A Good Wife Page 7

  ‘I should like to see him again,’ she told Puss, curled up on her feet, ‘and thank him properly.’

  She set off with high hopes in the morning, armed with a list of shops which might offer employment and the bus timetable, but as the day progressed she realised that finding work wasn’t easy. And until she had a job she couldn’t look for a room.

  Miss Glover, over the nourishing meal she provided that evening, assured her that she would find something before long. ‘And until you do, you are more than welcome to stay here, my dear. Now, tomorrow, why don’t you go further afield?’ She mentioned several big stores in the less fashionable shopping streets.

  So Serena set off again in the morning, once more optimistic. And once more she was to be disappointed. She told herself not to worry; something would turn up; there must be work in such a vast city for the inexperienced. This time, armed with a newspaper’s ‘jobs vacant’ page, she began on the restaurants. It seemed that others had had the same idea. Either the jobs had been filled or she was asked what experience she had had…

  She stopped for coffee and a sandwich, then began the long walk back to the businesses of Oxford Street, and it was on her way that her luck changed.

  The supermarket was vast, brightly lighted and crowded, and in one of its windows there was a placard. Shelf-fillers were wanted, it seemed; early-morning and evening work, enquire within.

  Serena enquired. The manager looked up as she went into his office. ‘Shelf-filler? Strong, are you? Willing to work late in the evening as well as early mornings. Any experience?’

  Serena said, no, she didn’t. ‘But I’m strong, and I don’t mind working early and late.’ She added, ‘I’ve references…’

  He glanced through Dr Bowring’s letter and Mrs Webster’s brief note with raised eyebrows. ‘This isn’t quite your cup of tea,’ he said.

  ‘No, but I need work, any kind of work.’

  ‘OK. Start day after tomorrow. Live close by?’

  ‘No. I shall look for a room.’

  ‘Better try Mrs Keane, number ten Smith Street, round the corner from here. Several of our girls are there. Clean and as cheap as you’ll get round here. You’ll be paid weekly.’

  He mentioned her wages—hardly generous, but she supposed fair enough.

  She thanked him and went in search of Mrs Keane.

  The house was one in a row of redbrick villas, shabby, but the curtains were clean. Serena rang the bell and was admitted by a harassed woman who said at once, ‘I don’t buy anything at the door…’

  ‘The manager of the supermarket told me to come here and ask if you had a room to let?’

  ‘Oh, he did, did he? As a matter of fact, I have. Upstairs back bedroom, or there’s the basement. A bit dark, but there’s a door into the garden.’

  ‘If I might see it?’

  Serena was led down the basement steps and through the door below street level. The room was dark, and smelled vaguely damp, but there was a door into the neglected garden at the back of the house. There was a small out-of-date gas fire, two gas rings on a shelf in a corner, and a sink beside it. The furniture was sparse—a divan bed against one wall, a couple of elderly chairs, a table under the window and a curtained-off corner, presumably for clothes. It was hardly ideal, but the rent, when she asked, was affordable and it would do until she found something better.

  ‘You can use the bathroom on the first floor,’ said Mrs Keane. ‘Twenty-five pence and don’t stay longer than twenty minutes.’ She eyed Serena. ‘On your own, are you?’

  ‘Yes. But I have a cat…’

  Mrs Keane shrugged. ‘S’all right, so long as it doesn’t come into the house.’

  Serena paid a week’s rent and began her journey back to Mr van Doelen’s house. Neither her job nor her room were ideal, but at least she would be independent. She could start looking for a better job and find another place to live…

  A truthful girl, she found it hard to bend the truth to Nanny. She had got a job, she told her, in a large store.

  ‘Not serving at one of those tills?’ asked Nanny sternly.

  ‘No, no. It has nothing to do with the customers,’ said Serena, which was true enough. ‘And the manager kindly told me of someone living quite close by who lets rooms. I’ve a nice room opening onto the garden.’

  ‘Hot water, I hope, and heating, and proper cooking facilities?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Serena, ‘all that.’ That was true, too, for there was hot water if she boiled a kettle, and two gas rings.

  ‘And when are you starting this job?’ asked Nanny sharply.

  ‘The day after tomorrow. I thought I’d go tomorrow to Mrs Keane’s to settle in and be ready to start work the next morning. Miss Glover, you have been so kind to me and Puss, and I’m very grateful. I hope one day I shall be able to repay you for your kindness.’

  Miss Glover said something which sounded like ‘pish’ or ‘tush’. ‘I’m sorry you are going, child. I’m sure Mr Ivo will want to know that you are settled in a good job with a future. You must write to me.’

  Serena said that she would. And she meant it. Only she wouldn’t give her address…!

  She was going to miss the comfort of the little house, unobtrusively filled with understated luxury. She was going to miss Miss Glover, too, and most of all she was going to miss the chance of seeing Mr van Doelen again.

  She packed her bag once more and set off in the taxi Nanny had insisted that Mr van Doelen had said she was to have, with Puss and her meagre wardrobe once more packed.

  Now, at the last minute, she had fearful doubts; supposing she was sacked before she had had the time to save some money? Supposing Mrs Keane gave her notice and she had nowhere to go? It would have been so easy to have stayed in the delightful little house with Nanny.

  ‘You’re a faint-hearted fool,’ Serena muttered. ‘This is a chance to be independent.’

  The room looked depressing, but that was because the windows hadn’t been opened for some time, she told herself. The door into the garden hadn’t been opened for a long time either; there was a key in the rusty lock, and she turned it and went into the garden with Puss under one arm.

  It was covered in weeds, but she was relieved to see that there were no broken bottles or empty tins lying around, and the fences were high. At least Puss could roam if she so wished.

  There was a cupboard in the room housing a broom and a bucket. The place needed a good clean, Serena decided. Besides, if she had something to do she wouldn’t have time to think about anything else… She put Puss back in her basket, locked the door and went shopping.

  She came back presently, laden with scouring powder and furniture polish, soap, dishcloths, teatowels and bath towels, a kettle and a saucepan and cutlery. Even bought from the local household store they had made a hole in her money, and there was still food…

  She went out again, this time to the supermarket, and laid out more money prudently on groceries, and then went back to make a pot of tea in her new teapot and eat bread and cheese for her lunch while Puss toyed with a snack.

  By the late afternoon Serena had swept and scrubbed and polished so that the room had lost its shabby air, and with her few photos and small ornaments arranged round it, and a cheap vase of flowers on the table, it looked much more like a home. Pleased with her efforts, Serena found her way up the steps and into the house, and thence to the bathroom for her twenty-five pence worth of hot water. But first she scrubbed the bath, trying not to think of the luxurious bathroom she had used in Mr van Doelen’s house.

  The first few days of work in the supermarket were a nightmare. Serena had plenty of good sense, but the work was mind-numbing; endless unpacking of tins and packets and jars, setting them in rows on the shelves, trying to remember what went where. And it all had to be done at speed. The mornings weren’t so bad, but the evening shift! There were just a few of them in the vast empty place, something she disliked, and she dreaded walking back to her room. She wasn’t a n
ervous girl, but at night the streets took on a sinister gloom, and there were always groups of youths with nothing better to do, roaming around. But beggars can’t be choosers, she reminded herself, and her pay packet at the end of the first week was more than welcome.

  After another week or two, after she had bought a few cushions, a colourful tablecloth and new curtains, the room took on a more cheerful look. Besides, she had food in the cupboard by the sink now, and Puss didn’t have to go short… I have much to be thankful for, Serena told herself.

  After the first few weeks, she wrote to Miss Glover. She gave no address, and described her job and her room in glowing terms, not exactly fibbing but embellishing the truth. It was a letter which should set Nanny’s mind at rest, she decided, popping it into the nearest letterbox. She had the unbidden thought that it would set Mr van Doelen’s mind at rest, too, only she was afraid that he hadn’t given her a second thought.

  In this she was mistaken. He had returned to London for a brief visit some weeks after she had left, and before Nanny had received her letter. He had listened to Nanny’s rather worried account of Serena’s departure, and although he had told her not to worry, that Serena was a young woman quite able to take care of herself, he was himself worried.

  He had to admit that he had thought about her a good deal. Until he had met her his work had been the predominant thing in his life. He would marry, he had told himself, in due course, if and when he met a woman he could love. But the years had passed and there had been no sign of her—until Serena. And now she had disappeared. He had been a fool to think that she would stay with Nanny, that it would take her some time to find work…

  He went back to Holland to his clinics and operating and patients, and it was another three weeks before he returned to his little house and Nanny. She handed the letter to him this time, and he read it carefully and then studied the postmark.

  ‘Not a very pleasant part of London,’ he observed. ‘But at least we know roughly where she is.’ He frowned down at Serena’s polite missive. ‘She may have posted it quite near where she is living or working. If I could find out the exact area—the post office should be able to help.’

  ‘I should never have let her go,’ said Nanny.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, Nanny. You could not have stopped her, whatever you said; she is a grown woman, and a sensible one. She must have known what she wanted to do.’

  ‘But you’ll find her?’

  He smiled at her. ‘I shall do my best, Nanny. I can spare a few days; I haven’t a great deal to do at the hospital this time.’

  It took time and patience to discover someone at the post office headquarters who could help him.

  That particular area of London wasn’t large. He rummaged around in his study and found a street map of London, and carefully ringed the district. The following day, his clinic over, he drove through the city to the busy crowded streets and rows of small shops, so near the elegant shopping centres and quiet streets of town houses and yet so different in lifestyle. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Probably, he thought ruefully, he would have to visit every shop in order to find Serena. There were few clues in her letter, but she had told Nanny that she was working in a large store.

  Mr van Doelen began his patient search along the main shopping street, crowded by late shoppers and people going home after a long day. It took time; enquiries meant waiting while someone went to find someone else who might know, ending up with the manager with a list of employees. Each time he drew a blank. It was after nine o’clock by now. He was tired and hungry, and even the smaller shops were shut. Tomorrow, he promised himself, and turned down a side street so that he could reverse the car.

  He would have overlooked the supermarket, since it was off the main street, but it was brightly lighted still. He got out of the car and tried one of the big glass doors. They were locked, so he went round the side of the building, along a narrow alley, at the end of which there were a couple of men loading trolleys from a small van. The door was open, and Mr van Doelen, bidding them a cheerful good evening, went through it.

  It was a very large building, with wide aisles between the towering shelves of food. There were people in the aisles, replacing out-of-date groceries with fresh tins and packets, and halfway down the third aisle he saw Serena. She was on her knees, the better to arrange the lowest rung of tinned peas, and she was unaware of his approach, her mind on her work—she still wasn’t as quick as the others.

  He stood for a moment watching her, knowing that now that he had found her again he had no intention of losing her.

  When he was close to her he said, ‘Hello, Serena.’

  She turned her head and he saw the instant delight on her face, so rapidly wiped away that he thought he had imagined it.

  She got to her feet. ‘Mr van Doelen—how ever did you get here? And should you be here? I mean, we are closed.’

  ‘I walked in and no one stopped me. Why did you run away, Serena?’

  She flushed. ‘I didn’t run away. I told you that I would find work…’

  ‘But you didn’t say where. Did you forget to put the address on your letter to Nanny?’

  ‘No, I didn’t forget,’ she said seriously. ‘How did you know that I was here?’

  ‘A process of elimination. When do you finish work, Serena?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘In half an hour.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll be back…’

  Serena, loading apricots onto a top shelf, tried to keep her mind on her work. There were a great many tins, and they had to be in position before the place shut down for the night. She couldn’t deny that she was overjoyed to see Mr van Doelen, but she must make it quite clear to him that meeting him again would make no difference to her life.

  The last tin was in place just as the lights were lowered and everyone got ready to leave. Serena took off her nylon apron, went to the cloakroom for her jacket and made for the entrance opening onto the alley. To get away before Mr van Doelen came looking for her seemed important to Serena, although he might have changed his mind and already gone home.

  He was waiting for her by the door. ‘Ah, I was afraid that you might have escaped me,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve seen the manager—a most sympathetic man. Considering the circumstances, you can leave as of now…’

  Serena gaped at him. ‘I can what? But this is my job. No one said that I was going to be sacked. What have I done? Why didn’t someone tell me?’

  They were out in the alley now, with everyone streaming past on their way home.

  Mr van Doelen took her arm. ‘You live nearby? Shall we go there and I’ll explain.’

  ‘No,’ said Serena. ‘We won’t go anywhere. I don’t know why you’re here, Mr van Doelen, but just go away. I’m going home.’

  ‘Yes, a good idea. We can talk there.’

  ‘What about?’

  He didn’t answer, only took her arm and shoved her tidily into the car. ‘Where do we go?’ he said mildly, and she, her wits gathering wool, gave him the address.

  He didn’t say anything as she led the way down the steps and unlocked her door. He stretched an arm and switched on the light, and when they were inside, he shut the door behind him. When he still didn’t speak, she said, ‘I’m very comfortable here, and Puss has the garden…’

  Puss came to meet them, pausing only a moment to rub herself against Serena’s legs before making for Mr van Doelen with every appearance of pleasure. Serena turned to look at him.

  ‘I don’t know what you want to say, but if you’d say it and go—I don’t want to seem inhospitable, but I go to work at half past seven in the morning.’

  ‘Not any more, Serena.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘Shall we sit down? I want to talk to you.’

  She sat down, and he drew up the other chair and sat down too, looking perfectly at home in the shabby room, stroking Puss, who had climbed without loss of time onto his knee.

  ‘I had the devil of a job finding you,’
said Mr van Doelen mildly, and reflected that he was about to embark on a future full of uncertainty. Somehow he would find ways and means to make Serena his wife—indeed, he already had a very good idea how to set about that—but would his love be sufficient for both of them? She was no young girl with a head full of romantic nonsense. He wasn’t sure that she even liked him… Perhaps he should adopt a friendly, businesslike approach…

  ‘First of all, will you give me an honest answer? Are you happy here, and does the job satisfy you?’

  ‘It’s a start, and I have to start somewhere.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t quite what I had hoped for.’ She saw that he was still waiting. ‘No, I’m not happy, but I shan’t stay here for ever, you know. There are other jobs.’

  ‘You are wondering why I have been searching for you. We don’t know each other, do we, Serena? And yet I feel that we could be friends, enjoy each other’s company. I have for some time now considered taking a wife, someone who feels, as I do, that companionship and genuine liking for each other are of more importance than the romantic aspect. I have fallen in and out of love several times, but never once have I wished to marry. But a wife is necessary for a man in my profession. Someone to deal with the social side of life, entertain my guests, accompany me on necessary trips abroad. Above all, someone who will allow me to get on with my work and not make too many calls upon my time. In fact, a business arrangement.’

  He had spoken quietly, his eyes on her face. ‘I believe that we might deal very comfortably together. I need a wife and you need a future. Will you marry me, Serena?’

  She said slowly, ‘Supposing I fell in love with someone? Suppose you fell in love with another woman? You may not have met her yet…’

  ‘I am thirty-seven, Serena. I have had ample time in which to meet a girl I wished to marry—the risk is slight. And you?’

  ‘Me? Well, I’ve haven’t met many men. You can’t count Gregory, can you? I mean, he wasn’t marrying me for love.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not sure that I believe in love.’