A Winter Love Story Read online

  ‘Have you had a chance to tell Tombs?’

  ‘No, I’d better go now. If he comes back, come and let me know.’

  Not a word was said about their departure during dinner, and the following day Mr Ramsay got into his car and drove himself back to York.

  ‘You may, of course, remain until the day following our return,’ he told Mrs Ramsay. ‘Monica will wish to be shown round the house.’ He looked over her head, avoiding her eyes. ‘Kindly see that Tombs has gone by the time we return.’

  He turned back at the door. ‘It will probably be late afternoon by the time we get here. Tell Mrs Pratt to have a meal ready and see that the maid has the rooms warm.’

  Mrs Ramsay lowered her eyes and said, ‘Yes,’ meekly. She looked very like her daughter. ‘I’m sure that if you think of anything else you will phone as soon as you get home.’

  They waited a prudent hour before starting on their packing up. He was, observed Claudia, the kind of man who would sneak back to make sure that they weren’t making off with the spoons. They collected their belongings, taking only what was theirs, and presently, when Dr Willis drove up, loaded his car. Mr Ramsay had said two days before he returned, but to be on the safe side they had decided to move out on the following day.

  Dr Willis would have taken them all to his house for supper, but they refused and, while Mrs Pratt got a meal for them, began on the business of leaving the house in perfect condition. Tombs was set to polish the silver, Jennie saw to the bedrooms and Claudia and her mother hoovered and dusted downstairs. After supper, tired but happy, they all went to bed.

  They were up early in the morning, making sure that there was nothing with which the new owner could find fault, and as soon as the morning surgery was over Dr Willis came to fetch them to his house. He had to make two journeys, and Claudia left last of all, wheeling her bike and leading Rob on his lead. Mr Ramsay had a key—he had taken care to have all of the keys in his possession—but she had a key to the garden door which she had kept. She wasn’t sure why and she didn’t intend to tell anyone.

  Dr Willis’s housekeeper had already left, and Mrs Pratt slipped into the kitchen as though she had been there all her life, taking Tombs and Jennie with her.

  ‘There are an awful lot of us,’ worried Mrs Ramsay as they ate the lunch the unflappable Mrs Pratt had produced.

  ‘The house is large enough, my dear, and Jennie goes to her new job tomorrow.’

  ‘And I go to mine in a day or two,’ said Claudia.

  ‘You’re quite happy about it?’ he asked her kindly. ‘There’s no hurry, you know.’

  ‘It sounds just what I’m looking for. When will you marry? I’d like to come to the wedding.’

  ‘Darling, we wouldn’t dream of getting married unless you were there.’

  ‘Within the week, I hope,’ said George. ‘Very quiet, of course, just us and a few friends here at the church. I’ve put a notice in the Telegraph.’

  Everyone in the village knew by now that there was a new owner at Colonel Ramsay’s house. Those that had met him didn’t like him overmuch. The postman, who had been spoken to sharply by Mr Ramsay because he whistled too loudly as he delivered the letters and had been discovered drinking tea in the kitchen, had promised that any letters would be delivered to the doctor’s house. The village considered Mr Ramsay an outsider, for he had made no effort to be pleasant. Even the vicar, a mild and godly man, pursed his lips when his name was mentioned.

  There was a letter for Claudia the next morning. Her references had been accepted for the post of general assistant and she should present herself without delay to take up her duties. The list enclosed was vague about these, but the off duty seemed fair enough. She was to have two days a week free and the money was adequate. There was accommodation for her within the hospital.

  She wrote back at once, accepting the post and saying that she would present herself for duty in the early evening of the following day. Feeling pleased that things were turning out so well, she went away to unpack and repack what she would need to take with her.

  Dr Willis drove her to Southampton after lunch the following day, and that same afternoon, as dusk was gathering, Mr Ramsay came back to take possession of his new home. An arrogant man, and insensitive to other people’s feelings, he had taken it for granted that he would be received suitably—the house lighted and warm, a meal waiting to be put on the table, Mrs Ramsay there to show his wife round, Jennie to see to the luggage. He got out of the car and surveyed the dark, silent house with a frown before unlocking the door.

  It was obvious that there was no one there. Monica pushed past him, switched on the lights and looked around her. She saw the letter on the side table and opened it. Mrs Ramsay wrote politely that as Mr Ramsay had requested they had left the house. And, since neither Mrs Pratt nor Jennie wished to work for him, they had also left. There was food in the fridge, the fires were laid ready to light and the beds were aired and made up.

  Monica laughed. ‘You told them you wanted them out, and they’ve gone. I wonder where they went?’

  ‘It’s of no consequence. We can get help from the village easily enough, and I had nothing in common with either Mrs Ramsay or that daughter of hers.’

  ‘A pity about the servants...’

  ‘Easily come by in a small place like this—they’ll be only too glad to have the work.’

  ‘There was a butler, you said.’

  ‘Oh, he was too old to work. I dare say he has found himself a room or gone to live with someone. He’d have his pension.’

  His wife gave him a long look. ‘You’re a heartless man, aren’t you? You’d better bring in the luggage while I find the kitchen and see what there is to eat.’

  * * *

  DR WILLIS LEFT Claudia at the door of the hospital with some reluctance. The place looked gloomy and down at heel, and he was sorry that he hadn’t found out about it before. True, geriatric hospitals were usually the last ones to get facelifts—probably inside it was bright and cheerful enough, and she had wished him goodbye very happily, with the promise that she would be at the wedding. She poked her head through the open window of the car.

  ‘I know that you and Mother will be happy. You really are a very nice man, George.’

  She picked up her case and went into the hospital.

  She knew she wasn’t going to like it before she had gone ten yards from the door, but she ignored that. A tired-looking porter asked her what she wanted, told her to leave her case and follow him and led her down a long passage. He knocked on the door at the end of it. The label on the door said Hospital Manager, and when the porter opened the door in answer to the voice inside, she went past him into a small austere room.

  It was furnished sparsely, with a desk and chair, two other chairs along one wall and a great many shelves stuffed with paper files. The woman behind the desk had a narrow, pale face, a straight haircut in an unbecoming bob and small dark eyes. She looked up as Claudia went in, pursing her mouth and frowning a little.

  ‘Miss Ramsay? It’s too late for you to do much for the rest of the day. I’ll get someone to show you your room and take you to where you will be working. But if you will draw up a chair I will explain your schedule to you.’

  Not a very good start, reflected Claudia, but perhaps the poor soul was tired.

  Her duties were many and varied and rather vague. She would work from seven o’clock until three in the afternoon three days a week, and her free day would follow that duty, and for the other three days the hours would be three o’clock in the afternoon until ten o’clock at night.

  ‘The off duty is arranged so that you are free from three o’clock before your day off, and not on duty until three o’clock on the day following.’

  Two nights at home, thought Claudia, and felt cheered by the thought.

  Sh
e asked politely, ‘Am I to call you Matron?’

  ‘Miss Norton,’ she was told, in a manner which implied that she should have known that without being told. She was dismissed into the care of a small woman with a kind face and a bright smile, who told her that her name was Nurse Symes.

  ‘You’re on duty in the morning,’ she told her. ‘Ward B—that’s on the other wing. First floor, thirty beds. Sister Clark is in charge there.’

  She paused, and Claudia said encouragingly, ‘And...?’

  ‘She’s terribly overworked, you know—we can’t get the staff. She doesn’t mean half she says.’

  ‘Tell me, what exactly do I do? General assistant covers a lot of ground, and Miss Norton was a bit vague.’

  ‘Well, dear, there aren’t many trained nurses, so you do anything that’s needed.’

  They got into the lift at the back of the hall and stepped out on the top floor, went through a door with Private on it and started down another corridor lined with doors.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Nurse Symes. ‘Quite a nice room, and the bathrooms are at the end. There’s a little kitchen, too, if you want to make tea.’

  The room was small, with a bed, a small easy chair, a bedside table and a clothes cupboard. It was very clean and there was a view of chimney pots from its window. There was a washbasin on one corner, and a small mirror over the wide shelf which served as a dressing table. A few cushions and photos and a vase of flowers, thought Claudia with resolute cheerfulness, and it would be quite pretty.

  ‘We’ll go to the linen room and get you some dresses. You’ll get three, but of course you’ll wear a plastic apron when you’re on duty.’

  The dresses—a useful mud-brown—duly chosen and taken to her room, they began a tour of the hospital. It was surprisingly large, with old-fashioned wards with beds on either side and tables with pot plants down the centre. The wards were full, and most of the patients were sitting in chairs by their beds, watching television if they were near enough to the two sets at either end of the wards.

  Most of them appeared to be asleep; one or two had visitors. Claudia could see only one or two nurses, but there were several young women shrouded in plastic pinnies, carrying trays, mops and buckets and helping those patients who chose to trundle around with their walking aids.

  It wasn’t quite what she had expected, but it was too early to have an opinion, and first impressions weren’t always the right ones.

  * * *

  IT WAS CORK who folded the Telegraph at the appropriate page and silently pointed out the notice of the forthcoming marriage between George Willis and Doreen Ramsay to Professor Tait-Bullen as he ate his breakfast.

  He read it in an absent-minded fashion, and then read it again.

  ‘Interesting,’ he observed, and then, ‘I wonder what will happen to the daughter? Staying on at the Colonel’s house, I suppose.’

  He thought no more about it until that evening when, urged by some niggling doubt at the back of his mind, he phoned Dr Willis. His congratulations were sincere. ‘You will be marrying shortly?’

  ‘In four days’ time. Mrs Ramsay is here with me, so are Mrs Pratt and Tombs. Jennie, their maid, went to the Manor to a new job this morning.’ George added drily, ‘They were turned out by the new owner.’

  The Professor asked sharply, ‘And the daughter—Claudia?’

  ‘Fortunately she found a job at Southampton, in a hospital there—geriatrics. Didn’t like the look of the place, but they wanted someone at once.’

  ‘You mean to tell me that this man turned them all out? Is he no relation?’

  ‘A cousin of sorts.’

  ‘Extraordinary.’ The Professor had a fleeting memory of a lovely girl with red hair and decided that he wanted to know more. ‘I’m going to Bristol in a couple of days. May I call in and wish you both well?’

  ‘We’d be delighted. And if you can come to the wedding we should very much like that.’

  Mr Tait-Bullen put down the receiver and sat back in his chair. With a little careful planning there was no reason why he shouldn’t go to the wedding.

  Chapter THREE

  BY THE END of her first day at the hospital Claudia knew exactly what a general assistant was: a maker of beds, a carrier of trays, bedpans and bags of bed linen. And when she wasn’t doing this she was getting the old and infirm in and out of bed, finding slippers, spectacles, dentures, feeding those who were no longer able to help themselves and trotting the more spry of the ladies to the loo.

  It was non-stop work, and, going off duty soon after three o’clock, she was thankful that she was free until seven o’clock the next morning and that by some miracle she would have her day off on the day following that. The whole day, she thought joyfully, and not on duty until the afternoon after that. She got into her outdoor clothes and hurried out to the nearest phone box.

  Her mother and George were to be married in three days’ time; she would be able to go to the wedding, although she would have to leave Little Planting directly after the ceremony. The bus service between Romsey and Southampton was frequent; it was just a question of getting from Romsey to Little Planting and back again.

  She would be met, declared her mother; any of their friends in the village would be glad to collect her. ‘Phone me tomorrow and let me know what time the bus gets to Romsey. And don’t worry about getting back to Southampton, there’ll be someone to give you a lift. You’re happy there, Claudia?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Claudia, ‘I’m sure I shall be happy.’ She was so convincing that her mother observed happily to George that Claudia sounded perfectly content, and wasn’t it lucky that she should be free for the wedding?

  Claudia went back to the hospital and had a cup of tea with some of the other girls, then went to her room, kicked off her shoes and curled up on the bed. Her feet ached and she was tired. It had been a hard day’s work, but it wasn’t only that; she felt sad and lonely and uncertain of the future. She was prepared to stay in this job for as long as it took to save enough money for her to train in something which would allow her more freedom. Enough money for her to have nice clothes, and a holiday. A career girl.

  It would have to be something to do with computers, shorthand and typing and a knowledge of the business world. A receptionist, mused Claudia, a nine-to-five job with free weekends so that she could go and stay with her mother and George from time to time. And, of course, a nicely furnished flat, and friends to entertain and to be entertained by. She might even meet a man who would fall in love with her and marry her...

  Mr Tait-Bullen’s handsome features imposed themselves upon her wishful thinking, but she brushed them away. One didn’t cry for the moon, and she was never likely to meet him again. Even if she did, she wasn’t sure if he had noticed her as a woman. She wondered what he was really like behind that impersonal, impassive face. Probably quite nice...

  A thump on the door brought her back to reality, and when she called, ‘Come in,’ a girl opened the door. One of those on the afternoon shift.

  ‘Oh, good, you’re here. The other two are out and Sister sent me. Mrs Legge—who’s the one with the Zimmer walker—fell over and she’s broken a leg and an arm. She’ll have to go to the City General with a nurse, and that only leaves Sister and me and we’re up to our eyes. Could you come back on duty for an hour or two, just until someone can be found to take over?’

  Claudia crammed her feet back into her shoes. It would be, after all, a way of passing the empty evening.

  She stayed on the ward for more than two hours, and was sent off at last with the promise of extra time off when it was convenient. She ate supper with several of the other girls, watched television for half an hour and then went to bed. She was too tired to think much. Someone had to look after those old ladies... She would be an old lady herself one day, but hopefully loved and cher
ished by a husband. Someone like Mr Tait-Bullen, she decided, half asleep.

  By the end of the following day she had realised that—never mind what Miss Norton had told her—the off duty was very much in the hands of the ward sister. It was possible, one of the other assistants told her, to have five days in a row of seven o’clock duty, or several days of afternoon shift with no more than an hour or two’s notice.

  So she wasn’t altogether surprised when she was told that she would have an afternoon shift before her day off. That meant she wouldn’t be able to go home until the following morning. Still, that would give her all the day before the wedding, and she had already told her mother that she would have to leave directly after the ceremony. She caught the first bus in the morning, after phoning her mother, and found Tombs waiting for her at Romsey. He was driving the doctor’s car—a battered old Ford, long ago pensioned off in one corner of the garage, but used in emergencies. It wasn’t a long drive, and Tombs filled it with gossip about Mrs Ramsay, the wedding and how well they had settled in at the doctor’s house. Indeed, he seemed to have shed several years. Claudia hadn’t seen him as happy for some time, and she was glad of that; she had known him all her life and he was part of it. They talked about the wedding at some length, and he said, ‘It is a great pity that you have to return so soon, Miss Claudia. Mrs Ramsay tells me that you have a very good job.’

  She enlarged upon that, drawing upon her imagination rather more than was truthful, and was rewarded by his satisfied, ‘We all want you to be happy, Miss Claudia.’

  At the doctor’s house she was greeted by her mother and borne away to inspect the wedding hat, give her opinion of the outfit to go with it and listen while her parent told her of the plans for the wedding.

  ‘Very quiet, of course, but that’s how we want it. George can’t get away for a week or two, but then we’re going down to Cornwall. He has a cottage at St Anthony—that’s a bit farther on from Falmouth. But we’ll be back for Christmas, of course. Will you be able to come home?’