A Betty Neels Christmas: A Christmas ProposalWinter Wedding Read online

  Clare stopped suddenly. ‘Quick, we must run for it. They’ll be after us if they see us. Hurry, can’t you?’

  Bertha took no notice. She pushed away Clare’s hands clinging to her arm, ran across the street and swiped at one of the youths with the plastic bag containing Clare’s new shoes. It caught him on the shins and he staggered and fell. She swung the bag again, intent on hitting the other youth. The bag split this time and the shoes flew into the gutter.

  Confronted by a virago intent on hurting them, the pair scrambled to their feet and fled, dropping the lady’s handbag as they went. Short of breath and shaking with fright, Bertha knelt down by the old lady.

  ‘My purse—my pension…’ The elderly face was white with fear and worry. It was bruised, too.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Bertha. ‘They dropped your handbag. I’ll get it for you. But, first of all, are you hurt?’

  Before the old lady could answer, Clare hissed into Bertha’s ear, ‘My shoes—my lovely new shoes. You’ve ruined them. I’ll never forgive you!’

  ‘Oh, bother your shoes,’ said Bertha. ‘Go and bang on someone’s door and get an ambulance.’

  Just for once, Clare, speechless at Bertha’s brisk orders, did as she was told.

  She was back presently, and there were people with her. Bertha, doing her best to make the old lady as comfortable as possible, listened with half an ear to her stepsister’s voice.

  ‘Two huge men,’ said Clare, in what Bertha always thought of as her little-girl voice. ‘They ran at this poor lady and knocked her down. I simply rushed across the street and hit them with a shopping bag—one of them fell over and they ran away then.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life…’

  ‘Very plucky, if I might say so,’ said a voice.

  Another voice asked, ‘You’re not hurt, young lady? It was a brave thing to do.’

  ‘Well, one doesn’t think of oneself,’ murmured Clare. ‘And luckily my sister came to help me once the men had gone.’

  The old lady stared up at Bertha’s placid face. ‘That’s a pack of lies,’ she whispered. ‘It was you; I saw you…’ She closed her eyes tiredly. ‘I shall tell someone…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Bertha. ‘All that matters is that you’re safe. Here is your handbag, and the purse is still inside.’

  She got to her feet as the ambulance drew up and the few people who had gathered to see what was amiss gave her sidelong glances with no sign of friendliness; she could read their thoughts—leaving her pretty sister to cope with those violent men… Luckily there were still brave girls left in this modern day and age of violence…

  Bertha told herself that it didn’t matter; they were strangers and never likely to see her again. She wondered what Clare would do next—beg a lift from someone, most likely.

  There was no need for that, however.

  By good fortune—or was it bad fortune?—Dr Hay-Smythe, on his way from somewhere or other, had seen the little group as he drove past. He stopped, reversed neatly and got out of his car. Clare, with a wistful little cry, exactly right for the occasion, ran to meet him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘OLIVER!’ cried Clare, in what could only be described as a brave little voice. ‘Thank heaven you’re here.’ She waved an arm towards the ambulancemen loading the old lady onto a stretcher. ‘This poor old woman—there were two enormous men attacking her. She’s been hurt—she might have been killed—but I ran as fast as I could and threw my bag at them and they ran away.’

  The onlookers, gathering close, murmured admiringly. ‘Proper brave young lady,’ said one.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Clare said softly. ‘Anyone would have done the same.’ She had laid a hand on the doctor’s arm and now looked up into his face.

  He wasn’t looking at her. He was watching the stretcher being lifted into the ambulance. The old lady was saying something to Bertha, who had whipped a bit of paper and pencil from her bag and was writing something down.

  He removed Clare’s hand quite gently. ‘I should just take a look,’ he observed.

  He spoke to the ambulance driver and then bent over the old lady, giving Bertha a quick smile as he did so. ‘Can I help in any way? I’m told there’s nothing broken, but you had better have a check-up at the hospital.’

  The shrewd old eyes studied his face. ‘You’re a doctor? Don’t you listen to that girl’s tale. Not a word of truth in it. Seen it with my own eyes—tried to run away, she did. It was this child who tackled those thugs—twice her size too.’ She gave a weak snort of indignation. ‘Mad as fire because her shoes had been spoilt. Huh!’

  ‘Thank you for telling me. Do we have your name? Is there anyone who should be told?’

  ‘This young lady’s seen to that for me, bless her. Gets things done while others talk.’

  ‘Indeed she does.’ He took her hand. ‘You’ll be all right now.’

  He went back to the driver and presently, when the ambulance had been driven away, he joined Bertha. ‘Let me have her name and address, will you? I’ll check on her later today. Now I’ll drive you both home.’

  Clare had joined them. ‘What was all that about? You don’t need to bother any more; she’ll be looked after at the hospital. I feel awfully odd—it was a shock…’

  ‘I’ll drive you both back home. I dare say you may like to go straight to bed, Clare.’

  Clare jumped into the car. ‘No, no—I’m not such a weakling as all that, Oliver. I dare say Bertha would like to lie down for a bit, though—she was so frightened.’ She turned her head to look at Bertha on the back seat, who looked out of the window and didn’t answer.

  The doctor didn’t say anything either, so Clare went on uncertainly, ‘Well, of course, it was enough to scare the wits out of anyone, wasn’t it?’

  No one answered that either. Presently she said pettishly, ‘I had a pair of new shoes—wildly expensive—they’ve been ruined.’ Quite forgetting her role of brave girl, she turned on Bertha. ‘You’ll have to pay for them, Bertha. Throwing them around like that—’ She stopped, aware that she had let the cat out of the bag. ‘What was the good of flinging the bag at those men when they had already run away?’

  ‘I’m sure you can buy more shoes,’ said the doctor blandly. ‘And what is a pair of shoes compared with saving an old lady from harm?’

  He glanced in his mirror, caught Bertha’s eye and smiled at her, and lowered an eyelid in an unmistakable wink.

  It gave her a warm glow. Never mind that there would be some hard words when she got home; she had long since learned to ignore them. He had believed the old lady and she had the wit to see that he wouldn’t mention it—it would make it so much worse for her and would probably mean the end of her job at the nursery school. If any special attention from him were to come to Clare’s or her stepmother’s notice, they would find a way to make sure that she never saw him again…

  The doctor stopped the car before their door, and Clare said coaxingly, ‘Take me out to dinner this evening, Oliver? I do need cheering up after all I’ve just gone through. Somewhere quiet where we can talk?’

  He had got out to open her door and now turned to do the same for Bertha. ‘Impossible, I’m afraid. I’ve a meeting at seven o’clock which will last for hours—perhaps at the weekend…’

  He closed the car door. ‘I suggest that you both have an early night. If there is any news of the old lady I’ll let you have it. I shall be seeing her later this evening. Bertha, if you will give me her address, I’ll see that her family are told.’

  She handed it over with a murmured thank-you, bade him goodbye and started up the steps to the door, leaving Clare to make a more protracted leave-taking—something which he nipped in the bud with apparent reluctance.

  Clare’s charm turned to cold fury as they entered the house. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ she stormed. ‘Those shoes cost the earth. Now I’ve nothing to wear with that new dress…’

  Bertha said matter-of-fa
ctly, ‘Well, I can’t pay for them, can I? I haven’t any money. And you’ve dozens of shoes.’ She looked at Clare’s furious face. ‘Are they really more important than helping someone in a fix?’ She wanted to know. ‘And what a lot of fibs you’ve told everyone. I must say you looked the part.’

  She stopped then, surprised at herself, but not nearly as surprised as Clare. ‘How dare you?’ Clare snapped. ‘How dare you talk to me like that?’

  ‘Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?’ asked Bertha placidly. ‘But, don’t worry, I shan’t give you away.’

  ‘No one would believe you…’

  ‘Probably not.’ Bertha went up to her room, leaving Clare fuming.

  The full weight of her stepmother’s displeasure fell upon her when she went downstairs presently. She was most ungrateful, careless and unnaturally mean towards her stepsister, who had behaved with the courage only to be expected of her. Bertha should be bitterly ashamed of herself. ‘I had intended to take you to a charity coffee morning at Lady Forde’s, but I shall certainly not do so now,’ she finished.

  Bertha, allowing the harsh voice to wash over her head, heaved a sigh of relief; the last time she had been taken there she had ended up making herself useful, helping Lady Forde’s meek companion hand round the coffee and cakes. She looked down at her lap and didn’t say a word. What would be the use?

  She would have been immensely cheered if she had known of the doctor’s efforts on her behalf. There had to be a way, he reflected, sitting in his sitting room with Freddie at his feet, in which he could give Bertha a treat. It seemed to him that she had no fun at all—indeed, was leading an unhappy life.

  ‘She deserves better,’ he told Freddie, who yawned. ‘Properly dressed and turned out, she might stand a chance of attracting some young man. She has beautiful eyes, and I don’t know another girl who would have held her tongue as she did this afternoon.’

  It was much later, after Cully had gone to his bed and the house was quiet, that he knew what he would do. Well satisfied, he settled Freddie in his basket in the kitchen and went to bed himself.

  The doctor waited another two days before calling at Mrs Soames’s house. He had satisfied himself that Bertha was still going to the nursery. Matron had been enthusiastic about her and assured him that there had been no question of her leaving, so he was able to dispel the nagging thought that her stepmother might have shown her anger by forbidding her to go.

  He chose a time when he was reasonably sure that they would all be at home and gave as his excuse his concern as to whether the two girls had got over their unfortunate experience. All three ladies were in the drawing room—something which pleased him, for if Bertha wasn’t there, there was always the chance that she would hear nothing of his plans.

  Mrs Soames rose to meet him. ‘My dear Oliver, most kind of you to call—as you see, we are sitting quietly at home. Dear Clare is somewhat shocked still.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ said the doctor, shaking Clare’s hand and giving Bertha a smiling nod. ‘Perhaps I can offer a remedy—both for her and for Bertha, who must also be just as upset.’

  Mrs Soames looked surprised. ‘Bertha? I hardly think so. She isn’t in the least sensitive.’

  The doctor looked grave and learned. He said weightily, ‘Nevertheless, I think that both young ladies would benefit from my plan.’

  His bedside manner, reflected Bertha, and very impressive and effective too, for her stepmother nodded and said, ‘Of course. I bow to your wisdom, Oliver.’

  ‘Most fortunately I am free tomorrow. I should be delighted if I might drive them into the country for the day, away from London. To slow down one’s lifestyle once in a while is necessary, especially when one has had a shock such as Clare had.’ He looked at Bertha. ‘And I am sure that Bertha must have been upset. I haven’t had the opportunity to ask her—’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Clare interrupted him hastily. ‘I’m sure she needs a break just as I do. We’d love to come with you, Oliver. Where shall we go?’

  ‘How about a surprise? Is ten o’clock too early for you?’

  ‘No, no. Not a minute too early.’ Clare was at her most charming, and then, as he got up to go, she said suddenly, ‘But of course Bertha won’t be able to go with us—she reads to old ladies or something every morning.’

  ‘Tomorrow is Saturday,’ the doctor reminded her gently. ‘I doubt if she does that at the weekends.’ He glanced at Bertha. ‘Is that not so, Bertha?’

  Bertha murmured an agreement and saw the flash of annoyance on Clare’s face. All of a sudden she was doubtful as to whether a day spent in the company of Clare and the doctor would be as pleasant as it sounded.

  After he had gone, Clare said with satisfaction, ‘You haven’t anything to wear, Bertha. I hope Oliver won’t feel embarrassed. It’s a great pity that you have to come with us. You could have refused.’

  ‘I shall enjoy a day out,’ said Bertha calmly, ‘and I shall wear the jersey two-piece you handed down to me. I’ll have to take it in…’

  Clare jumped up. ‘You ungrateful girl. That outfit cost a lot of money.’

  ‘It’s a ghastly colour,’ said Bertha equably, and went away to try it on. It was indeed a garment which Clare should never have bought—acid-yellow, and it needed taking in a good deal.

  ‘Who cares?’ said Bertha defiantly to the kitchen cat, who had followed her upstairs, and began to sew—a tricky business since her eyes were full of tears. To be with the doctor again would be, she had to admit, the height of happiness, but she very much doubted if he would feel the same. He was far too well-mannered to comment upon the two-piece—probably he would be speechless when he saw it—but it would be nice to spend a day with him wearing an outfit which was the right colour and which fitted.

  ‘I suppose I am too thin,’ she observed to the cat, pinning darts and cobbling them up. The sleeves were a bit too long—she would have to keep pushing them up—and the neck was too low. Clare liked low necks so that she could display her plump bosom, but Bertha, who had a pretty bosom of her own, stitched it up to a decent level and hoped that no one would notice.

  Dr Hay-Smythe noticed it at once, even though half-blinded by the acid-yellow. An appalling outfit, he reflected, obviously hastily altered, for it didn’t fit anywhere it should and the colour did nothing for Bertha’s ordinary features and light brown hair. He found that he was full of rage at her treatment, although he allowed nothing of that to show. He wished her good morning and talked pleasantly to Mrs Soames while they waited for Clare.

  She came at last, with little cries of regret at keeping him waiting. ‘I wanted to look as nice as possible for you, Oliver,’ she said with a little laugh. And indeed she did look nice—in blue and white wool, simply cut and just right for a day in the country. She had a navy shoulder-bag and matching shoes with high heels. The contrast between the two girls was cruel.

  The doctor said breezily, ‘Ah, here you are at last. I was beginning to think that you had changed your mind!’ He smiled a little. ‘Found someone younger and more exciting with whom to spend the day.’

  This delighted Clare. ‘There isn’t anyone more exciting than you, Oliver,’ she cooed, and Bertha looked away, feeling sick and wishing that the day was over before it had begun.

  Of course Clare got into the seat beside Oliver, leaving him to usher Bertha into the back of the car where Freddie, delighted to have company, greeted her with pleasure.

  Clare, turning round to stare, observed tartly, ‘Oh, you’ve brought a dog.’ And then said, with a little laugh, ‘He’ll be company for Bertha.’

  ‘Freddie goes wherever I go when it’s possible. He sits beside me on long journeys and is a delightful companion.’

  ‘Well, now you have me,’ declared Clare. ‘I’m a delightful companion too!’

  A remark which the doctor apparently didn’t hear.

  He drove steadily towards the western suburbs, apparently content to listen to Clare’s chatter, and whe
n he was finally clear of the city he turned off the main road and slowed the car as they reached the countryside. They were in Hertfordshire now, bypassing the towns, taking minor roads through the woods and fields and going through villages, peaceful under the morning sun. At one of these he stopped at an inn.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked, and got out to open Clare’s door and then usher Bertha and Freddie out of the car.

  The inn was old and thatched and cosy inside. The doctor asked for coffee, then suggested, ‘You two girls go ahead. I’ll take Freddie for a quick run while the coffee’s fetched.’

  The ladies’ was spotlessly clean, but lacked the comforts of its London counterparts. Clare, doing her face in front of the only mirror, said crossly, ‘He might have stopped at a decent hotel—this is pretty primitive. I hope we shall lunch somewhere more civilised.’

  ‘I like it,’ said Bertha. ‘I like being away from London. I’d like to live in the country.’

  Clare didn’t bother to reply, merely remarking as they went to join the doctor that the yellow jersey looked quite frightful. ‘When I see you in it,’ said Clare, ‘I can see just how ghastly it is!’

  It was an opinion shared by the doctor as he watched them cross the bar to join him at a table by the window, but nothing could dim the pleasure in Bertha’s face, and, watching it, he hardly noticed the outfit.

  ‘The coffee was good. I’m surprised,’ said Clare. ‘I mean, in a place like this you don’t expect it, do you?’

  ‘Why not?’ The doctor was at his most genial. ‘The food in some of these country pubs is as good or better than that served in some of the London restaurants. No dainty morsels in a pretty pattern on your plate, but just steak and kidney pudding and local vegetables, or sausages and mash with apple pie for a pudding.’

  Clare looked taken aback. If he intended giving her sausages and mash for lunch she would demand to be taken home. ‘Where are we lunching?’ she asked.