Книга - Marrying a Doctor: The Doctor’s Girl — new / A Special Kind Of Woman

Marrying a Doctor: The Doctor's Girl - new / A Special Kind Of Woman
Betty Neels

Caroline Anderson


The Doctor's Girl by BETTY NEELSLoveday West was thrilled when Dr. Andrew Fforde offered her a job as his temporary receptionist. She hadn't expected to fall in love with him–but he was just so handsome and charming! But was her place in his life as temporary as her contract?A Special Kind of Woman by CAROLINE ANDERSONWhen single mother Cait Cooper sees her daughter off to medical school, she feels now's the time to do all the things she's yearned to do. Enter Dr. Owen Douglas, who sets about giving Cait more fun than she's ever had…until their affair puts her right back where she started and Cait doesn't know which way to turn!







International bestselling author

Betty Neels

&

Rising star of Harlequin Romance®

Caroline Anderson

bring you…

Two fabulously tender and deeply emotional stories that will whisk you into a heartwarming, magical world.


Betty Neels spent her childhood and youth in Devonshire, England, before training as a nurse and midwife. She was an army nursing sister during the war, married a Dutchman and subsequently lived in Holland for fourteen years. She lives with her husband in Dorset, and has a daughter and grandson. Her interests are reading, animals, old buildings and writing. Betty started to write on retirement from nursing, incited by a lady in a library bemoaning the lack of romantic novels. Betty Neels has sold over 35 million copies of her books worldwide.

ALWAYS AND FOREVER by Betty Neels

Harlequin Romance® #3675

Caroline Anderson has the mind of a butterfly. She’s been a nurse, a secretary, a teacher, run her own soft-furnishing business and now she’s settled on writing. She says, “I was looking for that elusive something. I finally realized it was variety, and now I have it in abundance. Every book brings new horizons and new friends, and in between books I have learned to be a juggler. My teacher-husband, John, and I have two beautiful daughters, Sarah and Hannah, umpteen pets and several acres of Suffolk, England, that nature tries to reclaim every time we turn our backs!” Caroline also writes for the Medical Romance™ series.

THE IMPETUOUS BRIDE by Caroline Anderson

Harlequin Romance® #3676


Marrying a Doctor

The Doctor’s Girl

Betty Neels

A Special Kind of Woman

Caroline Anderson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


The Doctor’s Girl (#u3baf0703-bb6b-5537-81f0-56a6e1375095)

DEDICATION (#u3060f4fc-9717-570c-b4fe-76d944959775)

LETTER TO READER (#ud8fb7561-f9c8-5f31-8f78-b7a7b518b169)

CHAPTER ONE (#ufbec49d8-20b3-5237-8ad8-2969723c0b00)

CHAPTER TWO (#u8af3dcd0-7dad-54ba-b2bb-6725364db9fb)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

A Special Kind of Woman (#litres_trial_promo)

LETTER TO READER (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)


The Doctor’s Girl

Betty Neels


For Elizabeth, my friend and guiding star over the years.


Dear Reader,

The last time I wrote to you it was Christmastime. Now, when I look out of my study window, our tiny garden is a wealth of green and color with lavender bushes, miniature rose bushes, tobacco plants, poppies and petunias, all growing higgledy-piggledy with buttercups and speedwell sprawling over any space that’s left. Untidy, undisciplined, but exactly right for our very small cottage. And indoors it is just as cluttered. Bits and pieces we have brought back when we traveled, presents from friends and family, photos of cats and dogs we have loved, things we cherish for their memories. And that goes for friends, too: times change but some things never will—old friends, old clothes, favorite books…and writing a letter to people you don’t know, but who are, all the same, friends. God bless you.









CHAPTER ONE


MISS MIMI CATTELL gave a low, dramatic moan followed by a few sobbing breaths, but when these had no effect upon the girl standing by the bed she sat up against her pillows, threw one of them at her and screeched, ‘Well, don’t just stand there, you little fool, phone Dr Gregg this instant. He must come and see me at once. I’m ill; I’ve hardly slept all night…’ She paused to sneeze.

The girl by the bed, a small mousy person, very neat and with a rather plain face enlivened by a pair of vivid green eyes, picked up the pillow.

‘Should you first of all try a hot lemon drink and some aspirin?’ she suggested in a sensible voice. ‘A cold in the head always makes one feel poorly. A day in bed, perhaps?’

The young woman in the bed had flung herself back onto her pillows again. ‘Just do as I say for once. I don’t pay you to make stupid suggestions. Get out and phone Dr Gregg; he’s to come at once.’ She moaned again. ‘How can I possibly go to the Sinclairs’ party this evening…?’

Dr Gregg’s receptionist laughed down the phone. ‘He’s got three more private patients to see and then a clinic at the hospital, and it isn’t Dr Gregg—he’s gone off for a week’s golf—it’s his partner. I’ll give him the message and you’d better say he’ll come as soon as he can. She’s not really ill, is she?’

‘I don’t think so. A nasty head cold…’

The receptionist laughed. ‘I don’t know why you stay with her.’

Loveday put down the phone. She wondered that too, quite often, but it was a case of beggars not being choosers, wasn’t it? She had to have a roof over her head, she had to eat and she had to earn money so that she could save for a problematical future. And that meant another year or two working as Mimi Cattell’s secretary—a misleading title if ever there was one, for she almost never sent letters, even when Loveday wrote them for her.

That didn’t mean that Loveday had nothing to do. Her days were kept nicely busy—the care of Mimi’s clothes took up a great deal of time, for what was the point of having a personal maid when Loveday had nothing else to do? Nothing except being at her beck and call each and every day, and if she came home later from a party at night as well.

Loveday, with only an elderly aunt living in a Dartmoor village whom she had never met, made the best of it. She was twenty-four, heartwhole and healthy, and perhaps one day a man would come along and sweep her off her feet. Common sense told her that this was unlikely to be the case, but a girl had to have her dreams…

She went back to the bedroom and found Mimi threshing about in her outsize bed, shouting at the unfortunate housemaid who had brought her breakfast tray.

Loveday prudently took the tray from the girl, who looked as if she was on the point of dropping it, nodded to her to slip away and said bracingly, ‘The doctor will come as soon as he can. He has one or two patients to see first.’ She made no mention of the clinic. ‘If I fetch you a pot of China tea—weak with lemon—it may help you to feel well enough to have a bath and put on a fresh nightie before he comes.’

Mimi brightened. Her life was spent in making herself attractive to men, and perhaps she would feel strong enough to do her face. She said rudely, ‘Get the tea, then, and make sure that the lemon’s cut wafer-thin…’

Loveday went down to the basement, where Mrs Branch and the housemaid lived their lives. She took the tray with her and, being a practical girl, ate the fingers of toast on it and accepted the mug of tea Mrs Branch offered her. She should have had her breakfast with Mrs Branch and Ellie, but there wasn’t much hope of getting it now. Getting Miss Cattell ready for the doctor would take quite a time. She ate the rest of the toast, sliced the lemon and bore a tray, daintily arranged, back upstairs.

Mimi Cattell, a spoilt beauty of society, prepared for the doctor’s visit with the same care she took when getting ready for an evening party. ‘And you can make the bed while I’m bathing—put some fresh pillowcases on, and don’t dawdle…’

It was almost lunchtime by the time she was once more in her bed, carefully made up, wearing a gossamer nightgown, the fairytale effect rather marred by her sniffs. To blow her nose would make it red.

To Loveday’s enquiry as to what she would like for lunch she said ill-temperedly that she had no appetite; she would eat something after he had visited her. ‘And you’d better wait too; I want you here when he’s examining me.’

‘I’ll fetch a jug of lemonade,’ said Loveday, and sped down to the kitchen.

While Ellie obligingly squeezed lemons, she gobbled down soup and a roll; she was going to need all her patience, and the lowering feeling that the doctor might not come for hours was depressing.

She bore the lemonade back upstairs and presently took it down again; it wasn’t sweet enough! She was kept occupied after that—opening the heavy curtains a little, then closing them again, longing to open a window and let a little London air into the room when Mimi sprayed herself once more with Chanel No 5. By now Mimi’s temper, never long off the boil, was showing signs of erupting. ‘He has no right to leave me in such distress,’ she fumed. ‘I need immediate attention. By the time he gets here I shall have probably got pneumonia. Find my smelling salts and give me the mirror from the dressing table.’

It was getting on for two o’clock when Loveday suggested that a little light lunch might make her employer feel better.

‘Rubbish,’ snarled Mimi. ‘I won’t eat a thing until he’s examined me. I suppose you want a meal—well, you’ll just have to wait.’ Her high-pitched voice rose to a screech. ‘I don’t pay you to sit around and stuff yourself at my expense, you greedy little…’

The door opened by Ellie, and after one look the screech became a soft, patient voice. ‘Doctor—at last…’

Mimi put up a hand to rearrange the cunning little curl over one ear to better advantage. ‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ she purred. To Loveday, she said, ‘Pull the curtains and get a chair for the doctor, and then go and stand by the window.’ The commands were uttered in a very different voice.

The doctor opened the curtains before Loveday could get to them and pulled up a chair. ‘I must introduce myself, Miss Cattell. I am Dr Gregg’s partner and for the moment looking after his patients while he is away.’

Mimi said in a wispy voice, ‘I thought you would never come. I am rather delicate, you know, and my health often gives cause for concern. My chest…’

She pushed back the bedspread and put a hand on her heart. It was annoying that he had turned away.

‘Could we have the window open?’ he asked Loveday.

A man after her own heart, thought Loveday, opening both windows despite Mimi’s distressed cry. She would suffer for it later, but now a few lungfuls of London air would be heaven.

From where she stood she had a splendid view of the doctor. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and fair hair flecked with grey. He was good-looking too, with a rather thin mouth and a splendid nose upon which were perched a pair of spectacles. A pity she couldn’t see the colour of his eyes…

Miss Cattell’s voice, sharp with impatience, brought her to the bedside. ‘Are you deaf?’ A remark hastily covered by a fit of sneezing, necessitating the use of a handkerchief and nose-blowing.

The doctor waited patiently until Mimi had resumed her look of patient suffering. He said mildly, ‘If you will sit up, I’ll listen to your chest.’

He had a deep voice, pleasantly impersonal, and he appeared quite unimpressed by Mimi’s charms, ignoring her fluttering breaths and sighs, staring at the wall behind the bed while he used his stethoscope.

‘Clear as a bell,’ he told her. ‘A head cold. I suggest aspirin, hot drinks and some brisk walks in the fresh air—you are quite near Hyde Park, are you not? Eat whatever you fancy and don’t drink any alcohol.’

Mimi stared up at him. ‘But I’m not well—I’m delicate; I might catch a chill…’

‘You have a head cold,’ he told her gravely, and Loveday had to admire his bedside manner. ‘But you are a healthy woman with a sound pair of lungs. You will be perfectly fit in a couple of days—less, if you do as I suggest.’

Mimi said rudely, ‘I’ll decide that for myself. When will Dr Gregg be back? I don’t know your name…?’

‘Andrew Fforde.’ He held out a large hand. ‘I’m sure you will let me know if you don’t make a full recovery.’

Mimi didn’t answer. Loveday went to the door with him and said gravely, ‘Thank you for coming, Doctor.’ She went downstairs with him, along the hall and opened the front door. As he offered a hand and bade her a grave good afternoon she was able to see that his eyes were blue.

A sensible girl, she went first down to the kitchen, where Mrs Branch and Ellie were sitting over a pot of strong tea.

‘I’ve saved you a bite of lunch,’ said Mrs Branch, and pushed a mug of tea across the table. ‘That weren’t Dr Gregg. Ellie says ’e looked a bit of all right?’

‘Dr Gregg’s partner, and he was nice. Miss Cattell has a head cold.’ Mrs Branch handed Loveday a cheese sandwich. ‘You’ll need that. Well, will she be going out this evening?’

‘I should think so,’ said Loveday in a cheese-thickened voice.

Miss Cattell was in a splendid rage; the doctor was a fool and she would speak to Dr Gregg about him the moment he was back. ‘The man must be struck off,’ declared Mimi. ‘Does he realise that I am a private patient? And you standing there with the windows wide open, not caring if I live or die.’

Mimi tossed a few pillows around. ‘Where have you been? You can get me a gin and tonic…’

‘Doctor said no alcohol.’

‘You’ll do as I say! Make it a large one, and tell Cook to make me an omelette and a salad. I want it now. I shall rest and you can get everything ready for this evening.’

‘You are going to the party, Miss Cattell?’

‘Of course I am. I don’t intend to disappoint my friends. I dare say I’ll be home early. I’ll ring for you if I am.’

Another half an hour went by while Mimi was rearranged in her bed, offered her omelette and given a second gin and tonic. She finally settled, the windows shut and curtains drawn, for a nap. Loveday, free at last, went to her room on the floor above, kicked off her shoes and got onto the bed. Some days were worse than others…

Miss Cattell was still asleep and snoring when Loveday crept into her room an hour later. In the kitchen once again, for yet another cup of tea, she thankfully accepted Mrs Branch’s offer of a casserole kept hot in the oven for her supper. Mimi wouldn’t leave the house before half past eight or nine o’clock, and there would be no chance to sit down to her supper before then.

Later, offering more China tea and wafer-thin bread and butter, Loveday was ordered to display a selection of the dresses Miss Cattell intended to wear. She meant to outshine everyone there and, her cold forgotten, she spent a long time deciding. After the lengthy ritual of bathing, making up her face and doing her hair, and finally being zipped into a flimsy dress which Loveday considered quite indecent, she changed her mind. The flimsy dress was thrown in a heap onto the floor and a striking scarlet outfit was decided upon, which meant that shoes and handbag had to be changed too—and while Loveday was doing that Ellie was ordered to bring another gin and tonic.

Loveday, escorting Mimi to a taxi, had the nasty feeling that the night was going to prove worse than the day had been. She was right; she was wakened at two in the morning by the noisy return of Miss Cattell and several of her friends, who thankfully didn’t stay, but that meant she had to go downstairs and help Mimi up to her room.

This was no easy task; Mimi was too drunk to help herself, so that hoisting her upstairs and into her room was a herculean task. Loveday was strong even though she was small, but by the time she had rolled the lady onto her bed she decided that enough was enough. She removed Mimi’s shoes, covered her with a light blanket and went back to her own bed.

In a few hours she had to get up again and face Miss Cattell’s rage at discovering herself still clad in scarlet crêpe, lying untidily under a blanket. Even worse than that, her dress was torn and stained; Loveday had never heard such language…

When Miss Cattell was once more bathed, her make-up removed, and attired in a satin and lace confection, she declared that she would remain in bed for the rest of the day. ‘My cold is still very heavy.’ She snorted. ‘Cold indeed. That man had no idea of what he was talking about.’

Loveday allowed her thoughts to dwell upon him, and not for the first time. She had liked him. If she were ever ill she would like him to look after her. She frowned. In different surroundings, of course, and in a nightie like Miss Cattell wore. She dismissed the thought as absurd, but as the day wore on it was somehow restful to think about him while Mimi’s cross voice went on and on.

On her half-day off, she went to the public library and searched the papers and magazines, looking for jobs. ‘Computer skills…knowledge of a foreign language useful…anyone under the age of twenty-five need not apply…kitchen hands willing to work late nights…’ A splendid selection, but none of them would do. And they all ended with references required. She didn’t think that Miss Cattell would give her a reference, not one which would secure her a job.

As it turned out she was quite right.

It was Mrs Branch who told her that Miss Cattell had quarrelled with the man she had decided she would marry, which was possibly an excuse for her to be even more bad-tempered than usual, and solace herself by filling the house with her friends, going on a shopping spree and staying up until all hours.

It was on the morning after one of Mimi’s parties that a bouquet of roses was delivered. They must be arranged at once, she ordered, and there was a particularly lovely vase into which they must go.

Loveday arranged them carefully under her employer’s eye and bore them from room to room while Mimi decided where they should go. It was unfortunate that, getting impatient, she turned sharply and knocked the vase and flowers out of Loveday’s hands.

‘My vase,’ she screamed. ‘It was worth hundreds of pounds. You careless fool; you’ll pay for this…’ She gave Loveday a whack over one eye. ‘You’re fired. Get out now before I send for the police!’

‘If anyone sends for the police it will be myself,’ said Loveday. ‘It was your fault that I dropped the vase and you hit me. I shall leave at once and you can do what you like.’ She added, ‘I’m very glad to be going.’

Miss Cattell went an ugly red. ‘You’ll not get a reference from me.’

‘I don’t expect one. Just a week’s wages in lieu of notice.’

Loveday left Mimi standing there and went to her room and packed her few things tidily before going down to the kitchen.

‘I’m leaving,’ she told Mrs Branch. ‘I shall miss you and Ellie; you’ve both been very kind to me.’

‘You’re going to have a black eye,’ said Mrs Branch. ‘Sit down for a second and drink a cup of tea. Where will you go?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Well, if it’s any help, I’ve a sister who lives near Victoria Park—Spring Blossom Road—she has rooms. Wait a tick while I write ’er a line. She’ll put you up while you sort yerself out.’

Ellie hadn’t said a word, but she cut ham sandwiches and wrapped them neatly and gave them to Loveday. It was a kind gesture which almost melted Loveday’s icy calm.

She left the house shortly afterwards; she had her week’s wages as well as what was owed her in her purse, but she tried not to think of the things Mimi had said to her. It would have been a pleasure to have torn up the money and thrown it at her, but she was going to need every penny of it.

Mrs Branch’s sister, Mrs Slade, lived a far cry from Miss Cattell’s fashionable house. Loveday, with Mrs Branch’s directions written on the back of an envelope, made her way there, lugging her case and shoulder bag. It was a long journey, but there was a lull in the traffic before the lunch hour and the bus queues were short.

Spring Blossom Road couldn’t have seen a spring blossom for many years; it was a short, dingy street with small brick houses on either side of it. But it was tolerably quiet and most of the windows had cheerful curtains. It was a relief to find that Mrs Slade had the same kind, cheerful face as her sister. She read Mrs Branch’s note and bade Loveday go in.

‘’Appens I’ve got the basement vacant,’ she told Loveday. ‘It’s a bit dark, but it’s clean.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Not what you’ve been used to, from what I’ve ’eard. Take it for a week while you find yourself a job. It’ll be rent in advance but I’ll not overcharge you.’

Then she led the way to the back of the house, told Loveday to sit down at the kitchen table and offered tea.

‘That’s a nasty eye you’ve got there—Miss Cattell had one of her tantrums? My sister only stays until Ellie gets married. I don’t ’old with these idle folk with nothing better to do than get nasty.’

The tea was hot and strong and sweet and Loveday felt better. This was something which had been bound to happen sooner or later; she should count herself lucky that Mrs Branch had been so kind and helpful and that she had two weeks’ wages in her bag.

She went with Mrs Slade to inspect the basement presently. It was a small room below street level, so that the only view was of feet passing the window. But there was a divan bed, a table, two chairs and a shabby armchair by a small electric fire. There was a sink in one corner, and a small door which led to the neglected strip of back garden. ‘Outside lav. Nice and handy for you,’ explained Mrs Slade. ‘’Ere’s a key, and you’d better pop down to the corner and get yourself some food. There is a gas ring by the sink so you can cook if you want to.’

So Loveday went to the small shops at the end of the road and bought eggs, butter, tea and a bottle of milk. She still had the ham sandwiches, which would do very nicely for her supper…

She was a sensible girl, and now that her boats were burnt behind her she was cheerfully optimistic. Loveday ate her sandwiches, drank more tea and contrived to wash at the sink before venturing cautiously into the back garden to find the loo. And then, tired by such an eventful day, she got onto the divan and went to sleep. Her eye was painful but there was no mirror for her to inspect it, only her tiny powder compact which was quite inadequate.

It was raining in the morning and there was the first chill of autumn in the air. Loveday boiled an egg, counted her money and sat down to plan her day. She couldn’t remember her mother and father, who had both died in a rail crash while she was still a toddler, but the stern aunt who had brought her up had instilled in her a number of useful adages. ‘Strike while the iron is hot’ was one of them, and Loveday intended to do just that.

She would visit the nearest job centre, the public library, and make a round of the adverts in the small shop windows. That would be a start. But before she did, she allowed her thoughts to wander a little. Miss Cattell would certainly insist on Dr Gregg visiting her, and if she did that she would be able to complain about Dr Fforde. She hoped she would not; they hadn’t exchanged two words and yet she had the firm feeling that she knew him well.

Her eye was painful and almost closed, and, had she but known it, was the reason why the job centre lady wasn’t very helpful. She had to admit that it looked rather awful when she caught sight of it in a passing shop window. Tomorrow, if it wasn’t better, she would go to the nearest hospital and get something for it. Next she applied for a job as a waitress in a large, noisy café and was told to stop wasting time by the proprietor.

‘Oo’s going to order from a girl with an eye like that? Been in a fight, ’ave yer?’

The next morning she caught a bus to the hospital, a mile away. It was a vast Victorian building, its Casualty already overflowing. Since Loveday’s eye wasn’t an urgent case, she was told to sit on one of the crowded benches and wait.

The benches didn’t seem any less crowded; rather the opposite. At midday she got a cup of coffee and a roll from the canteen and then settled down to wait again. She was still waiting when Fforde, on his way to take a clinic in outpatients, took a short cut there through Casualty. He was late and he hardly noticed the sea of faces looking hopefully at him. He was almost by the end doors when he caught sight of Loveday, or rather he caught sight of the black eye, now a rainbow of colours and swollen shut.

It was the mouse-like girl who had been with that abominable Miss Cattell. Why was she here in the East end of London with an eye like that? He had felt an instant and quite unexpected liking for her when he had seen her, and now he realised that he was glad to have found her again, even if the circumstances were peculiar. He must find out about her…He was through the doors by now and encircled by his clerk, his houseman and Sister, already touchy because he was late.

Of course by the time he had finished his clinic the Casualty benches were almost empty and there was no sign of her. Impelled by some feeling he didn’t examine, he went to Casualty and asked to see the cases for the day. ‘A young lady with a black eye,’ he told the receptionist. ‘Have you her address? She is concerned with one of my patients.’

The receptionist was helpful; she liked him, for he was polite and friendly and good-looking. ‘Miss Loveday West, unemployed, gave an address in Spring Blossom Road. That’s turn left from here and half a mile down the road. Had her eye treated; no need to return.’

He thanked her nicely, then got into his car and drove back to his consulting room. He had two patients to see and he was already late…

There was no reason why he should feel this urge to see her again; he had smiled briefly, they had exchanged goodbyes on the doorstep and that was all. But if the opportunity should occur…

Which it did, and far more rapidly than he anticipated.

Waiting for him when he reached his rooms on the following morning was Miss Priss, his receptionist-secretary. She was a thin lady of middle years, with a wispy voice and a tendency to crack her knuckles when agitated, but nevertheless she was his mainstay and prop. Even in her agitation she remembered to wish him a good morning before explaining that she had had bad news; she needed to go home at once—her mother had been taken ill and there was no one else…

Dr Fforde waited until she had drawn breath. ‘Of course you must go at once. Take a taxi and stay as long as you wish to. Dr Gregg will be back today, and I’m not busy. We shall manage very well. Have you sufficient money? Is there anyone you wish to telephone?’

‘Yes, thank you, and there is nobody to phone.’

‘Then get a taxi and I’ll ask Mrs Betts to bring you a cup of tea.’

Mrs Betts, who kept the various consulting rooms clean, was like a sparrow, small and perky and pleased to take a small part in any dramatic event.

Miss Priss, fortified by what Mrs Betts called her ‘special brew’, was seen on her way, and then Dr Fforde sat down at his desk and phoned the first agency in the phone book. Someone would come, but not until the afternoon. It was fortunate that Mr Jackson, in the rooms above him, was away for the day and his secretary agreed to take Miss Priss’s place for the morning…

The girl from the agency was young, pretty and inefficient. By the end of the next day Dr Fforde, a man with a well-controlled temper, was having difficulty in holding it in check. He let himself into his small mews house, tucked away behind a terrace of grand Georgian mansions, and went from the narrow hall into the kitchen, where his housekeeper, Mrs Duckett, was standing at the table making pastry.

She took a look at his tired face. ‘A nice cuppa is what you’re needing, sir. Just you go along to your study and I’ll bring it in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Have you had a busy day?’

He told her about Miss Priss. ‘Then you’ll have to find someone as good as her to take her pace,’ said Mrs Duckett.

He went to his study, lifted Mrs Duckett’s elderly cat off his chair and sat down with her on his knee. He had letters to write, a mass of paperwork, patients’ notes to read, and the outline of a lecture he was to give during the following week to prepare. He loved his work, and with Miss Priss to see to his consulting room and remind him of his daily appointments he enjoyed it. But not, he thought savagely, if he had to endure her replacement—the thought of another day of her silly giggle and lack of common sense wouldn’t bear contemplating.

Something had to be done, and even while he thought that he knew the answer.

Loveday had gone back from the hospital knowing that it wasn’t much use looking for work until her eye looked more normal. It would take a few days, the casualty officer had told her, but her eye hadn’t been damaged. She should bathe it frequently and come back if it didn’t improve within a day or so.

So she had gone back to the basement room with a tin of beans for lunch and the local paper someone had left on the bench beside her. It was a bit late for lunch, so she’d had an early tea with the beans and gone to bed.

A persistent faint mewing had woken her during the small hours, and when she’d opened the door into the garden a very small, thin cat had slunk in, to crouch in a corner. Loveday had shut the door, offered milk, and watched the small creature gulp it down, so she’d crumbled bread into more milk and watched that disappear too. It was a miserable specimen of a cat, with bedraggled fur and bones and it had been terrified. She’d got back into bed, and presently the little beast had crept onto the old quilt and gone to sleep.

‘So now I’ve got a cat,’ Loveday had said, and went off to sleep too.

This morning her eye was better. It was still hideously discoloured but at least she could open it a little. She dressed while she talked soothingly to the cat and presently, leaving it once more crouching there in the corner, she went to ask Mrs Slade if she knew if it belonged to anybody.

‘Bless you, no, my dear. People who had it went away and left it behind.’

‘Then would you mind very much if I had it? When I find work and perhaps have to leave here, I could take it with me.’

‘And why not? No one else will be bothered with the little creature. Yer eye is better.’

‘I went to the hospital. They said it would be fine in another day or two.’

Mrs Slade looked her up and down. ‘Got enough to eat?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Loveday. ‘I’m just going to the shops now.’

She bought milk and bread and more beans, and a tin of rice pudding because the cat so obviously needed nourishing, plus cat food and a bag of apples going cheap. Several people stopped to say what a nasty eye she had.

She and the cat had bread and butter and milk pudding for lunch, and the cat perked up enough to make feeble attempts to wash while Loveday counted her money and did sums. The pair of them got into the chair presently and dozed until it was time to boil the kettle and make tea while the cat had the last of the rice pudding.

It was bordering on twilight when there was a thump on the door. The cat got under the divan and after a moment there was another urgent thump on the door. Loveday went to open it.

‘Hello,’ said Dr Fforde. ‘May I come in?’

He didn’t wait for her to close her astonished mouth but came in and shut the door. He said pleasantly, ‘That’s a nasty eye.’

There was no point in pretending she didn’t know who he was. Full of pleasure at the sight of him, and imbued with the feeling that it was perfectly natural for him to come and see her, she smiled widely.

‘How did you know where I was?’

‘I saw you at the hospital. I’ve come to ask a favour of you.’

‘Me? A favour?’ She glanced round her. ‘But I’m hardly in a position to grant a favour.’

‘May we sit down?’ And when she was in the armchair he sat carefully on the old kitchen chair opposite. ‘But first, may I ask why you are here? You were with Miss Cattell, were you not?’

‘Well, yes, but I dropped a vase, a very expensive one…’

‘So she slapped you and sent you packing?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why are you here?’

‘Mrs Branch, she is Miss Cattell’s cook, sent me here because Mrs Slade who owns it is her sister and I had nowhere to go.’

The doctor took off his specs, polished them, and put them back on. He observed pleasantly, ‘There’s a cat under the bed.’

‘Yes, I know. He’s starving. I’m going to look after him.’

The doctor sighed silently. Not only was he about to take on a mousy girl with a black eye but a stray cat too. He must be mad!

‘The favour I wish to ask of you: my receptionist at my consulting rooms has had to return home at a moment’s notice; would you consider taking her place until she returns? It isn’t a difficult job—opening the post, answering the phone, dealing with patients. The hours are sometimes odd, but it is largely a matter of common sense.’

Loveday sat and looked at him. Finally, since he was sitting there calmly waiting for her to speak, she said, ‘I can type and do shorthand, but I don’t understand computers. I don’t think it would do because of my eye—and I can’t leave the cat.’

‘I don’t want you to bother with computers, but typing would be a bonus, and you have a nice quiet voice and an unobtrusive manner—both things which patients expect and do appreciate. As for the cat, I see no reason why you shouldn’t keep it.’

‘Isn’t it a long way from here to where you work? I do wonder why you have come here. I mean, there must be any number of suitable receptionists from all those agencies.’

‘Since Miss Priss went two days ago I have endured the services of a charming young lady who calls my patients “dear” and burst into tears because she broke her nail on the typewriter. She is also distractingly pretty, which is hardly an asset for a job such as I’m offering you. I do not wish to be distracted, and my patients have other things on their minds besides pretty faces.’

Which meant, when all was said and done, that Loveday had the kind of face no one would look at twice. Background material, that’s me, thought Loveday.

‘And where will I live?’

‘There is a very small flat on the top floor of the house where I have my rooms. There are two other medical men there, and of course the place is empty at night. You could live there—and the cat, if you wish.’

‘You really mean that?’

All at once he looked forbidding. ‘I endeavour to say what I mean, Miss West.’

She made haste to apologise. ‘What I really mean is that you don’t know anything about me and I don’t know anything about you. We’re strangers, aren’t we? And yet here you are, offering me a job,’ she added hastily, in case he had second thoughts. ‘It sounds too good to be true.’

‘Nevertheless, it is a genuine offer of work—and do not forget that only the urgency of my need for adequate help has prompted me to offer you the job. You are at liberty to leave if you should wish to do so, providing you give me adequate time to find a replacement. If Miss Priss should return she would, of course, resume her work; that is a risk for you.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘We are both taking a risk, but it is to our advantage that we should help each other.’

Such terms of practicability and common sense made the vague doubts at the back of Loveday’s head melt away. She had had no future, and now all at once security—even if temporary—was being handed her on a plate.

‘All right,’ said Loveday. ‘I’ll come.’

‘Thank you. Could you be ready if I fetch you at half past eight tomorrow morning? My first patient is at eleven-thirty, which will give you time to find your way around.’

He stood up and held out a hand. ‘I think we shall deal well with each other, Miss West.’

She put her hand in his and felt the reassuring firmness of it.

‘I’ll be ready—and the cat. You haven’t forgotten the cat?”

‘No, I haven’t forgotten.’




CHAPTER TWO


LOVEDAY went to see Mrs Slade then, and in answer to that lady’s doubtful reception of her news assured her that Dr Fforde was no stranger.

‘Well, yer a sensible girl, but if you need an ’elping ’and yer know where to come.’

Loveday thanked her. ‘I’ll write to you,’ she said, ‘and I’ll write to Mrs Branch too. I think it’s a job I can manage, and it will be nice to have somewhere to live where I can have the cat.’

She said goodbye and went back to the basement, and, since a celebration was called for, she gave the cat half the cat meat and boiled two eggs.

In the morning she was a bit worried that the cat might try and escape, but the little beast was still too weak and weary to do more than cling to her when the doctor arrived. His good morning was businesslike as he popped her into the car, put her case into the boot and got in and drove away.

He was still glad to see her, but he had a busy day ahead of him and a day was only so long…

Loveday, sensing that, made no effort to talk, but sat clutching the cat, savouring the delight of being driven in a Bentley motor car.

His rooms were in a house in a quiet street, one in a terrace of similar houses. He ushered her into the narrow hall with its lofty ceiling and up the handsome staircase at its end. There were several doors on the landing, and as they started up the next flight he nodded to the end one.

‘I’m in the end room. We’ll go to your place first.’

They went up another flight of stairs past more doors and finally up a small staircase with a door at the top.

The doctor took a key from a pocket and opened it. It gave directly into a small room, its window opening onto the flat roof of the room below. There were two doors but he didn’t open them.

‘The porter will bring up your case. And I asked him to stock up your cupboard. I suggest you feed the cat and leave the window shut and then come down to my room. Ten minutes?’

He had gone, leaving her to revolve slowly, trying to take it all in. But not for long. Ten minutes didn’t give her much time. She opened one of the doors and found a small room with just space for a narrow bed, a table, a mirror and a chair. It had a small window and the curtains were pretty. Still with the cat tucked under her arm, she opened the other door. It was a minute kitchen, and between it and the bedroom was an even smaller shower room.

Loveday sucked in her breath like a happy child and went to the door to see who was there. It was the porter with her case.

‘Todd’s the name, miss. I’m here all day until seven o’clock, so do ask if you need anything. Dr Fforde said you’ve got a cat. I’ll bring up a tray and suchlike before I go. There’s enough in the cupboard to keep you going for a bit.’

She thanked him, settled the cat on the bed and offered it food, then tidied her hair, powdered her nose and went down to the first floor, the door key in her pocket. She should have been feeling nervous, but there hadn’t been time.

She knocked and walked in. This was the waiting room, she supposed, all restful greys and blues, and with one or two charming flower paintings on the walls. There was a desk in one corner with a filing cabinet beside it.

‘In here,’ said Dr Fforde, and she went through a half-open door to the room beyond where he sat at his desk. He got up as she went in.

He noticed with satisfaction that she looked very composed, as neat as a new pin, and the black eye was better, allowing for a glint of vivid green under the lid.

‘I’ll take you round and show you where everything is, and we will have coffee while I explain your work. There should be time after that for you to go around on your own, just to check things. As I told you, there are few skills required—only a smiling face for all the patients and the ability to cope with simple routine.’

He showed her the treatment room leading from his consulting room. ‘Nurse Paget comes about ten o’clock, unless I’ve a patient before then. She isn’t here every day, so she will explain her hours to you when you meet her. Now, this is the waiting room, which is our domain.’

Her duties were simple. Even at such short notice she thought that she would manage well enough, and there would be no one there in the afternoon so she would have time to go over her duties again. There would be three patients after five o’clock, he told her.

‘Now, your hours of work. You have an early-morning start—eight o’clock—an hour for lunch, between twelve and one, and tea when you have half an hour to spare during the afternoon. You’ll be free to leave at five o’clock, but I must warn you that frequently I have an evening patient and you would need to be here. You have half-day on Saturday and all Sunday free, but Miss Priss came in on Saturday mornings to get everything ready for Monday. Can you cope with that?’

‘Yes,’ said Loveday. ‘You will tell me if I don’t do everything as you like it?’

‘Yes. Now, salary…’ He mentioned a sum which made her blink the good eye.

‘Too much,’ said Loveday roundly. ‘I’m living rent-free, remember.’

She encountered an icy blue stare. ‘Allow me to make my own decisions, Miss West.’

She nodded meekly and said, ‘Yes, Doctor,’ but there was nothing meek about the sparkle in her eye. She would have liked to ask him to stop calling her Miss West with every breath, but since she was in his employ she supposed that she would have to answer to anything she felt he wished to call her.

That night, lying in her bed with the cat wrapped in one of her woolies curled up at her feet, Loveday, half asleep, went over the day. The two morning patients had been no problem; she had greeted them by name and ushered them in and out again, dealt with their appointments and filed away their notes and when the doctor, with a brief nod, had gone away, she had locked the door and come upstairs to her new home.

Todd had left everything necessary for the cat’s comfort outside the door. She had opened the window onto the flat roof, arranged everything to her satisfaction and watched the cat creep cautiously through the half-open window and then back again. She’d fed him then, and made herself a cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee from the stock of food neatly stacked away in the kitchen.

The afternoon she had spent prowling round the consulting rooms, checking and re-checking; for such a magnificent wage she intended to be perfect…

The doctor had returned shortly before the first of his late patients, refused the tea she had offered to make him, and when the last one had gone he’d gone too, observing quietly that she appeared to have settled in nicely and bidding her goodnight. She had felt hurt that he hadn’t said more than that, but had consoled herself with the thought that he led a busy life and although he had given her a job and a roof over her head that was no reason why he should concern himself further.

She had spent a blissful evening doing sums and making a list of all the things she would like to buy. It was a lengthy list…

Dr Fforde had taken himself off home. There was no doubt about it, Loveday had taken to her new job like a duck to water. His patients, accustomed to Miss Priss’s austere politeness, had been made aware of the reason for her absence, and had expressed polite concern and commented on the suitability of her substitute. She might not have Miss Priss’s presence but she had a pleasant manner and a quiet voice which didn’t encroach…

He’d had an urgent call from the hospital within ten minutes of his return to his home. His work had taken over then, and for the time being, at least, he had forgotten her.

Loveday slept soundly with the cat curled up on her feet, and woke with the pleasant feeling that she was going to enjoy her day. She left the cat to potter onto the roof, which it did, while she showered and dressed and got breakfast. She wondered who had had the thoughtfulness to get several tins of cat food as she watched the little beast scoff its meal.

‘You’re beginning to look like a cat,’ she told him, ‘and worthy of a name.’ When he paused to look at her, she added, ‘I shall call you Sam, and I must say that it is nice to have someone to talk to.’

She made him comfortable on the woolly, left the window open and went down to the consulting room.

It was still early, and there was no one about except the porter, who wished her a cheerful good morning. ‘Put your rubbish out on a Friday,’ he warned her. ‘And will you be wanting milk?’

‘Yes, please. Does the milkman call?’

‘He does. I’ll get him to leave an extra pint and I’ll put it outside your door.’

She thanked him and unlocked the waiting room door. For such a magnificent sum the doctor deserved the very best attention; she dusted and polished, saw to the flowers in their vases, arranged the post just so on his desk, got out the patients’ notes for the day and put everything ready to make coffee. That done, she went and sat by the open window and watched the quiet street below. When the Bentley whispered to a halt below she went and sat down behind her desk in the corner of the room.

The doctor, coming in presently, glanced at her as he wished her a brisk good morning and sighed with silent relief. She hadn’t been putting on a show yesterday; she really was composed and capable, sitting there sedately, ready to melt into the background until she was wanted.

He paused at his door. ‘Any problems? You are quite comfortable upstairs?’

‘Yes, thank you, and there are no problems. Would you like coffee? It’ll only take a minute.’

‘Please. Would you bring it in?’

Since she made no effort to attract attention to herself he forgot her, absorbed in his patients, but remembered as he left to visit those who were housebound or too ill to come and see him, to wish her good morning and advise her that he would be back during the afternoon.

Loveday, eating her lunchtime sandwich, leaning out of the window watching Sam stretched out in the autumn sunshine, told the cat about the morning’s work, the patients who had come, and the few bad moments she had had when she had mislaid some notes.

‘I found them, luckily,’ she explained to him. ‘I can’t afford to slip up, can I, Sam? I don’t wish Miss Priss to be too worried about her mother, but I do hope she won’t come back until I’ve saved some money and found a job where you’ll be welcome.’

Sam paused in his wash and brush-up and gave her a look. He was going to be a handsome cat, but he wasn’t young any more, so a settled life would suit him down to the ground. He conveyed his feelings with a look, and Loveday said, ‘Yes, I know, Sam. But I’ll not part with you, I promise.’

At the end of the week she found an envelope with her wages on her desk, and when she thanked the doctor he said, ‘I’ll be away for the weekend. You’ll be here in the morning? Take any phone calls, and for anything urgent you can reach me at the number on my desk. Set the answering-machine when you leave. I have a patient at half past nine on Monday morning.’ At the door he paused. ‘I hope you have a pleasant weekend.’

At noon on Saturday she locked the consulting rooms and went to her little flat. With Sam on her lap she made a shopping list, ate her lunch and, bidding him to be a good boy, set off to the nearest shops. The porter had told her that five minutes’ walk away there were shops which should supply her needs. ‘Nothing posh,’ he said. ‘Been there for years, they have, very handy, too.’

She soon found them, tucked away behind the rather grand houses: the butcher, the baker, the greengrocer, all inhabiting small and rather shabby shops, but selling everything she had on her list. There was a newsagent too, selling soft drinks, chocolates and sweets, and with a shelf of second-hand books going cheap.

Loveday went back to her flat and unpacked her carrier bags. She still wasn’t sure when she could get out during the day, and had prudently stocked up with enough food to last for several days. That done, she sat down to her tea and made another list—clothes, this time. They were a pipe dream at the moment, but there was no harm in considering what she would buy once she had saved up enough money to spend some of it.

It was very quiet in the house. Todd had locked up and gone home, and the place would be empty now until he came again around six o’clock on Monday morning. Loveday wasn’t nervous; indeed she welcomed the silence after Miss Cattell’s voice raised unendingly in demands and complaints. She washed her hair and went to bed early, with Sam for company.

She went walking on Sunday, to St James’s Park and then Hyde Park, stopping for coffee on the way. It was a chilly day but she was happy. To be free, with money in her purse and a home to go back to—what more could she ask of life? she reflected. Well, quite a bit, she conceded—a husband, children and a home…and to be loved.

‘A waste of time,’ said Loveday, with no one to hear her. ‘Who would want to marry me in the first place and how would I ever meet him?’

She walked on briskly. He would have to love her even though she wasn’t pretty, and preferably have enough money to have a nice home and like children. Never mind what he looked like…She paused. Yes, she did mind—he would need to be tall and reassuringly large, and she wouldn’t object to him wearing specs on his handsome nose…

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ said Loveday. ‘Just because he’s the only man who has spoken to you for years.’

She took herself off back home and had a leisurely lunch—a lamb chop, sprouts and a jacket potato, with a tub of yoghurt for pudding—and then sat in the little armchair with Sam on her lap and read the Sunday paper from front to back. And then tea, and later supper and bed.

‘Some would call it a dull day, but we’ve enjoyed every minute of it,’ she told Sam.

The week began well. The nurse, whom she seldom saw, had treated her with coolness at first, and then, realising that Loveday presented no risk to her status, became casually friendly. As for Dr Fforde, he treated her with the brisk, friendly manner which she found daunting. But such treatment was only to be expected….

It was almost the end of the week when he came earlier than usual to the consulting rooms. She gave him coffee and, since she was for the moment idle, paused to tell him that Sam had turned into a handsome cat. ‘And he’s very intelligent,’ she added chattily. ‘You really should come up and see him some time…’

The moment she had uttered them she wished the words unsaid. The doctor’s cool, ‘I’m glad to hear that he has made such a good recovery,’ uttered in a dismissive voice sent the colour into her cheeks. Of course the very idea of his climbing the stairs to her little flat to look at the cat was ridiculous. As though he had the slightest interest…

She buried her hot face in the filing cabinet. Never, never, she vowed, would she make that mistake again.

Dr Fforde, watching her, wondered how best to explain to her that visiting her at the flat would cause gossip—friendly, no doubt, but to be avoided. He decided to say nothing, but asked her in his usual grave way to telephone the hospital and say that he might be half an hour late.

‘Mrs Seward has an appointment after the last patient. She is not a patient, so please show her in at once.’

The last patient had barely been shown out when Mrs Seward arrived. She was tall, slender, with a lovely face, skilfully made up, and wearing the kind of clothes Loveday dreamed of. She had a lovely smile, too.

‘Hello—you’re new, aren’t you? What’s happened to Miss Priss? Has Andrew finished? I’m a bit early.’

‘Mrs Seward? Dr Fforde’s expecting you.’

Loveday opened his door and stood aside for Mrs Seward to go in. Before she closed it she heard him say, ‘Margaret—this is delightful.’

‘Andrew, it’s been so long…’ was Mrs Seward’s happy reply.

Loveday went back to her desk and got out the afternoon patients’ notes. That done, she entered their names and phone numbers into the daily diary. It was time for her to go to her lunch, but she supposed that she should stay; they would go presently and she could lock up. He would be at the hospital during the afternoon, and there were no more patients until almost four o’clock.

She didn’t have long to wait. They came out together presently, and the doctor stopped at the desk and asked her to lock up. ‘And since the first patient is at four o’clock there’s no need for you to come back until three.’

His voice was as kind as his smile. Mrs Seward smiled too. On their way down to the car she said, ‘I like your receptionist. A mouse with green eyes.’

The extra hour or so for lunch wasn’t to be ignored. Loveday gobbled a sandwich, fed Sam, and went shopping, returning with her own simple needs and weighed down by tins of cat food and more books. She had seen that the funny little shop squeezed in between the grocer and the butcher sold just about everything and had noticed some small, cheap radios. On pay day, she promised herself, she would buy one. And the greengrocer had had a bucketful of chrysanthemums outside his shop; they perhaps weren’t quite as fresh as they might have been, but they would add a cheerful splash of colour in the flat.

The doctor arrived back five minutes before his patient, accepted the cup of tea she offered him and, when the last patient of the afternoon had gone, bade her goodnight without loss of time.

‘They’ll go out this evening,’ said Loveday aloud. ‘To one of those restaurants with little lamps on the tables. And then they’ll go dancing. She’s quite beautiful. They make a handsome pair.’

She locked up with her usual care and went upstairs to give Sam his supper and herself a pot of tea. She would have a pleasant evening, she told herself: an omelette for her supper and then a peaceful hour with one of the second-hand books.

‘I’m becoming an old maid,’ said Loveday.

There was news of Miss Priss in the morning; her mother was recovering from her stroke but must stay in hospital for another ten days. After that she would return home and be nursed by Miss Priss and a helper. There was every chance that she would recover, and then Miss Priss would be able to return to work once arrangements for her mother’s comfort could be made.

The doctor told Loveday this without going into details, and although she was sorry for Miss Priss and her mother, she couldn’t help feeling relief. She had known that sooner or later Miss Priss would be back, but the longer she could stay the more money she could save, and with some experience and a reference from the doctor she would have a better chance of finding work. She must remember, she told herself, to curb her tongue and not talk about herself or Sam.

As a result of this resolution the doctor was at first faintly amused and then puzzled at her wooden politeness towards him. She had become in the short time she had been working for him almost as efficient as Miss Priss; she was discreet, pleasantly attentive to his patients, willing to come early and work late if need be, and disappeared to her little flat so quietly that he barely noticed her going. And always there when he arrived in the mornings. It was what he expected and what he paid her for, but all the same he now had a vague sense of disquiet, so that he found himself thinking about her very frequently.

A few days later she went down rather earlier; there were more patients than usual today. The doctor would expect everything to be ready for them.

There was a man on the landing outside the consulting rooms, standing easily, hands in pockets, looking out of the landing window. He turned round to look at her as she reached the door.

He smiled at her and said good morning. ‘I hoped someone would come soon. I’d love a cup of coffee.’ At her surprised look, he added, ‘Oh, it’s quite all right, Andrew won’t mind.’

When she still stood there, looking at him, he added impatiently, ‘Open up, dear girl.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Loveday. ‘I don’t know who you are, and even if you told me I’m not to know whether it’s the truth. I’m so sorry, but if you want to see the doctor then you should come back at nine o’clock.’

She put the key in the lock. ‘I have no intention of letting you in.’

She whisked herself inside, locked the door again and left him there. He had been sure of himself, demanding coffee, behaving as if he knew the doctor, but he could so easily be intent on skulduggery…

She set about her morning chores and had everything just as the doctor liked and the coffee ready when he came in.

The young man was with him and they were both laughing.

The doctor’s good morning was said in his usual quiet manner, but his companion told Loveday, ‘You see, I am a bona fide caller. Are you not remorseful at your treatment of me? And I only asked to be let in and given coffee.’

‘You could have been a thief,’ said Loveday.

‘Quite right, Loveday,’ interposed the doctor. ‘You did the right thing and, since my cousin hasn’t the good grace to introduce himself, I must do it for him. Charles Fforde, this is Miss Loveday West, who is my most efficient receptionist.’

Charles offered a hand, and after a tiny pause she shook it.

‘What happened to Miss Prissy?’

‘I’ll tell you about her. Come into my room. There is time for coffee, but you must go away before my patients arrive.’ The doctor opened his door. ‘I should be free about one o’clock; we’ll have lunch together.’

Loveday fetched the coffee. Charles was much younger than the doctor—more her own age, she supposed. He was good-looking too, and well dressed. She thought uneasily that he was very like Miss Cattell’s men-friends, only younger. On the other hand he was the doctor’s cousin, and he, in her view, was beyond reproach.

Charles didn’t stay long, and on his way out he paused by her desk.

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you have very beautiful eyes? The rest of you is probably charming, though hardly breathtaking, but the eyes…!’

He bent down and kissed the end of her nose.

‘Till we meet again,’ he told her, and reached the door in time to hold it open for the first patient.

No one had ever told Loveday that her eyes were beautiful. She savoured that for the rest of the day and tried to forget his remark about not being breathtaking. It had been so long since anyone had passed a remark about her appearance that she found it hard to ignore.

That evening, getting ready for bed, she examined her face carefully. ‘Hardly breathtaking’ was a kind way of saying plain…

All the same she took extra pains with her face and hair in the morning, and made plans to buy a new dress on Saturday afternoon.

If she had hoped to see Charles the next day she was disappointed. There was no sign of him, and Dr Fforde, beyond his usual pleasant greeting, had nothing to say. All the same, she spent Saturday afternoon searching for a dress. It had to be something that would last. She found it after much searching: a navy blue wool crêpe, well cut and elegant, with the kind of neckline which could be dressed up by a pretty scarf. She bore it back and tried it on with Sam for a rather bored audience.

And on Monday morning she wore it to work.

Dr Fforde, wishing her his usual pleasant good morning noticed it immediately. It was undoubtedly suitable for her job, but it hardly enhanced her appearance. Her pretty mousy hair and those green eyes should be complemented by rich greens and russet, not buried in navy blue. He thought it unlikely that she had many friends, and perhaps none close enough to point this out to her. A pity. He sat down at his desk and started to go through his post.

It was Charles who voiced this same opinion when he came again during the week. He sauntered in after the last of the morning patients had gone and stopped at her desk.

‘A new dress’, he said as he eyed her up and down in a friendly fashion. ‘In excellent taste too, dear girl, but why hide your charms behind such a middle-aged colour? You should be wearing pink and blue and emerald-green, and all the colours of the rainbow…’

‘Not if she is to remain my receptionist,’ said the doctor from his door, so that Loveday’s wide smile at the sight of Charles was quenched. She contrived to look faintly amused, although her eyes sparkled green fire. The phone rang then and she turned to answer it, and the two men went into the consulting room together.

She had been delighted to see Charles, and although he didn’t like the new dress he had said it was hiding her charms—which sounded old-fashioned but pleasant. And then Dr Fforde had to spoil it all. Who knew what Charles would have said if they had been left alone?

Loveday, a level-headed girl, realised that she was behaving in a way quite unlike her usual self-contained self. ‘Which won’t do,’ she muttered as the phone rang again. And no one could have looked more efficient and at the same time inconspicuous than she did as Dr Fforde and Charles came into the room again.

‘I shall be at the hospital until five o’clock,’ the doctor told her. ‘Have the afternoon off, but please be here by half past four.’

So Loveday had a leisurely lunch and decided to do some more shopping. She didn’t need much, but she seldom had the chance to go out during the day and it was a bright day even if chilly. She got into her jacket—navy blue again, and bought to last—and with her shopping basket over one arm went out.

She had only gone a few yards down the street when she met Charles.

He took her arm. ‘How about a walk in the park and tea? It’s a splendid afternoon for exercise.’

She didn’t try to conceal her pleasure at seeing him again. ‘It sounds lovely, but I’m going shopping.’

‘You can shop any day of the week.’ He had tucked one arm into hers. ‘Half an hour’s brisk walk, then tea, and then if you must shop…’

‘I have to be back by half past four.’

‘Yes, yes. That’s almost three hours away.’

He was laughing at her and, despite her good resolutions, she smiled back. ‘A walk would be nice…’

He was an amusing companion and, bored with having nothing much to do for the moment, he found it intriguing to attract this rather sedate girl who had no idea how to make the most of herself. He had charm and a light-hearted way of talking, uncaring that he rarely meant a word of what he uttered. Those who knew him well joined in his cheerful banter and didn’t take it seriously, but Loveday wasn’t to know that…

He took her to a small café near the park, plied her with cream cakes and called her dear girl, and when they parted outside the consulting rooms he begged her to see him again. He touched the tip of her nose very gently as he spoke and his smile was such that she agreed at once.

‘But I’m only free on Saturday afternoons and Sundays.’

‘Sunday it shall be. We will drive into the country and walk and talk and eat at some village pub.’ He turned away. ‘Ten o’clock?’

‘He didn’t wait for her reply, which just for a moment she found disturbing, but she brushed that aside. A day out in his company would be lovely.

Dr Fforde, coming back just before five o’clock, wondered what had given Loveday a kind of inner glow; she was no longer insignificant, and her ordinary face was alight with happiness.

He asked, ‘You enjoyed your afternoon?’

‘Yes, thank you, Doctor.’ Her beaming smile included him in her happiness, and for some reason that made him uneasy.

At breakfast on Sunday morning, Loveday explained to Sam that she would be away for the day. ‘Well, most of it, I hope.’ She added, ‘But I won’t be late home.’ She kissed his elderly head. ‘Be a good boy.’

Charles had said a drive into the country and a village pub. Her jacket and a skirt would be quite suitable; she would wear her good shoes and the pale blue sweater…

She was ready and waiting when she heard the silence of the quiet street disturbed by the prolonged blowing of his car’s horn. She reached his car just as he was about to blow it again. ‘Oh, hush,’ she begged him. ‘It’s Sunday morning.’

He had looked faintly impatient, but now he laughed. ‘So it is and we have the whole day before us.’ He leaned across and opened the car door. ‘Jump in.’

His car was a sports model, scarlet and flashy. She suppressed the instant thought that Dr Fforde’s car was more to her liking and settled down beside Charles.

‘It’s a lovely morning,’ she began.

‘Marvellous, darling, but don’t chatter until we are out of London.’

So she sat quietly, happy just to be there, sitting beside him, leaving the streets and rows of houses behind for a few hours.

He drove south, through Sevenoaks, and she wondered where they were going. They were well clear of London by now, but he had nothing much to say until he asked suddenly, ‘Have you any idea where we’re going?’

‘No, except that it’s south—towards the coast.’

‘Brighton, darling. Plenty to do and see there.’

She had expected a day in the country—he had mentioned a country pub. Surely Brighton wasn’t much different from London? But what did it matter where they went? She was happy in his company and he made her laugh…

He parked at the seafront and they had coffee and then walked, first by the sea and then through the town, stopping to look at the shop windows in the Lanes. Charles promised her that the next time they came he would take her to the Pavilion. They had lunch in a fashionable pub and then walked again, and if it wasn’t quite what she had expected it didn’t really matter. She was having a lovely day out and Charles was a delightful companion, teasing her a little, letting her see that he liked her, and telling her that he had never met a girl quite like her before. Loveday, hopelessly ignorant of the fashionable world, believed every word of it.

They drove back to London after a splendid tea in one of the seafront hotels.

‘Do you come here often?’ Loveday wanted to know.

Charles gave her his charming smile. ‘Never with such a delightful companion.’ He might have added, And only because here I’m most unlikely to meet anyone I know. He wasn’t doing any harm, he told himself. Loveday led a dull life; what could be kinder than to give her a taste of romance? And it would keep him amused for the next few weeks…

She was a dear little thing, he reflected as they drove back, but too quiet and dull for him. It amused him to see how she blossomed under his attention.

‘We must do this again,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be away next weekend, but there’s a good film we might go to see one evening. Wednesday. I’ll come for you about half past seven.’

‘I’d like that, thank you,’ she said. And, Loveday being Loveday, she added, ‘I won’t need to dress up? I haven’t anything smart to wear.’





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