The Doctor's Girl

by Betty Neels

  There would be no time to sit and brood; Loveday fed Sam, had a quick lunch, and hurried to the shops. They knew her there by now, with her modest purchases of lamb chops and sausages, tins of cat food, butter, tea and coffee, some greengrocery and a loaf and, last of all, another book or two. A nice, quiet little lady they told each other, and occasionally they popped something extra into her basket.

  She went back in good time to do her hair and her face, and leave the ever-hungry Sam something to eat on his saucer, before going to the window to watch for the doctor’s car. When it came, instead of waiting there for her to go down, he got out and came into the house and all the way to her flat to knock on her door.

  She couldn’t help but compare his easy good manners with Charles’s careless ones, and a small shaft of pleasure shot through her as he ushered her into the car and closed the door.

  Bob was pleased to see her, and instead of lying rather listlessly in his basket he made valiant efforts to sit up.

  ‘Oh, you clever boy,’ said Loveday. ‘You’re better! He is better?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes. The vet’s pleased with him. It wasn’t only the legs, he was in poor shape, but now he’s getting his strength back. We’ll go into the garden for a few minutes and you can see what he can do.’

  The doctor carried the little dog outside and set him down gently, and after a few moments Bob dragged himself onto his two front legs. He wasn’t sure what to do with the ungainly plastered back legs, but presently he stood, a bit wobbly, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Once he’s discovered that he can use his legs without pain, even if they’re clumsy, there’ll be no holding him.’ The doctor picked him up and carried him back indoors and settled Loveday in a chair by the fire.

  ‘Shall we have tea? Bob loves company.’

  Mrs Duckett’s teas were like no other: there were muffins in a silver dish, tiny sandwiches, fairy cakes, and a cake thick with fruit and nuts. It was just the right meal for a chilly autumn day, sitting round the fire, talking of this and that, both of them perfectly at ease.

  Dr Fforde, who was skilled in the art of extracting information from patients who were reluctant to give it, went to work on Loveday.

  ‘No family?’ he enquired casually. ‘Surely someone—an aunt or uncle or cousin—even if you have little to do with them?’

  He was an easy man to talk to. ‘I was brought up by an aunt; she died some years ago. There’s another aunt—my father’s much older sister. She lives in a village on the edge of Dartmoor. We send each other cards at Christmas but I’ve never met her. I—I haven’t liked to ask her if I might go and see her. I expect she thinks I have a satisfactory life here, and it’s a long way. In any case, Miss Cattell didn’t like me having a holiday. I hated being there, but it was a job, and I’m not trained for anything, am I?’

  He agreed in a non-committal way. ‘I have no doubt that you would have no difficulty in getting work. There is always a shortage of good receptionists. But you would like to visit your aunt?’

  ‘Yes. Well, I mean, she is family, isn’t she? If you see what I mean? But I expect she’s happy living in Devon and would hate to have her life disrupted, even for a brief visit.’ She added, ‘And I’m very happy here.’

  He was looking at her so thoughtfully that she hurried to change the subject. ‘This is a charming house. You must like coming home each day.’

  ‘Indeed I do, but I’m fond of the country too. I don’t know Dartmoor at all; it must be very different…’

  The casualness of his remark encouraged her to say, ‘Oh, I’m sure it is. My aunt lives in a small village, somewhere near Ashburton. Buckland-in-the-Moor. It sounds lovely, but I expect it’s lonely. It’s a long way away.’

  The doctor, having obtained all the information he wanted, began to talk of Bob and his future, which led naturally enough to Sam, his intelligence, his appetite and his delightful company…

  Loveday glanced at the clock. ‘Heavens, it’s almost six o’clock. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to the flat. It’s been lovely, but I’ve several things to do and the evenings go so quickly.’

  Which wasn’t true. They dragged from one hour to the next while she did her best to forget Charles’s red car screaming to a halt below her window…

  The doctor made no demur. She bade Bob goodbye, thanked the doctor for her tea and got back into the car. At the consulting rooms she began to say, ‘You don’t need to get out—’

  She could have saved her breath; he went upstairs with her, opened the flat door and switched on the lights, and bade Sam a cheerful good evening before expressing, in the briefest manner, his thanks for her company.

  ‘Bob was delighted to see you,’ he assured her. He had been delighted too, but he wasn’t going to say so.

  Loveday, listening to his footsteps receding on the stairs, was aware of a loneliness worse than usual. ‘It’s because he’s such a large man that I notice when he’s not here,’ she told Sam.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS on Monday morning that she saw the doctor had given himself a day off on Wednesday. She guessed why at once. It would be Charles’s wedding day—a guess confirmed presently when Nurse came. She had a glossy magazine under one arm.

  ‘Look at this.’ She found the page and handed it to Loveday. ‘Remember Dr Fforde’s young cousin, who came here a few weeks ago? He’s getting married—here’s his picture and that’s his fiancée. Pretty, isn’t she? They are going to live in America, lucky them. The wedding is on Wednesday—a big one—you know, huge hats and white satin and bridesmaids. I must say they make a handsome pair.’

  She took the magazine back again. ‘Dr Fforde will go—he’s bound to, isn’t he? They’re cousins, even if he is a lot older.’

  ‘She’s very pretty,’ said Loveday, and wished that the phone would ring so that she had an excuse not to stand there gossiping. And the phone did ring, so that Nurse went away to the dressing room which was her workplace. Since there was a busy day ahead of them there would be little chance of more chatting. Loveday heaved a sigh of relief and turned a welcoming smile onto the first patient.

  But, busy or not, it was hard not to keep thinking of Charles. She knew now that the whole thing had been nothing but an amusing interlude to him, and if she hadn’t led such a narrow life she would have recognised that and treated the whole affair in the same light-hearted manner. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to forget…

  On Tuesday the doctor was at the hospital all day, returning at five o’clock to see two patients in his consulting rooms. It had been very quiet all day, although Loveday had been kept busy enough making appointments. It had been a good opportunity to sort through the papers scattered on the doctor’s desk, tidy them into heaps and write one or two reminder notes for him. Tomorrow he would be away all day, but since he had said nothing she supposed that she would be there as usual, taking calls and messages.

  Neither patient stayed long, and it was barely six o’clock when she ushered the last one out and began to tidy up.

  The doctor left soon after, but first he stopped to tell her that he had switched on the answering-machine. ‘Anything urgent will be referred to Dr Gregg,’ he told her, ‘and you need only be here between ten o’clock and noon, then again between five o’clock and six. I’ll be in as usual on Thursday.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Would you do something for me? Would you go to my house in the early afternoon and give Bob half an hour in the garden? Mrs Duckett is nervous of hurting him. He’s managing very well now, but he does need someone there.’ He added, ‘That is, unless you have planned something?’

  ‘No, no. I haven’t. Of course I’ll go and keep Bob company for a little while. Mrs Duckett won’t mind?’

  ‘Mrs Duckett will be delighted. Goodnight, Loveday.’

  She would do her weekly shopping in the morning, Loveday decided, and go to the doctor’s house around two o’clock. She sat down to make out her small list of groceries. �
�And a tin of sardines for you,’ she promised Sam.

  The doctor’s house was a brisk ten minutes’ walk away. Loveday knocked on its elegant front door just after two o’clock and was admitted by a smiling Mrs Duckett.

  ‘Bob’s waiting for you. I told him you’d be here soon. He misses the doctor when he’s not home. I’m fond of him, but I’m a bit nervous on account of his legs. Keep your coat on, miss, it’ll be chilly in the garden. Half an hour, the doctor said, and then you’re to have a cup of tea before you go.’

  She bustled Loveday into the sitting room. ‘Look at that, then. He’s trying to get onto his legs he’s that happy to see you.’

  She opened the doors onto the garden and trotted away with the reminder that tea would be brought at three o’clock.

  Loveday knelt and put an arm round Bob’s shoulders. Now that he was fed and rested and belonged to someone he was quite handsome, although his looks could be attributed to a variety of ancestors. Not that that mattered in the least, she assured him.

  She picked him up and took him into the garden, and once there he took heart and struggled around, dragging his cumbersome plastered legs, obviously glad of her company. After a time they went back to the house and sat companionably side by side, he in his basket, Loveday on the floor beside him. He was a splendid companion too, listening with every sign of interest while she told him about Charles getting married and how lucky he was to have such a kind master, and presently Mrs Duckett came with the tea tray. There was dainty china and a little silver teapot, crumpets in a covered dish, little cakes and wafer-thin bread and butter, and, of course, a biscuit for Bob.

  Loveday enjoyed every morsel and strangely enough she didn’t think about the wedding, only that tea would have been even nicer if the doctor had been there with them.

  She left soon after and hurried back to the consulting rooms, then sat at her desk from five o’clock until the clock struck six, answering a few calls on the phone and making sure that everything was ready for the morning.

  The doctor arrived punctually the next morning, and paused on his way to thank her for visiting Bob, but if she had hoped for him to mention the wedding she was to be disappointed. With the remark that they had a busy morning before them, he went into his consulting room and closed the door.

  Watching Sam scoff his supper that evening, she wondered aloud if she would be asked on Friday morning to visit Bob at the weekend, but here again she was to be disappointed; beyond reminding her that he would be at the hospital on Monday morning and wishing her a pleasant weekend he had nothing to say.

  ‘And why I should have expected anything else I have no idea,’ said Loveday, expressing her thoughts, as usual, to Sam.

  The weather had changed, becoming dull and wet and windy. All the same, she wrapped up warmly and went walking. Not to the shops; she might spend too much money if she did that, and the nest egg in the Post Office was growing steadily. It would have been even larger if she hadn’t bought that dress…

  She was beginning to feel secure; there had been no news of Miss Priss, and the weeks were mounting up. Her return had receded into a vague worry which was becoming vaguer every day.

  She was in the consulting rooms in good time on Monday morning, for although the doctor might not be there there was plenty to do. She sorted the post and laid it ready on his desk, noting with a small sigh of relief that there was no envelope with Miss Priss’s spiky writing on it.

  That letter was in the doctor’s pocket, for it had been sent to his house. He had read it and then read it again; Miss Priss’s mother had died and she would be glad to return to work as soon as she had settled her affairs.

  I shall give up our home. It is a rented house and I do not wish to remain here. Would you consider allowing me to live in the flat on the top floor of the consulting rooms? I would be happy to receive a reduced salary in this case, or pay rent. I have no family and few friends here and must find somewhere to live. I would not have suggested this, but I have worked for you for so many years that I feel I can venture to give voice to this possible arrangement.

  Of course he would agree to it; Miss Priss was a trusted right hand, had been for years, and the arrangement would give her a secure future and a home. She must be in her fifties, he thought, at a time in life when the years ahead should offer that security. A letter, reassuring her, must be written, and Loveday must be told.

  The answer to Loveday, as far as he was concerned, was to marry her. But first he must allow her to get over Charles and, that done, he would wait until the cracks in her heart were healed. But in the meantime she would need a roof over her head…

  He wrote reassuringly to Miss Priss: she was to have the flat and to resume her duties just as soon as she felt able. He suggested two weeks ahead. He would be delighted to have her back and she was to regard the flat as her home until such time as she might wish to leave.

  The letter written, he turned his thoughts to Loveday. Before he told her, he decided, he would drive down to the remote village where her aunt lived.

  The orderly days slid by and it seemed to him that Loveday was beginning to forget Charles. She was quiet, but then she always was; however, her face in repose was no longer sad.

  Early on Saturday morning he started on the long drive to the village on Dartmoor with Bob propped up beside him. It would probably be a wild-goose chase but it was the obvious thing to do…

  It was a journey of about two hundred miles, but once free of London and its sprawling suburbs the road was fairly empty, and the further west he went the emptier it became. On a quiet stretch of road he stopped for coffee and to see to Bob’s needs, and then he drove on until he reached the bypass to Exeter and took the road to the moor. Presently he turned off and drove through Ashburton and into the empty country beyond. It was a clear late-autumn day and the majestic sweep of the moorland hills swept away from him into the distance. The road was narrow now, and sheep roamed to and fro between the craggy rocks. Bob, who had never seen a sheep, was entranced.

  The village, when he reached it, was charming, built on the banks of the river Dart and surrounded by trees. It had a handful of grey stone houses and an ancient church, a cheerful-looking pub and one or two bigger houses near the church. The doctor stopped at the pub and went inside.

  The bar was small and cosy, with a bright log fire burning and comfortable chairs set beside the tables. It would be a focal point in the village, he reflected, and a cheerful haven on a bleak winter’s evening.

  Of course he could have lunch, said the elderly man behind the bar. A pasty and a pint of the best ale in the country, and the dog was welcome to come in.

  Bob, carried in and sat gently on the floor, caused quite a stir. The two young men playing darts abandoned their game to come and look at his plastered legs and an old man by the fire declared that he’d never seen anything like it before. Their interest in him engendered a friendly atmosphere and a still deeper interest when the doctor mentioned that he had driven down from London.

  ‘Lost, are you?’ one of the young men wanted to know.

  ‘No, no. I’ve come to visit someone living here. A Miss West?’

  ‘Up at Bates Cottage?’ volunteered the landlord, setting down the pasty and a bowl of water for Bob. ‘Know her, do you, sir? Elderly, like, and not given to visitors?’

  He looked at the doctor with frank curiosity.

  ‘I have never met her. I have come to see her on behalf of her niece.’

  ‘Oh, aye, she’s got a niece—sends her a card at Christmas. Me ma cleans for her and sees to her post and shopping. She told Miss West she should have her niece to stay, but the old lady’s independent, like, don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  ‘I should like to go and see her this afternoon…’

  ‘As good a time as any. It’s the last house at the end of the lane past the church. Too big for her, but she won’t move. Got her dogs and cats and birds.’

  ‘Could you put me up for the night?�
� asked the doctor.

  ‘That I can,’ said the landlord. ‘And you could do with a nice bit of supper, no doubt?’

  ‘Indeed I could. I’ll go and call on Miss West before it gets dark.’ He paid his bill, ordered pints all round, picked up Bob and went back to the car. It was no distance to Miss West’s house, but unless she invited Bob in he would have to stay in the car.

  The house was built of grey stone and thatched, and it was a good deal larger than the other cottages in the village. The curtains were undrawn and in the beginnings of an early dusk the lamplight from the room beside the stout front door shone cheerfully.

  He went up the path and tugged the old-fashioned bell.

  The elderly lady who opened it was small and brisk.

  ‘I’m Miss West. Are you looking for me? If so why? I don’t know you.’

  The doctor perceived that he would need his bedside manner.

  ‘I apologise for calling upon you in this manner, but first I must ask you if you are indeed the aunt of Loveday West?’

  She stood staring at him. ‘Yes, I am. Come inside.’ She peered past him. ‘What is that in your car?’

  ‘My dog.’

  ‘Fetch him.’

  ‘He has two legs in plaster and is somewhat of an invalid.’

  ‘All the more reason to bring him inside.’

  When he’d fetched Bob she led the way from the narrow hall to the sitting room, which was nicely lighted, warmed by a brisk open fire and comfortably furnished.

  ‘While you are explaining why you have come to see me we may as well have tea. Sit there, near the fire—your dog can sit on the rug.’

  The doctor did as he was told. ‘His name is Bob.’

  Now that he was in the lighted room he could see her clearly. She was in her late sixties or early seventies, he judged, and what she lacked in height she made up for by the strength of her personality. A lady to be reckoned with, he reflected, feeling a little amused, with her plain face, fierce dark eyes and iron-grey hair tugged back into an old-fashioned bun at the back of her head.