Книга - The Fortunes of Francesca

The Fortunes of Francesca
Betty Neels


Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors.MARRIAGE UNDER THE MISTLETOE… Francesca Bowen has cut short her medical career to look after her elderly aunt, so she jumps at the chance to be assistant to Lady Trumper. But Francesca soon discovers that she’s made the wrong decision and is being treated like a dogsbody.Then, suddenly, a glimmer of hope appears…Professor Marc van der Kettener unexpectedly proposes! Marc has been a helping hand since they met—but Francesca is confused by his sudden proposal. Does Marc just want to help her out of a tight spot, or has he really fallen in love…?









Francesca walked down the aisle beside Marc, sure now that everything was going to be all right; the little church with its flowers and tranquillity told her so.


She heard Marc’s voice and then her own; she saw the ring slipped onto her finger, and it wasn’t until then that she realized that they were married.

Nothing seemed quite real, but she would doubtless remember it all later on. A dream wedding, she reflected, and tried to think of something she could say to him.

Marc said easily, “A beautiful little church, isn’t it?” He sounded placid, not in the least like a just-married man….


Dear Reader,

We’d like to take this opportunity to pay tribute to Betty Neels, who, sadly, passed away last year. Betty was one of our best-loved authors. As well as being a wonderfully warm and thoroughly charming individual, Betty led a fascinating life even before becoming a writer, and her publishing record was impressive.

Over her thirty-year writing career, Betty wrote more than 134 novels and was published in more than one hundred international markets. She continued to write into her ninetieth year, remaining as passionate about her characters and stories then as she was in her very first book.

Betty will be greatly missed, both by her friends within Harlequin and by her legions of loyal readers around the world. Betty was a prolific writer and has left a lasting legacy through her heartwarming novels. She will always be remembered as a truly delightful person who brought great happiness to many.

The Editors

Harlequin Romance







The Fortunes of Francesca

Betty Neels







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




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE




CHAPTER ONE


FRANNY was admitted by a butler who looked as though he hated her, shown into a small, cold room and bidden to wait there. She sat herself down on one of the stiff little chairs arranged round the table in its centre and wished that she hadn’t come. The advertisement had sought a girl Friday. This term could cover anything from washing up in the kitchen to dealing with invitations on beautifully engraved cards and paying the household bills with an odd spell of babysitting when called upon. It was not what she would have chosen if given a choice, but a job and the wages which went with it had become essential.

The butler returned and frostily requested her to follow him. Crossing the hall and mounting the stairs behind him, Franny reflected that she could always refuse to take the job if she was offered it. She thrust the thought aside; common sense reminded her that she needed work.

‘The young person,’ said the butler, opening the double doors at the head of the stairs. Franny sailed past him. She was of medium height, rather too thin, with brown hair and ordinary features easily forgotten, but she had an air of composed dignity.

‘My name is Francesca Bowen,’ she said clearly, and advanced towards the occupant of the room. This was a forbidding lady if ever there was one; she was handsome, middle-aged, with rigidly controlled grey hair and a haughty nose. She looked down it now.

She gave Franny a regal nod. ‘You appear very young.’

‘I’m twenty-three, Lady Trumper.’

Lady Trumper hadn’t expected to be answered; she looked her surprise and leafed through some letters she was holding.

‘You have trained for two years as a nurse. Why did you not continue?’

‘I left to look after my aunt and my brother. My aunt was ill at the time.’

‘I do not require a nurse.’

‘Well, I didn’t suppose you did,’ said Franny cheerfully, ‘but you never know, it might come in useful. I can type and keep accounts, answer the phone, walk the dog, babysit…’ She paused. ‘I’m not a very good cook.’

‘I have a cook, Miss Bowen. Nor do I require a baby-sitter. I am afraid that you are not suitable for the post I have in mind.’

Lady Trumper stretched out a hand and touched a bell, and the butler opened the door so quickly Franny decided that he had been standing outside listening. He preceded her down the hall with an I-told-you-so look on his face, and was on the point of ushering her out into the street when an elderly woman in a large white apron rushed into the hall.

‘Mr Barker— Oh, Mr Barker, come quickly. Elsie’s cut her hand that bad; she’s bleeding like a pig and screaming her head off. Whatever shall I do?’

Barker said with dignity, ‘I will come and see Elsie, Mrs Down, it is probably nothing more than a slight wound.’

He followed her through the baize door at the back of the hall and Franny, unnoticed for the moment, went with them.

It wasn’t a slight wound; it was a nasty deep slice in poor Elsie’s forearm, bleeding profusely and no one was doing anything about it.

Franny swept forward. ‘Someone get a doctor or an ambulance, whichever is quickest. Clean towels and bandages, if you have them.’

Elsie’s face was the colour of ashes. Franny lifted her arm above her head, found the pressure point and applied a finger, and when Mrs Down came with the towels asked, ‘Can you cover the cut with several of them and press down hard? Just for a little while until help comes.’ She added cheerfully to Elsie, ‘It looks much worse than it is, Elsie. As soon as the doctor has seen to it, you’ll feel much better. Close your eyes if you like.’ She added to no one in particular, ‘I hope that man hurries up…’

Mr Barker left the kitchen briskly and made for the telephone in the hall. Like so many self-important persons, he was no good at all in an emergency and, while he resented Franny’s high-handedness, he felt relief at not having to deal with the situation himself. He had his hand on the phone when the door knocker was thumped, and almost without thinking he put the phone down and opened the door.

The man who went past him into the hall was thick-set and enormously tall, with fair hair going grey at the temples and a handsome visage. He said affably, ‘Anything wrong, Barker? You look a bit shaken.’

Barker took his coat. ‘It’s Elsie, sir. Cut herself something shocking. I am about to phone for an ambulance.’

‘In the kitchen, is she?’ The visitor was already at the baize door. ‘I’ll take a quick look, shall I?’

The kitchen was modern, all white tiles and stainless steel, and the group around the table looked all the more startling because of it: Elsie, her arm still held high, Mrs Down holding a blood-stained cloth over her arm, and a girl he didn’t know applying pressure with the calm air of someone who knew what she was doing.

‘Oh, sir,’ cried Mrs Down as he reached the table. Franny looked up briefly.

‘Are you the doctor? Good! I think perhaps it’s her radial artery.’

He grunted and opened his bag, and glanced at Franny. ‘Hang on until I’ve got the tourniquet on.’ That done, he said, ‘Go on the other side of me and hold her arm steady.’ He looked down at Elsie. ‘I’ll make you comfortable, Elsie, but I think you must go to hospital and have a stitch or two. It won’t hurt, I promise you.’

‘Shall I call an ambulance, sir?’ asked Barker, almost his pompous self once more now that there was someone to tell him what to do.

‘No. I’ll take her. Someone will have to come with me.’ His eyes fell on Franny. She was a nondescript girl, but she looked sensible. ‘You’ll come?’

Franny heard Barker’s quick breath, but before he could speak she said, ‘Yes, of course.’ She added in her sensible way, ‘Elsie will need a coat or a shawl; it’s cold outside.’

An old cloak was found from behind the kitchen door and Mrs Down stood with it on her arm, looking the other way while Elsie’s artery was tied off. It all took some time, what with the scrubbing of hands and the giving of a local anaesthetic into Elsie’s arm. Franny, who had worked in Theatre, considered the man to be a very neat surgeon.

When the arm had been bandaged and put in a sling, and Elsie wrapped in the cloak, Franny went without fuss out of the house, walking sedately behind the doctor who was carrying Elsie.

Elsie was still feeling faint, and Franny got into the back of the car with her. She put her arm round her, reflecting that she had never expected to have the chance to travel in a Rolls-Royce. It was a pity she wasn’t able to enjoy it to the full, but with Elsie shaking and sobbing it hardly seemed right to get any pleasure from it…

It was already dusk, and the chilly November day was sliding rapidly into a miserable evening. She wouldn’t have to stay at the hospital, of course, but getting back home during the evening rush hour would be tedious.

They drew up outside the entrance to Casualty and the doctor got out and went inside. He returned almost immediately with a porter and a wheelchair, followed by a doctor and then a nurse. He seemed well known, thought Franny, standing quietly as Elsie was wheeled away. Everyone went with her and Franny stood undecided for a few minutes.

If the doctor had wanted her to go with him too and to stay he would have said so. Elsie was in safe hands now; Franny had no doubt that she would be kept in the hospital for the night. She turned on her heel and started for the nearest bus stop. She would have liked to have seen more of the doctor. They had hardly exchanged more than half a dozen words and she doubted very much if he would recognise her if ever they should meet again.

Franny joined the bus-stop queue and waited to begin her long journey home.



It was half an hour before Professor Marc van der Kettener came out to his car. It wasn’t until he was getting into it that he remembered Franny. He went back into the hospital again to look for her, but it was quickly obvious that she hadn’t waited, and he cursed himself for a thoughtless fool. She had been helpful and she hadn’t fussed or asked silly questions. Why had she been at his godmother’s house, anyway?

He drove himself back there, assured Barker that Elsie was quite comfortable and would be staying in hospital for a couple of days and went upstairs to see his godmother.

She offered a cheek for his kiss when he entered her quarters. ‘What is all this I hear from Barker? That silly girl cutting herself…’

‘I hardly think that Elsie cut herself deliberately.’ The professor wandered across the room and sat down opposite Lady Trumper. ‘She has quite a severe injury; she should do nothing for a week and then only light work.’

‘How tiresome. I suppose Barker coped?’

‘I’m sure he did his best. Fortunately, there was a young woman in the kitchen who dealt with the situation in a most sensible manner.’ He glanced across at his godmother. ‘A new maid?’

‘Certainly not.’ Lady Trumper frowned. ‘Presumably Barker knew who she was?’

The professor smiled. ‘Well, she was giving him orders in a brisk manner. She was brisk with me, too.’

‘What was she like? Perhaps it was Mrs Down’s sister…’

‘Young, nice voice—educated. For the life of me I cannot remember her face. Came with me to the hospital without fuss and took herself off while I was with Elsie. Otherwise I would have brought her back here.’

Lady Trumper rang her bell, and when Barker answered bade him come in.

‘Barker, do you know the young woman who helped Elsie?’

‘Yes, my lady, she was the young person who came about the post you had advertised. I was on the point of seeing her out when Mrs Down came running. I had no idea that she had accompanied me to the kitchen until she took charge.’ He added, ‘I trust that this does not displease you, my lady? She proved herself very competent.’

‘Yes, yes, Barker. She hasn’t returned?’

‘No, my lady. I understood that you did not engage her.’

‘Very well, Barker. Thank you.’

When he had gone, she said, ‘A Miss Francesca Bowen who applied for the post of girl Friday. She didn’t seem quite suitable. I shall have to look for someone else.’

‘No, no, Godmother. Engage the girl. She is obviously a young woman of resources and surely that is what a girl Friday should be—able to turn her hand to anything!’

‘You are not serious, Marc?’

‘Indeed, I am. Presumably she won’t have found another job today. Write to her and tell her that you have decided to give her a trial.’

Lady Trumper looked doubtful. ‘You really think it is a good idea? But as you say, I can have her on month’s trial…’

‘By all means. Write her a note; I’ll post it on my way to my rooms.’

‘Have you patients this evening?’

‘Yes, two.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I had better go shortly. I’m dining out afterwards.’

Lady Trumper had gone to the writing desk under the window and picked up a pen. ‘When will you be going home?’

‘In several weeks. I’ve patients still to see and a number of theatre lists here. I have to go to Leeds and Manchester before I go back.’

‘You work too hard. Isn’t it time you settled down? Your dear sister mentioned someone… She hoped that you were thinking of marrying…’

‘I’m afraid she must hope!’ He smiled, but something in his voice stopped her from saying more. She wrote the note and handed it to him.

‘Come and see me when you have time,’ she begged him. ‘At least let me know when you are going back to Holland.’

He bent to kiss her. ‘Of course. Take care of yourself.’

Barker was waiting for him in the hall. ‘Don’t allow Elsie to do any work at all for several days, Barker, and see that when she does start again she keeps that arm covered. A fortunate thing that she was given such prompt first aid.’ At the door he paused. ‘By the way, Lady Trumper has had second thoughts and will probably engage the young woman on a trial basis.’

‘We shall do our best to welcome her into the household, sir,’ said Barker pompously. He added, looking almost human, ‘She behaved in a most efficient manner and made no fuss.’

The professor, his mind on other matters, nodded in an absent-minded way and bade him goodnight.



Franny got off the crowded bus and turned into a side street that was badly lighted, with small terraced houses facing each other behind narrow strips of worn-out grass and battered iron railings. The houses might be small, and had seen better days, but most of them were keeping up appearances with curtained windows and cared-for front doors. Halfway down the terrace Franny opened one such door and called out as she shut it behind her. ‘It’s me—sorry I’m late.’

She hung her outdoor things in the narrow hall and went into the kitchen; it was a small, rather dark room, lacking the amenities often portrayed in magazines, but it was cheerful, with bright curtains and an old-fashioned red plush cloth on the table. There was a young man sitting there, books spread in front of him, writing. He said ‘Hi,’ as she went in but didn’t look up. The elderly lady standing by the gas stove turned round to smile at her.

‘What kept you, love? Would you like a cup of tea? Supper won’t be for half an hour. How did you get on?’

Franny filled the kettle and put it on the gas burner.

‘No good, Auntie, I wasn’t suitable. It was a lovely house and there was a butler. While I was there one of the maids cut her arm quite badly so I stopped to give first aid, and when a doctor came he asked me to go to the hospital with the girl. So I did.’

‘I hope that they thanked you…’

‘Well, now I come to think of it, they didn’t. The doctor was polite, but I think he took me for one of the servants.’

Mrs Blake looked indignant. ‘Did he, indeed? What happened at the hospital?’

‘Well, nothing. I mean, I didn’t go in. I waited a bit but no one came out, so I caught a bus and came home.’

‘Disgraceful. The ingratitude…’ Mrs Blake, a small, plump lady with a mild face and grey hair, was ever more indignant.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Franny cheerfully. ‘As we passed the supermarket in the bus I saw a notice in the window asking for check-out girls. I’ll go tomorrow.’

Mrs Blake started to speak, and stopped. The gas bill had come that morning, Finlay needed more books and the rent was due. The housekeeping money was at a very low ebb and the only solution was for Franny to get a job as soon as possible.

Mrs Blake was unhappy about that. They had just about managed while Franny had been training as a nurse; her salary and Mrs Blake’s pension had kept them going. They had even been saving a tiny bit, knowing that Finn would be going to medical school when he had done so well in his A levels. He would need books and clothes and money to live on.

Then she had fallen ill. Franny had left the hospital in order to nurse her and look after the house, and their savings had gradually been eroded. Finn had now already started at medical school; there had been no question of him giving it up. He had offered to do so, and a job, any job he could get, would tide them over for a year or so, but that would have meant a year’s training lost. Neither Franny nor her aunt would hear of it. They would manage, Franny had said stoutly, and, once Finn was a qualified doctor, she and auntie would become ladies of leisure. ‘What is a paltry four or five years?’ Franny had demanded largely.

Now they had a cheerful supper, and she took care not to mention the supermarket again. She was up early the next morning, nipping round the house, getting Finn’s breakfast, taking tea up to her aunt, tidying the place, intent on getting down to the supermarket as soon as possible and getting a job.

She took her aunt’s breakfast tray upstairs as usual, mindful of the doctor’s advice that Mrs Blake should lead as quiet a life as possible. Having breakfast in bed was one way of doing that. Then she went to her room to get her outdoor things. She was in the hall, her hand on the door handle, when the postman pushed a letter through the letter box.

It was for her, and she opened it slowly. It didn’t look like a bill—the writing was old-fashioned and spidery and the envelope was good quality…

Lady Trumper’s request that she should call that morning with a view to taking up the post of girl Friday came as something of a shock. The wages she offered were even more of a shock. She would no doubt be expected to earn every penny of them, but Franny had reached the stage where she was open to any honest offer. She didn’t think working for Lady Trumper would be pleasant, but the money was more important than job satisfaction. Finn could have his books and the bills could be paid.

Franny wasted a few minutes wondering why Lady Trumper had changed her mind and then went to tell her aunt.

Aunt Emma read the letter. ‘Now, why would she change her mind?’ she asked. ‘Would it be because you gave the girl first aid?’

‘That wasn’t much qualification for the job, Auntie. More likely no one else has applied and she’s desperate.’

‘You may be right, love. You’ll go?’

‘Well, yes. The money is more than we hoped for, isn’t it?’

‘If only you could go back to hospital and finish your training…’

‘I’ll do that when Finn is qualified. We’re managing very well, and if I went back to hospital now I’d be worrying about you all the time. The doctor said you weren’t to do more than potter, and with this job I’ll have plenty of time to see to the house and so on. In a month or two we’ll have the bills paid and be on our feet again. What shall I wear?’

‘What you wore yesterday. You looked very nice. It’s raining, isn’t it? A pity your mac’s shabby, but you can take it off when you get there.’

‘I’ll do the shopping on the way home. Don’t go out, Auntie, it’s cold as well as wet.’



There was a faint glimmer of friendliness on the butler’s face when he admitted her. ‘I’m to take you straight up, miss. If you will leave your raincoat here?’

Franny followed him up the staircase. ‘It’s a horrid morning,’ she told him chattily, ‘but November nearly always is horrid, isn’t it? I don’t suppose you need to go out…?’

Barker turned to give her a quelling look. Familiarity was something to be nipped in the bud as soon as possible. But Franny was beaming at him and the quelling words on his lips weren’t uttered. Instead he said gravely, ‘The weather is indeed inclement.’ And he proceeded on his way.

This time he announced her by name, and Lady Trumper, sitting at her desk, turned round to look at her.

‘Miss Bowen, you are probably surprised to have heard from me again. I have been considering your application and have decided to offer you the post. A month’s trial. I should wish you to start next Monday morning at ten o’clock. You will be expected to work until five o’clock each day, but you may have Saturday and Sunday free. If I should require your services at any other time I expect you to agree.’

‘An annual holiday?’ asked Franny.

‘Oh, I suppose so. Two weeks…’

‘Three,’ said Franny, very politely and not waiting for a reply. ‘And what exactly will my duties be?’

‘Sorting my post each day and replying suitably. You said that you could type? Paying bills, checking the household accounts with Barker…’

He won’t like that, reflected Franny, and gave Lady Trumper an encouraging look.

‘It will be necessary from time to time to take over work from any member of my staff who is ill or on holiday. Also to arrange the flowers and see to any callers I do not wish to meet. Keep my diary correctly.

‘I heard from Barker that you showed a good deal of common sense when Elsie cut her hand. I shall expect you to act as nurse in the event of myself or my staff falling ill.

‘You will take your meals in the small sitting room on the ground floor, but I expect you to defer to Barker, who is in charge of the household. You will be paid weekly, and if you find that you are unable to cope with the work you are at liberty to tell me and give me a week’s notice.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Franny matter-of-factly. ‘But I must point out that I have no intention of taking orders from your butler. I will respect him, and oblige him whenever possible, but I’ll not take orders from him.’

She watched Lady Trumper’s formidable bosom swell; she had cooked her goose, and the job so nearly hers, too. She waited quietly to be dismissed for the second time.

‘I am willing to concede to your wish, Miss Bowen, as long as I have your word that you will give Barker the respect due to his position in my house. He has been with us for many years.’

‘Yes, of course I’ll treat him with respect,’ said Franny, ‘and anyone else who works here. I’ll come on a month’s trial, Lady Trumper.’ She added cheerfully, ‘I dare say we shall all get on very well together.’

Lady Trumper looked surprised. ‘I trust that may be so, Miss Bowen. Good day to you; I’ll expect you next Monday morning.’

She was shown out presently by Barker, who observed importantly, ‘You will no doubt be joining the staff shortly, Miss Bowen?’

‘Yes, on Monday morning.’

‘I shall, of course, render you any assistance you may require,’ said Barker at his most majestic.

‘Thanks very much,’ said Franny, and she skipped down the steps, turning to wave as she reached the pavement—something which took Barker aback. He wasn’t a man who encouraged such behaviour. On the other hand, it was rather nice to be waved at by a young woman, even if she was without looks…

Franny squashed a desire to dance along the pavement; someone might be looking out of the window. Instead she did optimistic sums in her head and mused over ways of making the money go as far as possible. It was a good thing that Finn had his midday meal between lectures—she and Aunt Emma could eat economically and they could all eat a substantial high tea in the evening.

In the meantime, she would pop into the corner shop on her way home and get something special—bacon and half a dozen eggs, mushrooms, if there were any, and plenty of fried bread, thought Franny, her mouth watering.

Later in the evening, well-fed with these delicacies, the three of them had a light-hearted discussion about a rosy but improbable future.



At exactly ten o’clock on the Monday morning Franny presented herself to Lady Trumper. She looked neat and tidy in her navy skirt and white blouse topped by a navy cardigan. The garments did nothing to add to her looks, but Lady Trumper noticed and approved. At least the girl didn’t wear a skirt up to her thighs and one of those vulgar tops printed with some stupid sentence…

‘You may use the small room through that door, Miss Bowen. The post is already there; kindly open it and let me see anything of interest. And any invitations, of course.’

Hardly a task to tax her intelligence, thought Franny, dealing with the pile of envelopes with calm efficiency. She took their contents to Lady Trumper presently.

‘I will read them and give you instructions as to their replies. There is a registered envelope on my writing desk. Take it to the post office. You will need money. There is a purse in the left-hand drawer—take five pounds from it and put the change into it when you return.’

So Franny got into her mac again, tied a scarf over her head, since it was drizzling with the threat of sleet, and found her way to the post office. It was quite a walk, but she needed to know a little of her surroundings. Back at the house presently, she prudently went round to the side entrance. Barker and the cook were in the kitchen. ‘I came in this way because I’m wet and I might leave marks over the hall floor,’ said Franny. ‘May I leave my mac here to dry?’

‘Certainly, and it would be convenient if you would continue to use the side door in future,’ said Barker. ‘Mrs Down will make coffee shortly, if you will come here when it is convenient for Lady Trumper?’

When she had gone, Mrs Down said thoughtfully, ‘Not quite our sort, is she, Mr Barker? Ever so polite and nice, but I bet she’s seen better days.’

‘There is that possibility,’ agreed Barker. ‘Let us hope she remembers her position in this household.’ He gave a derisive laugh. ‘Girl Friday…’

If he had hoped that Franny would put a foot wrong, he was to be disappointed, for she behaved exactly as she should. The general opinion when she left the kitchen after her coffee break was that she was OK.



Queuing for her bus at the end of her first day, Franny decided that it hadn’t been too bad. She had been kept busy with small jobs—none of them important, but they were time-consuming. Then the answering of letters and invitations had taken up a good deal of the afternoon, while Lady Trumper rested, but Franny had been brought up a cup of tea by Shirley, the housemaid, and had been allowed half an hour to have her dinner with the rest of the staff in the kitchen.

This had been a splendidly satisfying meal. Franny had enjoyed every mouthful, and hoped that Aunt Emma was eating the lunch she had prepared for her to heat up while giving polite replies to the questions being put to her by Mrs Down.

Mrs Down had remarked afterwards that Miss Bowen was a nice young lady, but not very forthcoming. Respectable enough, she had conceded, living with an aunt and a young brother who, Franny had told her vaguely, was studying, although she hadn’t said at what.



For the rest of that week Franny found herself doing a variety of jobs. She was indeed a girl Friday: opening the door to callers on Barker’s half-day, cooking lunch when Mrs Down was prostrated by migraine, taking charge of a toddler while his mother—a niece of Lady Trumper’s—came to call. And besides all this there was the daily routine of post to be opened and answered, phone calls to take, knitting to unravel, bills to be paid…

At least, reflected Franny, going home tired on Friday evening, she hadn’t been bored. She had a week’s wages in her purse and two days to be at home. As a girl who looked on the bright side of life, Franny was happy. She hadn’t been given notice, so presumably Lady Trumper was satisfied with her work. Franny hadn’t expected to be told as much—Lady Trumper wasn’t a woman to praise. After all why, that lady had often asked her nearest and dearest, should she give praise to someone who was only doing their job?

Not that Franny minded that. She didn’t dislike Lady Trumper, but neither did she like her. She was, however, providing Franny with her bread and butter…



It was during the following week that she came face to face with the doctor who had attended to Elsie. She had been sent to the hospital to fetch Elsie back, for her stay there had been prolonged by an infection which had needed treatment and antibiotics. Although Elsie was fit to be discharged she was still not quite herself.

Lady Trumper, wealthy though she was, was also frugal when it came to spending money on anything which didn’t concern herself, and she bade Franny take a bus to the hospital and procure a taxi for the return journey, which was a brief one. And a good thing, too, for it was another grey, damp day. Even in this, the more elegant district of London, the streets looked dreary. Not that Franny minded; it meant she was out of the house for an hour.

It was a short walk from the bus stop to the hospital; she arrived at its entrance with her woolly hat sodden on her head and the mac clinging damply to her skirt and blouse. Her face was wet, too, as were the odds and ends of brown hair which had escaped from the hat. She presented not a shred of glamour, and the professor, coming to the entrance hall as she walked through the doors, cast an amused eye over her person, recognising her at once.

He had told his godmother that he couldn’t remember her face and realised that he had been mistaken. Though not at its best at the moment, he recalled vividly her small, unassuming nose, gently curving mouth and determined chin. It was a face redeemed from plainness by large, long-lashed eyes. Grey, he remembered.

He crossed the vast place and stopped in front of her.

‘Forgive me for not knowing your name, but you were kind enough to help with Lady Trumper’s maid. I had every intention of driving you back from the hospital; I should have told you so. I apologise for that.’

Franny beamed up at him. ‘Oh, that didn’t matter at all; there were plenty of buses. I’ve come to fetch Elsie back to Lady Trumper’s house.’

Franny, chatty by nature, was pleased to have someone to talk to. She didn’t know who he was, of course, but he had a trustworthy face. She would have embarked on an account of Elsie’s accident, but was cut short when he moved a bundle of papers from one arm to the other and took a step away from her. ‘Very nice meeting you, Miss—er…’ he said vaguely, obviously thinking about something else.

He strode off and she wondered if he would remember that they had met again just now. She thought it unlikely. A bit vague, she reflected, but I dare say clever people often are. Being clever must make one feel lonely sometimes, living, as it were, on a higher plane than those around one. Poor man, reflected Franny, going to find out where Elsie was. It was to be hoped that he had a wife and children to keep him normal.

Professor van der Kettener, unaware of these kindly thoughts, had forgotten all about her by the time he was immersed in a bit of tricky heart surgery.

Elsie, still looking a bit washed out, was ready and waiting, eager to get back to her job. ‘Not but what they weren’t very kind,’ she told Franny, ‘but, when all’s said and done, hospitals aren’t like home, are they?’

When they were ready Franny hailed a taxi—much to Elsie’s delight—and on their return to Lady Trumper’s handed Elsie over to Mrs Down, who fussed over her in a motherly fashion, before Lady Trumper sent for her. Franny, sitting at the desk, writing invitation cards for one of Lady Trumper’s bridge parties, listened to her employer laying down the law—extra care in the kitchen was required and Elsie must do her best not to be so careless.

‘The kitchen is well equipped,’ Lady Trumper pointed out. ‘There is no excuse for carelessness. I am a most careful person myself and I expect you to be the same, Elsie. You may go.’

Franny paused in her work. She was quite sure that Lady Trumper knew nothing about knives or kitchens or being tired and sometimes overworked. She spoke her mind without stopping to think.

‘I’m sure Elsie is always very careful, Lady Trumper, but she has to handle knives and all kinds of kitchen equipment. She isn’t in a position to walk away from her work if it gets too much for her. When did you last visit your kitchen, Lady Trumper?’ asked Franny outrageously.

Lady Trumper had become really red in the face and needed to heave several deep breaths before she could speak. ‘Miss Bowen, I can hardly believe my ears. How dare you speak to me in this fashion? The impertinence…’

‘I don’t intend to be impertinent, Lady Trumper, but you made Elsie feel that she had done something wrong. No one in their senses cuts themselves with a kitchen knife. But, of course, sitting here for most of the day, you would find it hard to believe that.’

‘Miss Bowen, leave at once. I am very displeased with you.’

Franny gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Of course you are annoyed. I expect you feel a bit guilty; one always does when one has been unfair to someone. But I’ll go, although it would be sensible if I were to finish writing these cards first. Another five minutes is all I need.’

Lady Trumper took such a deep breath that her corsets creaked. ‘You will go now…’

The door opened and the professor walked in.




CHAPTER TWO


THE professor looked at his godmother, whose blood pressure, he felt sure, was at a dangerous level, and then at Franny, composed and cheerful, obviously on the point of leaving.

‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked placidly.

‘No—yes,’ said Lady Trumper. ‘This girl has had the impertinence to criticise my treatment of one of my maids. I have dismissed her.’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t do anything hastily,’ said the professor. ‘This is a free country in which one may express one’s opinion without being flung into prison.’ He turned to Franny.

‘Were you deliberately rude, Miss—Miss…?’

‘Bowen,’ said Franny, and thought what a very large man he was—he would need a large house in which to live… ‘No, I don’t think so, it was just that it was something I had to say.’ She added cheerfully, ‘I should learn to hold my tongue, but I only pointed out that Elsie hadn’t cut herself deliberately. I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?’ She paused. ‘Well, I suppose if one were contemplating suicide… Lady Trumper was rather hard on the poor girl, although I’m sure she didn’t mean to be.’

Franny gave that lady a kindly look and started to tidy the desk. ‘I’ll go.’

The professor crossed the room and laid a large and beautifully cared for hand over hers. ‘No, no. I’m sure Lady Trumper understands now that you spoke with the best intentions.’ He turned to look at his godmother. ‘Is that not so, my dear?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so…’

‘And Miss…’ he had forgotten her name again ‘…is entirely satisfactory in her work?’

‘Yes,’ said Lady Trumper, gobbling a little.

‘Then in that case is there any need to refine upon the matter? Elsie certainly had quite a severe cut, and it was unfortunate that it should have become infected. I’m sure that you will see that she does nothing to endanger her complete recovery.’

He talks like a professor, thought Franny admiringly, and with an accent, too. I wonder what it sounds like when he talks in Dutch…?

‘I will overlook the matter,’ said Lady Trumper grandly, ‘but I must insist on no more plain speaking from Miss Bowen. My nerves are badly shaken.’

How did one shake nerves? wondered Franny. Not that Lady Trumper had any. The professor, watching her face, allowed himself a smile. He spoke quickly before she could voice her thoughts.

‘I’m sure Miss Bowen will give consideration to your nerves in her future observations.’ He looked at Franny. ‘Is that not so, Miss—er—Bowen?’

‘Oh, I’ll be very careful.’ Franny smiled at them both. ‘I like working for Lady Trumper and I will do my best to keep a still tongue in my head.’

This forthright speech left Lady Trumper with nothing to say and the professor said easily, ‘Well, in that case, perhaps Miss Bowen might be allowed to go on with whatever she was doing while we have a little chat.’

Franny knew a hint when it was uttered. She picked up the invitation cards and went to her little cubbyhole of a room and closed the door. She had been dismissed—kindly, but dismissed, just as Elsie would have been dismissed.

And why should you mind? she asked herself. Remember that you are in a lowly position in this household. Not that it will be for always. Once Finn was a doctor with a splendid practice somewhere she would keep house for him and be respected as his sister. When he was married she would retire to a small bungalow and later live on her old-age pension.

That she had got a bit muddled in her plans for the future didn’t worry her. She spent a good deal of time making plans, most of them utter rubbish and highly improbable.

She wrote another half-dozen cards and paused, struck by the thought that it would be nice to marry someone like the professor. He had everything: good looks, a successful profession—at least, she supposed that he had—and a splendid motor car. Was he married? she wondered. And what exactly did he do? Professor of what? And why was he here in England when he had a perfectly good country of his own?

Inquisitive by nature, Franny decided to find out. Franny being Franny, if she had the opportunity to ask him she would, but that wasn’t likely. However a few casual questions in the kitchen over dinner tomorrow might prove fruitful…

She had finished the cards when she heard Lady Trumper’s raised voice, so she opened the door and said, ‘Yes, Lady Trumper?’

‘You have finished the cards? Stamp the envelopes and take them to the letter box and then come back here. I want you to take some documents to my solicitor. I do not trust the post. Hand them to the senior partner, Mr Augustus Ruskin, personally, and get a receipt for them. You are to take a taxi there. You may bus back.’

‘Your solicitor, Lady Trumper? Is his office close by?’

‘In the City. Please don’t waste any more time, Miss Bowen.’

‘It will probably be after five o’clock by the time I find a bus to bring me back here. Shall I go home, Lady Trumper? Of course, if I can get back here before then I’ll do so.’

Lady Trumper, who was conveyed by car whenever she wished to go out and had no idea how long a bus journey took, said severely, ‘Very well. I believe that I can trust you to be honest.’

Franny said nothing. There was a great deal she would have liked to say, but she wanted to keep the job. She stamped the invitations, then wrapped in her old mac since it was raining again, posted them and went back to collect the large envelope Lady Trumper had ready for her.

‘Barker tells me that taxi fares have been considerably increased. You will take ten pounds for the fare and for your bus ticket.’

Franny was soon getting into the taxi Barker had summoned and prepared to enjoy the ride. She considered that it was a lot of fuss about some papers or other; anyone else would have sent them by registered post. But since it allowed her an hour or two of freedom she wasn’t going to quibble about it. The driver was a cheerful Cockney, and they enjoyed a friendly chat as he took her into London’s heart. The evening rush hadn’t started but the City pavements were crowded, lights shining from the vast grey buildings.

‘This is where the money is,’ said the cabby. ‘Talking in millions behind them walls, I dare say. Pity they can’t use some of it ter do a bit of work on the ’ospital. Up that lane there, St Giles’. ’Ad me appendix out there—looked after me a treat, they did.’

Franny said with real sympathy, ‘Oh, poor you. Are you all right now?’

‘Right as rain. ’Ere’s yer office. Going back ter where I picked yer up?’

‘No, I’m to go home. I work there, but I live near Waterloo Station.’

She got out and paid him and gave him a handsome tip. ‘Thank you for a nice ride.’

‘A pleasure—enjoyed it meself. Mind ’ow yer go. Waterloo ain’t all that nice for a young lady.’

The solicitor’s office was in a large grey building with an imposing entrance and a porter guarding it. ‘Take the lift,’ he advised her. ‘Third floor—Ruskin, Ruskin and Ruskin.’

Brothers? wondered Franny, stepping gingerly into the lift and pressing a button anxiously. Or grandfather, son and grandson? Cousins…?

The lift bore her upwards smoothly and she nipped out smartly. She disliked lifts, so going back she would use the stairs.

The office was large, thickly carpeted and furnished with heavy chairs and a great many portraits—presumably of dead and gone Ruskins—on its walls. Franny made herself known to the severe lady sitting behind a desk facing the door and was asked to sit. But only for a moment, for after a word into the intercom she was bidden to go through the door behind the desk. It had MR AUGUSTUS RUSKIN in gold letters on it and when she peered round the door she saw him behind a vast desk. He must be a grandfather, even a great-grandfather, she thought. He stood up politely and she saw that he was quite shaky. But there was nothing shaky about his manner or his voice.

‘Miss Bowen? You have an envelope for me? Lady Trumper informed me of it.’

He sat down again and held out a hand.

‘You are Mr Augustus Ruskin?’ Franny asked. ‘I’m to give it only to him. Lady Trumper’s orders.’

He fixed her with a sharp old eye. ‘I am indeed he. You do quite right to query my identity, Miss Bowen.’

‘That’s all right, then,’ said Franny, and handed the envelope over. ‘Do I have to take any messages back?’

‘Thank you. No.’ He stood up again and Franny bade him a hasty goodbye, fearful that all the getting up and sitting down wouldn’t do someone of his age much good. The severe lady inclined her head without looking up as Franny went past her and ran down the stairs and out into the street.

It was well past five o’clock now, and the pavements were packed with people hurrying home. She didn’t know the City well and made for the nearest bus stop. There was a long queue already there and the bus timetable was miles away. If she attempted to go and look at it, the people in the queue would think that she was trying to get on first. She walked on, intent on finding someone who could tell her which bus to take, but there were no shops and no policemen. She stood on the edge of the pavement on a corner, waiting to cross the side street. She would have to take the Underground.

There was a steady stream of cars filtering from the side street into the main street, and she waited patiently for a gap so that she could dart across, thinking longingly of her tea. Finn would be hungry, he always was, and Auntie wouldn’t have bothered to eat much during the day. She would make a cheese pudding, she decided, filling, tasting and economical…

Professor van der Kettener saw her as he edged his car down the lane, away from the hospital. There she was, this very ordinary girl in her shabby mac, obviously intent on getting across the street. She looked remarkably cheerful, too. As he drew level with her, he leaned over and opened the car door.

‘Jump in quickly,’ he told her. ‘I can’t stop.’

Franny did as she was told, settled in her seat, fastened her safety belt and turned to look at him. ‘How very kind. I was beginning to think that I would be there for ever. If you would put me down at the next bus stop? You don’t happen to know which bus goes to Waterloo, I suppose?’

‘I’m afraid not. Why do you want to go to Waterloo?’

‘Well, I live fairly near the station.’

He drove smoothly past a bus stop. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh, I had to take some papers to Mr Augustus Ruskin, Lady Trumper’s solicitor. Such a dear old man; he ought to have retired years ago. There’s a bus stop.’

The professor said impatiently, ‘I can’t pull up here. I’ll drive you home.’

‘No, I don’t think so, thank you. You sound cross. I expect you’ve had a busy day and you’re tired. The last thing you would want to do would be to drive miles out of your way. I’m quite able to get on a bus, you know.’ She sounded motherly. ‘Look, there’s a bus stop—if you’ll stop just for a minute.’

‘Certainly not. Kindly tell me where you live, Miss Bowen.’

‘Twenty-nine Fish Street, just off Waterloo Road. You have to turn off into Lower Marsh. You can go over Waterloo Bridge.’ She turned to smile at his severe profile. ‘You can call me Franny, if you like.’

‘Tell me, Miss Bowen, are you so free with your friendship with everyone you meet?’

‘Goodness me, no,’ said Franny chattily. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t dare be friendly with Barker.’

‘Ah, you don’t count butlers among your friends?’ observed the professor nastily.

She refused to be put out. ‘I don’t know any, only him. At least…’

‘At least what?’ He was crossing Waterloo Bridge, and when she didn’t answer, he asked, ‘Well?’

‘Nothing,’ said Franny. ‘It’s the next turning on the right and then the third street on the right.’

Fish Street, even with the evening dark masking its shabbiness, all the same looked depressing in the light from the street lamps.

‘Left or right?’ asked the professor.

‘The left, halfway down—here.’

He drew up smoothly, got out and opened her door. She got out too, to stand looking up into his face. ‘It was very kind of you to bring me home,’ said Franny. ‘You need not have done it, you know, especially as you didn’t want to.’ She gave him a sunny smile. ‘Your good deed for the day!’ she told him. ‘Goodnight, Professor. Go home quickly and have a good dinner; it will make you feel better.’

He towered over her. ‘I have never met anyone like you before,’ he said slowly. ‘I trust Lady Trumper doesn’t have to listen to your chatter?’

‘No. No, she doesn’t, I only speak when spoken to. I’m sorry if I bored you, only I thought—well, I thought you looked the kind of person one could chat with.’ She crossed the narrow pavement and took out her key.

‘Goodnight, Professor.’ The door closed softly behind her.



The professor drove himself back over Westminster Bridge, along Whitehall, into Trafalgar Square and so into Pall Mall, going north until he reached Wimpole Street. He had a flat here, over his consulting room, for he spent a fair amount of time in London. He drove the car round to the mews behind the row of tall houses, walked back to his front door and let himself in.

The hall was narrow with the waiting room and his consulting room on one side of it. An elegant staircase led to the floor above and he took these two at a time to his own front door, just as it was opened by a rotund little man with a thatch of grey hair and a round, merry face.

He answered the professor’s greeting merrily. ‘A bit on the late side, aren’t you, sir? But dinner’s waiting for you when you want it. You’re going out later—I was to remind you…’

The professor had thrown down his coat and was crossing the hall to one of the doors leading from it, his bag and a pile of letters in his hand.

‘Thanks, Crisp. Dinner in ten minutes.’

His study was a comfortable room lined with bookshelves, with a fire burning in the small fireplace and a desk loaded with papers, a computer, telephone and reference books. He sat down behind it with a sigh of pleasure. This was where he would have liked to have spent his evening, writing learned articles for the medical journals, reading, going over his notes concerning his patients. If it hadn’t been for that girl he would have been home an hour earlier and would have had time to finish notes for a lecture he was to give later that week. He wondered briefly why he had stopped to give her a lift. She hadn’t been particularly grateful…

He dined presently, changed and went out again, this time to an evening party given by one of his colleagues. He knew many of the guests there. All of them were pleasant people, leading pleasant lives—the men in one or other of the professions, the women well-dressed, amusing, able to carry on a witty conversation. He didn’t know any of them well and was unaware that he was liked. He got on well with the men and was charming to the women, but the charm hid a reserve none of them, so far, had been able to penetrate.

He left early with the plea that he needed to go back to St Giles’ to check his latest patient—something which disappointed several of the women there who had made up their minds to beg him for a lift to their home.

He thought about them as he drove back towards the City. They were all delightful companions, and a delight to the eye, so why were their elegant images dimmed by the tiresome Franny with her dowdy mac and damp, untidy hair? He supposed that he must feel sorry for her. He smiled to himself; she wouldn’t thank him for that. She needed no one’s pity; she was one of those tiresome people who bounced back…



Auntie and Finn were in the sitting room, one with his head bowed over his books, the other silently knitting. They both looked up as she went in.

‘Did I hear a car?’ asked Auntie.

‘Yes. A Rolls-Royce. That doctor—he’s a professor—saw me as I came out of a solicitor’s office in the City and gave me a lift.’

‘Why were you there, dear?’

Franny explained. ‘But I didn’t enjoy the ride very much. I expect he was tired after a hard day’s work. He was a bit snappy. I suppose he felt that he simply had to give me a lift once he’d seen me.’

‘Which Rolls was it?’ asked Finn.

‘Well, it was a Rolls-Royce. Aren’t they all the same?’

‘Not by a long chalk. What’s his name, this professor?’

‘Van der Kettener—he’s Dutch. Perhaps that’s why he’s so testy…’

Finn gave her an exasperated look. ‘You only had a lift with one of the best heart surgeons in Europe. He was mentioned in a lecture the other day, goes all over the place, operating and lecturing, but spends a lot of time here. He’s honorary consultant in several hospitals. Lives in Holland. You lucky girl.’

Finn went back to his books and Auntie said mildly, ‘Well, that’s nice, isn’t it, love? Such a clever man, no doubt, and yet sparing time to bring you home.’

‘Pooh,’ said Franny. ‘With a car like that it couldn’t have been a bother. I don’t suppose he ever has to queue for a bus or get his own breakfast.’

‘You don’t like him, dear?’

She thought about that. ‘I think I’m sorry for him. He was ever so—so remote. Perhaps he’s quite different at home, with his wife and children. I wonder if they come over here with him, or do they live in Holland?’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I’ll get the supper. Macaroni cheese.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘I was going to make a cheese pudding, but the macaroni is quicker. Pay day tomorrow—I’ll get fish and chips.’

Finn gave a satisfied grunt, but Auntie sighed for the days when things had been different. Not that she wasn’t grateful for this poky little house in the wrong part of London, and her pension and the company of Franny and Finn. She had been a widow when they had come to live with her, and they had just lost their parents.

If only she hadn’t fallen ill and Franny hadn’t had to give up her nursing training to look after her and Finn. They had had plans for the future—Franny, once trained, would have found a post at some hospital in a country town, they would have lived in a small flat and managed very nicely, while Finn trained to be a doctor. With him living on his grant and any money Franny could spare, they would have made a success of things.

As it was now, they were in a cleft stick. Their combined savings were at a low ebb and there was no hope of Franny going back to the hospital; she had had to find this job where she could also cope with the house, the shopping and the cooking. Auntie had been warned that her doing anything other than the lightest of tasks might have serious consequences.

The house, which they all secretly hated, had been offered to her at a very low rent after her husband died, by his firm, and, since there had been nothing else to do, she had accepted the offer.

Her husband, a scientist, had had a good job and they had lived pleasantly in a pretty little mews cottage in Islington. But he had been so absorbed in his work that mundane things such as life assurance or saving for a rainy day had been overlooked. Auntie had never blamed him for that—he had been a good husband—but she was thankful that they had had no children.

She put down her knitting wool and went to the kitchen to lay the table for their meal. She didn’t feel very well, but there was enough for them to worry about without fussing over her. She said cheerfully, ‘Tell me more about this professor—he sounds interesting.’



The next day, pay day, was the bright spot in Franny’s week. One of her duties was to go to the bank each week, collect the money for the wages and hand over the little envelopes to the staff. She hadn’t liked the idea of handing Barker’s wages over to him; she left his envelope on the desk in her little office. It was an old-fashioned way to be paid, money in an envelope, but somehow much more satisfying than a cheque. Feeling rich, she bought the fish and chips on the way home.

They enjoyed their supper and Auntie went to bed early. ‘And don’t fuss,’ she begged Franny. ‘I’m only a little tired.’

Franny skimmed around the kitchen, tidying it and putting everything ready for breakfast while Finn finished his studies and took himself off to his room. Once he had gone, she gave the sitting room a good clean. It was almost midnight when she went to bed and she slept at once.

She woke suddenly a couple of hours later, aware that something had disturbed her. There was a faint sound coming from her aunt’s room. She got out of bed, crossed the narrow landing and opened the door.

Auntie was lying in bed, her face grey with pain and beaded with sweat. Franny lifted her very gently onto her pillows, wiped her face with a handful of sheet and said quietly, ‘Lie quite still, Auntie. Finn will get the ambulance; you’ll be all right—just hang on. I’ll be back in a moment.’

Finn, once roused, was out of bed at once, putting on his clothes.

‘Use the phone box at the end of the street,’ said Franny urgently. ‘Tell them it’s very urgent; hurry.’

She went to her room, fetched her clothes and dressed in her aunt’s room, fearful of leaving her, praying that the ambulance would be quick.

It was, and the paramedics were very competent. They wasted no time but loaded Auntie into the ambulance and Franny, leaving Finn in charge of the house, got in with them.

They worked on Auntie as the ambulance sped through the quiet streets.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Franny.

‘No beds at St Thomas’s, nor Charing Cross or the Middlesex. There’s a bed at St Giles’.’

It seemed for ever before they reached the hospital but, once there, there was speed and efficiency. Surprisingly, there were no other patients in Casualty. Having given particulars in a quiet voice, Franny was told to sit and wait while Auntie was wheeled away to a cubicle at the other end of the vast place. There was a lot of coming and going then, and she longed to know what was happening behind the curtains, but she sat still, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the wall before her, not seeing it, trying not to think.

It was some time before a nurse came to tell her that her aunt was rallying under treatment. ‘Sister will come and speak to you in a minute. Would you like a cup of tea?’

Franny shook her head. ‘No, thank you. It doesn’t matter if I stay?’

‘No, of course not. Here’s Sister coming now.’

Sister was young and briskly kind. ‘Your aunt is improving, but until several tests have been done I can’t tell you any more. She will have to be admitted, but you would have known that. It is most fortunate that the senior consultant heart surgeon is in the hospital, seeing another patient. He’s on his way down now. If anyone can do anything for your aunt, it is he.’

She went away again, and presently Franny heard fresh voices and then silence, except for a murmur from time to time. Please, God, let Auntie pull through, she begged silently. And she shut her mind to a future full of problems; never mind them, just as long as Auntie got better.

Night work, thought Franny desperately. Finn would be home at least for the next few months; she could get a job, any job, which left her free during the day. She didn’t need much sleep; she could shop on the way home, settle Auntie and tidy up the house and have a sleep during the afternoon…

Someone was coming towards her, disturbing her chaotic thoughts. It was Professor van der Kettener, looming large and calm and somehow reassuring. She sat up straight and said, ‘Hello, Professor,’ in a tired voice.

He stood looking down at her. How this girl dogged his footsteps, he thought. As usual she was looking rather the worse for wear. It was understandable, of course, in the circumstances, and her hair, hanging down her back in a pale brown tangle, bore witness to the fact that she had dressed in a tearing hurry. But she was looking up at him with a brave, hopeful face.

He sat down beside her. ‘Your aunt is gravely ill. She has an atrial septal defect—I’ll explain that presently. It can be put right with open heart surgery. Before that is done there are a number of tests to be carried out to confirm those which have been done now. She will be admitted into one of my beds and in due course I will operate. It is a serious operation, but she is a resolute lady, isn’t she? If all goes well I can see no reason why she shouldn’t return to a normal life.’

He looked at her. ‘You do understand what I am saying?’

‘Yes, thank you. Is she to be warded now? May I see her first, before I go home?’

‘Certainly you may. Come with me.’

She went with him and he held the curtains back for her as she went into the cubicle. Auntie was conscious. She looked small and very frail, but she smiled at Franny.

‘What a fuss and bother,’ she whispered. ‘So sorry, love.’

‘You’ll be comfy in bed very soon, Auntie, and you’re going to be well again. Professor van der Kettener says so. I’m going home now but I’ll be here tomorrow—in the afternoon, I expect. I’ll bring the things you’ll need with me.’

She bent and kissed her aunt and went back through the curtains to where the professor was waiting, talking to the sister. There were porters already there, with a stretcher and trolley, and a nurse and a young doctor.

Sister turned to look at her and said kindly, ‘Would you like a cup of tea now? Do you have far to go?’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s almost four o’clock. I dare say there’ll be a night bus… Or have you someone you can phone to come for you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Sister. May I come tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Of course. Go to Reception, and they’ll tell you where your aunt is. Have we got your phone number?’

‘We haven’t a phone. I’ll ring about eight o’clock.’

Franny smiled vaguely at them both and turned away, but was brought to a halt by the professor’s firm hand.

‘I’m going your way; I’ll drop you off.’

He kept his hand there while he exchanged goodbyes with Sister and had a word with the young doctor who had come across to speak to him, and only then took it away.

Going out of the casualty entrance, Franny said uncertainly, ‘But I’m not on your way. Besides, you have been up almost all night, haven’t you? You must be tired. I can get a taxi…’

He took her arm and trotted her across the forecourt to his parked car.

‘Don’t talk rubbish. Have you any money with you?’

‘No.’

‘So stop making difficulties where there are none. Get in, do!’

She got in and he closed the door on her, got in himself and drove off through the quiet streets. It was very dark and, save for the milk floats and an occasional car, the streets were empty. In another few hours they would be teeming with traffic.

The professor drove without speaking, but his silence didn’t bother Franny—indeed, she was glad of it. She was tired but there would be a good deal of arranging to see to. She tried her best to think sensibly about that, but she wasn’t very successful.

Her muddled thoughts were disturbed finally by the professor.

‘When you get home, have a warm drink and go to bed even if it is only for an hour or so. Later on you’ll find you can think clearly again. And don’t worry too much about the future. One thing at a time. Is there anyone at home now?’

‘My brother.’ She needed to add to that, ‘He’s a medical student, just started.’

‘Good.’ They were crossing Waterloo Bridge, and in a few minutes she would be home. ‘I’ll come in with you, if I may?’

She couldn’t think why he wanted to do that, but she was too weary and worried to think about it. She said politely, ‘I dare say you would like a cup of tea.’

He stopped outside her home, got out and came to open her door. Finn was waiting for them on the doorstep.

The professor nodded at him. ‘You don’t mind if I come in for a few minutes?’

‘No, no, of course not, sir. Franny, is Auntie OK?’

Franny looked at the professor. ‘You tell him. I’ll put the kettle on.’

A little later they sat, the three of them, round the kitchen table with mugs of strong tea and a packet of Rich Tea biscuits, and the professor won a lifelong devoted friend in Finn because he treated him as an equal while he explained exactly what needed to be done for Auntie. He spoke with self-assurance and cheer, promising nothing but offering hope, and Franny, listening to his quiet voice with its almost imperceptible accent, took heart. Then he paused to say, ‘Would you not like to go to your bed? I’ll be off in a few minutes.’

He stood up and she got to her feet, wished her goodnight and thanked her for his tea.

‘It was very kind of you to bring me home,’ said Franny, her eyes huge in her tired face. ‘I hope you will go home to bed, too. And do drive carefully.’

He told her gravely that he would.

Franny tumbled into bed after setting the alarm for eight o’clock. Though it was Saturday, she’d been summoned to be at Lady Trumper’s by ten o’clock. At all costs she must carry on with her job there. They were going to need every penny she could earn…

Before she dropped off to sleep she remembered what the professor had said about one thing at a time. She would do that.

At eight she got up and found Finn already in the kitchen, making toast. He looked up as she went in and gave her a cheerful grin. ‘Auntie’s OK. Resting, they said.’

‘You went to the phone box?’

‘No. Professor van der Kettener is quite a man, isn’t he? Left me his mobile phone. Told me to keep it until we got sorted out.’

He took it from his pocket. ‘See? We can phone the hospital whenever we want to.’

Franny was overcome with gratitude and a warm, comfortable feeling that someone was helping them, but, she added to that, only until they could help themselves.

She looked much as usual when she presented herself in Lady Trumper’s sitting room. Opening Lady Trumper’s post, Franny was thankful that it was Saturday. She would go to the hospital in the afternoon, and later she and Finn would sit down together and decide what was best to be done.

Lady Trumper, voice raised impatiently, wanted to know why she was so slow. ‘And you look as though you haven’t slept. I hope you’re not one of those girls who burns the candle at both ends?’

Franny held her tongue. Her head ached and she was deeply worried about Auntie. A good cry would have helped, preferably on an understanding and reassuring chest. The professor would have done very nicely, only he didn’t like her.




CHAPTER THREE


AUNTIE was holding her own. Franny sat beside her bed in the intensive care unit, holding a limp hand and making cheerful remarks from time to time so that Auntie could see that she wasn’t worried about anything at all. And Auntie dozed, waking every now and then to ask anxious questions in a small, breathy voice.

Professor van der Kettener had been to see her that morning, Sister told Franny, and had been pleased with her condition. There were to be more tests but, if they were satisfactory, he would operate as soon as possible.

‘And afterwards?’ Franny asked. ‘I mean, will my aunt be in need of constant nursing? Could she be left at all?’

‘There should be very little nursing needed, and I would suppose that she could be left safely for quite long periods.’ Sister looked at Franny. ‘What kind of work do you do, Miss Bowen?’

‘Well, at present I work for someone during the day, but I wondered if I should get a night job. I’ve got a brother who is still living at home, so he could be there at night and I’d be home during the day. I know I’d have to sleep for part of the time, but Auntie would know that she wasn’t alone.’

‘That seems quite a good idea. Are you trained for anything?’

‘I’ve had two years’ training as a nurse, but I gave it up to look after my aunt and run the house. I had to be home, you see…’ Franny added cheerfully, ‘I manage quite well and I’ve no doubt we can arrange something later on.’

‘There is no possibility of going back to hospital?’

‘Not for the moment.’

Sister said thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps we might be able to get your aunt a bed in a long-stay hospital.’

‘She would die,’ said Franny simply. ‘Besides, she has given my brother and me a home, and now it’s my turn to look after her.’ She added firmly, ‘Everything will be all right, Sister, and I’m so happy to see her looking better. May I come again tomorrow? I’ll bring my brother with me.’

That evening, sitting over their supper, she and Finn laid their plans. It would be three weeks before Auntie could return home.

‘So I’ll stay with Lady Trumper for as long as possible,’ said Franny, ‘but in the meantime I’ll look for a night job—perhaps a nursing home not too far away. The pay won’t be too bad; we can manage.’

Finn began, ‘I could get a job—’

‘No, dear, that’s the last resort, and things aren’t all that desperate.’

Which wasn’t quite true, she reflected uneasily, what with the gas bill due to be paid and the rent, modest though it was, to be paid, too. And food. Franny thought that she could save quite a bit on that. Finn needed a good cooked breakfast, but she could tell him that she was slimming. Just for a while, she told herself, until she could get some money saved.

‘We could write to Uncle William,’ suggested Finn.

‘Him? I’d rather die, and you know you would, too.’

‘But he was our mother’s brother—he can’t still be angry because she married Father. It’s years ago…’

‘Yes, but he swore that he never wanted to see her again and he would have nothing to do with us when they were killed in that accident. He always thought that Mother had married beneath her, although of course that wasn’t true. And remember how badly he has treated Auntie, just because she went to their wedding and kept in such close touch?’

‘But now Auntie is so ill surely he would help her?’

‘Finn, until we are absolutely desperate, I want nothing to do with Uncle William. He’s mean and disagreeable. When Mother and Father died and Auntie wrote and told him, he sent her letter back torn into little pieces. It’s a pity that Father hasn’t any family still living.’

She began to collect up the supper dishes. ‘You are not to worry, Finn, everything’s going to be all right.’

She didn’t tell him that she had called in at the supermarket on the way home and got herself a job stacking shelves from eight o’clock until ten each evening.

Christmas was near enough for a demand for casual labour. They’d been only too glad to take her on and, when she explained that she might have to give up the job quickly, they had agreed to that too. The money wasn’t much, but if Auntie was going to be in hospital for at least three weeks she could save every penny of it.



It was several days before Sister told her that her aunt was considered fit enough for an operation.





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