When Two Paths Meet
‘Katherine, I wish that you would attend when I speak to you.’ Henry’s voice snapped the dream in two, and she blinked at him, reluctant to return to her present surroundings.
‘I feel that it’s time for Robin to start simple lessons. There is no reason why you shouldn’t spend an hour with him each morning, teaching him his letters and simple figures.’
‘What a good idea,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘He’s quite out of hand, you know, because he hasn’t enough to occupy his brain. What will Sarah do while I’m busy with Robin?’
‘Why, she can stay in the room with you.’
‘Out of the question.’ She was still cheerful. ‘He wouldn’t listen to a word. Perhaps Joyce could spare an hour?’
Her sister-in-law pushed back her chair. ‘Whatever next? Where am I to find an hour, even half an hour? You can argue it out between you.’
‘The thing to do,’ observed Katherine mildly, ‘would be to take him with you when you go to work, and drop him off at that playschool in Wilton. He needs other children, you know. Perhaps Joyce could take her car and collect him at lunch time?’ She felt Henry’s fulminating eye upon her, and added calmly, ‘I’m sure several children from the village go there. I dare say they would give Robin a lift?’
She took no notice of his shocked silence, but began to clear the table. Mrs Todd strongly objected to washing the supper dishes when she arrived in the morning.
The subject of Robin’s education didn’t crop up again for several days. Indeed, Henry showed his displeasure at Katherine’s lack of co-operation by saying as few words to her as possible, something she didn’t mind in the least. As for Joyce, they met at meals, but very seldom otherwise. Katherine, her days full of unending chores, had no time to worry about that. In bed, in the peace and quiet of her room, she strengthened her resolve to find a job of some sort. Lack of money was the stumbling point, and she hadn’t found a way round that yet, but she would. She promised herself that each night, before allowing her thoughts to dwell on Dr Fitzroy. It was a pity that she was too tired to indulge in this for more than a minute or two.
She was in the kitchen, washing up the supper dishes, more than a week since she had answered the knock on the door which had so changed her feelings, when Henry’s voice, loud and demanding, caused her to put down the dishmop and hurry along the passage to the drawing-room. One of the children, she supposed, not bothering to take off her apron; they had been almost unmanageable all day, and were probably wrecking the nursery instead of going to sleep. She opened the door and put her untidy head round it.
‘I’m washing up,’ she began. ‘If it’s the children…’
Dr Fitzroy was standing in the middle of the room, while Henry stood with his back to the fireplace, looking uneasy, and Joyce sat at a becoming angle in her chair, showing a good deal of leg.
‘Dr Fitzroy wishes to speak to you, Katherine.’ Henry was at his most ponderous.
‘Hello,’ said the doctor, and smiled at her.
Her face lit up with delight. ‘Oh, hello,’ said Katherine. ‘How very nice to see you again!’
She had come into the room, and stood unselfconsciously in front of him. That she was a deplorable sight hadn’t entered her head; it was stuffed with bliss at the mere sight of him.
‘What about the baby? Is he all right?’
‘Splendid. Perhaps we might go somewhere and talk?’ He looked at Henry, who went puce with temper.
‘Anything you have to say to Katherine can surely be listened to by myself and my wife? I am her brother,’ he blustered.
‘Yes, I know.’ The doctor’s voice was silky. He didn’t say any more, so Henry was forced to speak.
‘There is the dining-room, although I can’t imagine what you can have to say to Katherine…’
‘No, I don’t suppose you can.’ Dr Fitzroy’s voice was as pleasant as his smile. He held the door open, and Katherine went past him to the dining-room. It was chilly there; she switched on the light and turned to look at him.
Just for a moment he had a pang of doubt. What had made him think that this shabby, small young woman would be just right for the job he had in mind? But, even if he had had second thoughts, the eager face she had turned to him doused them at once. She had shown admirable common sense about the baby; she hadn’t bothered him with a lot of questions, nor had she complained once. And, from what he had just seen, life at home was something she wasn’t likely to miss.
‘Do sit down. I’m sorry it’s chilly in here.’
She sat composedly, her hands quiet in her lap, and waited for him to speak.
‘I have a job to offer you,’ he began without preamble. ‘Of course, you may not want one, but I believe that you are exactly right for the kind of work I have in mind.’ He paused and studied her face; it had become animated and a little pink, but she didn’t speak. ‘I have been attending two elderly patients for some years, and they have reached the age when they need someone to look after them. They have help in the house, so there would be no housework…’ His eyes dwelt for a moment on her apron. ‘They refuse to have a nurse—in fact, they don’t really need one. What they do need is someone to fetch and carry, find their spectacles, encourage them to eat their meals, accompany them in the car when they wish to go out, and see them safely to their beds, and, if necessary, go to them during the night. In short, an unobtrusive companion, ready to fall in with their wishes and keep an eye on them. I’ve painted rather a drab picture, but it has its bright side—the house is pleasant and there is a delightful garden. You will have time for yourself each day and be independent. The salary is forty pounds a week…’
‘Forty pounds? A week? I’ve never had…’ She stopped just in time from telling him that she seldom had more than forty pence in her pocket. He wouldn’t believe her if she did. She finished rather lamely, ‘A job, I’m not trained for anything, Henry says…’
‘Perhaps you will allow me to be the judge of that?’ he suggested kindly. ‘Will it be difficult for you to leave home?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Yes, but I’m twenty-one. Would you mind very much if I told them now, while you are here?’
‘Certainly I will stay. Perhaps if there is any difficulty, I may be able to persuade your brother. When could you come with me to see Mr and Mrs Grainger?’
She resisted the wish to shout ‘Now!’ and said in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Whenever you wish, Dr Fitzroy.’
‘I’ll come for you tomorrow morning, and if you and they like each other, perhaps you could start on the following day?’
Katherine closed her eyes for a moment. There would be angry words and bad temper and endless arguments, but they couldn’t last for ever. ‘I’d like that.’
She got up, went to the door and found him there, pushing it open for her, something Henry had never done for her; good manners weren’t to be wasted on a sister that he didn’t particularly like. He was still standing before the fireplace and, from the way that he and Joyce looked at her as she went in, she knew that they had been talking about her. She crossed the room and stood in front of her brother.
‘Dr Fitzroy has offered me a job, which I have accepted,’ she told him in a voice which she was glad to hear sounded firm.
Henry gobbled, ‘A job? What kind of job, pray? And what about the children?’
She said calmly, ‘I should think you could get a mother’s help—after all, most people do—or Joyce could give up some of her committees.’ She sighed because Henry was working himself into a rage, and Joyce, once the doctor had gone, would be even worse.
Dr Fitzroy spoke now in a slow, placid manner which disregarded Henry’s red face. ‘Your sister is exactly right for an excellent post with two of my elderly patients. I have been searching for someone for some time, and her good sense when I asked for her help the other morning convinced me that she is exactly what Mr and Mrs Grainger need. I shall call for her in the morning so that she may have an interview, and I hope she will be able to go to them on the following day.’
Joyce said shrilly, ‘Who are these people? We know nothing about them! Katherine has never been away from home before; she’ll miss home life…’ She caught the doctor’s sardonic eye and paused. ‘She can go now, as far as I’m concerned,’ she said sulkily.
He ignored her. ‘I’ll be here at nine o’clock, if that suits you?’ He had spoken to Katherine, and then turned to Henry. ‘You may have my word that your sister will be happy as companion to the Graingers. There will be no housework, of course, and she will be paid a salary.’ He added a very civil goodnight, and Katherine, walking on air, took him to the door.
Before she shut it, he asked, ‘You’ll be all right?’
She nodded; there would be a good deal of unpleasantness before she could go to her room and start packing and looking out something suitable to wear in the morning, but she felt capable of outfacing the forthcoming recriminations with the promise of such a splendid future before her. And she would see Dr Fitzroy, too, sometimes. She hugged the thought to herself as she went back to the drawing-room.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS a good thing that Katherine felt so euphoric about her future, for the next hour tried her sorely. Henry, having recovered from his first surprise, had marshalled a number of forceful arguments, hampered rather than helped by Joyce’s ill-natured complaints.
Katherine listened patiently and, when he had quite done, said kindly, ‘Well, Henry, I would have thought that you would have been pleased. You don’t need to be responsible for me any more, do you?’
Henry was an alarming puce once more. ‘Your ingratitude cuts me to the quick,’ he told her. ‘After all this time, giving you a home and food and clothes…’
She smiled at him and said sensibly, ‘And look what you got for that—unpaid housework, someone to look after the children and, because I’m your sister, there was no need to give me an allowance.’ She added, ‘It will be nice to have some money.’ Emboldened by the prospect of a glowing future, she walked to the door, just as Henry got his breath for another speech. ‘I’m rather tired,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I haven’t finished the washing up, but there are only the saucepans left to do. Goodnight, Joyce—Henry.’
In her room, she sat down on her bed and cried. She had tried hard to please Henry and Joyce, she had accepted the care of the children and she had done her best to love them, but it was a singularly unloving household. She had never been happy in it and she was glad to leave it. All the same, it would have been nice if Henry and Joyce had uttered just one word of encouragement or thanks.
She got up presently, and crossed the landing to the children’s room. They needed tucking up once more, and she did this with her usual care, before going to the boxroom and fetching her two cases. Packing wouldn’t take long: her wardrobe was small, and most of it wasn’t worth packing. She had a tweed suit, elderly but well cut and good material; she would have to wear that until she had enough money to buy some decent clothes. She hoped that Mr and Mrs Grainger weren’t the kind of people to dress for dinner; it seemed unlikely, but she had a plain wool dress, very out-of-date, like the suit, but it had at one time been good, and would pass muster at a pinch.
She felt better now she had started her packing. She got ready for bed, hopped between the chilly sheets, closed her eyes and, very much to her surprise, went to sleep at once.
It was a scramble in the morning. Katherine got up earlier than usual, got into the suit and the sensible, low-heeled shoes which were suitable for everyday wear and country walks with the children. Then she did her face carefully with the sketchy make-up she possessed, tied her hair back with a narrow ribbon and went along to the nursery. For once, good fortune was on her side; the children were quite willing to be washed and dressed and given their breakfast. She took them downstairs and made tea for herself, laid the table for the children and for Henry, who wouldn’t be down for half an hour or so, and gave them their breakfast. She was too excited to eat, and she hadn’t considered what meals they would have later on. She wasn’t even sure when she would be back; what was more, she didn’t much care!
She cleared the table, took the children to the playroom and made more tea for Henry, who, on his way downstairs, put his head round the door to wish the children good morning but ignored her. She heard him leave the house presently and Mrs Todd crashing plates and saucepans in the kitchen. She would have to get Joyce out of bed before she went. Dr Fitzroy had said nine o’clock, and it was ten minutes to the hour.
Joyce didn’t answer as she went into the bedroom. Katherine drew back the curtains. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘The children have had their breakfast and are in the playroom. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’
Joyce lifted her head. ‘I feel ill,’ she said pettishly. ‘You simply can’t go—you’ll have to put this interview off until I’m better.’
Katherine took a look at her sister-in-law. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Todd. I dare say she’ll keep an eye on Sarah and Robin. Henry can always come back here—you could phone him.’
Joyce sat right up. ‘I hope these people hate you on sight and you lose the job. It would serve you right! And don’t expect to come crawling back here. Job or no job, out you go tomorrow.’
Katherine turned to go, and the children, bored with their own company, came hurtling past her and flung themselves onto their mother’s bed.
Katherine closed the door quietly behind her. She didn’t like her sister-in-law, but a pang of sympathy shot through her; the children were small tyrants, and Joyce had little patience with them. She would demand a mother’s help and Henry would have to agree. Whoever it was would want a salary and days off and weekends and holidays… Katherine had another pang of sympathy for Henry, who hated to spend his money.
Dr Fitzroy was waiting for her when she opened the door and looked out, and she hurried to the car.
‘Good morning.’ She was a bit breathless with an upsurge of feeling at the sight of him. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting.’
‘Just got here. Jump in.’ He held the door for her, and she settled in the seat beside him. ‘Nervous?’ he asked. ‘You needn’t be.’
He gave her a reassuring smile, and thought what a dim little thing she was in her out-of-date suit and sturdy shoes. But sensible and quiet, just what the Graingers needed, and they would hardly notice what she was wearing, only that her voice was pleasant and she was calm in a crisis. He started the car. ‘I’ll tell you something about Mr and Mrs Grainger. In their seventies, almost eighty, in fact. He has a heart condition and is far too active, can be peppery if he can’t have his own way. Mrs Grainger is small and meek and perfectly content to allow him to dictate to her. She has arthritis and suffers a good deal of pain, but never complains. They are devoted to each other. They lost their only son in an accident some years ago, but they have a granddaughter…’
Something in his voice caught Katherine’s attention; this granddaughter was someone special to him. She had known from the moment she knew that she had fallen in love with him that he would never look at her—all the same, it was a blow. So silly, she told herself silently, he could have been married already, with a houseful of children. At the back of her head, a small, defiant voice pointed out that he might have been heart-whole and single and miraculously bowled over by her very ordinary person. She became aware that he had asked her something and she hadn’t been heeding.
‘So sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘You asked me something?’
They were at the roundabout on the outskirts of Wilton, waiting to find a place in the traffic streaming towards Salisbury. He slipped smoothly between two other cars before he answered. ‘You do understand that there will be no regular hours? You will, of course, have time to yourself each day, but that time may vary. It would be difficult to arrange to meet your friends or make dates.’
She said quietly, in a bleak little voice, ‘I haven’t any friends, and no one to make a date with.’ She added quickly, in case he thought she was wallowing in self-pity, ‘I had lots of friends when my mother was alive, but there wasn’t much time to spare at my brother’s house. I—I like to be busy, and I shan’t mind at all if Mr and Mrs Grainger make their own arrangements about my free time.’
‘That’s settled then.’ He sounded kind but faintly uninterested. ‘But I expect you will want to go shopping.’ He was annoyed that he had said that, for she went pink and turned to look out of her window, very conscious of her dull appearance. All the same, she agreed cheerfully; in a week or two she would indeed go shopping. Clothes made the man, it was said—well, they would make her, too!
She liked Salisbury; the cathedral dominated the city, and its close was a delightful oasis in the city centre. When the doctor drove down High Street and through the great gate, circled the small car park and drew up before one of the charming old houses abutting the close, she declared, ‘Oh, is it here? I’ve always wanted…I came here with Mother…’
‘Charming, isn’t it? And yes, this is the house.’ He got out and went round to open her door. They crossed the pavement together, and he rang the bell beside the pedimented doorway. The door was opened almost at once by a middle-aged woman with a stern face, dressed soberly in black. She gave the doctor a wintry smile and stared at Katherine.
‘Ah, Mrs Dowling, I have brought Miss Marsh to meet Mr and Mrs Grainger. They are expecting us.’
She wished him a reluctant good morning and nodded at Katherine, who smiled uncertainly. ‘You’d better come up,’ she observed dourly.
The house, despite its Georgian façade, was considerably older. A number of passages led off the small, square hall, and half a dozen steps at its end ended in a small gallery with two doors. The housekeeper opened one of them and ushered them inside. The room was large and long, at the back of the house, overlooking a surprisingly large garden.
Its two occupants turned to look at the doctor and Katherine as they went in, and the elderly gentleman said at once, ‘Jason, my dear boy—so here you are with the little lady you have found for us.’ He peered over his glasses at Katherine. ‘Good morning, my dear. You don’t find it too irksome to cherish us, I hope?’
‘How do you do, Mr Grainger?’ said Katherine politely. ‘Not in the least, if you would like me to come.’
‘Take a look at her, my dear,’ begged the old gentleman, addressing himself to the equally elderly lady sitting opposite him.
She was small and frail-looking, but her eyes were bright and her voice surprisingly strong. She studied Katherine and nodded. ‘I believe that she will do very nicely, Albert. A little on the small side, perhaps?’
‘I’m very strong,’ declared Katherine on a faintly apprehensive note.
‘And competent,’ put in the doctor in his calm way. ‘Besides not being wishful to dash off to the discos with a different young man each evening.’
He had pulled a chair forward, and nodded to her to sit down, and Mrs Grainger asked, ‘Have you a young man, my dear?’
‘No,’ said Katherine, ‘and I’ve never been inside a disco.’
The old couple nodded to each other. ‘Most suitable. Will you come at once?’
Katherine looked at the doctor, who said placidly, ‘I’ll take her back to her brother’s house now, and she can pack her things. I dare say, if you wish it, she could be ready to come back here this evening.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Katherine, ‘there’s a bus I could catch…’
‘I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.’ He barely glanced at her. ‘Mrs Grainger, you do understand that Miss Marsh has to have an hour or so to herself each day, and at least a half-day off each week? We have already discussed the salary, and she finds it acceptable.’ He got up. ‘I’m going to have a word with Mrs Dowling, if I may, before I take Miss Marsh back.’
He was gone for ten minutes, during which time Katherine was plied with questions. She answered them readily enough, for she liked her employers.
She was sensible enough to realise that sitting here in this pleasant room wasn’t indicative of her day’s work; she would probably be on the run for a good part of each day and probably the night, too, but after the cheerless atmosphere of Henry’s home this delightful house held warmth, something she had missed since her mother had died.
When Dr Fitzroy returned, she rose, shook hands, declared that she would return that evening, and accompanied the doctor out to his car.
He had little to say as they drove back, only expressed himself satisfied with the interview, warned her to be ready that evening and reminded her that he called to see Mr and Mrs Grainger two days a week, usually on Tuesdays and Fridays, at about eleven o’clock. ‘So I should like you to be there when I call.’ He shot her a quick glance. ‘You will be happy there?’
‘Yes, oh, yes!’ she assured him. ‘I can’t believe it! I’m so afraid that I’ll wake up and find that it’s all been a dream.’
He laughed. ‘It’s true enough, and I do warn you that you may find the work irksome and sometimes tiring.’ He stopped the car outside Henry’s gate and got out. ‘I’ll come in with you and speak to your sister-in-law.’
Joyce was waiting for them in the drawing-room, beautifully turned out and, judging from the din the children were making from the nursery, impervious to their demands.
As Katherine went in with the doctor, she said,’ Katherine, do go upstairs and see to the children. I’m exhausted already—I had to sit down quietly…’
She smiled bewitchingly at the doctor, who didn’t smile back. ‘Mrs Marsh, Miss Marsh will be taking up her job this evening. I shall be here for her at six o’clock. I’m sure you’ll make certain that she has the time to collect her things together before then.’ He smiled at Katherine. ‘You can be ready by then? I have an appointment in the evening and must go to the hospital this afternoon, otherwise I would come for you after lunch.’
‘I’ll be ready.’ Katherine gave him a beaming smile. ‘Thank you for taking me this morning.’
‘You’ll stay for coffee?’ asked Joyce persuasively.
‘Thank you, no.’ He shook her hand and Katherine took him to the door.
‘Scared?’ he asked softly. ‘Don’t worry, if you haven’t been given the chance to pack, I’ll do it for you when I come.’ He patted her briskly on the shoulder. ‘I bless the day I knocked on this door; I’ve been searching for weeks for someone like you.’ Her heart leapt at his words, and then plummeted to her toes as he added, ‘You’re exactly what the Graingers need.’
She stood for a moment or two after he had gone, dismissing sentimental nonsense from her head, preparing herself for the unpleasantness to come. And unpleasant it was, too, for Joyce was at her most vindictive.
Katherine allowed the worst of it to flow over her head and, when Joyce paused for breath, said in her calm way, ‘Well, Joyce, Robin and Sarah are your children, after all. If you don’t want to look after them, Henry can quite afford to get someone who will.’
She went up to her room and finished her packing which, since she had very few possessions, took no time at all. She was just finishing when Mrs Todd called up the stairs. ‘Mrs Marsh ‘as gone out, and them dratted kids is all over my kitchen!’
Katherine had changed back into elderly jeans and a sweater. She pulled on her jacket now and went downstairs. The children were running wild, sensing that something was happening and cheerfully adding to the disruption.
‘Mrs Todd, help me cut some sandwiches and prepare a thermos—I’ll take the children out and we can find somewhere to picnic. I know it’s not much of a day, but it’ll get them out of the house. Leave the key under the mat if we’re not back, will you?’