A Winter Love Story

by Betty Neels

Claudia sat cocooned in warmth and comfort and watched the road unwind ahead of them in the car’s headlights. She hadn’t felt so quietly happy for a long time.

  Evershot was a sizeable village, and even on a dark, wintry night looked charming. The hotel was charming, too—not large, but delightfully furnished, warm and welcoming. They went to the bar and sat over drinks, then dined on crab ravioli with ginger, breast of duck with potato straws and tiny Brussels sprouts, and pear tatin with cinnamon ice cream. Claudia ate it all with a splendid appetite, sharpened by the wholesome, rather stodgy fare offered at the hospital.

  She sat back, savouring the last mouthful of ice cream. ‘That was lovely—and do you know it was just luck that I was free this afternoon? Sister changed my duty to the afternoon shift, and then she changed her mind. It was a miracle...’

  Mr Tait-Bullen, who had engineered the miracle, agreed that indeed it was.

  They sat over their coffee and Claudia, gently encouraged by her companion, talked. There was not much time to talk at the hospital—really talk. On duty conversations were confined to cheerful chat with those of the patients who welcomed it, and only that when there were a few minutes to spare. And off duty, although she got on well with the other girls, the inclination was either to go out or to sit in front of the television. But now she allowed her tongue full rein, vaguely aware that later on she would regret it, but happy now, saying whatever came into her head. She paused briefly.

  ‘Am I boring you?’

  ‘No. I do not think that you will ever bore me, Claudia. I have to go away for a couple of days. When I return I should like to take you out again.’

  ‘Oh, would you? I’d like that, too.’ She beamed at him. ‘We get on well together, don’t we? I didn’t think I would like you when we met, but I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘I hoped that you would. As you say, we get on well together.’

  He drove her back presently, saw her into the hospital and, under the porter’s interested eye, bent to kiss her cheek. It wasn’t until she was in her room that she realised that he hadn’t said anything more about seeing her again.

  Claudia, brushing her fiery locks, stopped to stare into the small mirror above the little dressing table.

  ‘You’re a fool,’ she told her reflection. ‘Whatever he said, he must have been bored out of his mind. I must have sounded like a garrulous old maid. No wonder he didn’t say when he would want to see me again.’ She put down the brush and got into bed, suddenly sad; she liked him and felt at ease in his company. If only she hadn’t behaved like an idiot. Living in London, obviously a successful man in his profession, and presumably comfortably off, she thought gloomily, he would have his pick of elegant women who had a fund of witty and amusing talk and knew when to hold their tongues...

  Two days later she was on the afternoon shift. It was drizzling outside, with a mean wind, and the thought of a morning doing nothing by the gas fire in the recreation room was tempting. Then Claudia thought of the long hours on the ward until the late evening, buttoned herself into her mac, tied a scarf over her hair, found her gloves and sensible shoes and made her way to the side door the hospital staff used. A brisk walk would do her good...

  She was crossing the back of the hall when the porter called after her.

  ‘I’ve been ringing round for you,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re to go to the visitors’ room.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘How should I know? That’s the message I got and I’m telling it to you.’

  ‘Yes—well, thank you!’

  She turned round and went the other way along the wide corridor from which the boardroom, the manager’s office and the consultants’ room opened.

  ‘Mother,’ she said, suddenly afraid of bad news, and opened the door.

  The room didn’t encourage visitors. It was a dark brown, with shiny lino on the floor and a hideous glass lantern housing a stark white bulb glaring down onto the solid table beneath it. Chairs were arranged stiffly around the walls, and, half lost in the massive fireplace, there was a very small gas fire. Watching her from the other side of the table was Mr Tait-Bullen.

  Claudia slithered to a halt. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ And then, aware that perhaps that had sounded rude, added, ‘What I meant is, I didn’t expect you.’ He smiled then, and she smiled back. ‘I was just going out for a walk.’

  When he didn’t speak, she asked, ‘Are you on your way somewhere or are you on holiday?’

  ‘I’m on my way back to London.’

  ‘Well, what luck I’m on afternoon duty.’ She flushed. ‘What I mean is, you could have called in and I would have been working.’ She hurried on, because it sounded as though she expected him to take her out. ‘I expect you’re anxious to get back home...’

  ‘In which case I should have driven straight back to London...’

  ‘But you didn’t know if I was free...’

  ‘Yes, I did. I phoned up first to find out. I have to go away again for a couple of days, and I wanted to see you before I go.’

  ‘Me? Why? Mother’s not ill, or George? Did they ask you to come?’

  ‘No, they are both, as far as I know, in the best of middle-aged health.’

  He smiled at her, a slow, warm smile. ‘Claudia, before I say anything more, will you answer me truthfully? Are you happy here? Are you content to be, eventually, a career girl and, if not, will you tell me what you really wish for?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ she asked, and, when he didn’t answer, went on, ‘Well, all right—no, I’m not happy here. I’m truly sorry for the old ladies, but I miss the garden and the village and being out of doors. We’re well looked after, you know, but I feel trapped.’ She had lost herself in her own thoughts. ‘And I suppose I wish for what every woman wants—a home and a husband and children.’

  ‘Not love?’

  ‘That, too, but I think that isn’t granted to everyone—I mean, the kind of love that doesn’t mind being poor or neglected or kept hidden, and will love and cherish despite that.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Why did you make me say all that?’

  He didn’t answer her at once, but stared at her across the table, seeing a rather untidy figure, her bright hair escaping from the scarf, enveloped in her sensible mac.

  ‘Will you marry me, Claudia?’ he asked quietly.

  At her astonished look, he said, ‘No, don’t say anything for a moment or two. You see, I think we might have a successful and happy marriage. I need a wife and you long for freedom. We could help each other in many ways. I have no doubt that you will be an excellent housewife and hostess, and a companion I shall always enjoy, and you could be free to spread your wings in whichever direction you wish to fly.

  ‘I haven’t said that I love you, nor do I expect you to tell me that. There’s time enough for us to get to know each other. And I shan’t hurry you. But it seems to me that to marry as soon as possible would be the sensible thing to do. You will need to give a week’s notice at the hospital, but there is no reason why we shouldn’t marry before Christmas.’

  Claudia opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again, reflecting on what he had said. It all sounded so sensible, so calmly thought out. And he didn’t love her. On the other hand he must like her, if he intended to marry her, and she would enjoy having a household of her own—meeting people, making friends, being there when he wanted a companion. And she liked him; she liked him very much.

  Mr Tait-Bullen asked quietly, ‘You would like to think about it? I shall quite understand if you dislike the idea, but I shall be disappointed. You see, Claudia, I have been honest with you. I have not promised love and endless devotion, but I have offered you what I hope will be a happy and contented life together. We like the same things, don’t we? And laugh at the same jokes. We would be good companions and friends. That, I think, is more important than a sudden
and uncertain infatuation.’

  He was right, of course. It was, she told herself, a sensible and sincere offer of marriage made by one of the handsomest men she had ever met, and a man she liked wholeheartedly. She didn’t know much about him, but, as he had said, getting to know each other was something they could do in their own good time. She would be a good wife, just as she was instinctively aware that he would be a good husband.

  She looked across the table at him, standing there with no sign of impatience.

  ‘Yes, thank you, I should like to marry you.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I don’t know your name...’

  He came round the table and put gentle hands on her shoulders. ‘Thomas,’ he said, and bent to kiss her. ‘Thank you, Claudia.’

  Chapter FOUR

  CLAUDIA LOOKED UP into his quiet face. ‘What do we do next?’

  Mr Tait-Bullen suppressed a smile. A girl after his own heart; no coy smiles and fluttering of the eyelashes, no girlish whispers. Claudia obviously liked to meet a situation, when she encountered it, head-on.

  ‘If you will give in your notice today? Phone me this evening—I’ll be in Edinburgh. I’ll give you my number—let me know the soonest you can leave and I’ll fetch you.’

  ‘Where will I go?’

  ‘To George Willis. We’ll marry there if you would like that. I’ll get a special licence—remind me to ask you for some particulars when you phone. Your mother?’

  ‘I’ll phone her.’

  ‘A pity that I have to go back to town this morning. I could have called in at Little Planting. I’ll telephone her this evening.’

  He was holding her hands in his. ‘This must be the most unlikely place in the world in which to receive a proposal of marriage.’

  ‘I don’t think that matters at all. I mean, moonlight and roses wouldn’t have been suitable, would they? Not for us.’

  He frowned a little. ‘You will be happy, Claudia? I am a good deal older than you...’

  ‘I like you just as you are, Thomas. Please don’t change any of you. We shall be happy together.’

  ‘I must go. Forgive me, there isn’t even time to give you a cup of coffee.’

  She went with him to the hospital entrance and he kissed her again, a light kiss which meant nothing, although she hadn’t expected it to, got into his car and drove away.

  It was a few moments before she moved—back into the hospital, intent on doing what Thomas had suggested, not noticing the porter’s interested stare. She must compose a suitable letter and then take it to Miss Norton, and she must do it at once, so that when Thomas phoned that evening she could tell him when she could leave. And she must phone her mother...

  She wrote her letter of resignation and presented herself at Miss Norton’s office, inwardly quaking; could she be prevented from leaving? She hadn’t signed a contract, and she was paid weekly, all the same she wasn’t absolutely sure...

  Fifteen minutes later she closed the office door behind her with a sigh of relief. Miss Norton hadn’t been very pleased. Indeed, she had read Claudia a lecture on young women who were irresponsible and said she hoped that she had given marriage serious thought, but she hadn’t refused to let Claudia go. She was, she had pointed out, scrupulously fair in such matters; if a girl wasn’t happy in her work then she was entitled to leave. Normally, said Miss Norton severely, after a reasonable period. Claudia had hardly given herself time to settle down, but in the circumstances she could, of course, leave.

  Claudia had thanked her and asked if she could leave two days earlier, since she would have her week’s days off due. Miss Norton had looked affronted but she had agreed.

  Claudia got into her mac again and went to telephone her mother; there was a phone in the hospital, but it was in a passage and in constant use; to discuss anything other than the weather was impossible.

  Her mother was delighted, surprised, as well. ‘Darling, I didn’t know that you and Mr Tait-Bullen—Thomas—were so close. I’m delighted, and I’m sure George will be, too, when I tell him. What are your plans?’

  Claudia inserted all the money she had, and explained. ‘And we want to have a very quiet wedding, Mother. Thomas is getting a special licence and we’d like to marry at Little Planting. I’m leaving in five days. Thomas will fetch me. May I stay with you and George until the wedding? It’ll only be for a day or two.’

  ‘Of course, darling. And we must do something about clothes...’

  Claudia, with an inward eye on her scanty wardrobe, agreed.

  The rest of the day passed in a dream. Since she was happy, she wanted everyone else to be happy, too, coaxing smiles from even the most cantankerous of the old ladies, clearing up unmentionable messes, changing sheets, trundling round the ward with the tea trolley, the supper trolley, and at the end of the day having to listen to a lecture from Sister, who, apprised of her leaving, took it as a personal affront.

  It was after ten o’clock by the time she left the ward—too late to go to the phone box at the end of the road. Besides, the passage where the hospital phone was was empty so late in the evening. She rang the number Thomas had given her and waited, half afraid that he wouldn’t answer.

  His voice sounded strangely businesslike.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Claudia, heedless of grammar. And she added quite unnecessarily, ‘You told me to ring you up, but I haven’t kept you up, have I?’

  Mr Tait-Bullen, studying the notes of a patient he was to operate on the next day, assured her that she hadn’t.

  ‘You saw Miss Norton?’

  ‘Yes, I may leave in five days’ time—actually, it’s four days now. That’s a Friday.’

  ‘In the morning? You’re actually free to leave after duty on Thursday?’

  ‘Yes, but I must pack my things and give my uniform back...’

  ‘I’ll come for you at nine o’clock on Friday morning, Claudia.’

  ‘Thank you, but don’t you have to work?’

  He said gently, ‘Oh, yes, but not until the afternoon. I’ll drop you off at Little Planting on my way back. Now, tell me—where were you born, how old are you, have you any other names besides Claudia and are you British by birth?’

  She told him in a matter-of-fact voice, sensing that he hadn’t time to waste on idle talk. She hesitated before she said, ‘My other name is Eliza...’ and waited for him to laugh.

  But he didn’t. All he said was, ‘That’s a nice old-fashioned name. You must be tired, my dear. Get to bed and sleep well. I’ll see you on Friday.’

  ‘Goodnight, then,’ Claudia said, and hung up. It would have been nice if he had said something like ‘I miss you,’ or ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you.’ But he wouldn’t pretend to feelings he didn’t feel; she quite understood that. Theirs would be a sensible marriage, she reflected, undressing and falling into bed, there would be no false sentiment.

  The following afternoon she took herself off to the shops; she hadn’t much money, but it was essential that she had something suitable in which to be married. Luck was on her side; she found a small dress shop going out of business and selling up at half price. Claudia thrust aside a wish to wear white chiffon and a gauzy veil and tried on a plainly cut dress and jacket in fine wool. It was in a misty blue, with a grey velvet collar and cuffs, and fastened with a row of velvet buttons. And when the saleslady found a charming hat in matching velvet, Claudia decided that she need look no further.

  ‘It’s for a special occasion?’ enquired the saleslady.

  ‘Well, yes—my wedding.’

  Which prompted the saleslady, who had a sentimental heart under her smart black dress, to make a special price. And that meant that there was enough money left to buy gloves and shoes—and some essential underpinnings from Marks and Spencer.

  Well pleased with her purchases, Claudia went back to
the hospital—too late for tea and too early for supper, but that didn’t matter. She tried everything on once more and spent a long time trying out various new hairstyles, none of which pleased her. Perhaps once she was married she would be able to go to a good London hairdresser and have it expertly cut.

  The days dragged; Friday was never coming, and she had ample time to wonder if she was about to make the mistake of a lifetime. A letter or a phone call from Thomas would have cleared up her uncertainty, but there was nothing. He had told her that he would see her on Friday and with that she had to be content. She had phoned her mother again, and that lady, agog with maternal delight, had told her that she was to go with her to Salisbury and get a few clothes. ‘Our wedding present to you, darling. Have you bought anything yet?’

  Claudia described the dress and jacket.

  ‘They sound just right. Aren’t you excited? And will you have a honeymoon?’

  ‘No. Thomas can only take a day off—we’ll go later.’

  On the Thursday she bade the old ladies goodbye, leaving a vase filled with chrysanthemums on one of the tables, wishing she could have done more to brighten the ward. Sister wished her goodbye in an ill-humoured way, and then surprised her by saying, ‘A pity you are leaving. The old ladies liked you.’

  And the other girls were friendly—laughing and joking and asking her to send photos of the wedding.

  ‘Well, it’s not that kind of wedding,’ she explained. ‘Just us and a few family and no one else...’

  ‘Who’d want anyone else but him, anyway?’ declared one of the girls, who had seen Mr Tait-Bullen leaving the hospital. Everyone laughed and Claudia got out a bottle of sherry and a packet of biscuits. It seemed the right moment for a farewell party.

  * * *

  SHE WAS READY and waiting long before nine o’clock the next morning. Supposing Thomas had changed his mind? Had a breakdown, an accident, been called away to an emergency? She sat, as still as a mouse, wrapped in the mac, since it was raining again, her hair glowing in the gloomy entrance hall.