by Betty Neels
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 abou
t 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.
‘Be mother,’ invited the doctor, and sat down opposite her. He still had the puppy in his arms.
‘Shall I have him?’
‘No. No, he is no trouble. It is a pity that my own dog isn’t here. She’s a gentle creature—a golden Labrador—she would have mothered him.’
Arabella opened her mouth to ask him where she was and stopped just in time. Perhaps he would tell her. He didn’t, but asked if he shouldn’t be given a name.
She bit into a sandwich. ‘Well, yes. Something rather grand, I thought, to make up for the beastly time he’s had.’
‘What a good idea. Have some of this cake—Mrs Turner is a good cook.’ He smiled a little. ‘But I’m talking to one, aren’t I?’
She wasn’t sure about the smile—perhaps he was being a bit sarcastic.
‘What kind of a dog is he?’
‘Rather mixed, I fancy; the ears are very like a spaniel’s and I imagine he will grow to some considerable size—look at his paws. I’m not sure about that tail. As to the name...how about Bassett?’
She gave him a thoughtful look and then laughed. ‘Of course—how clever you are. Bassett’s Allsorts!’
When she laughed she looked almost pretty, he decided. It would be interesting to find out more about her; when she forgot to be the caretaker she was someone quite different.
However, she hadn’t forgotten. She put down her cup and got to her feet. ‘I’ve stayed longer than I intended. I hope I haven’t spoilt your afternoon, sir.’
He didn’t try to keep her but fetched her jacket and settled her with Bassett in the car, making pleasant conversation as he did so. He went with her into the rooms at Wigmore Street when they arrived, checking that everything was as it should be, before bidding her a coolly friendly good evening and opening the door. He was closing it behind him when she cried, ‘Stop, oh, do stop. Must I tell Dr Marshall about Bassett?’
‘Of course. On Monday morning before his patients come.’ He stared down at her troubled face. ‘I will have a word with him first—he is a very kind man and besides, you are a very good caretaker.’
‘Oh, will you? You promise? You won’t forget?’
His eyes were cold. ‘I keep my promises, Miss Lorimer, and I have an excellent memory.’
‘Oh dear, I’ve annoyed you.’
‘No, you don’t annoy me; you surprise me, vex me and intrigue me, but that is all.’ He nodded and this time the door closed firmly behind him, leaving her in the hall, her thoughts in a fine muddle.
She had forgotten to thank him for her tea too. She went down to her room and attended to the animals’ wants and then went back to finish her cleaning. Tomorrow, if it was fine enough, she would take Bassett for a walk—Regent’s Park wasn’t too far away. She would have to carry him, of course, for she had no lead and he had no collar. She dismissed Dr Tavener from her thoughts. He had been kind and helpful but he didn’t like her—worse, she doubted if he had formed any opinion of her at all. She was of no interest to him whatsoever, although he was prepared to help her if necessary—just as he would help a stranger who had stumbled in the street, or an old lady to cross a road. It was mortifying but it made sense.
She enjoyed her Sunday, walking briskly in the park with Bassett tucked under her arm and going back to her dinner—lamp chop, potato puré
e, sprouts and carrots cooked with sugar and butter. The three of them ate their meal and settled down for the afternoon before tea by the fire. Really a very pleasant day, decided Arabella, getting ready for bed later, and she was so lucky to have a home of her own and a job. She had managed all day to forget about seeing Dr Marshall in the morning but she woke in the night and worried about it, dropping off again at last with the thought that Dr Tavener had said he would have a word. ‘I dare say,’ she said, addressing the sleeping animals, ‘he is a very nice man under that distant manner. If I knew him better I might even like him.’
* * *
Dr Tavener, driving himself home in the early hours of the morning after an urgent summons to a patient’s bedside, was thinking about her too. He had telephoned Dr Marshall and told him about Bassett, and James Marshall, good-natured and amused, had agreed to allow the puppy to stay.
They had laughed about it together but now, driving through the silent streets, his thoughts were more serious. Arabella was a nice girl; she shouldn’t be a caretaker in the first place. She might have no qualifications but she came from a good background; he remembered the nicely laid table when he had had his supper with her and her unselfconscious assurance at his house that afternoon. This wasn’t her kind of life at all but he could see no way of bettering it. Finding something more suited to her would be difficult because of the cat and puppy and he knew enough about her to realise that she would never give them up.
He let himself into his house and Beauty, whom he had fetched that afternoon, came to meet him and went with him to the kitchen while he made himself a cup of coffee.
He sat, a tired man, drinking it with her at his feet. ‘The answer is to find her a husband,’ he told her. Beauty thumped her tail and he rubbed her ears gently, saw her into her basket and went back upstairs to his bed—there were still two or three hours before he needed to get up. His last thought before he slept was that finding exactly the right man for Arabella would be a difficult task.
