Rags To Riches Collection. Rebecca Winters

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      His goodnight was very quiet.

      She went down to breakfast after a wakeful night to find that the doctor had been called away very early in the morning. ‘Not knowing when he’ll be back, he said not to wait for him, miss. I’ll have the car round as soon as you’ve had breakfast.’

      Araminta crumbled toast onto her plate and drank several cups of coffee. Now she would never say goodbye to the doctor. Possibly he had left the house early, so that he might avoid a last meeting. She had no idea what she had expected from it, but at least she had hoped that they would part in a friendly fashion. She went suddenly hot and cold at the idea that he might have guessed that she had fallen in love with him. Now her one thought was to leave his house as quickly as possible…her one regret that Hambledon wasn’t thousands of miles away.

      It was almost noon when Briskett drew up before her home, took her case from the boot and followed her up the path to the front door.

      ‘Looks empty,’ he observed. ‘Expecting you, are they?’

      ‘My mother and father are in Wales on a lecture tour. A cousin is staying here, though—housekeeping now that I’m not at home.’

      Briskett took the key from her and opened the door. There were letters on the doormat and an open note on the hall table. His sharp eyes had read it before Araminta had seen it. ‘Gone with Maud—’ Maud was a friend of Millicent, the cousin ‘—for a couple of days. Good luck with your new job.’

      He was bending over her case as she saw it and read it.

      ‘Where will I put this, miss? I’ll take it upstairs for you.’

      ‘Thank you, Briskett. It’s the room on the left on the landing. Will you stay while I make a cup of tea? I’d offer you lunch, but I’m not quite sure…’

      ‘A cuppa would be fine, miss.’

      Briskett hefted the case and went upstairs. Nice little house, he decided, and some nice furniture—good old-fashioned stuff, no modern rubbish. But the whole place looked unlived-in, as though no one much bothered about it. He didn’t like leaving Miss Pomfrey alone, but she hadn’t said anything about the note so he couldn’t do much about that.

      He went down to the kitchen, again old-fashioned but well equipped, and found her making the tea.

      ‘I’ve found some biscuits,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘Will you get back in time to make lunch for yourself?’

      ‘Easy, miss, there won’t be all that much traffic.’ He eyed Cherub, who had come in though the kitchen window she had opened and was making much of Araminta.

      ‘Nice cat. Yours, is he?’

      ‘Yes, I found him. Have another biscuit. I shall miss Humphrey in Utrecht…’

      Briskett’s long thin nose quivered. ‘I’m sure he’ll miss you. Pity the boss wasn’t home. Beats me, it does, him at the top of the tree, so to speak, and still working all the hours God made.’

      When he had gone Araminta unpacked. Presently she would sort out her clothes and repack, ready to leave the next day, but for now she went to inspect the fridge. Even those with broken hearts needed to be fed.

      As the doctor let himself into his house that evening Briskett came into the hall.

      ‘A bit on the late side, aren’t you?’ he observed. ‘Had a busy day, I’ll be bound. I’ve a nice little dinner ready for you.’

      ‘Thanks, Briskett. You took Miss Pomfrey back to her home?’

      Briskett nodded. ‘There’s a nice young lady for you. I didn’t fancy leaving her in that empty house.’ He met the doctor’s sudden blue stare and went on, ‘Her ma and pa are in Wales. There’s a cousin or some such looking after the house, but she’d gone off for a few days. Only living thing to greet us was a tatty old cat.’

      He watched the doctor’s face; he really looked quite ferocious but he didn’t speak. Briskett reckoned he was pretty angry…

      ‘Nice house,’ he went on. ‘Small, some nice stuff though, good and solid, a bit old-fashioned. Nice bits of silver and china too.’ He paused to think. ‘But it weren’t a home.’

      And, when the doctor still remained silent, ‘We had a cuppa together—very concerned, she was, about me not having my dinner.’

      ‘Did Miss Pomfrey tell you that this cousin was away?’

      ‘Not a word. I happened to see the note on the table.’

      ‘She seemed quite happy?’

      ‘Now, as to that, Boss, I wouldn’t like to venture an opinion.’

      He hesitated, cautious of the doctor’s set face. ‘I’d have brought her back, but that wouldn’t have done, would it?’

      ‘No, Briskett, it wouldn’t have done at all. You did right. Miss Pomfrey will be going to St Jules’ tomorrow, and I dare say this cousin will have returned by then.’

      The doctor went into his study and sat down at his desk, staring at the papers on it, not seeing them. I miss her, he thought. I can’t think why. She has no looks, she wears drab clothes, she has at times a sharp tongue and yet her voice is delightful and she is kind and patient and sensible. And she has beautiful eyes.

      He drew the papers towards him and picked up his pen. This feeling of loss is only temporary, he mused. She has been a member of the household for some weeks; one gets used to a person. I shall forget her completely in a few weeks.

      He went to his solitary dinner then, agreeing with Briskett that it was pleasant to have a quiet house once more. Now he would be able to prepare the notes on the learned treatise he was writing without the constant interference of small boys’ voices—and Mintie’s voice telling them to hush.

      He went to his desk after dinner but he didn’t write a word, his mind occupied with thoughts of Araminta, alone at her home with only a cat for company. There was no use trying to work, so he took himself for a brisk walk and went to bed—but he didn’t sleep.

      Araminta had had a boiled egg and some rather stale bread for a late lunch, fed Cherub, put on the washing machine and started packing again. She was to report to the hospital at two o’clock the next day and, since there was no indication as to when her cousin would return, she went down the lane to Mrs Thomas’s little cottage and asked her to feed Cherub.

      ‘I’ll leave the food out for you in the shed. If you wouldn’t mind feeding him twice a day? I’ve no idea when my cousin will be back…’

      Mrs Thomas listened sympathetically. ‘Don’t you worry, dear, I’ll look after him. He’s got the cat flap so’s he can get into the house, hasn’t he?’

      ‘Yes. I hate leaving him, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’

      ‘Well, she only went yesterday morning, I saw the car…and your mother and father will be back soon, I dare say?’

      ‘I’m not sure when.’

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