An Old Fashioned Girl. Бетти Нилс

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      Patience looked at him with interest. ‘Do you know how?’ she asked, and at his icy look added, ‘Oh, don’t look like that, I don’t mean to be rude but I dare say in your home you don’t need to lift a finger.’

      ‘You consider that I am a man of leisure?’

      ‘Well, I hadn’t really thought about it, but I’ve got eyes—you drive a lovely car and Miss Murch says you are very successful—I dare say you lead a very pleasant life with lots of friends and theatres and so on.’

      Mr van der Beek, slavishly revered by those students lucky enough to be under his tuition, tirelessly devoted to his work and his patients, so generous with both his time and his money, agreed meekly.

      Patience laid another piece of coal exactly where it was most needed and got up. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer,’ she told him gratefully, ‘but if you aren’t used to doing it, lighting a fire can be very tiresome.’

      ‘And you’re good at it?’ His voice was bland. ‘What else are you good at, Patience?’

      ‘Me?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Why—nothing much—I can cook and mend things—sew and knit—change plugs, mend fuses, that kind of thing.’

      ‘You have no wish to do anything else?’ He spoke casually with just the right amount of interest.

      ‘I’m not clever and I’m plain—Aunt Bessy says I’m the plainest girl she has ever seen, but if I could be clever and charming and pretty I’d like to spend a week in London going to the theatres and the kind of restaurants where there are candles on the tables and waiters and the menu is in French—and shopping of course … Your breakfast will be ready, Mr van der Beek.’ Her voice was all of a sudden brisk. ‘Now there’s a fire I can bring a tray in here …’

      ‘I actually said I would have my breakfast in the kitchen,’ he reminded her, and now he didn’t sound friendly any more.

      He was adamant that Miss Murch and Patience should have breakfast with him too but he was no longer casually friendly; the conversation was strictly businesslike and concerned the possibility of being snowed in for a further day or so and how to make the best of it. ‘Close the rooms we don’t need,’ he told Miss Murch. ‘This kitchen is the warmest place in the house; we can eat here—the study and the small sitting-room will be all right with fires. Are there enough candles and lamps?’

      Miss Murch looked at Patience. ‘Plenty of candles but there’s not a great deal of oil left,’ said Patience. ‘We could keep the lamps for the study and take the candles with us when we go from room to room; they’ll last ages that way.’

      ‘Food?’

      Miss Murch replied with dignity. ‘I trust I am a sufficiently good housekeeper to ensure a fully adequate supply of food for several days at least, and that of course over and above my normal store of groceries.’

      ‘There’s plenty of greenstuff in the greenhouse,’ said Patience. ‘If Mr van der Beek could dig a path I can go and collect as much as we’re likely to need before it’s frozen solid.’

      ‘Mr van der Beek has better ways of employing his time,’ observed Miss Murch sharply.

      Mr van der Beek took another slice of toast and buttered it lavishly. ‘Indeed I have,’ he agreed. ‘On the other hand can you, in all fairness, conceive of Patience digging her way through a snowdrift? There’s not enough of her.’

      Patience bore the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes with equanimity. ‘I am very strong,’ she observed in a matter-of-fact voice.

      ‘The exercise will do me good,’ said Mr van der Beek in the kind of voice with which one couldn’t argue.

      It took him the whole morning with the briefest of intervals while he drank the hot coffee which Patience, wrapped in one of Miss Murch’s cardigans on top of her own woolly, took to the garden door.

      ‘You’re doing very nicely, Mr van der Beek,’ she said encouragingly. ‘There’s a little dip just before you get to the greenhouse; take care you don’t trip up.’

      A giant of a man, rock-steady on his large feet, he nevertheless thanked her politely for the warning.

      It was very cold and the wind, which had died down, started up again with renewed ferocity. Patience, scuttling around the house, stoking the study fire, making beds and cleaning vegetables at Miss Murch’s bidding, worried about the aunts. True, the little house was easy to keep warm and Mrs Dodge had promised to keep an eye on them. The news, on Miss Murch’s portable radio in the kitchen, held out little hope of the weather improving for at least twenty-four hours, perhaps longer.

      ‘Really, I do not know what the world is coming to,’ observed Miss Murch crossly. ‘How am I to get fresh meat in this weather?’

      It wasn’t worth answering. ‘As soon as I can get to the village I shall need to go and see if my aunts are all right, Miss Murch …’

      ‘At the same time you can call at the butcher.’

      There was no point in telling her that Mr Crouch got his meat for the most part from local markets and farms and transport would be difficult for several days.

      Miss Murch, despite her ill humour, contrived a delicious soup, cheese and onion pasties and a large pot of coffee. Mr van der Beek, glowing with good health and a certain smugness, ate hugely and went away to his study. ‘A cup of tea at four o’clock,’ he asked, ‘and on no account am I to be disturbed until dinner—at half-past seven if that is possible, Miss Murch?’

      He walked away without waiting for an answer.

      Patience cleared the table and began to wash the dishes. ‘It is ridiculous that there is no dishwasher,’ remarked Miss Murch, making no effort to give a hand. ‘I shall lie down for a time, Patience; I have a headache.’

      ‘Shall I bring you a cup of tea just before four o’clock?’

      ‘Yes, thank you. I find this snow very trying.’

      Left to herself, Patience saw to the Aga, cast an eye on the fire in the sitting-room and looked out of the window. It was snowing again.

      She laid a tray for Mr van der Beek’s tea and another for Miss Murch and herself and took herself off to the sitting-room, to curl up before the fire with the only book she could find—Beeton’s Household Management. It made interesting reading and was profusely illustrated with coloured plates of mouth-watering food.

      Miss Murch didn’t look very well when she took her a cup of tea but she came down to the kitchen presently and cut delicate sandwiches of Gentleman’s Relish to add to the pot of tea on Mr van der Beek’s tray.

      ‘Don’t go in before you’re told to,’ she admonished Patience, ‘and don’t stop and talk either. Just put the tray down and come away at once.’

      Patience’s gentle tap was answered by an impatient voice bidding her enter and when she did so he snapped, ‘You may look like a mouse, but you don’t have to behave like one—I don’t bite.’

      ‘I should hope not, indeed,’ said Patience briskly. СКАЧАТЬ