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‘That would do very well, thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you going out immediately? If you are, then I’ll wait and unpack later.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Half an hour or so, but I need to change first.’
‘If I can have ten minutes?’
‘Of course.’
She unpacked the overnight bag, put everything ready in the boys’ bathroom and whisked herself back downstairs with a minute to spare. The doctor bade the boys goodnight, nodded to her and went away. She was in the boy’s room, which overlooked the street, when she heard him in the hall and went to look out of the window. He was getting into his car, wearing black tie, looking remarkably handsome.
‘I wonder when he gets any work done,’ reflected Araminta. ‘Talk about a social whirl.’ She knew that wasn’t fair, he worked long hours and he was good at it, but it relieved her feelings. She hoped lovingly that he wouldn’t stay out too late; he needed his sleep like anyone else…
She sighed; she had managed all day not to think too much about him and it had been made easier by his distant manner towards her, but loving him was something she couldn’t alter, even though it was hopeless. No one died of a broken heart; they went on living like everyone else and made a success of their lives. Something which she was going to do. But first she must learn to forget him, once she had left his house. Until then, surely it wouldn’t do any harm if she thought about him occasionally?
The boys came tumbling in then, and she allowed stern common sense to take over.
Life in London would be very different from that of Utrecht. For one thing there would be no school in the mornings.
Their parents would be returning in a few days now, and the boys were excited and full of high spirits; she filled the mornings with simple lessons and the afternoons with brisk walks, returning in time for tea and games before bedtime. The doctor was seldom at home; as Briskett put it, ‘Up early and home late. No time for anything but his work. Good thing he’s got a bit of social life of an evening. You know what they say, miss, “All work and no play”…’
But the doctor still found time to spend an hour with the boys each evening, although it was very evident that he had no time for Araminta. His brief good mornings and good evenings were the extent of his conversations with her. And what else did she expect? she asked herself.
They had been back in England for three days before he told her that the boys’ parents would be arriving in two days time.
‘Perhaps you would be good enough to remain for a day or so after their return; my sister is bound to wish to talk to you, and their clothes and so on will need to be packed up. She will be glad of your help.’
Three days, thought Araminta, four at the outside, and after that I shan’t see him again. ‘Of course I’ll stay on, if Mrs Ingram wishes me to,’ she told him.
She was surprised when he asked, ‘You will go home? Your people expect you?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t add that they would probably still be away. Her cousin would be there, of course, and she supposed she would stay there until she heard from the hospital. Which reminded her to add, ‘You told me that there was a chance that I might be accepted at the hospital…’
‘Ah, yes. It slipped my memory. There is indeed a vacancy; one of the students has left owing to illness. If you can start within a few days and are prepared to work hard in order to catch up with the other students you will be accepted.’
She should have been elated. He had made everything easy for her; she could embark on her plans for a nursing career. And it had been so unimportant to him that he had forgotten to tell her.
‘That is what you wanted?’ He had spoken so sharply that she hurried to say that, yes, there was nothing she wished for more.
‘I’m very grateful,’ she added. ‘Is there anything that I should do about it?’
‘No, no. You will receive a letter within the next day or two. And you have no need to be grateful. You have been of great help while the boys have been with me. They will miss you.’
The doctor spoke with an austere civility which chilled her, but he was aware as he said it that he would miss her too: her small cheerful person around the house, her quiet voice which could on occasion become quite sharp with annoyance. He had a sudden memory of her weeping into his shoulder and found himself thinking of it with tenderness…
He chided himself silently for being a sentimental fool. Miss Pomfrey had fulfilled a much needed want for a few weeks, and he was grateful for that, but once she had gone he would forget her.
Mr and Mrs Ingram duly arrived, late in the afternoon. It was a chilly October day, with a drizzling rain, and Araminta had been hard pushed to keep the boys happy indoors. But at last they shouted to Araminta from their perch by the front windows that their uncle’s car had just arrived with their mother and father.
‘Then off you go downstairs, my dears. Go carefully.’
She went to the window when they had gone, in time to see Mr and Mrs Ingram enter the house, followed at a more leisurely pace by the doctor. They would all have tea, she supposed, and sat down quietly to wait until Briskett brought her own tea tray. She had sought him out that morning and he had agreed with her that it might be a good idea if she were to have her tea in her room.
‘The boys will be so excited, and they will all have so much to talk about that I won’t be needed,’ she had pointed out.
He came presently with the news that there was a fine lot of talk going on downstairs and she hadn’t been missed.
‘They’ll send for you presently, miss, when they’re over the first excitement,’ he assured her. ‘The boss’ll want you there to give a report, as it were.’ He gave her a friendly nod. ‘Sets great store on you, he does.’
She drank her tea and nibbled at a cake, her usually splendid appetite quite gone. She would start packing this evening, once the boys were in bed, so that when she had done all she could do to help Mrs Ingram, she would be able to leave at once.
She was pouring another cup of tea when the door opened and the doctor came in.
‘I didn’t hear you knock,’ said Araminta in her best Miss Pomfrey voice.
‘My apologies. Why did you not come downstairs to tea?’
‘It’s a family occasion.’
He leaned forward and took a cake and ate it—one of Briskett’s light-as-air fairy cakes—and the simple act turned him from a large, self-assured man into a small boy.
Araminta swallowed the surge of love which engulfed her. However would she be able to live without him?
The doctor finished his cake without haste. ‘You have finished your tea? Then shall we go downstairs?’
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