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He went back downstairs and poured himself a mug of tea, and sat drinking it with the little cat curled up on his knee. What might have been the beginnings of a friendly relationship between them had become indifference on both their parts. Now and again, going through life, one met someone with whom one was incompatible, he reflected, allowing his thoughts to wander to the work waiting for him.
Presently he went quietly upstairs again and found her asleep, her hair an untidy cloud all over the pillow, her mouth a little open. There were scratches on her cheek and there was a bruise developing on one arm. She was a big girl, but now she looked like a child. The doctor studied her at some length, wondering why she chose to live so remotely. But that was none of his business.
He went back to the kitchen and later, when he heard the gate being opened, he went to open the front door.
The lady walking briskly up the path was of an indeterminable age, very tall and thin, with a narrow face and a sharp nose, wearing a no-nonsense hat and a dateless beige coat and skirt. When she was within a yard of the doctor she asked briskly, ‘And who are you, young man? I don’t expect to find strangers on my doorstep. You’re surely not a friend of Katrina’s?’
If that was a compliment it was surely a left-handed one, thought the doctor, and he stood aside to allow Miss Thirza Gibbs to enter her home.
‘No, no such thing. Your niece has had a slight accident and I happened to be the person to find her. Nothing alarming…’
‘I am not easily alarmed,’ said Miss Thirza Gibbs tartly. ‘Kindly get to the point. Presumably she is here?’
‘In her bed.’ The doctor had assumed the armour plating of his profession: an impersonal courtesy leavened with a touch of bracing sympathy. ‘Your niece was knocked off her bicycle by a motorcyclist who didn’t stop. She has a cut on her leg, is scratched and bruised and shocked. Dr Peters has been to see her and will call again. She didn’t lose consciousness.’
‘Why are you here, in my house?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Your niece is hardly in a fit condition to be left alone, Miss Gibbs. I trust that she will make a speedy recovery. Good day to you.’
Miss Gibbs went an unbecoming red. ‘I’m sure it was very kind of you,’ she began stiffly.
But she was stopped gently by his ‘Not at all, Miss Gibbs. Please give my best wishes to your niece.’
He got into his car and drove away, and she went into the house and then slowly climbed the stairs.
Katrina was still sound asleep and, despite her scratches and bruises, looked her usual healthy self. Her aunt went down to the kitchen, made herself a sandwich, laid a tray with bowl, plate and spoon, set soup to warm and sat down to wait. She had had a tiring morning, and her meeting with the strange man had upset her; she had always been in the habit of speaking her mind even at the expense of other people’s feelings, but the man had been kind. She dozed off, and when she woke, half an hour later, Katrina was sitting at the table, polishing off the last of the soup.
When her aunt opened her eyes she asked, ‘Has he gone? That man—he brought me home. I didn’t thank him properly. You saw him?’
Miss Gibbs got up and put the kettle on, for she felt the need for a cup of tea. ‘Tell me what happened, and, yes, I saw him, but only for a few minutes.’
‘Well, this motorcyclist was on the wrong side of the road—on that bend by the turnip field, you know?’ Katrina gave a matter-of-fact account of the whole business, because her aunt had no patience with emotional outpourings or embellished facts, and when she had finished she said, ‘It must have been a great nuisance for him.’
‘He is a doctor?’ Miss Thirza Gibbs frowned. ‘I’m afraid that I was a little brisk with him. Perhaps he gave his name to Peters, in which case it would be quite correct for us to write him a letter of thanks for his help.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ said Katrina. ‘I should think he’s forgotten all about it by now—besides, he didn’t like me.’
‘Did he say so?’
‘No, of course not, Aunt, but he was—’ she paused, seeking the right word ‘—forebearing. As though he was doing his duty and found it all a bit of a bore. I didn’t like him.’
‘In that case,’ said Miss Gibbs, ‘it is fortunate that we are unlikely to see him again.’
Katrina agreed, ignoring a sneaking feeling that even if she didn’t like him it might be nice to know a bit more about him.
But even if she were never to meet him again, at least she was to know more about him, for later that day Dr Peters came. Evening surgery was over, and he was on his way home, but he sat down for ten minutes, drank the tea Katrina offered him, and expressed the view that she was perfectly fit again although she would look a bit unsightly for a few days.
‘This man,’ said Miss Gibbs. ‘Katrina tells me that he is a doctor.’
‘A specialist. He’s a consultant at St Aldrick’s—a haematologist—a well-known one, too. He didn’t tell you? Well, he’s not a man to blow his own trumpet, I should imagine. Stayed for lunch, did he?’
Miss Thirza Gibbs looked awkward. ‘Well, no. We exchanged a few words and he drove away.’
Dr Peters shook his head at her. ‘Thirza, I suspect that you bit the man’s head off. We’re all used to you in the village, but a stranger might be taken aback.’
‘Perhaps I was a bit sharp. But now we know who he is we can write to him and express our gratitude.’ She gave Katrina an enquiring look as she spoke.
Katrina said, with a bit of a snap, ‘Aunt Thirza, we agreed that he would have forgotten us.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Dr Peters, ‘seeing that his whole day was disorganised.’
‘Well, I think we’re making a lot of fuss about nothing. I’ll write a letter if you want me to, Aunt, but I doubt if he’ll read it—he’ll have a secretary to deal with his letters—or his wife,’ she added slowly. He would be married, of course, with two children, a comfortable house in a good area of town and probably a country cottage or a villa on the Algarve. Even if she didn’t like him, that was no reason to grudge him success in life.
Dr Peters said, ‘I think a letter would be civil, don’t you? And by the way, he’s a professor—I looked him up in my medical directory. Simon Glenville—you could send it to the hospital. He’s got consulting rooms but I haven’t the address.’
He went presently, and as he and Miss Gibbs walked to the gate he said, ‘Katrina’s been a bit shaken; make her go gently for a couple of days. It isn’t like her to be snappy.’
Which was true enough, for she was a warm-natured and kind girl, liked by everyone in the village, always ready to give a hand where it was wanted, and, unlike her aunt, prepared to like everyone who crossed her path. All except, for some reason, the man who had come to her aid that morning. But that was no reason to be ungrateful to him. That evening Katrina sat down and composed a polite note to him. It took several attempts to get it right but, pleased with the final result, she posted it the next day and told herself that was the end of the affair.
Of course, she had to make a statement to the police, and then scour Warminster for a second-hand bike; a new one was out of the question and the pity of it was that she hadn’t been insured. But there had to be some means of transport. A bus went into Warminster each day, but bus fares were costly and she had long ago taken over the shopping, loading up once a week and going to the village stores for day-to-day needs. And they weren’t many, for she and her aunt lived frugally, growing vegetables in the garden behind the cottage, getting eggs from Lovegrove’s Farm along the road. It was amazing what a number of meals one could conjure from eggs.
Katrina wondered during the next few days about Professor Glenville; she might not have liked him, but she so seldom left the village that anyone not connected with it was of interest, however slight. But she didn’t speak of him to her aunt, and neither did that lady mention him. Her accident had been a small disruption in their quiet life, and neither she nor her aunt were given to dwelling on any mishap they might encounter.
Katrina made light of her bruises and cuts, did the bulk of the household chores, dug the garden and, once she had her new bike, shopped. The event had caused something of a stir in the village, which was so small and out of the way that anything outside its normal gentle routine was a subject for talk for several days. The people living there liked her and were vaguely sorry for her. It was no life for a pretty girl, living in that poky cottage with an elderly aunt, never meeting any young men. Several of them had hinted as much to her face, but she had fobbed them off, saying that she was very happy and had no wish for the bright lights.
‘But you’d have money to buy lovely clothes, and meet people,’ one well-wisher had reminded her.
‘But there are people here,’ Katrina had pointed out, ‘and when would I wear lovely clothes?’ And she had added in a voice which had effectively closed the conversation, ‘I’m happy here.’
Which wasn’t quite true. She wasn’t unhappy, but she was young and pretty and full of life; pretty clothes, visits to the theatre, dining out, dancing—she wished that she could sample them all, while at the same time knowing that it was most unlikely.
She had lived with Aunt Thirza since her parents had been killed in a plane crash when she was twelve years old. She had no brothers or sisters; there were numerous aunts and uncles and cousins, but Aunt Thirza was the only one of the family who had given her a home. That had been twelve years ago, before she had retired as headmistress of a girls’ school—a privately run establishment where Katrina had been educated. When Aunt Thirza had retired Katrina had been seventeen, and hopeful of going on to university. But it seemed that that wouldn’t be possible. Aunt Thirza had pointed out in her forthright way that she had only her pension, which would not stretch to it.
‘But something may turn up,’ she had said. ‘I suggest that you stay at home with me. You’re still young; a year or two won’t matter at your age. I shall write to your uncles and aunts and enlist their help. After all, they were your father’s brothers and sisters.’
However, offers of help had not been forthcoming. Did Thirza not realise that Katrina’s cousins were a constant drain on parental purses? Had she any idea what it cost to give them a start in life?
Vague offers of help in a year or two had been made, and so she had stifled her disappointment and agreed with her aunt that a year or so living at the cottage would be delightful. She had made a tentative offer to find work of some sort; she had her A levels, and she was quick and intelligent—a job in Warminster, perhaps? In a shop or as a dental assistant…
Aunt Thirza had been disapproving. ‘No niece of mine will waste her talents in a shop,’ she had said vigorously. ‘If your cousins can go to university, then so shall you. It is merely a question of waiting for a year or two.’
But the years had slipped by, and the cousins, no longer at university had still been a constant expense to their parents. The girls became engaged, and expected splendid weddings, the young men naturally needed allowances while they found their feet earning their living in something suitable.
After a few years Aunt Thirza had given up talking about university, and Katrina’s pleas to get a job had also been swept aside. She had plenty to keep her busy. She had taken over most of the household chores now that Aunt Thirza was getting on a bit, and besides, there was the garden, the Youth Club in the village, the church flowers, the various bazaars and fêtes—regular events. And she had friends, as Aunt Thirza had pointed out. Her aunt had ended by asking her if she wasn’t happy, in a voice which shook a little, and Katrina, seeing the unhappiness in the elderly face, had assured her that she was very happy.
And after that she gave up talking about jobs or university; her aunt had given her a home and affection when no one else was willing to do so, and she was deeply grateful for that. Besides, she was fond of the old lady.
Professor Glenville drove himself home, cutting across country along narrow, less used roads to Wherwell, a village tucked away in Hampshire but near enough to the motorway for him to travel to and fro to London each day, where he had consulting rooms as well as beds at St Aldrick’s. His friends and colleagues thought him crazy, living away from London, but he found the early-morning drive to his rooms a pleasant start to his day, even in bad weather, and, however late at night, he made a point of returning to Wherwell; only in an emergency would he spend the night at the small flat above his consulting rooms.
As he drove he decided what he would do with the rest of his day. He had been in Bristol for several days, for he was an examiner for several hospitals, but now he was free until the morning—he could do some writing, catch up on his reading, potter in his garden and take the dogs for a walk, and Mrs Peach, who ran his home with Peach, would give him a splendid tea…
He allowed his thoughts to dwell on Miss Thirza Gibbs and her niece, but only briefly, thinking it a pity, though, that Katrina had been so tart. Even making allowances for shock she need not have been quite so frosty. As for her aunt, he had been in his profession long enough to recognise her type—sharp-tongued, never looking for sympathy, and hiding a soft heart beneath a brisk manner. He decided that he rather liked her.
Wherwell was a delightful village, most of its houses thatched, the country around it peaceful. He drove down its main street and turned into a narrow lane, and then through open gates to his home, which was black and white timber-framed with its thatched roof curling round the upstairs windows. It was a fair size, and the garden around it was sheltered by trees. He drove round the side, parked the car, and went in through the side door, along a flag-stoned passage and into the kitchen. Peach and his wife were there. She sat at the table rolling out pastry, Peach at the other end of the table, cleaning the silver.
Peach got up at once. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said mildly. ‘You’ll be wanting lunch…’
‘No, no, Peach. One of Mrs Peach’s magnificent teas in half an hour would be fine. Everything all right?’
‘Right as rain, sir. Barker and Jones are in the garden. Tea in half an hour, sir.’
The professor picked up his bag and went through a door into the hall, which was long and narrow with a door at each end. He opened his study door, put his bag on the desk and went out of the end door into the garden. Two dogs were waiting for him, uttering pleased barks, running to him as he bent to fondle them: a coal-black Alsatian and a small dog of no known parentage, with a foxy face, heavy whiskers and a feathery tail. The three of them made their way down a path bordered by flowerbeds already full of colour, skirted a large lawn with a small pond at its end and went through a gate into the fields beyond. The dogs raced on ahead now, and the professor sauntered along, his thoughts idle, vaguely irritated that they turned every so often to the events of the other morning.
He went indoors presently, to Mrs Peach’s tea, and then spent an hour or so in his study with his dogs for company. He went back there after his dinner too, making notes for the book he was writing concerning his work. He was a clever man, wrapped up in his profession but by no means a hermit; he had friends, close friends he had known for years, and a host of acquaintances and family scattered throughout the country, but as yet he had found no one whom he wished to make his wife. And that was a pity, Peach had confided to his wife. A good man like the master ought to have been married years ago, with a handful of children. ‘Knocking forty,’ Peach had grumbled. ‘And dear knows he meets enough ladies to pick and choose.’
‘She’ll turn up,’ said Mrs Peach. ‘Just you let Fate take its course.’ Fate must have been listening.
It was a week or so after Katrina’s accident that she noticed that Aunt Thirza didn’t look well. Indeed, now she thought about it, she hadn’t looked well for some weeks. But Aunt Thirza wasn’t a woman to angle for sympathy for herself, and when once or twice Katrina had asked her if she felt all right, she had responded in her usual blunt manner. All the same, there was no denying that she was paler than usual, and lacked energy. And when one morning Katrina found her sitting in the living room with her eyes shut, instead of turning out the sideboard drawers which she had intended to do, Katrina took matters into her own hands.
Despite her aunt’s protests, she got on her bike and went to Dr Peters’ surgery and left a message with his receptionist. It wasn’t a day on which the surgery was open, but she knew that he would come and see her aunt as soon as he could; they had been friends for years and, however brusque Aunt Thirza was feeling, she would listen to his advice.
He came that evening, examined his old friend, taking no notice of her waspish replies to his questions and, despite her protests, taking a sample of her blood.
‘Well, what’s wrong with me?’ demanded Aunt Thirza.
‘You’ve been doing too much,’ he told her, and Katrina thought that she detected the impersonal cheerfulness with which the medical profession conceal their true opinion. ‘I’ll get this blood tested—it will take a day or two. I’ll let you know when I’ve the result and give you something to put you back on your feet. In the meantime, just take things easily. You won’t, of course!’
Three days later he called again. ‘Anaemia,’ he told her. ‘Nothing which can’t be put right with treatment. But I want you to see a specialist, just to endorse my opinion.’ And when Miss Gibbs began an indignant refusal, he said, ‘No, Thirza, my dear. We want the quickest solution, don’t we? So we’ll get expert advice.’
Katrina, walking with him to the gate, said, ‘Is it serious, Dr Peters?’
‘Perhaps, my dear. We must see what the specialist says. I’ll get an appointment for your aunt. You’ll go with her, of course.’
When he got back to his surgery he lifted the phone and asked to speak to Professor Glenville.
CHAPTER TWO
AUNT THIRZA was surprised to receive a letter within the next few days, bidding her to attend a clinic at St Aldrick’s on the following Monday. She was inclined to grumble about this—such short notice and the awkward journey to the hospital. ‘A waste of time,’ she declared. ‘I think I shall not go.’
Katrina waited for her first annoyance to subside before saying mildly, ‘Well, since Dr Peters had taken the trouble to arrange for someone to see you it would be rather unkind to refuse to go. The appointment’s for eleven o’clock—we can catch an early train from Warminster and probably be home again by teatime.’
Bob from the garage drove them to the station—an unavoidable extravagance which for once Miss Gibbs ignored. It was a lovely morning, warm for the time of year, so that Katrina was able to wear the jersey dress and matching jacket which she kept for special occasions. And this was a special occasion—a day out in London, even if most of it would be spent on a bench in the hospital waiting room. The unbidden thought that she might see Professor Glenville again she squashed instantly; he would have for gotten about her, and even if he hadn’t he would hardly wish to renew their acquaintance…
The waiting room was large and crowded, and although they were in good time a nurse told them that they would probably have to wait for half an hour or so.
Aunt Thirza was tired, and had no objection to sitting quietly, and Katrina found plenty to interest her. Moreover, there was always the chance that Professor Glenville might appear. Unlikely, she thought. She didn’t know much about hospitals, but she thought that a well-known man such as Dr Peters had described would have consulting rooms, and only go to the hospital for some emergency or consultation.
It was almost noon by the time Miss Gibbs’ name was called.
‘I prefer to go by myself, Katrina,’ she said firmly. ‘No doubt if you are needed someone will come and tell you.’
She went off with a nurse, her back as stiff as a poker, and was ushered into one of the consulting rooms where she was asked to sit down while a sister took her blood pressure, her temperature, and asked her if she took medicine of any sort, and, if so, what?
‘I do not believe in pills and potions,’ said Aunt Thirza severely. ‘I am a healthy woman and do not need such things.’
Sister murmured in a non-committal manner and ushered her into the inner room, going to stand by the desk facing the door. Miss Gibbs fetched up by it. ‘Oh, it’s you!’ she declared sharply. ‘I do hope you understand that I have only agreed to come because Dr Peters and I are old friends and I wished to oblige him.’
The professor stood up and offered a hand. ‘Miss Gibbs. This is tiresome for you, I feel sure. Please sit down and tell me how I can help you.’
Miss Gibbs sat, still very erect. ‘I owe you an apology, Professor. I was much at fault not to express my gratitude for your help.’
‘Most understandable in the circumstances, Miss Gibbs.’ He had become politely remote. ‘And now, if you would answer a few questions? This shouldn’t take long.’
Aunt Thirza gave succinct replies to his quiet questions, watching him write them down. He looked very reassuring sitting there, and very handsome, too, and his manner was calming, although she told herself that she had no reason to be alarmed. He looked up presently.
‘If you would go with Sister, she will help you to undress. I shall need to examine you.’
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘Yes, Miss Gibbs.’ He glanced at Sister, who whisked Aunt Thirza into another small room, peeled her clothes off her with a practised hand, wrapped her in a shapeless white garment and helped her onto the couch. And when the professor came she took possession of an elderly hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze so that Aunt Thirza, with nothing more than an annoyed snort, relaxed under his gentle hands.
Presently, once more dressed, her sensible hat firmly on her head again, she sat facing him at his desk. ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘are you going to tell me what is wrong? If there is anything wrong…’
‘You have anaemia, Miss Gibbs, something which we can deal with. I shall write to Dr Peters with my suggestions for your treatment and I should like to see you again. Shall we say in two weeks’ time?’
‘If you think it is necessary,’ Aunt Thirza said grumpily. ‘It is quite a long journey.’
He said smoothly, ‘You have someone with you today? Your niece?’
‘Katrina, yes.’ She gave him a sharp look, but he only smiled blandly.
‘I’m sorry I have no time in which to meet her again. Please thank her for her letter.’
The letter, so stiff and written with obvious reluctance, had made him smile.
He stood up and shook hands, and when Sister came back from ushering Aunt Thirza out, he said, ‘A pity. It’s lymphatic leukaemia, and I suspect she has had it for some time. We’ll treat it, of course. There is always a chance that she will live for a number of years. Luckily it isn’t rapid. But it is fatal…’
‘A nice old thing, too,’ said Sister. ‘There’s a very pretty girl with her.’
‘That will be her niece.’ He made a mental note to talk to Katrina and explain about her aunt. Miss Gibbs was a strong-minded old lady, but he had no intention of telling her the truth until necessary.
He sat writing at his desk and found himself wondering what would happen to Katrina if Miss Gibbs were to die. He wished he had seen her again. The temptation had been great to send a nurse with a message asking her to see him, but then Aunt Thirza would have smelled a rat. He must arrange to go to Dr Peters’ surgery so that he could explain about her aunt’s illness.
He asked for his next patient and forgot Katrina.
But he remembered again as he drove himself home that evening. Katrina would have to be told the true state of affairs—something which Dr Peters was quite able to do, but which for some reason he felt obliged to do himself.
Life, for the next few days, returned to normal for Aunt Thirza and Katrina. Dr Peters came, prescribed pills, advised rest, no excitement and a suitable diet, offered reassurance and went away again, with the suggestion that Katrina should collect the pills the next morning at the surgery.
