore them back, found three vases, arranged the flowers in them and put one in each of the consulting-rooms and the last one in the waiting-room. They made all the difference, she considered, and realised that she had overlooked the second waiting-room. Back in the garden, she cut asters this time, arranged them in a deep bowl and put them on the table flanked by the magazines.

She hadn’t met Dr Marshall’s partner; she hoped he was as nice as that gentleman.

She went back to the basement then, tidied herself, made sure that her hair was neat and when the doorbell rang went to answer it. It was Dr Marshall’s nurse, who had introduced herself as Joyce Pierce and then exclaimed, ‘You’re the new caretaker? Well, I must say you’re a bit of a surprise. Do you think you’ll like it?’

‘Well, yes. I can live here, you see, and I don’t mind housework.’

She was shutting the door when the second nurse arrived, small and dark and pretty. ‘The caretaker?’ she asked and raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever’s come over Dr Marshall?’ She nodded at Arabella. ‘I’m Madge Simmons. I work for Dr Tavener.’ She spoke rather frostily. ‘Come on, Joyce, we’ve time for a cup of tea.’

The first patient wouldn’t arrive until nine o’clock so Arabella sped downstairs. There was still a tea-chest of bed-linen, table-linen and curtains to unpack. As soon as she could she would get some net and hang it in the front window, shutting off all those feet…

At a quarter to nine she went upstairs again. There was no sign of the two nurses, although she could hear voices, and she stood uncertainly in the hall—to turn and face the door as it was opened. The man who entered seemed to her to be enormous. The partner, she thought, eyeing his elegance and his good looks and was very startled when he observed, ‘Good lord, the caretaker!’ and laughed.

The laugh annoyed her. She wished him good morning in a small frosty voice and went down to her room, closing the door very quietly behind her. ‘He’s what one would call a magnificent figure of a man,’ she told Percy, ‘and also a very rude one!’

The front doorbell rang then, and she went upstairs to admit the first patient. For the next hour or so she trotted up and down the stairs a dozen times until finally she shut the door on the last patient and Miss Baird came to tell her that Dr Marshall wanted to see her.

He eyed her over his specs. ‘Morning, Miss Lorimer. Where did you get the flowers?’

The question surprised her. ‘From the garden—only the ones at the back of the beds…’

‘Nice idea. Finding your feet?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘Miss Baird will tell you what to do when we’ve gone. We’ll be back this afternoon, one or other of us, but not until three o’clock. You’re free once you’ve tidied up and had your lunch, but be back here by quarter to. We sometimes work in the evening, but not often. Did Mrs Lane tell you where the nearest shops were?’

‘No, but I can find them.’

He nodded and looked up as the door opened and Dr Tavener came in. ‘Ah, here is my partner, Dr Tavener. This is our new caretaker.’

‘We have already met,’ said Arabella in a chilly voice. ‘If that is all, sir?’

‘Not quite all,’ said Dr Tavener. ‘I owe you an apology, Miss…’

‘Lorimer, sir.’

‘Miss Lorimer. I was most discourteous but I can assure you that my laughter was not at you as a person.’

‘It was of no consequence, sir.’ She gave him a fierce look from her lovely eyes which belied the sober reply and looked at Dr Marshall.

‘Yes. Yes, go along, Miss Lorimer. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.’

A practical girl, Arabella paused at the door. ‘I should like a plunger, sir.’ She saw that he was puzzled. ‘It is used for unstopping sinks and drains. They’re not expensive.’

Not a muscle of Dr Tavener’s handsome features moved; he asked gravely, ‘Have we a blocked sink, Miss Lorimer?’

‘No, but it’s something which usually happens at an awkward time—it would be nice to have one handy.’

Dr Marshall spoke. ‘Yes, yes, of course. Very wise. We have always called in a plumber, I believe.’

‘It isn’t always necessary,’ she told him kindly.

‘Ask Miss Baird to deal with it as you go, will you?’

Dr Tavener closed the door behind her and sat down. ‘A paragon,’ he observed mildly. ‘With a plunger too! Do we know anything about her, James?’

‘She comes from a place called Colpin-cum-Witham in Wiltshire. Parents killed in a car crash and—for some reason not specified—she had to leave her home. Presumably no money. Excellent references from the local parson and doctor. She’s on a month’s trial.’ He smiled. ‘Have you got flowers in your room too?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ He added, ‘Don’t let us forget that new brooms sweep clean.’

‘You don’t like her?’

‘My dear James, I don’t know her and it is most unlikely that I shall see enough of her to form an opinion.’ He got up and went to look out of the window. ‘I thought I’d drive up to Leeds—the consultation isn’t until the afternoon. I’ll go on to Birmingham from there and come back on the following day. Miss Baird has fixed my appointments so that I have a couple of days free.’

Dr Marshall nodded. ‘That’s fine. I’m not too keen on going to that seminar in Oslo. Will you go?’

‘Certainly. It’s two weeks ahead, isn’t it? If I fly over it will only take three days.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better do some work; I’ve that article to finish for the Lancet.’ He went to the door. ‘I’ve two patients for this evening, by the way.’

As for Arabella, she went back to her room, had lunch, fed Percy and, after a cautious look round, went into the garden with him, unaware that Dr Tavener was at his desk at the window. He watched her idly, admired Percy’s handsome grey fur, and then forgot her.

Miss Baird had been very helpful. There were, she had told Arabella, one or two small shops not five minutes’ walk away down a small side-street. Arabella put on her jacket and, armed with a shopping-basket, set off to discover them. They were tucked away from the quiet prosperous streets with their large houses—a newsagents, a greengrocer and a small general store. Sufficient for her needs. She stocked up with enough food for a couple of days, bought herself a newspaper and then went back to Wigmore Street. On Saturday, she promised herself, she would spend her free afternoon shopping for some of the things on her list. She was to be paid each week, Miss Baird had told her and, although she should save for an uncertain future, there were some small comforts she would need. She would have all Sunday to work without interruption.

After that first day the week went quickly; by the end of it Arabella had found her feet. She saw little of the nurses and still less of Dr Marshall, and nothing at all of his partner. It was only when she went to Miss Baird to collect her wages that she overheard one of the nurses remark that Dr Tavener would be back on Monday. ‘And a good thing too,’ she had added, ‘for his appointments book is full. He’s away again in a couple of weeks for that seminar in Oslo.’

‘He doesn’t get much time for his love-life, does he?’ laughed the other nurse.

Arabella, with her pay-packet a delightful weight in her pocket, even felt vague relief that he would be going away again. She had been careful to keep out of his way, although she wasn’t sure why, and the last two days while he had been away she had felt much more comfortable. ‘It’s because he’s so large,’ she told Percy, and fell to counting the contents of her pay-packet.

While her parents had been alive she had lived a comfortable enough life. There had always seemed to be money; she had never been spoilt but she had never gone without anything she had needed or asked for. Now she held in her hand what was, for her, quite a large sum of money and she must plan to spend it carefully. New clothes were for the moment out of the question. True, those she had were of good quality and although her wardrobe was small it was more than adequate for her needs. She got paper and pen and checked her list…

It took her until one o’clock to clear up after the Saturday morning appointments and then there was the closing and the locking up to do, the answering machine to set, the few cups and saucers to wash and dry, the gas and electricity to check. She ate a hasty lunch, saw to Percy’s needs then changed into her brown jersey skirt and the checked blouson jacket which went with it, stuck her rather tired feet into the Italian loafers she had bought with her mother in the happy times she tried not to remember too often, and, with her shoulder-bag swinging, caught a bus to Tottenham Court Road.

The tea-chests had yielded several treasures: curtains which could be cut to fit the basement windows and make cushion covers, odds and ends of china and kitchenware, a clock—she remembered it from the kitchen; a small radio—still working; some books and, right at the bottom, a small thin mat which would look nice before the gas fire.

She needed to buy needles and sewing cottons, net curtains, scissors and more towels, shampoo and some soap and, having purchased these, she poked around the cheaper shops until she found what she wanted: a roll of thin matting for the floor—it would be awkward to carry but it would be worth the effort. So, for that matter, would the tin of paint in a pleasing shade of pale apricot. She added a brush and, laden down with her awkward shopping, took a bus back to Wigmore Street.

Back in the basement again, she changed into an elderly skirt and jumper and went into the garden with Percy. It was dusk already and there were no lights on in the rooms above. The house seemed very silent and empty and there was a chilly wind. Percy disliked wind; he hurried back indoors and she locked and bolted the door before getting her supper and feeding him. Her meal over, she washed up and went upstairs to check carefully that everything was just as it should be before going back to lay the matting.

It certainly made a difference to the dim little room; the matting almost covered the mud-coloured flooring, and when she had spread an old-fashioned chenille tablecloth over the round table its cheerful crimson brightened the place further. It had been at the bottom of one of the tea-chests, wrapped around some of the china, and the curtains were of the same crimson. It was too late to start them that evening but she could at least sew the net curtains she had bought. It was bedtime by the time she had done that, run a wire through their tops, banged in some small nails and hung them across the bars of the windows. She went to bed then, pleased with her efforts.

She woke in the middle of the night, for the moment forgetful of where she was and then, suddenly overcome with grief and loneliness, cried herself to sleep again. She woke in the morning to find Percy sitting on her chest, peering down at her face—part of her old life—and she at once sat up in bed, dismissing self-pity. The walls had to be painted and if there was time she would begin on the curtains…

‘We have a home,’ she told Percy as she dressed, ‘and money in our pockets and work to keep us busy. It’s a lovely morning; we’ll go into the garden.’

There was a faint chill in the air and there was a Sunday morning quiet. She thought of all the things she would do, the places she would visit in the coming weeks, and feeling quite cheerful got their breakfasts.

She had covered the drab, discoloured wallpaper by the late afternoon and the room looked quite different. The pale apricot gave the place light and warmth and she ate her combined tea and supper in great content.

The smell was rather overpowering; she opened the door to the garden despite the chilly evening and cut up the curtains ready to sew, fired with enthusiasm. As she wielded the scissors she planned what to buy with her next pay-packet: a bedspread, a table-lamp, a picture or two—the list was neverending!

CHAPTER TWO

DR TAVERNER, arriving the next morning, saw the net curtains and grinned. Unlike Mrs Lane, the new caretaker disliked the view from her window. Mrs Lane, on the other hand, had once told him that she found the sight of passing feet very soothing.

There were fresh flowers on his desk and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen; the wastepaper basket was empty and the elegant gas fire had been lighted. He sat down to study the notes of his first patient and hoped that such a satisfactory state of affairs would continue. She was quite unsuitable, of course; either she would find the work too much for her or she would find something more suitable.

Arabella, fortunately unaware of these conjectures, went about her duties with brisk efficiency. Miss Baird had wished her a cheerful good morning when she had arrived, even the two nurses had smiled as she opened the door to them, and after that for some time she was opening and closing the door for patients, ignored for the most part—a small, rather colourless creature, not worth a second glance.

She had no need to go to the shops at lunchtime—the milkman had left milk and she had everything she needed for making bread. She made the dough, kneaded it and set it to rise before the gas fire while she started on the curtains. She was as handy with her needle as she was with her cooking and she had them ready by the time she had to go back upstairs to let in the first of the afternoon patients. She would hang them as soon as everyone had gone later on.

By half-past five the place was quiet. The last patient had been seen on his way, the nurses followed soon afterwards and lastly Miss Baird. Dr Marshall had already gone and she supposed that Dr Tavener had gone too. It would take her an hour to tidy up and make everything secure for the night but she would hang the curtains first…

They looked nice. Cut from the crimson curtains which had hung in the dining-room of her old home they were of heavy dull brocade, lined too, so that she had had very little sewing to do. She admired them drawn across the hated bars, and went upstairs to begin the business of clearing up.

She had a plastic bag with her and emptied the wastepaper baskets first—a job Miss Baird had impressed upon her as never to be forgotten. She went around putting things in their proper places, shaking the cushions in the waiting-room chairs, turning off lights, picking up magazines and putting them back on the table. She went along to Dr Tavener’s rooms presently and was surprised to find the light on in his consulting-room.

He was at his desk and didn’t look up. ‘Be good enough to come back later, Miss Lorimer. I shall be here for another hour.’

She went away without saying anything and went back to the basement and began to get her supper. Percy, comfortably full, sat before the fire and the bread was in the oven. She whipped up a cheese soufflé, set the table with a cloth and put a small vase of flowers she had taken from the garden in its centre. She had been allowed to take essential things when she left her home—knives and spoons and forks and a plate or two. She had taken the silver and her mother’s Coalport china plates and cups and saucers; she had taken the silver pepperpot and salt cellar too, and a valuable teapot—Worcester. She would have liked to have taken the silver one but she hadn’t quite dared—though she had taken the Waterford crystal jug and two wine-glasses.

She ate her soufflé presently, bit into an apple and made coffee before taking the bread from the oven. By then almost two hours had elapsed. She put her overall on once again and went upstairs to meet Dr Tavener as he left his rooms.

He stopped short when he saw her. ‘Something smells delicious…’

‘I have been making bread,’ said Arabella, cool and polite and wishing that he would hurry up and go so that she could get her work done.

‘Have you, indeed? And do I detect the smell of paint? Oh, do not look alarmed. It is very faint; I doubt if anyone noticed it.’ He stared down at her. ‘You are not afraid to be here alone?’

‘No, sir.’

He wished her goodnight then, and she closed the door after him, bolting it and locking it securely. He paused on the pavement and looked down at the basement window. She had drawn the curtains and there was only a faint line of light showing. He frowned; he had no interest in the girl but living in that poky basement didn’t seem right… He shrugged his shoulders; after all, she had chosen the job.

A week went by and Arabella had settled into a routine which ensured that she was seldom seen during working hours. Tidying Miss Baird’s desk one evening, she had seen the list of patients for the following day, which gave her a good idea as to the times of their arrival. Now she checked each evening’s list, for not all the patients came early in the day—once or twice there was no one until after ten o’clock, which gave her time to sweep and dust her own room and have a cup of coffee in peace. Nicely organised, she found life bearable if not exciting and, now that her room was very nearly as she wished it, she planned to spend part of her Sundays in the London parks. She missed the country. Indeed, come what may, she had promised herself that one day she would leave London but first she had to save some money before finding a job near her old home.

‘We will go back,’ she assured Percy, ‘I promise you. Only we must stay here for a while—a year, perhaps two—just until we have enough money to feel safe.’

Only Dr Marshall came in on the Monday morning. Dr Tavener would be in directly after lunch, Miss Baird told her. He was taking a clinic at one of the nearby hospitals that morning. ‘He’s got a lot of patients too,’ she warned Arabella. ‘He probably won’t be finished until early evening—he doesn’t mind if he works late; he’s not married and hasn’t any ties.’ She added kindly, ‘If you want to run round to the shops I’ll see to the phone and the door.’

‘Thank you. If I could just get some vegetables? I can be back in fifteen minutes.’

‘Don’t hurry. You do cook proper meals for yourself?’

‘Oh, yes. I have plenty of time in the evening.’

It was a cheerless morning, not quite October and already chilly. Arabella nipped smartly to the row of little shops, chose onions and turnips and carrots with care, bought meat from the butcher next door and hurried back. A casserole would be easy, she could leave it to cook gently and it wouldn’t spoil however late she might have her supper. A few dumplings, she reflected and a bouquet garni. It would do for the following day too.

She prepared it during the lunch hour, gave Percy his share of the meat and tidied herself ready to open the door for the first of Dr Tavener’s patients.

The last patient went just before six o’clock and Arabella, having already tidied Dr Marshall’s rooms, started to close the windows and lock up. There was still no sign of Dr Tavener when she had done this so she went down to the basement, set the table for her supper and checked the casserole in the oven. It was almost ready; she turned off the gas and set the dish on top of the stove, lifted the lid and gently stirred the contents—they smelled delicious.

Dr Tavener, on the point of leaving, paused in the hall, his splendid nose flaring as he sniffed the air. He opened the door to the basement and sniffed again and then went down the stairs and knocked at the door.

There was silence for a moment before he was bidden to enter—to discover Arabella standing facing the door, looking uncertain.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Arabella was surprised to see him—she hadn’t known who it was and had secretly been a little frightened—and as for Dr Tavener, he stood looking around him before remarking, ‘Dear me, you have been busy and to very good effect.’ He glanced at the table, nicely laid with a white cloth, the silver, one of the Coalport plates, a Waterford glass and a small vase of flowers. Their new caretaker was, indeed, a little out of the common. ‘I hope I didn’t startle you; something smelled so delicious that I had to see what it was. Your supper?’

She nodded.

He said with amusement, ‘Are you a cordon bleu cook as well as a plumber?’

‘Yes.’

‘Surely if that is the case you could have found a more congenial post?’

‘No one would have Percy.’

Dr Tavener studied the cat sitting before the little fire staring at him. ‘A handsome beast.’ And then, since their conversation was making no progress at all, ‘Goodnight, Miss Lorimer.’ As he turned away he added, ‘You will lock up?’

‘I have been waiting to do so, sir.’ Her voice was tart.

His smile dismissed that. ‘As long as you carry out your duties, Miss Lorimer.’

He had gone then, as quietly as he had come.

‘He isn’t just rude,’ Arabella told Percy. ‘He’s very rude!’

When she heard the front door close she put the casserole in the oven again and went upstairs to clear up his rooms, close the windows and turn the key in the door before the lengthy business of locking and bolting the front door. Only then did she go back to her delayed supper.

Sitting by the gas fire later, sewing at the cushion covers, she allowed her thoughts to dwell upon Dr Tavener. He didn’t like her, that was obvious, and yet he had come down to her room—something Dr Marshall would never think of doing. Perhaps she should have been more friendly, but were caretakers supposed to be friendly with their employers? She doubted that. He unsettled her. While her parents had been alive she had had friends, cheerful young men and women of her own age, but none of the young men had fallen in love with her, nor had she been particularly attracted to any of them. Dr Tavener wasn’t like any of them. It wasn’t only his good looks—perhaps it was because he was older. She gave up thinking about him and turned her attention to her work.

She had only brief glimpses of him for the rest of that week and beyond a terse greeting he didn’t speak to her. On the other hand, Dr Marshall, while evincing no interest at all in her private life, was always friendly if they chanced to encounter each other.

Then Dr Tavener went to Oslo, his nurse took a holiday and Arabella found herself with less to do. True, she checked his rooms night and morning, but there was no need to Hoover and polish now he was away. There were fewer doorbells to answer too, so she had time to spare in which to make apple chutney from the windfalls dropping from the small old tree at the bottom of the garden. She had, of course, asked Dr Marshall first if she might have them and he had said yes, adding that he had had no idea that they could be used. So for several evenings there was a pleasant smell of cooking apples coming from the basement. She made bread too, and a batch of scones; and buns with currents—nicely iced; and a sponge cake, feather-light. The tiny old-fashioned pantry, its shelves empty for so long for Mrs Lane had only fancied food out of tins, began to fill nicely.

Dr Tavener was due back on the following day, Miss Baird told her. Not until the late afternoon, though, so there would be no patients for him. ‘And I daresay he’ll go straight home and come in the next morning.’

So Arabella gave his rooms a final dusting. There were still some Doris pinks in the garden; she arranged some in a glass vase and added some sprigs of lavender and some veronica. The room was cool so they would stay fresh overnight—she must remember to turn the central heating on in the morning and light the gas fire. She put everything ready for the nurse too, so that she could make herself a cup of tea when she arrived, then she went round checking the windows and the doors, and went downstairs again.

Dr Marshall had a great number of patients the next morning; she was kept busy answering the door and Dr Tavener’s nurse, short-tempered for some reason, found fault with her because the central heating hadn’t been turned on sooner. In the afternoon it began to rain—a steady downpour—so the patients left wet footprints over the parquet flooring and dropped their dripping umbrellas unheeding on to the two chairs which flanked the side-table. Arabella had taken a lot of trouble to clean them and polish them and now they were covered in damp spots. She would have liked to bang the door behind them as they left…

The house was quiet at last and she fetched her plastic bag, her dusters and polish, and lugged the Hoover from its place under the stairs. There had been no sign of Dr Tavener; he would have gone straight home as Miss Baird had suggested. Arabella bustled around, intent on getting back to her own room. Tea had been out of the question and she thought with pleasure of the supper she intended to cook—a Spanish omelette with a small salad. She had made soup yesterday, with bones and root vegetables, and she would have an apple or two and a handful of raisins. Bread and butter and a large pot of tea instead of coffee—what more could anyone want?

The weather had turned nasty, with a cold wind and heavy rain. It was a lonely sound beating on the windows; she wondered why it sounded so different from the rain on the windows of her home at Colpincum-Witham. There the wind used to sough through the trees—a sound she had loved. She had finished her tidying up when she remembered that the nurse had complained about the light in the waiting-room. The bulb wasn’t strong enough, she had been told, and another one must replace it. She fetched it and then went to haul the step-ladder up from the basement so that she might reach the elaborate shade hanging from the ceiling.

She was on the top step when she heard the front door being opened, and a moment later Dr Tavener came into the room. He was bareheaded and carried his case in his hand. He put it down, lifted her down from the steps, took the bulb from her hand and changed it with the one already in the socket. Only then did he get down and bid her good evening.

Arabella, taken by surprise, hadn’t uttered a sound. Now she found her voice and uttered a stiff thank you.

He stood looking at her. ‘It’s a filthy night,’ he observed. ‘You wouldn’t be kind and make me a cup of tea or coffee—whichever is easiest?’

She started for the little kitchenette leading from his rooms but he put out a hand. ‘No, no. No need here—may I not come downstairs with you?’

She eyed him uncertainly. ‘Well, if you want to,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I was going to make tea.’

She went down to the basement, very conscious of him just behind her. The room looked surprisingly cosy; she had left one of the little table-lamps lit and the gas fire was on. She went to turn it up and said rather shyly, ‘Please sit down, the tea won’t take long.’

He sat down in the small shabby armchair and Percy got on to his knees. ‘Have you had your supper? Do I smell soup?’

‘Are you hungry?’ She warmed the teapot and spooned in the tea.

‘Ravenous. My housekeeper doesn’t expect me back until the morning.’ He watched her as she made the tea. ‘I could go out for a meal, I suppose. Would you come with me?’

She looked up in surprise. ‘Well, thank you for asking me but I’ve supper all ready.’ She paused to think. ‘You can share it if you would like to, though I’m not sure if it’s quite the thing. I mean, I’m the caretaker!’

He smiled and said easily, ‘You are also a splendid cook, are you not?’ He got up out of his chair. ‘And I don’t believe there is a law against caretakers asking a guest for a meal.’

‘Well, of course, put like that it seems quite…’ She paused, at a loss for a word.

‘Quite,’ said Dr Tavener. ‘What comes after the soup?’

She laid another place at the table. ‘Well, a Spanish omelette with a salad. I haven’t a pudding, but there is bread and butter and cheese…’

‘Home-made bread?’ And when she nodded he said, ‘I can think of nothing nicer. While you are cooking the omelette I shall go and get a bottle of wine. Five minutes?’

He had gone. She heard the door close behind him and the car start up. She broke three eggs into a bowl and then a fourth—he was a very large man.

The omelette was ready to cook when he got back, put a bottle on the table and asked if she had a corkscrew. It was a good wine—a red burgundy of a good vintage, its cost almost as much as half of Arabella’s pay-packet. He opened it to let it breathe.

Arabella was ladling soup into the large old-fashioned soup plates which had belonged to her grandmother. Dr Tavener, sampling it, acknowledged that it was worthy of the Coalport china in which it was served.

He fetched the wine and poured it as she dished up the omelette and, warmed by its delicious fruitiness, Arabella forgot to be a caretaker and was once again a well brought-up young lady with a pleasant social life. Dr Tavener, leading her on with quiet cunning, discovered a good deal more about her than she realised. Not that he asked questions but merely put in a word here and there, egging her on gently.

They finished the omelette and sat talking over coffee and slices of bread and butter and a piece of cheese. If he found the meal a trifle out of the ordinary way of things he gave no sign. Bread and butter, he discovered, when the bread had been baked by his hostess, was exactly the right way to finish his supper. Being a giant of a man, he ate most of the loaf and a good deal of the butter. She would have to go to the shops the next day…

It was almost ten o’clock when he went, taking her with him so that she could lock up after him. He stood on the pavement, thinking of her polite goodnight and listening to the bolts being shot home and the key turned in the lock. He had never worried about Mrs Lane being alone in the house for the simple reason that she frequently had had various members of her family spending a few days with her, but Arabella had no one. The idea of Arabella being alone at night nagged at him all the way to his home.

It was on the following Saturday afternoon that Arabella added another member to her household. She was returning from the shops, laden with a week’s supply of basic food, taking shortcuts through the narrow streets which would bring her into Wigmore Street. It had been a dull, chilly day and bid fair to lapse into early dusk bringing a fine drizzle of rain. Head bowed against the damp wind, weighed down with her shopping, she turned down a short alleyway which would take her close to Dr Marshall’s rooms.

She was almost at its end when a faint movement in the gutter caused her to stop. A puppy lay there, rolled up and moving to and fro, its yelps so faint that she could hardly hear them. She put down her plastic bags and bent to take a closer look. It was a pitiful sight, thin and very wet, and someone had tied its back legs together. Arabella let out a snort of rage and knelt down the better to deal with it. The cord was tight but roughly tied; it took only a moment to untie it and scoop up the small creature, pop him on top of her shopping and carry him back to her basement.

He was a very young puppy and, even if well fed and cared for, would have had no good looks. As it was he was a sorry sight, with tiny ribs showing through his dirty coat and sores on his flanks. Notwithstanding, he lay passive on the table while she gently examined him, and even waved a very long and rat-like tail. She dumped her shopping, fetched warm water and some old cloths, and cleaned him gently, wrapped him in an old curtain and set him before the gas fire where he lay too tired to move when Percy went to examine him in his turn.

‘Bread and warm milk,’ said Arabella who, living alone with only a cat for company, frequently uttered her thoughts out loud, and suited the action to the words. It was received thankfully and scoffed with pathetic speed so she gave him more warm milk with some vague idea about dehydration and then, aware of Percy’s indignant stare, offered him his supper too, before taking off her jacket and putting away her shopping. She got her own tea presently, pausing frequently to look at the puppy. He was sleeping, uttering small yelps as he slept, and presently Percy stretched out beside him, with the air of someone doing a good deed, and curved himself round the small skinny creature.

‘That’s right, Percy,’ encouraged Arabella. ‘He could do with a good cuddle. He’ll be a handsome dog if we look after him.’

He woke presently and she gave him some of Percy’s food and took him into the dark garden, and when she went off to bed she lifted him on to its foot beside Percy. He looked better already. She woke in the night and found him still sleeping, but Percy had crept up the bed and was lying beside her.

It was then that she began to wonder what Dr Marshall was going to say when he discovered that she had a dog as well as a cat. Why should she tell him? The puppy was very young—his bark would be small and until he was much stronger he might not bark at all. Indeed, he would be no trouble for some time; he was far too weak to behave as a normal puppy would. Things settled to her satisfaction, she went back to sleep until Percy’s nudges woke her once more.

Being Sunday, she had the place to herself and nothing could have been more convenient. The puppy, shivering with terror, was borne out into the garden again and then given his breakfast while Percy ate his, afterwards curling up before the fire and allowing the puppy to crouch beside him. Presently Percy stretched his length before the warmth and the puppy crept even closer and went to sleep.

He slept and ate all day and by the evening he cringed only occasionally, waving his ridiculous tail in an effort to show his gratitude.

‘I shall keep you,’ said Arabella. ‘Percy likes you and so do I! And you’re more than welcome.’

The puppy, unused to a kind voice, gave a very small squeaky bark, ate a second supper and went to sleep—this time with his ugly little head on Percy’s portly stomach.

Monday came and with it a nasty nervous feeling on Arabella’s part, but she went about her duties as usual and by the end of the day was lulled into a sense of security by the exemplary behaviour of the puppy who, doubtless because he was still very much under the weather, did nothing other than eat the food she offered him and sleep, keeping as close to a tolerant Percy as possible.

By the end of the week he had filled out considerably although he was still quite content to curl up and sleep. He went willingly enough into the garden before anyone was about and, although the dark evenings scared him, provided Percy was nearby he ventured on to the grass and even scampered around for a few minutes.

It was carelessness due to her overconfidence that was Arabella’s undoing. On the Friday evening everyone left as usual and, after a quick reconnoitre upstairs to make sure that that really was the case, she went into the garden before she tidied the rooms. It was a fine clear evening and not quite dark and she took her torch and walked down the path while the animals pottered on the grass.

Dr Tavener, returning to fetch a forgotten paper, trod quietly through the empty rooms and, since there was still some light left, didn’t bother to turn on his desk lamp. He knew where the paper was and he had picked it up and turned to go again when he glanced out of his window.

Arabella stood below, her torch shining on the animals.

‘Well, I’m damned,’ said Dr Tavener softly and watched her shepherd them indoors before going silently and very quickly back to the front door and then letting himself out into the street. He got into his car and drove himself home, laughing softly.

As for Arabella, blissfully unaware that she had been discovered, she gave her companions their suppers and went upstairs to clean and tidy up, then cooked her own meal before getting on with another cushion cover.

Saturday morning was busy. Dr Tavener, Miss Baird told her, had only two patients but he was going to the hospital and would probably not be back until after midday. ‘So I’m afraid you won’t be able to do your cleaning until he’s gone again.’

Arabella, who turned the place upside-down on a Saturday, changed the flowers and polished everything possible, said she didn’t mind. Secretly she was annoyed. She would have to do her weekly shopping and she didn’t like to go out and leave him in his rooms—supposing the puppy were to bark? The shops closed at five o’clock—surely he wouldn’t stay as late as that?

It was a relief when he came back just before everyone else went home, shut himself in his room for a while and then prepared to leave. Arabella was polishing the chairs in the waiting-room since Hoovering might disturb him and she heard him coming along the passage.

She had expected him to go straight to the door and let himself out but instead he stopped in the doorway, so she turned round to wish him good afternoon and found him staring at her. Her heart sank; he looked severe—surely he hadn’t discovered about the puppy?

It seemed that he had. ‘Since when have we had a dog in the house, Miss Lorimer?’ His voice was silky and she didn’t much care for it.

She put down her duster and faced him. ‘He isn’t a dog—he’s a very small puppy.’

‘Indeed? And have you Dr Marshall’s permission to keep him here?’

‘No. How did you know?’

‘I saw him—and you—the other evening in the garden. I trust that he isn’t rooting up the flowerbeds.’

She was suddenly fierce. ‘If you’d been thrown in a gutter with your legs tied together and left to die you’d know what heaven it is to sniff the flowers.’

His mouth twitched. ‘And you found him and of course brought him back with you?’

‘Well, of course—and I cannot believe that, however ill-natured you are, you would have left him lying there.’

‘You are quite right; I wouldn’t. Perhaps if you could bear with my ill nature, I might take a look at him? He’s probably in rather poor shape.’

‘Oh, would you?’ She paused on her way to the door. ‘But you won’t take him away and send him to a dogs’ home? He’s so very small.’

‘No, I won’t do that.’

She went ahead of him down the stairs and opened the basement door. Percy, asleep on the end of the bed, opened an eye and dozed off again but the puppy tumbled on to the floor and trotted towards them, waving his ridiculous tail.

Dr Tavener bent and scooped him up and tucked him under an arm.

‘Very small,’ he observed, ‘and badly used too.’ He was gently examining the little beast. ‘One or two nasty sores on his flank…’ He felt the small legs. ‘How long have you had him?’

‘Since last Saturday. I thought he was going to die.’

‘You have undoubtedly saved his life. He needs a vet, though.’ He looked at Arabella and smiled—a quite different man from the austere doctor who strode in and out of his consulting-room with barely a glance if they should meet—and she blinked with surprise. ‘If I return at about four o’clock would you bring him to a vet with me? He is a friend of mine and will know if there is anything the little chap needs.’

Arabella goggled at him. ‘Me? Go to the vet with you?’

‘I don’t bite,’ said Dr Tavener mildly.

She went pink. ‘I beg your pardon. I was only surprised. It’s very kind of you. Only, please don’t come before four o’clock because I’ve the week’s shopping to do. It won’t take long, will it? Percy likes his supper…’

‘I don’t imagine it will take too much time but you could leave—er—Percy’s supper for him, couldn’t you?’

‘Well, yes.’ She took the puppy from him. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘In between bouts of ill nature,’ he reminded her gently. Then watched the pretty colour in her cheeks. He went to the door. ‘I will be back at four o’clock.’

Arabella crammed a lot into the next few hours. There was still the rubbish to take out to the dustbins outside and the brass on the front door to polish; she would see to those later, she told herself, changing into her decent suit and good shoes and doing her face and her hair. It was important to look as little like a caretaker as possible—she wouldn’t want Dr Tavener to be ashamed of her. She took all the money she had with her, remembering the vet’s bills for the dogs when her parents had been alive and, the picture of unassuming neatness, she went to the front door punctually at four o’clock.

He came in as she put her hand on the doorknob. He didn’t waste time in civilities. ‘Well? Where is the little beast?’

‘In the basement. He’s not allowed up here. I’ll fetch him and bring him out to the car from my front door.’

‘Do that. I’ll be with you in a moment.’ He went along to his rooms and she heard him phone as she went downstairs.

He was waiting by the car as she went through the door and up the steps with the puppy tucked under an arm and ushered her into the front seat, got in beside her and drove off.

The puppy was frightened and Arabella, concerned with keeping him quiet, hardly noticed where they were going. She looked up once and said, ‘Oh, isn’t that the Zoo?’ and Dr Tavener grunted what she supposed to be yes. When he stopped finally and helped her out she looked around her with interest. She didn’t know London very well—in happier days she and her mother had come up to shop or go to a theatre, and birthdays had been celebrated by her father taking them out to dine.

‘Where is this?’ she asked now.

‘Little Venice. The vet lives in this house. His surgery is in the Marylebone Road but he agreed to see the puppy here.’

‘That’s very kind of him.’ She went with him up the steps of the solid town house and, when the door was opened by a sober-looking woman in an apron, followed the doctor inside.

‘He’s expecting us, Mrs Wise,’ said Dr Tavener easily. ‘Are we to go up?’

‘Yes, sir, you’re expected.’

They were met at the head of the stairs by a man of the doctor’s age, tall and thin, already almost bald. ‘Come on in,’ he greeted them. ‘Where’s this puppy, Titus?’

Dr Tavener stood aside so that Arabella came into view. ‘This is Miss Arabella Lorimer—John Clarke, a wizard with animals.’ He waited while they shook hands. ‘Hand over the puppy, Miss Lorimer.’

They all went into a pleasant room, crowded with books and papers. There were two cats asleep on a chair and a black Labrador stretched out before a cheerful fire. ‘Sit down,’ invited Mr Clarke. ‘I’ll take a quick look.’ He glanced at Arabella. ‘Titus has told me about his rescue. At first glance I should imagine that good food and affection will soon put him on his feet.’

He bent over the little beast, examining him carefully and very gently. ‘Nothing much wrong. I’ll give you some stuff to put on those sores and I’ll give him his injections while he’s here. There’s nothing broken or damaged, I’m glad to say. What’s his name?’

‘He hasn’t got one yet.’ She smiled at Mr Clarke, who smiled back.

‘You can decide on that as you go home.’ He handed the puppy back and she thanked him.

‘Would you send the bill or shall I…?’

‘Oh, I don’t charge for emergencies or accidents,’ said Mr Clarke cheerfully. ‘Bring him for a check-up in a month or so—or earlier if you’re worried. There will be a fee for that. Titus knows where the surgery is.’

‘Thank you very much. I hope we haven’t disturbed your Saturday afternoon.’

He flicked a glance at Dr Tavener’s bland face. ‘Not in the least. Nice to meet you and don’t hesitate to get in touch if you are worried.’

Getting into the car again Arabella said, ‘It was very kind of you, Dr Tavener, to bring us to the vet. Mr Clarke is a very nice man, isn’t he? We’ve taken up a lot of your time. If you would drop us off at a bus stop we can go home…’

‘Have you any idea which bus to catch?’

‘Well, no, but I can ask.’

‘I have a better idea. We will have tea and I will drive you back afterwards.’

‘Have tea? Where? And really there is no need.’

‘I said, “have tea”, did I not? I live in the next street and my housekeeper will be waiting to make it. And don’t fuss about Percy—we have been away for rather less than an hour and tea will take a fraction of that time.’

‘The puppy?’

‘Is entitled to his tea as well.’ He had turned into a pleasant street bordering the canal and stopped before his house. ‘Let us have no more questions!’

CHAPTER THREE

CLUTCHING the puppy, Arabella was swept into his house, one of several similar houses with their backs overlooking the canal and their fronts restrainedly Georgian. The hall was square with a curved staircase to one side and several doors leading from it. Out of one of these emerged a large, bony woman with a severe hairstyle and a long thin face.

‘Ah, Alice. Miss Lorimer—this is my housekeeper, Mrs Turner. Alice, I’ve brought Miss Lorimer back for tea; could we have it presently?’

Arabella offered a hand and Mrs Turner shook it and said, ‘How do you do?’ in a severe manner and cast a look at the puppy. ‘In five minutes, sir. And perhaps the young lady would like to leave her jacket.’

‘No need,’ he said cheerfully. ‘She won’t be staying long—it can stay on a chair.’ He took the puppy as he spoke and Arabella took off her jacket and laid it tidily on a rather nice Regency elbow chair and went with him into the drawing-room.

It was large, running from front to back of the house, the back French windows opening on to a small wrought-iron balcony which overlooked the canal. She crossed the room, dimly aware of its beauty but intent on looking out of the window. ‘It isn’t like London at all,’ she declared, ‘and there’s a garden…’

As indeed there was, below the balcony—small, high-walled, screened from the houses on either side by ornamental trees and shrubs, with the end wall built over the water.

Dr Tavener stood watching her and saying nothing and presently, aware of his silence, she turned to look at him. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been rude, but it was such a lovely surprise.’

He smiled then. ‘Yes, isn’t it? I’ve lived here for some years and it still surprises me. Come and sit down and we’ll have tea.’

She looked around her then, at the comfortable chairs and the wide sofa before the fire; the Chippendale giltwood mirror over the fireplace and the rosewood table behind the sofa; the mahogany tripod tables with their lamps and the Dutch marquetry display cabinets each side of the fireplace. It was a beautiful room, furnished beautifully. There was a rosewood writing-table under the windows, its surface covered by silver-framed photos. She would have liked to have examined them but good manners forbade that so she sat down composedly in one of the armchairs as Mrs Turner came in with the tea tray.

Cucumber sandwiches, muffins in a silver dish and a rich fruit cake. She sighed silently and swallowed the lump in her throat; it was a long time since she had seen such a tea, eaten and drunk from fine china with the tea poured from a silver pot.

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