A Happy Meeting Read online

  CHAPTER TWO

  CRESSIDA, PUTTING A final polish on the table silver, was astonished when Moggy opened the door to admit Dr Braddock.

  He wished them a good morning, patted her on the shoulder and signified his intention of examining her ankle.

  ‘However did you know about it?’ asked Cressida and tried not to wince as he prodded it gently.

  ‘Dr van der Linus very correctly informed me. How fortunate that he should have found you, my dear. I couldn’t better the strapping myself but you must have it X-rayed. I’ve got my car outside. I’ll run you in to Yeovil now and get it done...’

  ‘Must you? I mean, Stepmother’s got a dinner party this evening...’

  ‘There is no need for her to come with you,’ said Dr Braddock testily. He turned to Miss Mogford. ‘Do you suppose we could give her a chair downstairs? Just get her into a dressing-gown.’

  ‘How shall I get back here?’ asked Cressida sensibly.

  ‘Well, I have to come home, don’t I?’ He went to the door. ‘I’ll go and see your stepmother while Miss Mogford gets you ready, and don’t waste time.’

  ‘The silver,’ said Cressida urgently, watching Moggy bundling it up, ‘I haven’t quite finished it.’

  ‘Pooh,’ said Miss Mogford, ‘that’s of no importance. Here’s your dressing-gown.’

  Doctor Braddock came back presently and between them he and Miss Mogford carried Cressida down to the hall and out of the door, into his car. Mrs Preece came after them, on the verge of tears. ‘What am I to do?’ she asked pathetically. ‘There’s the table to arrange and the drinks and the flowers to do. Really, Cressida, I do think you’re being very selfish...’

  No one answered her. The doctor and Moggy were too occupied in conveying Cressida as painlessly as possible and Cressida was gritting her teeth against the pain.

  Dr Braddock drove off and as soon as she had control of her voice again she asked, ‘They won’t keep me long? I really should get back to help as quickly as I can. If I could be back by lunchtime? You’re awfully kind having given me a lift, Dr Braddock, but I expect you have to come back home for lunch.’

  She wasn’t back for lunch, however; instead she found herself in one of the side-wards, comfortably in bed with a cradle over the injured ankle and the prospect of several days’ rest.

  ‘I really can’t,’ she explained to the cheerful house doctor who came to see her after she was warded. ‘I haven’t anything with me and there is a great deal I must do at home...’

  ‘Well, if you don’t rest that foot for a few days you won’t be doing anything at all at home or anywhere else. Dr Braddock is going to call and see your stepmother on his way home. I dare say she will come and see you and bring you anything you need.’

  The very last thing that lady would do, but there was no point in saying so. Cressida murmured suitably and since the bed was comfortable and she had had an irksome morning she closed her eyes and took a nap.

  Miss Mogford came that evening, carrying a small holdall with what she considered necessary for Cressida’s comfort while she was in hospital.

  Cressida was delighted to see her, but worried too. ‘Moggy, however did you get away? It’s the dinner party too...is Stepmother very cross?’

  ‘Livid,’ said Miss Mogford, succinctly, ‘but Dr Braddock was quite sharp with her, told her she was responsible for you and I don’t know what else—I just happened to be passing through the hall and the door wasn’t quite closed—so when he’d gone she phoned a catering firm and they’re there now, seeing to everything. She told me to bring you what you needed here and I got the baker’s van to bring me.’

  ‘How will you get back?’

  ‘The van’s going back in an hour—the driver’s got the day off tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know how long I’m here for...’

  ‘I heard Dr Braddock say a couple of days, so you have a nice rest, Miss Cressida, and you’ll have to take things easy when you come home.’

  ‘Is my stepmother very annoyed?’

  ‘Well, she’s put out,’ said Miss Mogford, uttering the understatement of a lifetime.

  It was surprising what two days at the hospital did for Cressida. Of course there were the painful physiotherapy sessions, but for a good deal of each day she sat, the injured ankle resting on a stool, reading the discarded magazines and newspapers of the other patients, racing through the romantic fiction the lady from the hospital library was kind enough to bring her. She didn’t turn up her unassuming nose at the food either; by the end of the second day she had colour in her cheeks and had put on a much-needed pound or two.

  It was after breakfast on the following morning that the orthopaedic registrar came to tell her that she was fit enough to go home. ‘You must wear an elastic stocking for a couple of weeks and keep off your feet as much as possible, and mind you rest the ankle properly. Sister phoned your stepmother and she assures us that you will be well looked after. We’ll arrange for the hospital car service to pick you up after midday dinner today.’

  Cressida thanked him and reflected that with a stocking and a stick she would be able to manage well enough. Indeed, she would have to...

  She was sitting dressed and ready to leave, her ankle resting on the stool before her, when the door opened and Dr van der Linus walked in.

  His greeting was genial. ‘I had to have a word with someone here and thought I would call and see how you are getting on. I hear you’re going home?’

  ‘Yes. I’m waiting for transport. I’m quite better again.’ She gave him a steady smile. ‘I’m most grateful for everything you did for me.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. I’m going past your home; I’ll take you if you’re ready to go. Just let me have a word with Sister...’ He had gone before she could answer.

  On the way back he told her that he was going to London on the following day and then back to Holland. ‘I don’t expect to be back here for some time,’ he told her, and then casually, ‘Have you any plans for your future?’

  ‘No, none,’ said Cressida bleakly. Her look was sad. ‘At least not for some time.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ said the doctor easily, ‘I dare say you have your reasons for staying at home.’

  ‘Yes, I have. What will happen to the dog while you’re in London?’

  He accepted the change of subject without demur. ‘He’s to stay at the vet’s. I will collect him when I leave England. He looks quite handsome, you know, although I’m not quite sure what he is. He’s young still, about six months, and still going to grow.’

  ‘You’ll have room for him at your home?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He stopped in front of her house and got out to help her.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come in and see my stepmother?’

  The doctor smiled a little; it was obvious that she hoped that he would refuse. ‘Why not?’ he said cheerfully, and took her arm. ‘Use your stick,’ he counselled her, and, ‘Put your weight on your good foot and for heaven’s sake don’t stand about; sit when you can and keep your foot up.’

  Miss Mogford had been on the watch for Cressida’s return. She opened the door wide, and her severe features softened into a smile. ‘There, that’s better. My goodness, a couple of days in hospital have done you a power of good, Miss Cressy—I swear you’ve put on a pound or two.’

  ‘Is my stepmother in?’ asked Cressida. ‘I’m sure Dr van der Linus—’

  The rest of her words were lost in Mrs Preece’s voice, ‘Is that you, Cressida? And about time too. All this rubbish I’ve been hearing about this ankle of yours...’ A half-open door was thrust open and she came into the hall, caught sight of the doctor’s vast person and went on smoothly, ‘You poor child, have you had a lot of pain? I didn’t come to visit you for you know how sensitive I am abo
ut illness.’ She smiled at Dr van der Linus. ‘My nerves, you know—I’m a martyr to them.’ She turned to Cressida. ‘Run along upstairs, dear, I dare say you would like a rest. Miss Mogford shall bring you your tea presently.’

  She turned her back on Cressida, ‘Tea is just made,’ she said to the doctor. ‘Do have a cup with me. I see so few people and you must tell me about Cressida’s ankle.’

  He refused with a charm as smooth as her own. ‘I have an evening appointment and have still some distance to drive. Miss Preece should be all right now—a week or two keeping off the ankle and plenty of rest. But, of course, you will know what to do.’

  He shook hands again and then turned to Cressida standing so quietly close by. ‘I am sure that Dr Braddock will be over to see you shortly. I’m glad that the damage wasn’t worse. I’ll take care of the dog.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m sure you will and it’s very kind of you to have him. I hope you have a good journey home.’

  He stared down at her—such a plain little face but such beautiful eyes, and despite her smile she was unhappy. Not surprisingly, he considered; he had a poor view of Mrs Preece.

  Sitting opposite his grandmother that evening, he voiced his vague disquiet about Cressida. ‘The girl seems sensible enough,’ he observed, ‘and really one hardly expects the modern young woman to behave like Cinderella. Mrs Preece is someone that anyone with an ounce of good sense would get away from as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Then there must be a good reason for the girl to remain there. Have you any idea what it might be?’

  ‘None.’ He added, ‘I suppose there is no way of finding out?’

  ‘Well, of course there is; ask her.’

  ‘Perhaps I will. I must go up to town tomorrow but I’ll come down to say goodbye before I go over to Holland, my dear, and I’ll make time to see her then.’ He frowned. ‘Do you think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill? Probably I shall get short shrift...’

  ‘In that case you need do no more about it. On the other hand she may be longing to confide in someone.’

  It was a week later when he came back to Lady Merrill’s and on a sudden impulse turned off the main road to go to Minton Cracknell. He was within half a mile of the village when he saw Cressida, walking awkwardly with a stick, going in the same direction as he was. He drew up beside her, and opened the door. His ‘Hello, can I give you a lift?’ was casually uttered and when she turned to look at him he was careful to stay casual. She had been crying, although she smiled now and thanked him politely.

  ‘That’s kind of you, but I walk a little way each day, you know—it’s good for me.’

  The doctor said, ‘Get in, Cressida,’ in a gentle voice which none the less she felt compelled to obey. She got in.

  ‘Is your stepmother at home?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. She goes to Bath to have her hair done. Did you want to see her?’

  ‘No. Why have you been crying, Cressida?’ He leaned across her and closed the door. ‘Supposing you tell me what is wrong? And I must beg you not to tell me that there is nothing wrong, because that is merely wasting time. Possibly you do not wish to confide in a friend but since we are unlikely to meet again you can safely unburden yourself to me.’

  ‘I don’t think,’ began Cressida doubtfully, ‘actually, that it would be of any interest to you.’

  ‘You are politely telling me that it is none of my business. Quite right, and all the more reason to talk to me. Since it is none of my business I shall give you no advice, nor shall I read you a lecture or tell you that none of it matters.’ He laid a great arm along the seat behind her shoulders. ‘Now let’s have it...’

  It was hard to start, it had been all bottled up for so long, but once started Cressida was unable to stop. It all came pouring out. ‘It’s Moggy, you see,’ she explained. ‘If she leaves before she’s sixty she can’t have Father’s legacy and she depends on that for her old age...’

  ‘Have you seen the will...?’

  ‘No. Mr Tims, the solicitor, read it out to us but it was full of heretofores and those long words they use.’

  ‘Just supposing that there had been a misunderstanding about the terms of the legacy, Miss Mogford would be able to leave, would she not? And you would be free to leave home, knowing that her future was secure.’

  Cressida gave a great sniff and he glanced at her. She hardly looked her best, her hair was all over the place, as far as he could judge she had no make-up on and her clothes were deplorable. He said very kindly, ‘It is likely that Miss Mogford hasn’t understood the conditions of the legacy. If that could be looked into she might find herself free to leave before she is sixty. Who exactly told her of this condition?’

  ‘My stepmother.’

  The doctor frowned. Tiresome woman, and how on earth had he come to get involved in the business? All the same it seemed to him that he was the only one with a pair of scissors to cut the tangle. A pity that he would be leaving the country so soon...

  ‘Feel better?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She put a hand on the door-handle. ‘You’ve been very kind. I won’t keep you.’

  His hand came down on hers, firm and warm. ‘The rest of the day is my own. I’ll drive you home.’

  At the gates she asked him, ‘Would you like to come in? Moggy will make a pot of tea...’

  He had got out of the car too and stood looking down at her. ‘I should have liked that but I’m going into Yeovil to collect the dog. Have you any ideas about a name?’

  ‘Well, no. Oughtn’t he to have a Dutch name since he’s to live in Holland?’

  ‘He is English; he should have a name which is common to both countries.’

  ‘Caesar?’

  ‘That would do very nicely. It will suit him, too; he bids fair to be a large beast when he is grown.’

  Cressida put out a hand. ‘I’m so glad he’s going to be looked after. That’s wonderful; thank you again for all you’ve done. Goodbye.’

  The hand holding hers felt reassuringly large and secure. She wished very much that the doctor wasn’t going away. He would forget her, of course, but knowing him even for such a short time had been pleasant.

  He waited by the car until she reached the door and went inside, turning to give a final wave as she did so.

  She didn’t tell Moggy about the will. First she would write to Mr Tims; it would never do to raise the dear soul’s hopes until she had heard from him. Over their tea they talked about the dog and the splendid home he would have when he travelled to Holland.

  ‘Lucky beast,’ said Miss Mogford with a good deal of feeling.

  * * *

  DR VAN DER Linus found his grandmother sitting in her high-backed armchair by a brisk fire. The weather was still fine and sunny, but, as she pointed out cheerfully, arthritis and old age needed warmth.

  He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘My dear, you are one of those lucky people who never grow old; you’re really a very pretty lady, you know.’

  ‘Go on with you! Buttering me up... What have you been doing with yourself?’

  ‘Working.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘Grandmother, do you know of a Mr Tims of Sherborne?’

  ‘Of course I do. He is my solicitor, has been for years—must be all of seventy.’

  ‘Do you suppose he would allow me the sight of Mr Preece’s will?’

  ‘Been to see that girl again, have you?’ Lady Merrill’s old eyes twinkled with amusement.

  ‘I met her on the road as I was coming here. She looked like a small wet hen. I gave her a lift home and got her to talk. I fancy Mrs Preece has—shall we say?—misunderstood the terms of the will...’ He explained briefly and his grandmother nodded in quick understanding.

  ‘So if she has been misleading the girl and the housekeeper things can be
put right, the housekeeper can leave and the girl will be free to find herself a job.’ Her old face puckered in thought. ‘What kind of a job would a wet hen be able to get?’

  The doctor laughed. ‘I think that if she were free and independent she might begin to look like any other girl. Have you any ideas?’

  ‘I’ll think about it. Go and phone George Tims and then come and play cribbage?’

  Mr Tims was co-operative. The doctor might pop in any time he chose during the next day. Dr van der Linus went back to the drawing-room and bent his powerful mind to the problem of allowing his grandmother to win without her suspecting it.

  Undoubtedly there had been a misunderstanding, Mr Tims assured the doctor the following morning; Miss Mogford was free to leave when she wished and would receive her legacy without delay. ‘Mrs Preece will miss her; she has been with the family for many years and will be hard to replace. Mrs Preece is a delicate lady, unable to do a great deal, but of course she will have Cressida—such a sensible girl.’

  The doctor agreed blandly and drove back to the house. The little wet hen deserved a chance. She was, he supposed, possessed of the normal skills of a well-educated girl; she should have no difficulty in getting herself a job, but what as? She knew nothing about computers; he felt sure of that. Probably she couldn’t type or do shorthand, and she would be no good as a nurse; far too small for a start and with far too soft a heart. Not that he approved of nurses who didn’t have soft hearts, that was a vital part of being a decent nurse—but he suspected that she would allow personal sympathy with the patient to supplant nursing expertise. It would have to be something around the house, he thought vaguely. Were there companions nowadays? He wasn’t sure, but there were au pairs from whom all that was required was common sense, an ability to do chores around the house, like children and animals and be willing to babysit. He knew that; various of his married friends had them. She would have a roof over her head too...

  He was turning in at Lady Merrill’s gate when he found the answer.