An Innocent Bride
‘But you’d have money to buy lovely clothes, and meet people,’ one well-wisher had reminded her.
‘But there are people here,’ Katrina had pointed out, ‘and when would I wear lovely clothes?’ And she had added in a voice which had effectively closed the conversation, ‘I’m happy here.’
Which wasn’t quite true. She wasn’t unhappy, but she was young and pretty and full of life; pretty clothes, visits to the theatre, dining out, dancing—she wished that she could sample them all, while at the same time knowing that it was most unlikely.
She had lived with Aunt Thirza since her parents had been killed in a plane crash when she was twelve years old. She had no brothers or sisters; there were numerous aunts and uncles and cousins, but Aunt Thirza was the only one of the family who had given her a home. That had been twelve years ago, before she had retired as headmistress of a girls’ school—a privately run establishment where Katrina had been educated. When Aunt Thirza had retired Katrina had been seventeen, and hopeful of going on to university. But it seemed that that wouldn’t be possible. Aunt Thirza had pointed out in her forthright way that she had only her pension, which would not stretch to it.
‘But something may turn up,’ she had said. ‘I suggest that you stay at home with me. You’re still young; a year or two won’t matter at your age. I shall write to your uncles and aunts and enlist their help. After all, they were your father’s brothers and sisters.’
However, offers of help had not been forthcoming. Did Thirza not realise that Katrina’s cousins were a constant drain on parental purses? Had she any idea what it cost to give them a start in life?
Vague offers of help in a year or two had been made, and so she had stifled her disappointment and agreed with her aunt that a year or so living at the cottage would be delightful. She had made a tentative offer to find work of some sort; she had her A levels, and she was quick and intelligent—a job in Warminster, perhaps? In a shop or as a dental assistant…
Aunt Thirza had been disapproving. ‘No niece of mine will waste her talents in a shop,’ she had said vigorously. ‘If your cousins can go to university, then so shall you. It is merely a question of waiting for a year or two.’
But the years had slipped by, and the cousins, no longer at university had still been a constant expense to their parents. The girls became engaged, and expected splendid weddings, the young men naturally needed allowances while they found their feet earning their living in something suitable.
After a few years Aunt Thirza had given up talking about university, and Katrina’s pleas to get a job had also been swept aside. She had plenty to keep her busy. She had taken over most of the household chores now that Aunt Thirza was getting on a bit, and besides, there was the garden, the Youth Club in the village, the church flowers, the various bazaars and fêtes—regular events. And she had friends, as Aunt Thirza had pointed out. Her aunt had ended by asking her if she wasn’t happy, in a voice which shook a little, and Katrina, seeing the unhappiness in the elderly face, had assured her that she was very happy.
And after that she gave up talking about jobs or university; her aunt had given her a home and affection when no one else was willing to do so, and she was deeply grateful for that. Besides, she was fond of the old lady.
Professor Glenville drove himself home, cutting across country along narrow, less used roads to Wherwell, a village tucked away in Hampshire but near enough to the motorway for him to travel to and fro to London each day, where he had consulting rooms as well as beds at St Aldrick’s. His friends and colleagues thought him crazy, living away from London, but he found the early-morning drive to his rooms a pleasant start to his day, even in bad weather, and, however late at night, he made a point of returning to Wherwell; only in an emergency would he spend the night at the small flat above his consulting rooms.
As he drove he decided what he would do with the rest of his day. He had been in Bristol for several days, for he was an examiner for several hospitals, but now he was free until the morning—he could do some writing, catch up on his reading, potter in his garden and take the dogs for a walk, and Mrs Peach, who ran his home with Peach, would give him a splendid tea…
He allowed his thoughts to dwell on Miss Thirza Gibbs and her niece, but only briefly, thinking it a pity, though, that Katrina had been so tart. Even making allowances for shock she need not have been quite so frosty. As for her aunt, he had been in his profession long enough to recognise her type—sharp-tongued, never looking for sympathy, and hiding a soft heart beneath a brisk manner. He decided that he rather liked her.
Wherwell was a delightful village, most of its houses thatched, the country around it peaceful. He drove down its main street and turned into a narrow lane, and then through open gates to his home, which was black and white timber-framed with its thatched roof curling round the upstairs windows. It was a fair size, and the garden around it was sheltered by trees. He drove round the side, parked the car, and went in through the side door, along a flag-stoned passage and into the kitchen. Peach and his wife were there. She sat at the table rolling out pastry, Peach at the other end of the table, cleaning the silver.
Peach got up at once. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said mildly. ‘You’ll be wanting lunch…’
‘No, no, Peach. One of Mrs Peach’s magnificent teas in half an hour would be fine. Everything all right?’
‘Right as rain, sir. Barker and Jones are in the garden. Tea in half an hour, sir.’
The professor picked up his bag and went through a door into the hall, which was long and narrow with a door at each end. He opened his study door, put his bag on the desk and went out of the end door into the garden. Two dogs were waiting for him, uttering pleased barks, running to him as he bent to fondle them: a coal-black Alsatian and a small dog of no known parentage, with a foxy face, heavy whiskers and a feathery tail. The three of them made their way down a path bordered by flowerbeds already full of colour, skirted a large lawn with a small pond at its end and went through a gate into the fields beyond. The dogs raced on ahead now, and the professor sauntered along, his thoughts idle, vaguely irritated that they turned every so often to the events of the other morning.
He went indoors presently, to Mrs Peach’s tea, and then spent an hour or so in his study with his dogs for company. He went back there after his dinner too, making notes for the book he was writing concerning his work. He was a clever man, wrapped up in his profession but by no means a hermit; he had friends, close friends he had known for years, and a host of acquaintances and family scattered throughout the country, but as yet he had found no one whom he wished to make his wife. And that was a pity, Peach had confided to his wife. A good man like the master ought to have been married years ago, with a handful of children. ‘Knocking forty,’ Peach had grumbled. ‘And dear knows he meets enough ladies to pick and choose.’
‘She’ll turn up,’ said Mrs Peach. ‘Just you let Fate take its course.’ Fate must have been listening.
It was a week or so after Katrina’s accident that she noticed that Aunt Thirza didn’t look well. Indeed, now she thought about it, she hadn’t looked well for some weeks. But Aunt Thirza wasn’t a woman to angle for sympathy for herself, and when once or twice Katrina had asked her if she felt all right, she had responded in her usual blunt manner. All the same, there was no denying that she was paler than usual, and lacked energy. And when one morning Katrina found her sitting in the living room with her eyes shut, instead of turning out the sideboard drawers which she had intended to do, Katrina took matters into her own hands.
Despite her aunt’s protests, she got on her bike and went to Dr Peters’ surgery and left a message with his receptionist. It wasn’t a day on which the surgery was open, but she knew that he would come and see her aunt as soon as he could; they had been friends for years and, however brusque Aunt Thirza was feeling, she would listen to his advice.
He came that evening, examined his old friend, taking no notice of her waspish replies to his questions and, despite her protests, taking a sample of her blood.
‘Well, what’s wrong with me?’ demanded Aunt Thirza.
‘You’ve been doing too much,’ he told her, and Katrina thought that she detected the impersonal cheerfulness with which the medical profession conceal their true opinion. ‘I’ll get this blood tested—it will take a day or two. I’ll let you know when I’ve the result and give you something to put you back on your feet. In the meantime, just take things easily. You won’t, of course!’
Three days later he called again. ‘Anaemia,’ he told her. ‘Nothing which can’t be put right with treatment. But I want you to see a specialist, just to endorse my opinion.’ And when Miss Gibbs began an indignant refusal, he said, ‘No, Thirza, my dear. We want the quickest solution, don’t we? So we’ll get expert advice.’
Katrina, walking with him to the gate, said, ‘Is it serious, Dr Peters?’
‘Perhaps, my dear. We must see what the specialist says. I’ll get an appointment for your aunt. You’ll go with her, of course.’
When he got back to his surgery he lifted the phone and asked to speak to Professor Glenville.
CHAPTER TWO
AUNT THIRZA was surprised to receive a letter within the next few days, bidding her to attend a clinic at St Aldrick’s on the following Monday. She was inclined to grumble about this—such short notice and the awkward journey to the hospital. ‘A waste of time,’ she declared. ‘I think I shall not go.’
Katrina waited for her first annoyance to subside before saying mildly, ‘Well, since Dr Peters had taken the trouble to arrange for someone to see you it would be rather unkind to refuse to go. The appointment’s for eleven o’clock—we can catch an early train from Warminster and probably be home again by teatime.’
Bob from the garage drove them to the station—an unavoidable extravagance which for once Miss Gibbs ignored. It was a lovely morning, warm for the time of year, so that Katrina was able to wear the jersey dress and matching jacket which she kept for special occasions. And this was a special occasion—a day out in London, even if most of it would be spent on a bench in the hospital waiting room. The unbidden thought that she might see Professor Glenville again she squashed instantly; he would have for gotten about her, and even if he hadn’t he would hardly wish to renew their acquaintance…
The waiting room was large and crowded, and although they were in good time a nurse told them that they would probably have to wait for half an hour or so.
Aunt Thirza was tired, and had no objection to sitting quietly, and Katrina found plenty to interest her. Moreover, there was always the chance that Professor Glenville might appear. Unlikely, she thought. She didn’t know much about hospitals, but she thought that a well-known man such as Dr Peters had described would have consulting rooms, and only go to the hospital for some emergency or consultation.
It was almost noon by the time Miss Gibbs’ name was called.
‘I prefer to go by myself, Katrina,’ she said firmly. ‘No doubt if you are needed someone will come and tell you.’
She went off with a nurse, her back as stiff as a poker, and was ushered into one of the consulting rooms where she was asked to sit down while a sister took her blood pressure, her temperature, and asked her if she took medicine of any sort, and, if so, what?
‘I do not believe in pills and potions,’ said Aunt Thirza severely. ‘I am a healthy woman and do not need such things.’
Sister murmured in a non-committal manner and ushered her into the inner room, going to stand by the desk facing the door. Miss Gibbs fetched up by it. ‘Oh, it’s you!’ she declared sharply. ‘I do hope you understand that I have only agreed to come because Dr Peters and I are old friends and I wished to oblige him.’
The professor stood up and offered a hand. ‘Miss Gibbs. This is tiresome for you, I feel sure. Please sit down and tell me how I can help you.’
Miss Gibbs sat, still very erect. ‘I owe you an apology, Professor. I was much at fault not to express my gratitude for your help.’
‘Most understandable in the circumstances, Miss Gibbs.’ He had become politely remote. ‘And now, if you would answer a few questions? This shouldn’t take long.’
Aunt Thirza gave succinct replies to his quiet questions, watching him write them down. He looked very reassuring sitting there, and very handsome, too, and his manner was calming, although she told herself that she had no reason to be alarmed. He looked up presently.
‘If you would go with Sister, she will help you to undress. I shall need to examine you.’
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘Yes, Miss Gibbs.’ He glanced at Sister, who whisked Aunt Thirza into another small room, peeled her clothes off her with a practised hand, wrapped her in a shapeless white garment and helped her onto the couch. And when the professor came she took possession of an elderly hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze so that Aunt Thirza, with nothing more than an annoyed snort, relaxed under his gentle hands.
Presently, once more dressed, her sensible hat firmly on her head again, she sat facing him at his desk. ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘are you going to tell me what is wrong? If there is anything wrong…’
‘You have anaemia, Miss Gibbs, something which we can deal with. I shall write to Dr Peters with my suggestions for your treatment and I should like to see you again. Shall we say in two weeks’ time?’
‘If you think it is necessary,’ Aunt Thirza said grumpily. ‘It is quite a long journey.’
He said smoothly, ‘You have someone with you today? Your niece?’
‘Katrina, yes.’ She gave him a sharp look, but he only smiled blandly.
‘I’m sorry I have no time in which to meet her again. Please thank her for her letter.’
The letter, so stiff and written with obvious reluctance, had made him smile.
He stood up and shook hands, and when Sister came back from ushering Aunt Thirza out, he said, ‘A pity. It’s lymphatic leukaemia, and I suspect she has had it for some time. We’ll treat it, of course. There is always a chance that she will live for a number of years. Luckily it isn’t rapid. But it is fatal…’
‘A nice old thing, too,’ said Sister. ‘There’s a very pretty girl with her.’
‘That will be her niece.’ He made a mental note to talk to Katrina and explain about her aunt. Miss Gibbs was a strong-minded old lady, but he had no intention of telling her the truth until necessary.
He sat writing at his desk and found himself wondering what would happen to Katrina if Miss Gibbs were to die. He wished he had seen her again. The temptation had been great to send a nurse with a message asking her to see him, but then Aunt Thirza would have smelled a rat. He must arrange to go to Dr Peters’ surgery so that he could explain about her aunt’s illness.
He asked for his next patient and forgot Katrina.
But he remembered again as he drove himself home that evening. Katrina would have to be told the true state of affairs—something which Dr Peters was quite able to do, but which for some reason he felt obliged to do himself.
Life, for the next few days, returned to normal for Aunt Thirza and Katrina. Dr Peters came, prescribed pills, advised rest, no excitement and a suitable diet, offered reassurance and went away again, with the suggestion that Katrina should collect the pills the next morning at the surgery.
‘Such a fuss,’ said Aunt Thirza, but for once did what she had been told to do, sitting down with her knitting and allowing Katrina to get on with the household chores.
While she hung out the washing and pulled radishes and lettuce for their lunch Katrina allowed her faint suspicions to surface. Dr Peters had been almost too reassuring. She would ask him to tell her exactly what was wrong in the morning…
There was no need, for when she went into the surgery he told her. ‘We do not need to give up hope,’ he said. ‘Your aunt’s illness is almost always slow in its progress, and she is elderly.’ He glanced at her to see if she had understood and she nodded. ‘There is no reason to tell her at the moment, but if at any time she should ask then Professor Glenville will explain it to her. By the way, he is coming here on Sunday; he thinks it advisable that he should talk to you so that you understand fully and know what to expect.’
She said rather tartly, ‘Is there any need for that? Surely you can tell me anything I need to know.’
Dr Peters said mildly, ‘My dear, Professor Glenville is at the very top of his profession. If there is a way by which your aunt can be helped he will do that, but he would need co-operation, and you are the one to give that. He suggests that I invite your aunt to spend Sunday with us. She and Mary are old friends; there is plenty for them to gossip about. And when she is safely out of the house the professor will call on you.’
‘He won’t expect lunch?’
Dr Peters hid a smile. ‘Most unlikely! A cup of coffee should suffice. You don’t like him, Katrina?’
‘I’m not sure…’
‘But you trust him?’
‘Yes, and I’ll do anything to help Aunt Thirza.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose you don’t know how long?’
‘No, my dear, I don’t. That is a question for Professor Glenville; he will be better able to answer than I.’
So Katrina went back home with a note from Mrs Peters, and Aunt Thirza agreed with pleasure to spend the day with her friends. ‘You won’t be lonely, Katrina? I know it wouldn’t be very interesting for you to accompany me, but it might be preferable to sitting here on your own.’
‘I shan’t sit,’ said Katrina promptly. ‘There’s heaps of work in the garden, and I can get on with it without being interrupted. I’ve all those lettuces to transplant, and the rhubarb to pull, and I want to dig that empty patch at the bottom of the garden. Remember those seedlings I got from the farm? If I don’t get them in there won’t be any peas later on.’
Dr Peters was coming for her aunt soon after ten o’clock on Sunday, so Katrina was up early, tidying the little house, getting breakfast, and making sure that her aunt had all she needed for her day out. As she herself was going to work in the garden she had got into an elderly cotton jersey dress, faded to a gentle blue and, had she but known it, very flattering to her shapely curves. She had no intention of dressing up just because Professor Glenville chose to call. She tied her hair back with a ribbon and dug her feet into sandals. Digging was hot work, and now that it was May the days were warmer.
Her aunt safely away, Katrina put the coffee pot on the stove, cups and saucers on a tray with a tin of biscuits, and went down the garden to the shed at the bottom. She found her fork and spade, a trug for the rhubarb, and set to work. First the rhubarb…
She had the trug half full when the professor drew up silently, opened the gate, mindful of its creaking, and trod up the path to the open door of the house. There was no answer to his knock, naturally enough, and after a few moments he wandered down the garden to be rewarded by the sight of Katrina, bent double over the rhubarb.
His quiet, ‘Good morning, Katrina,’ brought her upright, clutching an armful of pink stalks.
‘Oh, Lord…I didn’t expect you so soon.’
He kept a straight face. ‘Shall I go for a drive around while you finish your gardening?’
‘I’m not gardening, only pulling rhubarb. I was going to dig that patch over there.’ She pointed with a stick of the fruit. ‘I told Aunt Thirza I would and she’ll wonder why if it isn’t done.’
‘The pair of us should be able to get that done later on…’ At her look of surprise, he added, ‘I like gardening.’ ‘You do? All right. I don’t suppose it will take long, whatever it is that you have to tell me.’ She dusted off her grubby hands. ‘Come and have a cup of coffee first.’ She added belatedly, ‘This must be spoiling your Sunday?’
The professor, beginning to enjoy himself, assured her that it was still early and he had the whole day before him.
‘I expect you are glad to be out of London for the day,’ said Katrina, leading the way into the house.
They had their coffee in the little living room, with the sun shining in on the rather shabby chairs and the polished sofa table and old-fashioned chiffonnier, both old and valuable. It shone on Katrina’s wealth of hair, too, and the professor admired it silently. A strikingly lovely girl, he had to admit, who made no effort to engage his attention.
When she had refilled their cups, Katrina said, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me? It’s about Aunt Thirza, of course. Dr Peters said he would prefer you to explain in more detail.’ For a moment she faltered.
‘Your aunt has lymphatic leukaemia, which is incurable, although there is a great deal to be done which can prolong her life. But one must consider the fact that she is no longer young. It is a slow-moving illness. Indeed it can be compatible with a normal lifespan.’
Katrina didn’t look at him; she was staring out of the window. ‘You mean that Aunt Thirza might—might live until her death without knowing?’
‘Yes, that is exactly what I do mean. Unless she asks me to tell her chapter and verse, in which case I should do so. I hope that will not happen, and I suggest that she is allowed to believe that she has a simple anaemia which we shall treat in the prescribed way. She is a sensible lady, is she not? And she will go along with any treatment we suggest—pills, of course, diet, rest.’ He added abruptly, ‘You can cope with that?’
‘Yes, of course I can.’ She looked at him then, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. ‘I owe everything to Aunt Thirza. She gave me a home when no one else wanted me.’
A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, and for a moment he had a vision of a small sad girl whom no one had wanted. He offered a beautifully laundered handkerchief and said nothing; he sensed that if he did speak she would dislike him even more. He had been the bearer of bad news, and now he had seen her in tears. He sat quietly until she had mopped her face and mumbled that she would launder his handkerchief and send it to him.
‘I never cry,’ she told him fiercely.
‘How old were you when you came to live here?’ He sounded friendly, and she responded to the sound of his quiet voice.
‘Twelve. Mother and Father died in an air crash on their way back from the Middle East. Father built bridges and sometimes Mother went with him.’
‘No brothers or sisters? No family other than your aunt?’
‘No, but several other aunts and uncles, and cousins…’ She broke off. ‘This is boring for you. Will you tell me what you intend to do for Aunt Thirza and advise me as to the best way to look after her?’
‘Certainly I will.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘It’s a lovely morning. Would you come back with me to my home and have lunch? We can discuss every small detail at our leisure.’
‘Lunch?’ said Katrina. ‘Lunch with you?’ Her unflatter ing surprise caused his thin mouth to twitch with sudden amusement. ‘But I can’t; I’ve got that digging to do.’ She added belatedly, ‘Thank you.’
Over the years the professor had cultivated a bedside manner second to none: courteous and matter-of-fact, nicely laced with sympathy.
‘How would it be if I do the digging while you do whatever you need to do? Don’t dress up; it will only be the two of us.’
Just as though he couldn’t care less what I look like, thought Katrina peevishly. She said loudly, ‘You can’t dig in those clothes…’
He wore beautifully cut trousers, an open-necked shirt and a cashmere sweater, not to mention the shoes on his large feet.
He didn’t answer her but got to his feet. ‘Fifteen minutes be long enough?’ he wanted to know, and went unhurriedly into the garden.