by Betty Neels
He had them all organised within minutes. The children were to drink their milk and Josh was to get into his clothes as far as he was able, ‘And Daisy and I are going to enjoy a cup of tea.’
Belle had got on to the bed beside Katie and since the doctor didn’t seem to mind Daisy said nothing but meekly took the cup of tea she was offered and drank it.
‘Put on something warm,’ advised the doctor, finishing his tea. ‘I’ll be with you in ten minutes.’
Daisy still said nothing; it was hardly an occasion for aimless conversation and she was feeling shy because of the inadequacies of her nightie. The doctor took his vast person silently away and she set about rearranging Josh’s clothes in the right order—jersey back to front, shoes on the wrong feet and childish hair standing up in spiky tufts all over his small head.
She had time to tie her hair back before the doctor returned and they all crept downstairs and, with Belle in close company, out into the garden through the kitchen door. It was chilly with a hint of frost still in the air but the sun had almost risen by now and the birds were singing. No one, thought Daisy, would know that they were in the heart of London, standing in the quietness.
She wasn’t allowed to stand for long. The doctor took her arm and urged her along the flag-stoned path between a wide border—herbaceous in the summer? wondered Daisy, being whisked briskly past—and a strip of lawn which took up the whole of the centre of the garden. The path disappeared behind shrubs and ornamental trees, ending in a charming little rustic hut with an arched door and tiny windows on either side of it.
‘The witch’s house,’ explained the doctor as the children tumbled inside. He pushed her gently before him and then followed her so that they were a bit crowded. There were benches built along its walls and he sat her down and then folded his great size into the space beside her. The children had no intention of sitting; they were exploring the little place as they always did, finding plates in a shallow opening in the wall. Everything was taken down, examined and put back again until presently Josh came to stand by Daisy.
‘She’s a good witch,’ he explained; ‘she’s kind to animals and children and if she casts a spell it’s a nice one.’
‘She sounds a very good sort of witch; does she have her meals here?’
Josh, carried away on childish imagination and with Katie playing dutiful chorus, went into some detail while the doctor watched Daisy’s face. It was alight with interest and the practical suggestions she offered as regards the witch’s diet showed that she was entering whole-heartedly into the children’s world. He sat back, enjoying himself.
Presently he said, ‘We’d better go back for our breakfasts.’ So the children put everything neatly back in place and they all went back into the garden, out of the shrubs and the small trees, on to a similar path on the opposite side of the lawn with an identical flowerbed against one high brick wall. The sun was up now but held little warmth and the children danced to and fro with Belle weaving between them.
‘You have a very charming garden,’ said Daisy, for something to say.
‘A bonus in London. The house has been in the family for many years—George the Fourth’s time, I believe, and in those days gardens were considered small. Be that as it may, it’s secluded and quiet.’
She took the children upstairs to wash their glowing little faces, brush their hair and tidy them for breakfast, a meal they shared with the doctor and their father. Lady Thorley was having hers in bed.
The two children, perched each side of Daisy, ate their meal in an exemplary fashion, calling forth praise from their parent. ‘We’re going home directly after lunch,’ he told them. ‘What do you want to do this morning?’
‘A ride on the top of a bus,’ said Josh, as usual speaking for Katie as well as himself, and when neither gentleman reacted with enthusiasm to his suggestion it was Daisy who said,
‘Oh, what a splendid idea. If you tell us which bus to catch and what time we’re to be back here…’
She was disappointed that the doctor had made no offer to go with them. Their father, she guessed, would want to remain with his wife, but surely the doctor could have spared an hour or so…
‘There’s a sightseeing bus goes from Trafalgar Square—I’ll drop you off,’ said the doctor casually. ‘I won’t be able to pick you up when you get back but take a taxi, Daisy.’ He glanced at her. ‘Have you enough money?’
She flushed. Somehow he had made her sound like a servant.
‘I’ve no idea what it will cost, but I don’t expect I have.’
Sir Hugh took out his wallet, found some notes and handed them over. ‘That should cover it. If you’re short, we can settle with the cab when you get back.’
The two men sat back, looking as though they had settled the matter to their satisfaction, and since the children were getting restless Daisy excused herself and them and took them upstairs to get them ready for their trip. Ten minutes later, without seeing anyone, the three of them left the house. The doctor had said he would give them a lift to the bus, but she hadn’t believed him; it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a bus stop and get to Trafalgar Square.
He was leaning against the car’s gleaming side, obviously waiting for them. Belle was already on the back seat and the children lost no time in joining her; unlike Daisy, they had had no doubt in their minds that if their uncle had said he would do something it would be done.
The doctor opened the car door. ‘You didn’t believe me, did you?’ He sounded mildly mocking as she went pink.
‘Well, no. You must have got home very late in the night and you were up early this morning.’
He had got in beside her. ‘And how very worthwhile that was,’ he observed softly. And she, remembering, blushed.
An episode to be forgotten, she told herself as the three of them sat perched on the top deck of the bus and she pointed out the House of Commons, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London and all the other sights on the route. The children looked when bidden but like all small children were far more interested in the people on the pavements and the other traffic. Culturally, the trip hadn’t been very successful although they had enjoyed every minute of it and at lunch they gave colourful accounts of people they had seen: the policeman, the horse guards, several ambulances, flashing blue lights and racing through the traffic, plenty of policemen on motorbikes, and a small crowd surrounding a man who had fallen down in the street. Their sharp eyes had missed nothing.
‘Did you see Buckingham Palace?’ asked their father.
‘Where’s that?’ asked Josh.
‘Anyway, they enjoyed their morning,’ said their mother comfortably.
The doctor had little to say; only when his sister put a low-voiced question to him did Daisy realise that he had been at the hospital. He would be glad to see the back of them, she reflected. She stole a look at him and decided that he looked tired; the twins, as she knew to her cost, could be exhausting and they had begun their day very early.
She repacked their bags after lunch, dressed the children in their outdoor things once more and collected her own possessions while the Thorleys stowed everything in the boot and made their farewells. No mention was made of the doctor returning to Salisbury; he took leave of them cheerfully on his doorstep, his hand on Belle’s collar, and his polite, ‘It was a pleasure,’ was the only answer Daisy got to her thank-you speech.
She got into the car between the twins, telling herself that she never wished to see him again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE twins were peevish and inclined to quarrel and Daisy breathed a sigh of relief as Sir Hugh drew up before her home. She bade the twins a brisk goodbye, assuring them that they would see each other again, responded suitably to Sir Hugh’s thanks and Lady Thorley’s heartfelt gratitude and got out of t
he car.
‘We will keep in touch,’ declared Lady Thorley. ‘We won’t stop now—the twins…’
‘I quite understand, Lady Thorley.’ Daisy saw ominous signs of temper in the children’s small faces and felt sympathy for their mother. They would be a handful by bedtime. She went through the gate and watched the car drive away and then went indoors.
There was no one at home, only Razor, who lifted a welcoming head and went to sleep again. Her mother, said the note on the table, had gone to church and Pamela was spending the day with her best friend and wouldn’t be back until eight o’clock. Daisy took her bag upstairs, took her coat off and then made herself a cup of tea and laid the table for supper. Her mother would have had nothing much to eat since Pam hadn’t been at home; she poked her nose into the fridge and set about gathering the ingredients for a Spanish omelette.
‘You’re back,’ said Mrs Pelham, letting herself in half an hour later. ‘Darling, I couldn’t remember when you said you’d be home so I thought I’d go to Evensong. Have you been in long?’
She sniffed the air. ‘Something nice for supper? What a dear you are; what would I do without you?’
Over the meal Daisy told her about her weekend; it didn’t amount to much when all was said and done and her mother listened eagerly. ‘Dr Seymour seems such a kind man; tell me some more about his home—it sounds lovely.’
Pamela came in presently, wanting to talk about her day with her friend and for the moment the doctor and his house were forgotten; only later, as Daisy got ready for bed, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on him.
She didn’t see him until the end of the next day. She had been to tea and when she returned to the ward he was there, standing halfway down it talking to his registrar and Sister. His back was towards her, his hands in his pockets, crushing his long white coat, looming head and shoulders above his companions. Daisy paused just inside the door, staring at his vast back; she didn’t know why, but she was sure that he was bone-weary although there was no sign of that, and she had a great urge to do something about it—a sensation which welled up inside her and left her feeling breathless, and what breath she had left her entirely when he turned his head and looked at her. She knew what the feeling was then. It was love, catching her unawares, and it couldn’t have been at a more awkward or inappropriate time, nor could she have been more surprised. She wanted to smile with the sheer delight of it but his look was grave and thoughtful, reminding her that just for a moment she had imagined herself in a fool’s paradise, so that she looked away and hurried down the ward to the far end to where she could see Maisie stuffing the day’s dirty laundry into sacks. She felt terrible; a quiet corner, preferably in the dark with the door locked, where she could have a good weep in comfort, would have been just the thing. As it was she picked up an empty sack and began on the cotsheets.
Maisie didn’t pause in her work. ‘What’s eating you?’ she wanted to know. ‘Look as though you’ve ’ad a nasty dream—white as them sheets, you are.’
‘I’m fine,’ declared Daisy. ‘I’ve a bit of a headache…’
‘’Eadaches is useful things sometimes,’ said Maisie. ‘Make an ’andy excuse. Dr Seymour’s back. Looks tired, ’e does too. All this to-ing and fro-ing don’t do ’im no good. Can’t think why he wants ter do it—’e’s got ’is nice ’ouse in the close—what more could a body want?’
‘Oh, I didn’t know he lived in Salisbury as well as London.’
‘Got a posh ’ouse there too, so I’ve heard. Not that I grudge ’im that. Does a lot of good, ’e does.’ Maisie tied the strings of the last sack. ‘I think ’e’s gone—good. We’ll get rid of this lot and go ’ome.’
Leaving the hospital presently, Daisy peered cautiously around her; there was no sign of the Rolls-Royce, nor its owner. The doctor had parked it behind the hospital and was standing at a ward window, watching her. He grinned tiredly, for she was craning her neck in all directions before getting on to her bike and pedalling way out into the busy street. He had wanted to walk down the ward and take her in his arms but even if that had been possible he was sure that she was still not quite certain of her feelings.
He turned away from the window and dismissed her from his mind.
As for Daisy, she cycled back home, her head in the clouds; it was one thing to find herself in love and quite another thing wondering what to do about it. Common sense dictated that to find work which would take her as far away as possible from the doctor was the thing to do but the very thought of not seeing him again sent such a strong shudder through her person that she wobbled dangerously on her bike. On the other hand, would she be able to bear seeing him at the hospital? Not speaking to him, of course, not even smiling, and probably in the course of time he would marry…
She wheeled her bike through the gate and into the garden shed behind the house and went in to find her mother rolling pastry.
Her, ‘Hello, darling,’ was cheerful. ‘Pasties for supper and the gas bill came this morning, not nearly as much as we expected. I must say life is much easier now that you’ve got this job. You should be doing something better, I know—perhaps later on…’
Daisy kissed her mother, took off her outdoor things and gave Razor his supper. She said cheerfully, ‘That’s great about the gas bill. I’ll pay it as I go to work—put it through the door; it’ll save postage.’
‘Had a nice day, dear?’ asked Mrs Pelham.
Daisy gave the answer expected of her and reflected that unless she could find a job as secure with the same wages as she now had she would have to stay at the hospital. She would talk to Pam and see if she would look for a part-time job during the Christmas holidays. If only they could save a little money…
‘You’re very quiet, love,’ observed her mother. ‘Perhaps you’re tired?’
It was Pamela, while they were washing up the supper things, who asked, ‘What’s up, Daisy? Is that job awful? Shall I leave at the end of term and get a job? It’s so unfair that you should have to keep us going.’
‘Don’t you dare suggest such a thing—another couple of years and you’ll be well on the way to a career and then it’ll be your turn. And the job’s not bad at all; in fact I quite enjoy it—the children are fun and the nurses are friendly.’
‘Yes? All the same, you look different. Are you sorry about Philip?’
‘Heavens, no. I liked him but that was all. He and Sister are so exactly suited to each other. I’m hoping to hear any day now that they’re engaged.’
Pamela piled the plates neatly. ‘All the same, there’s something.’
Daisy wiped the bowl and wrung out the dishcloth. ‘There’s some money to spare—the gas bill’s much less than we reckoned. There’s the end-of-term disco…would you like something to wear?’
‘No—you have it.’
‘Shall we take Mother to Salisbury next Saturday and let her choose?’
‘Is it enough for a dress?’
‘Afraid not—a blouse from Marks and Spencer, or some slippers—hers are worn out…’
‘OK,’ said Pamela wistfully. ‘Do you suppose there’ll ever be enough money for us to go into a shop and buy something without looking at the price ticket?’
Daisy had picked up Razor and he lay across her shoulder, purring. ‘Well, of course—just give me time to find a millionaire and marry him.’
Pamela laughed with her but she looked at her thoughtfully at the same time; Daisy’s laugh had sounded a little hollow.
There was no Maisie when Daisy came to work the next morning. ‘It’s not like her,’ commented Sister. ‘I’ve never known her miss a day. I hope she’s not ill—she’s not on the phone.’
It was Staff Nurse who said, ‘Probably she’s overslept or been to a party…’
As the day wore on there was still no sign of her. To
wards the late afternoon Sister sought out Daisy.
‘I’ve got Maisie’s address—I ought to go and see her myself but Philip’s coming this evening.’
Daisy looked at the pretty worried face and said at once, ‘I’ll go on my way home, Sister. Probably it’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got my bike and it won’t take me long.’ At Sister’s relieved sigh she asked, ‘Where does she live?’
It wasn’t far out of her way—one of the little streets she passed each day turning off Fisherton Street. ‘If I could ring my mother and tell her that I’ll be home later?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Daisy, I’m so grateful.’
Maisie lived in a row of terraced houses at the very end of a narrow street, dwindling into a kind of no man’s land of abandoned houses, old sheds and broken-down fences. She leaned her bike against dusty iron railings and thumped a dirty brass knocker.
She had to wait before someone came to the door—a young woman with her hair in pink plastic rollers, in a T-shirt and leggings and with a grubby baby under her arm.
‘Good evening,’ began Daisy politely and remembered that she had no idea what Maisie’s surname was. ‘I’ve called to see Maisie—she does live here?’
‘Course she does. Miss Watts. Front room upstairs. ’Aven’t seen her all day.’
The narrow hall was dark, so were the stairs. There were three doors on the small dark landing; Daisy knocked on the one facing the street and when no one answered tried the handle. The door opened under her touch and she found herself in a small room, surprisingly light and airy and smelling strongly of furniture polish.
‘Maisie?’ Daisy crossed the room to the bed along one wall where Maisie was sitting up against her pillows; she looked flushed and ill and took no notice of Daisy. There was a tabby cat curled up beside her and a small, scruffy dog on her feet. The dog growled as Daisy bent over Maisie and bared elderly teeth but Daisy was too concerned at the sight of Maisie to worry about that.
