Stormy Springtime

Doreen looked at her to see if she was joking and saw that she wasn’t, so she didn’t reply. ‘When’s Mrs Culver due to arrive?’ she asked instead. ‘I’d better decide on the things I want and get them away. Have you got yours?’

Meg nodded. ‘Yes, I got Willy to come up and move them. Most of it’s in my room; the rest is in the attic. Betsy’s got some bits and pieces, too—in her room and some in the attic.’

‘Well, I’ll get it over with and have it taken up to town and stored until I want it. Does Mrs Culver want everything else? How much will she pay for it?’

‘I’ve no idea. There’s a valuer coming…I’ll let you know as soon as he’s been and she’s agreed to his estimate.’

Doreen wandered off and came back presently with a scribbled list. Mostly portraits, a rent table which wouldn’t really be missed in the drawing-room, a little button-backed Victorian chair from one of the bedrooms and a corner cupboard. ‘Not much,’ she commented. ‘I’d rather have the money, anyway. Cora and I don’t really like the idea of you staying on here as housekeeper, you know. It’s only for a few weeks, isn’t it? Let me know in good time so that I can find somewhere for you, Meg.’

It seemed as good a time as any to talk about her future. Meg said quietly, ‘Doreen, I’d like to go on housekeeping; if Mrs Culver will give me a reference I could get a job in some country house—and take Betsy with me—I’d probably get a cottage or a flat, and I’d much rather do that than live in London…’

Doreen looked at her with kindly tolerance. ‘Don’t be daft, love. Just you leave everything to Cora and me—we really know what’s best for you. You’ve lived here too long; it’s time you went into the world and had a look around.’

‘I don’t think it’s my sort of world,’ protested Meg doggedly. ‘I like the country and keeping house and looking after people…’

‘Nonsense,’ said Doreen firmly. ‘How can you be certain of that before you’ve lived somewhere else?’ She added coaxingly, ‘Cora and I do want you to be happy, darling; I know there wasn’t much we could do about it while Mother was alive, but now we intend to see that you have some fun.’

There had been a lot they could have done, but Meg didn’t say so; she loved her two pretty sisters and she wasn’t a girl to bear a grudge.

All she said was, mildly, ‘Well, Betsy and I will be here for two months—plenty of time to make plans.’

Doreen nodded her pretty head; she was looking thoughtful again. ‘I don’t suppose Mrs Culver will mind if I pop down to see you now and again?’ And at Meg’s look of surprise, ‘Just to make sure that everything is OK…’ She gave herself away completely by adding, ‘I wonder where he lives and what he does? I might be able to find out…’

‘Did you like him?’ asked Meg.

‘My dear Meg—grow up, do! He’s got everything: looks—my goodness, he’s got those all right—obviously a good job—probably chairman of something or other—and money. He’s every girl’s dream, ducky.’

‘Oh, is he? I don’t much care for him. Besides, he may be married.’

‘But it’s worth finding out. I must be off. I’ll let you know when to expect the carrier to collect my furniture.’ Doreen dropped a kiss on Meg’s cheek. ‘Be seeing you, darling. Has Cora phoned?’

‘Last week. I expect she’s busy; the boys have half term.’

Getting into the car, Doreen said, ‘I’m broke—this cashmere dress, but it’s worth every penny. You must get yourself some decent clothes, love. You look—well—dowdy!’

She sped away with a wave and Meg stood in the porch, shivering a little in the cold wind, aware that her sister was quite right. A housekeeper should be decently but soberly dressed, and she would need a couple of overalls.

She would go into Hertford in the morning; she had a little money she had been hanging on to for emergencies, and since she was to be paid, she could safely spend it.

It took her some time to find what she wanted. Sober dresses suitable for a housekeeper seemed to be made for very large, tall women and she was size ten. She found something at last: dark grey with white collars and a little black bow; it did nothing for her whatsoever, but then it wasn’t supposed to. She bought overalls too, blue and white checks with a white collar and neat belts, and since she had a little money over she bought Betsy two new aprons, old-fashioned with bibs which crossed over at the back and fastened with giant safety pins. Nothing would convince Betsy that nylon overalls saved time and labour; she had never fancied them, and she wasn’t prepared to change her ideas at her time of life.

Another week went by. The solicitors, at last satisfied that all the parties concerned were not up to something unlawful, cautiously exchanged contracts and then, doubtless egged on by Mrs Culver, allowed them to be signed. The house was Mrs Culver’s. All three of them had had to sign; Doreen had fetched Meg and had driven into Hertford, annoyed at what she called the waste of her precious time, but excited too, and Cora had driven herself from Kent, excited in a controlled way, anxious to get the business over and get back to her modern, split-level house with its well-kept garden and the double garage.

The whole business took only a very few minutes; they stood on the pavement outside the solicitor’s office and looked at each other. ‘I’d better come back to the house and get the pictures and silver,’ said Cora. ‘You heard what Mr Dutton said, Meg? The money will be paid into my account and I’ll send you a cheque for your share, and Doreen, of course.’ She looked at her younger sister. ‘I expect you want to get back to the hospital. I’ll take Meg back, collect my things and go home—I’ve a bridge party this afternoon.’

She tucked her arm into Meg’s. ‘Lovely to have it all settled. What a difference it’s going to make.’

Meg said nothing at all. Doreen and Cora might be over the moon but she had just lost her home. She would rather have gone on living there until it fell in ruins about her ears; what use was the money to her if she had to use it to buy some ghastly basement flat? She swallowed back tears and got into Cora’s car.

A week later Mrs Culver moved in. There had been a small van load of furniture first with instructions as to where it was to be put and at ten o’clock in the morning the Rolls-Royce had come to a quiet halt in front of the door and the new owner had stepped out, helped, Meg was annoyed to see, by her son, massive and calm and for some reason faintly amused. That the amusement had been engendered by her own sober appearance never entered her head. She welcomed Mrs Culver with shy dignity, and led the way to the drawing-room.

‘I expect you’d like coffee. I’ll bring it.’ She glanced at Mr Culver. ‘You’ll have a cup, Mr Culver?’

‘Thank you, yes.’ He glanced round the room. ‘I see you’ve had the time to arrange my mother’s things.’

And when she said yes, he asked, ‘The valuer has been?’

‘Yes. He’ll write to Mrs Culver.’

That lady was sitting back comfortably, taking no part in the conversation. Meg suspected that she was in the habit of leaving business matters to her son. She got herself out of the room and hurried to the kitchen to get the coffee tray.

‘They’re ‘ere,’ said Betsy, unnecessarily. ‘E’s ‘ere too. A proper gent.’

Meg had her own ideas about that, but there was no time to discuss the man. She whipped up the tray and went back with it, and set it down on the lamp table by Mrs Culver’s chair.

‘Where’s your cup?’ asked the older woman.

‘My cup?’ Meg echoed.

‘Yes, dear. Go and fetch it. Ralph hasn’t much time, and he wants to be sure that there are no loose ends.’

Meg fetched another cup and saucer and sat down on a little chair as far from Mr Culver as she dared without being rude. He gave her a hooded glance.

‘I wish merely to thank you for the help you’ve given my mother. Without you, she would have been unable to settle in so quickly. We’re grateful. Do we owe you anything? Are there any outstanding bills?’

Meg said that, no, there weren’t. ‘Willy will be up tomorrow morning on his way to school and will fill the coal scuttles, and he’ll come again in the afternoon on his way back home. The gardener starts on Monday.’

Mr Culver finished his coffee and got up. ‘I think you’ll be happy here, Mother. You know where I am if you need me, my dear.’ He crossed the room and kissed her cheek, and nodded austerely to Meg. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

Meg poured more coffee, and Mrs Culver said, ‘Such a good son—never interferes, you know, but always there when I want him. So convenient. He’s just like his father.’

Meg looked at her companion with something like respect. If his father had been like him, then she must have had her work cut out—but perhaps he had loved her very much and never let her see the cold mockery and impatience—or perhaps it was Meg herself who induced those. She thought that probably it was; she had had no practice in turning a man up sweet. She murmured suitably and asked what Mrs Culver would like for lunch.

It took only a few days to settle into a routine. Mrs Culver liked her breakfast in bed, which meant that Meg and Betsy could eat their own meal and get on with the household chores. Even with Mrs Griffith’s help there was plenty of work to be got through, and they did the bulk of it in the early mornings. Mrs Culver’s own car had arrived with her chauffeur and she was out a good deal, which gave Meg time to see to the washing and ironing and help Betsy with the meals, so that tasks such as arranging the flowers and setting the table for meals could be done when that lady was at home, tasks which Meg concluded were quite suitable for a housekeeper. She had no doubt that Mrs Culver had little idea of what went on behind the scenes; she was charming, easy and very kind, and had very likely grown up and lived all her life with people to do her bidding.

But it had been a surprise to Meg when Mrs Culver had insisted on her taking her meals with her. And when she had demurred, she had insisted, ‘Nonsense, child. You’ve sat at this table all your life; you will continue to do so or upset me very much.’

So Meg sat at the table she had laid so carefully, getting up to clear the dishes and fetch the food from the kitchen, for Betsy had enough to do and her legs hurt in any case, and she entirely approved of the arrangement. The dear soul still thought of her as the lady of the house. Mrs Culver was a nice enough lady, indeed, one couldn’t wish for a better, but there had been Collinses living there for a long time, and she didn’t take easily to change.

Meg was happy; she was still in her own home, she enjoyed the work even though her days were long and there was little time to get into the garden. Cora had phoned to say that her share of the money was paid into her account and to ask, rather casually, if she were happy. And when she had a satisfactory answer, ‘Then I’ll not bother you, Meg; let me know when you leave and I’ll help in any way I can.’

She had a much longer call from Doreen, who wasted little time on questions but plunged at once into her news. She had discovered who Mr Culver was—a Professor, a consultant radiologist, based at one of the big teaching hospitals but with a large area to cover. ‘He’s well known,’ said Doreen, ‘goes to any number of hospitals for consultations—one of the best men in his field—Europe too. When is he going to visit his mother, Meg?’

‘I’ve no idea. Did you want to see him about something? Shall I ask Mrs Culver?’

‘I wish you’d grow up, Meg! Of course I want to see him, but only to get to know him. He’s not married…’

Meg tried to imagine him as a future brother-in-law. ‘He’s quite old,’ she pointed out in her practical manner.

‘Rubbish—thirty-eight at the most. Quite brilliant at his work, too—he’ll end up with a knighthood.’

‘I thought you were keen on that registrar…’

‘Oh, him! Listen, darling, if you hear that he’s coming down to see his mother, give me a ring, will you?’

‘Why?’ asked Meg, being deliberately dim. She heard her sister’s exasperated sigh as she hung up.

As it happened she had no chance to do that, and she was glad, for it smacked of disloyalty to Mrs Culver and to him. After all, she was in Mrs Culver’s employ. The Professor walked in as they sat at lunch a day or two later. He had a dirty, half-starved dog under one arm which was cringing away from the sight of them, and Meg got up at once and said, ‘Oh, the poor beast, let me have him. Have you come to lunch? There’s plenty…’

It was a quiche Lorraine and she had just begun to cut it.

‘Take it back to keep warm, Meg,’ said Mrs Culver, ‘it won’t spoil for ten minutes or so. Bring a towel or something with you to put that dog on.’

The Professor stood, the animal still in his arms, waiting for Meg to come back. ‘Found him in the road—been knocked down and left. Not hurt, I fancy, and, by the look of him, lost or abandoned.’

His mother rose to the occasion. ‘Just what we could do with here—a guard dog. What is he?’

‘Difficult to say. Ah, there you are—if you will put the towel on that table I’ll take a look at him. A little warm milk perhaps?’ Meg went off to the kitchen again and came back with a bowl of milk, standing patiently while he examined the beast with gentle hands. ‘Nothing broken.’ He glanced at her and smiled. ‘Just worn out, hungry and frightened. He’ll be a splendid addition to the household.’

Meg proffered the milk; it disappeared with the speed of dust into a vacuum cleaner. ‘There’s a big box and some old blankets. I’ll fetch them.’

‘A nice child,’ observed Mrs Culver when she had gone, ‘and so sensible.’

‘And a good housekeeper, I hope?’

‘Excellent. I’ve been to visit Kate; she’s doing well, but it will be a month at least…’

‘No need to hurry her,’ said the Professor easily, ‘since Meg suits you so well. No problems?’

‘None, my dear. And she is so happy to be here. It must be dreadful for her having to give up her home to strangers.’

‘Do you see anything of her sisters?’ He glanced at his mother. ‘I met her younger sister—a very pretty girl; she’s at the Royal—staff nurse hoping to be made a Sister. She had no regrets leaving here, nor, I understand, had her elder sister.’

‘The married one—I believe she’s just as handsome. Are you on your way home, dear, or are you going back to town?’

‘Back to town. I’ve a dinner date. But may I have lunch?’

Meg came back with the box and blankets and the dog was laid gently down and promptly went to sleep. Which left her free to fetch the quiche back and lay another place. She put the plates before Mrs Culver and said in her calm way, ‘If you wanted to talk together I’ll go away…’

‘No need,’ said the Professor before his mother could speak. ‘Besides, we have to plan this animal’s future. I’ll phone the vet if I may, Mother, and if he’s not injured, presumably he may stay?’

‘Of course, my dear.’ Mrs Culver turned to Meg. ‘You know about dogs, Meg?’

‘Oh, yes, Mrs Culver.’ Nothing in her quiet voice betrayed the fact that she would have to get up earlier than ever to take him for a walk, that he would have to be groomed, fed and generally looked after. Not that she minded; she liked animals, and he would be company for Silky.

‘Then that settles the matter. If you’re not already engaged, Mother, I’ll come over after church on Sunday and take you back for lunch.’

So he can’t live far away, thought Meg, collecting plates and piling them tidily on a tray and carrying it out to the kitchen, where she loaded it up again with light-as-air castle puddings and hot jam sauce.

‘Your cook is excellent,’ observed the Professor, accepting a second helping.

‘Oh, but Meg made these, didn’t you, dear?’

His look of polite astonishment annoyed Meg; he could have no opinion of her at all! She said, ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,’ in a tart voice and went to fetch the coffee.

‘Don’t you like her, dear?’ asked his mother.

The look on his face gave her food for thought. ‘I hardly know her,’ he said at length. ‘I dare say she might grow on one—missed when she’s no longer there…’

‘Such a waste,’ said Mrs Culver vaguely, watching him. ‘And so easily overlooked, especially when her sisters are with her.’

As Meg came back in with the tray the Professor got up to close the door behind her and watched her pour the coffee. She was wearing the severe grey dress and she had pinned up her pale brown hair into a tidy bun, under the impression that it made her look like a housekeeper. She was really nothing to look at; he was at a loss to understand why the thought of her crossed his mind from time to time. She handed him his cup and looked at him with her lovely grey eyes. They were cool and clear, like a child’s. She said, ‘It was kind of you to rescue the dog. I’ll take great care of him.’

‘Yes, I know. That’s why I brought him here.’ He smiled, and his severe expression melted into a charm which took her by surprise. She didn’t like him, but just for a moment she glimpsed another man entirely.

She slipped away presently, pleading some household duty which kept her occupied until she heard the Rolls sigh its way down the drive. By then she had helped Betsy with the washing up, rubbed up the silver and got the tea tray ready. It was Betsy’s hour or so of peace and quiet, and Mrs Culver would doubtless be dozing. Meg went to look at the dog and found him awake, cringing in his box. She fed him, bathed some of the dirt and dust from him, tended his pathetically cracked paws and went to let the vet in.

They knew each other vaguely; years ago when her father had been alive there had been dogs and cats and ponies. He was a grouchy old man but a splendid vet. He examined the dog carefully, pronounced him half starved, in need of rest and bruised from his accident. ‘But he’ll live,’ he said. ‘God alone knows what breed he is, but he’s a nice enough beast. You’re looking after him?’ He looked at her enquiringly. ‘Professor Culver said that he would be here with you… He would have taken him to his home but he’s only there at the weekends; a London flat is no place for dogs.’

Meg longed to ask where the Professor lived, but she didn’t. At least she had learned something; that he had a flat in London. She listened carefully to the vet’s instructions, offered him tea, which he refused, and saw him out to his car. By the time she had settled the dog again it was tea time.

A busy day, she reflected, getting ready for bed at the end of the day. It struck her that she earned every penny of the money Mrs Culver paid her, for she had little time to call her own. She set her alarm clock half an hour earlier than usual because she would have to take the dog out and feed him before starting on the morning’s chores, and she found herself wondering what the Professor was doing. Lolling in an easy chair in a comfortable sitting-room, waited on hand and foot, she decided. Despite his kindness over the dog, her opinion of him was low.

He arrived on Sunday, expressed satisfaction at the dog’s appearance, refused refreshment and ushered his mother out to the car. He settled her in the front seat and then turned back to speak to Meg, who was standing sedately by the front door. ‘What will you call him?’ he asked.

‘Well, nothing at the moment. I thought that Mrs Culver or you…’

‘We leave it to you.’ He smiled his charming smile once more. ‘Enjoy your afternoon, Meg.’

Meg, indeed! she thought indignantly, though of course she was employed by his mother and he had every right to address her in such a fashion. Perhaps he thought it might keep her in her place. She went indoors and made up the fire in the sitting-room, gave the dog a meal, took him for a short run in the garden, and went along to the kitchen. She and Betsy had their afternoon planned; lunch on a tray for Meg and a peaceful hour or so for Betsy in her chair by the Aga. They would have an early tea too, and there might even be time to potter in the garden. It was a miserably grey day, but Meg never let the weather bother her.

The afternoon was all that she had hoped for; accompanied by the now devoted animal, she repaired to the potting shed and, tied in her sacking apron, pricked out seedlings and transplanted wallflowers. Then she went to her tea, sitting at the kitchen table with Betsy opposite her and Silky and the dog sitting in a guarded friendship on the rug before the Aga. Betsy had made a cake that morning; the mixture had been too much for the cake tin, she explained guilelessly, so that there was a plate of little cakes as well as hot buttered toast and Meg’s strawberry jam and strong tea in the brown earthenware pot which Betsy favoured.

They cleared away together; Meg fed the animals and then got into her old duffle coat and took the dog for a gentle walk. ‘You’ll have to have a name,’ she told him, suiting her pace to his still painful paws. ‘How about Lucky? Because that’s what you are, you know!’

Then she stopped to rub the rough fur on the top of his head, and he gave her a devoted look. He was beginning to look happy and he had stopped cringing. Back in the house, she settled him in the kitchen with a bone and went to tidy herself. It was time to be the housekeeper again.

The sitting-room looked charming as she went into it; she had made a good fire, there were flowers and pot plants scattered around the tables, and shaded lamps. She began to draw the curtains and saw the lights of the Rolls-Royce sweep up the drive, and she went into the hall and opened the door.

‘Oh, how nice it all looks!’ declared Mrs Culver. ‘Meg, you have no idea how happy I am to be living here—to have found such a delightful home, and you with it, too!’

She slid off her fur coat and Meg took it from her, thinking that she had done just that so many times for her mother when she had been alive and well. She glanced up and found Professor Culver’s dark eyes on her, his thoughtful look disturbing. She turned away and suggested coffee, and, ‘There’s a fire in the sitting-room,’ she pointed out.

‘No coffee, Meg—we’ll have a drink. You’ll stay a few minutes, Ralph?’

He had taken off his car coat and thrown it on to the oak settle against a wall. ‘Yes, of course.’ His eyes were still on Meg. He asked, ‘Have you named the dog?’

‘Yes, I’d like to call him Lucky. It was lucky for him when you met him…’

‘An appropriate name. I’ve never believed in luck, but I think that perhaps I have been mistaken about that. You’ve had a pleasant afternoon?’

She looked surprised. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She sought feverishly for an excuse to get away from his stare. ‘I must take Lucky out… Unless you need me for anything, Mrs Culver?’

‘No, my dear, off you go. Wrap up warmly; it’s a chilly evening.’

Meg nipped off to the kitchen, thinking that sometimes her employer talked to her as though she were her daughter. She put on the duffle coat again and encountered Betsy’s surprised look. ‘You’ve just been out with the beast,’ she pointed out, ‘’ad yer forgotten, Miss Meg?’

Meg opened the kitchen door and started off down the stone passage leading to the garden. Lucky, anxious to please, even if reluctant, trotted beside her.

‘No—it’s all right, Betsy, it’s only until the Professor’s gone.’

The remark puzzled Betsy; it puzzled Meg too. Just because one didn’t like a person it didn’t mean to say that one had to run away from them, and wasn’t she being a bit silly, trudging round the garden on such a beastly evening just because Professor Culver was ill-mannered enough to stare so?

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