by Betty Neels
* * *
Arabella, very neat in her overall, presented herself at Dr Marshall’s desk as soon as he was sitting at it. His good morning was kindly. ‘Problems?’ he wanted to know.
She didn’t beat about the bush, but she didn’t mention Dr Tavener either. He might have forgotten to speak to Dr Marshall and that might be awkward. He hadn’t forgotten. Dr Marshall smiled at her. ‘Ah, yes, Titus tells me that we have acquired a dog. Splendid, I have no objection just as long as you don’t let him loose on our patients. Quite comfortable, are you? Settled in now?’
She could have flung her arms round his neck. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
‘Run along, then, the doorbell will be ringing at any moment now.’
As she was leaving he stopped her. ‘I think it would be more suitable if we called you Arabella. You have no objection?’
‘No, sir.’ They could call her anything they liked; Bassett was hers.
She was admitting a patient when Dr Tavener arrived, nodded a good morning and went straight to his room. The next patient to arrive was for him—a tall, good-looking girl, dressed expensively and skilfully made-up.
No one bothered to give Arabella more than a fleeting glance and sometimes a vague smile of thanks and she was about to do the same but stopped short. ‘Arabella—whatever are you doing here? Good gracious—that frightful overall and your hair all screwed up.’
Arabella closed the door. ‘Hello, Daphne. I work here. You’re here to see Dr Tavener? He’s down the hall...’
Daphne laughed. ‘Oh, my dear, I know where he is—we’re old friends. But what do you do exactly?’
‘I’m the caretaker.’
Daphne pealed with laughter. ‘My goodness, what a marvellous joke.’ She would have said more but the doorbell was rung again and Arabella went to answer it. When she turned round Daphne was gone.
* * *
Presently, ushered into Dr Tavener’s room, Daphne sat down opposite his desk. ‘Hello, Titus. It’s ages since we saw you—Mother was asking what had happened to you. I’m not ill but I do wish you’d give me something for my headaches.’ She crossed an elegant leg. ‘I’ve had such a surprise—Arabella, a girl I know, opened the door. She said she was the caretaker, of all things! A caretaker—I ask you. I expect you know she was left penniless when her parents were killed some months ago. A bit of a come-down from living in comfort. Not a great friend, of course,’ she laughed. ‘We lived some miles away from each other but we had mutual friends...’ She smiled charmingly. ‘Now, what about my headaches...?’
He had sat quietly while she talked, now he said blandly, ‘You tell me where the pain is exactly. Perhaps you are worried about something or doing too much?’
‘Parties, you mean? Well, I do enjoy life—why not? We’re only young once and besides, it helps one from getting bored.’
‘The boredom probably accounts for the headaches. I suggest that you miss a few late nights and take a long walk every day. Cut down on the drinks and go to bed at a reasonable time.’
She pouted prettily. ‘Oh, Titus, you stuffy old thing! And I was going to invite you to come home for the weekend but now I shan’t.’
‘I’m not free in any case,’ he told her blandly. He stood up and handed her the prescription he had written. ‘Take these for a week and see how you get on. If you’re no better we’ll delve deeper. I’m sure it’s nothing for you to worry about.’
He held the door open for her and she smiled up at him as she went past. A lovely face, he reflected, but nothing behind it. If he was to marry it would have to be a woman of intelligence, who would listen to him without twiddling her earrings or examining her nails. She had no need to be beautiful or even pretty—the right clothes would take care of that... It was only recently that he had wished for a companion. He was, he considered, past the age of falling in love and besides, a marriage founded on liking and compatibility was more likely to succeed than one plunged into in the heat of the moment.
He sat down at his desk, dismissing the matter from his mind, and picked up the next patient’s notes.
His day’s work done, his thoughts reverted to Arabella. It was unthinkable that she should remain as a caretaker—polishing and Hoovering and cleaning windows and doors, dragging out the rubbish to be collected, polishing the brass and, above all, being alone at night with no protection save that of a very small puppy and a cat. The matter needed urgent consideration.
* * *
As for Arabella, she avoided him as much as possible while at the same time wishing that she knew more about him. The small glimpse she had had of his life had intrigued her. She had supposed him to be a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor but, listening from time to time to the nurses gossiping, she had formed the opinion that he was much sought-after socially—a matrimonial prize several women were after. Hadn’t she seen with her own eyes how her erstwhile friend Daphne had smiled up at him? She thought that it might be rather nice to be married to someone like him, to live in a lovely house and meet people again. To have clothes—new clothes, bought without having to look at the price-ticket first. That, she told herself, was no reason for marrying. She finished tidying the rooms and went downstairs to get her supper and take the animals for their evening stroll in the garden.
Saturday came round once more. Arabella did her shopping, gave the rooms their usual turn-out and went into the garden to pick some fresh flowers. Bassett had filled out and lost most of his timidity and followed Percy’s dignified progress from one flowerbed to the other. Tomorrow, she promised him, he would wear his new collar and walk beside her on his lead in the park.
The evenings were getting colder; they all went indoors presently and had their suppers and then shared the warmth of the gas fire. The cushion covers were finished so she had brought some of the magazines down from the waiting-room and curled up to read them.
Before going to bed she went back upstairs once more to check that everything was closed and locked. The upstairs flat was empty again but she had grown used to being on her own.
She enjoyed every minute of Sunday. The walk in the park had been a great success; Bassett had behaved well, trotting along on his lead, chasing the fallen leaves and barking his small treble bark. They had gone back to Percy’s welcome and had their tea and afterwards she sat down and did her sums for the week.
Even with three mouths to feed she was saving a little money each week. The future was uncertain; even if she stayed with the doctors for the rest of her working life, she would still need money when she retired. It seemed a long way ahead, but she might be ill, lose her job, need a home while she found something else. In a month or two, when she felt more secure, she would start looking for a post as a cook. Surely there was somewhere and someone who wouldn’t object to a cat and a dog? It was going to be difficult and she was happy enough in her basement but she was aware that both the doctors felt an uneasiness about her working for them. She suspected that Dr Marshall had given her her job on a sudden whim and while he might not be regretting it he could be having second thoughts...
She finished the sums, gave Percy and Bassett their suppers and went into the garden with them and, once indoors again, bolted the door before beginning to get her own supper. That eaten, she decided to check the rooms upstairs and go to bed early. Life, she decided, though dull, was at least secure.
Before she slept she allowed herself to daydream a little. Being a practical girl, she didn’t allow her thoughts to dwell on the prospect of some young man falling head over heels in love with her and marrying her out of hand, but on the miraculous offer of a job as cook—a highly paid job in some stately home—with a cottage in the grounds and no objection to pets...
* * *
The partners had arrived early on the Monday morning and Dr Marshall had wandered along to Dr Tavener’s rooms. ‘Nice morning,’ he observed affa
bly. ‘The garden looks pretty good too.’ He glanced at the small chrysanths arranged on the desk. ‘Keeps the place looking nice, does our Arabella.’
Dr Tavener had been writing; now he put down his pen. ‘James, we shall have to do something about her. We ought never to have given her the job in the first place. I had a patient the other morning—she had been at school with Arabella, known her for years, saw a lot of her before the parents were killed.’
‘And this friend, was she shocked at Arabella working in such a lowly capacity?’
Dr Tavener frowned. ‘I believe she was rather amused...’
‘Hardly a friend. I imagine Arabella is very proud, not wishing to be an embarrassment to her friends, going it alone.’
Dr Tavener said deliberately, ‘I don’t like the idea of her being alone here at night.’
His partner peered at him through his specs. ‘No? Perhaps you are right; she’s rather small although not at all nervous, she told me.’
‘She would have said anything to get a roof over her head.’
‘So what are we to do about it? Other than finding her a husband...’
‘She is a Cordon Bleu cook. If we could find someone who would accept those animals she would be safe and secure and living in surroundings more suited to her.’
‘Until she finds a husband. She would make a good wife and a handy one too—no need to call out the plumber or the electrician. Come to think of it, Titus, she would suit you very well and it’s time you had a wife—patients like a married man!’
Titus didn’t answer and Dr Marshall said hastily, ‘Only joking. Time I went back, I suppose. Are you fully booked this morning?’
‘Yes, and this afternoon. I’ve a clinic this evening.’
‘You must come to dinner soon—I’ll get Angie to phone you.’
‘I’d like that, thanks.’
Dr Tavener opened the case sheets before him but made no effort to read them. That was the solution, he decided: to find a job for Arabella. In the country—because she was a country girl at heart. The place would be very empty without her, though.
* * *
Arabella, unaware of the future being planned for her, went about her chores, bought some wool going cheap because of the colour—a serviceable brown which wasn’t selling well—and started on a sweater, keeping a loving eye on Percy and Bassett.
* * *
Dr Tavener, a man of considerable wealth, owned a pleasant small manor house in Wiltshire which had been in the family for more than two hundred years. Whenever his work permitted he drove himself back there, taking Beauty with him, spending his days gardening and walking. His parents were dead but his grandmother lived there with a meek companion, looked after by Butter and his wife who had also looked after his mother and father and probably, if they lived long enough, would look after him in his old age. He couldn’t imagine the place without them.
He went there the following weekend, on a blustery autumn day. Twenty miles or so beyond Swindon he turned off the motorway to take a minor road towards Tetbury. Then, turning off again, took a narrow lane which brought him eventually to a small village and, beyond it, to his home.
There were lights in the windows and smoke coming from several of its elaborate brick chimney-pots, and as he stopped before the door it opened to allow a dog to rush out and race to the car, barking happily. Beauty’s brother, Duke. He circled the car, delighted to see its occupants, and the three of them went indoors to where Butter was waiting.
‘Good to see you again, Master Titus,’ said Butter. ‘Mrs Butter has tea all ready and waiting. I’ll take the dogs along to the kitchen for their meal. Mrs Tavener is in the drawing room.’
Dr Tavener crossed the polished wood floor of the hall and went into the room—long and low-ceilinged, its strapwork still perfect, with windows at either end of it—lattice windows set in square bays—and the heavy velvet curtains blending with the dark green and russet of the vast carpet.
It was furnished with a clever mixture of Jacobean and early Georgian chairs and tables and the fireplace was of the Queen Anne period—ornate and heavily ornamented with a vast mirror above it. On either side of it there were comfortable armchairs and a great sofa but the two ladies in the room were sitting in upright Regency armchairs with a small table between them upon which lay playing cards.
Dr Tavener crossed the room and bent to kiss his grandmother—a handsome old lady, sitting very upright, her features severe. She smiled as he greeted her. ‘Titus, my dear, how pleasant to see you again. You don’t come home enough.’
‘My home is in London,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘At least while I’m working.’
‘Yes, yes and I’m sure it is a very handsome house, but this is the family home.’ She paused. ‘It is time you had a family, Titus.’
He only smiled and went to shake her companion’s hand. Miss Welling was a thin lady of uncertain age with a sharp nose, myopic brown eyes and an anxious expression. There was no need for the anxiety—she received nothing but kindness and consideration from her employer—but meekness and anxiety seemed to be her nature and old Mrs Tavener might look severe but she would never tax her with questions and over the years had come to accept Miss Welling’s cautious approach to life.
Miss Welling greeted Dr Tavener in a pleased voice, for she liked him, then excused herself with the plea that she would see if the tea tray was ready and slid out of the room.
‘The dear creature,’ said Mrs Tavener, ‘anyone would think that I beat her. Come and sit down and tell me what you have been doing lately.’
He drew up a chair and embarked on a brief account of his days. The tea was brought in presently and afterwards he took the dogs for a walk in the deepening twilight. When he returned it was to find his grandmother alone. ‘Miss Welling has gone to tidy herself, my dear. We have half an hour to ourselves—time in which to tell me what is on your mind.’
When he gave her a half-smiling look she said, ‘You are very like your father—the bigger the problem, the more bland the face. Fallen in love at last?’
‘No. No, I believe that I shall never do that seriously enough to marry. But I do have a problem...’ He told her about Arabella, his voice placid and disinterested, and when he had finished he asked, ‘Have you any ideas, Grandmother?’
‘The young woman seems to be in most unsuitable work. On the other hand, Titus, she has a home of sorts, independence and is able to keep her pets with her. A sense of security must be very important to her—to be pitched out without warning into poverty and loneliness must have been such a shock. To subject her to an unknown future seems unkind, even if the work was more congenial, and who knows if she would be happy? Besides, you would lose touch with her. You like her?’
‘Yes, I do. Surprisingly we have a good deal in common; she is undemanding as a companion and not above treating me with a tart tongue.’
Mrs Tavener hid a smile. ‘She sounds as though she is very well able to look after herself, although I do agree with you that being in that place alone at night isn’t quite the thing.’ She glanced at him. ‘But I will ask around, my dear, and if I hear of anything at all suitable I will let you know at once. The girl’s presentable?’
‘Yes—good clothes but out of date, nice manners, no looks to speak of but nice eyes—beautiful eyes—and a pleasant voice.’
Mrs Tavener considered this reply and decided not to comment upon it. Instead she said, ‘I shall be coming up to town next week to shop. Will you give us beds for the night? Miss Welling will come with me, of course, but I promise you we will be no trouble to you.’
‘That will be delightful. Would you like to go to the theatre? There are some good plays on. I’m afraid I shall be away from home all day but I can make sure I’m free in the evenings.’
‘A play would be most enjoyable. Something roma
ntic with music if possible. Will three days be too much for you?’
‘Make it longer if you wish, Grandmother. You know you’re always more than welcome.’
‘Yes, my dear, I do know. We will come up on the Tuesday and return here on Thursday evening. Butter shall drive us up and fetch us again.’ She paused. ‘There’s no reason why Mrs Butter shouldn’t come up with him, then they could drive up early in the morning and she could go to the shops for an hour or two before he picks us up.’
‘A good idea. Make any arrangements you like with Mrs Turner.’
‘Thank you. Would it bother you to take a look at Miss Welling while we’re there? She can go along to your rooms—I’ll put her in a taxi. She won’t admit it but I don’t think she sleeps very well.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll get Miss Baird to make an appointment and phone you.’
Miss Welling came into the room and they talked of other things.
He took the old lady to church on Sunday morning and after lunch spent the rest of the day reading the Sunday papers, taking the dogs for a walk, having his tea and then driving himself back to his house in Little Venice. He made a detour when he reached town so that he could drive along Wigmore Street. The basement curtains were closed but there was a fringe of light showing round them and he stifled the urge to knock at the door and spend an hour with Arabella, telling her about his weekend. ‘Ridiculous,’ he told himself sharply so that Beauty, sitting beside him half-asleep, gave a sleepy bark.
* * *
Mrs Tavener was driven up to London on Tuesday and by the time Dr Tavener got home that evening she was settled in, sitting in his drawing-room playing Racing Demon with Miss Welling. They spent a pleasant evening together and he told her that he had got tickets for a long-running musical which he hoped that she would like. He had seen it himself in the company of an old friend’s daughter who had been visiting in London. He hadn’t liked the show particularly but perhaps that was because he had found his companion a singularly vapid girl with no conversation who was everlastingly fidgeting with her hair or her lipstick.
