Matilda's Wedding. Бетти Нилс

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      ‘Now, my dear, don’t be too hasty in your judgement, although I do see what you mean. We must endeavour to find Matilda some friends.’

      ‘I wonder how she gets on with Henry?’

      ‘Presumably well enough; I don’t imagine he’s a hard taskmaster. Once they have got used to each other I’m sure she will prove every bit as efficient as Miss Brimble.’

      Which wasn’t what Mrs Milton had meant at all, although she didn’t say so.

      Mrs Paige followed Matilda into the kitchen. ‘Did you get paid?’

      Matilda stacked cups and saucers by the sink. ‘Yes, Mother.’

      ‘Good. If Mrs Milton phones I can go to Taunton. I need one or two things as well as having my hair done. If you’d let me have twenty-five pounds? You must see that if I’m to meet all these women I must look my best, and you’ll have the rest of your money…’

      ‘I’ve paid it into Father’s account at the bank.’

      ‘Matilda—are you out of your mind? His pension will be paid in in a week or so and we can open an account at the shop.’

      ‘There’s a gas bill overdue and the plumber to be paid…’

      Mrs Paige said tearfully, ‘I can’t believe that my own daughter could be so mean.’ She started to cry. ‘I hate it here; can’t you understand that? This poky little house and no shops and nothing to do all day. There was always something at the vicarage—people calling, wanting advice or help; things happening.’ She added, ‘Of course you don’t care; I don’t suppose you miss your friends and it isn’t as if there were any men keen on you. It’s just as well, for I doubt if you’ll meet anyone here who’ll want to marry you.’

      Matilda said quietly, ‘No, I don’t suppose I will. I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Mother, but perhaps you will meet some people you will like when you see Mrs Milton again.’

      She took some notes out of her handbag. ‘Here is twenty-five pounds.’ She laid the money on the table. ‘I’ll get lunch, shall I?’

      Her mother said something but she didn’t hear it, for she was fighting a strong wish to run out of the house, go somewhere where she wasn’t reminded that she was dull and plain and mean. Life would have been so different if she had been pretty…

      She gave herself a shake. Self-pity was a waste of time; and life wasn’t all that bad. She had a job, she liked the village and the people she had met were friendly, and there was Dr Lovell. If they hadn’t come here to live she would never have met him. The fact that he didn’t like her overmuch made no difference to the fact that she was in love with him. That coloured her dull days and perhaps in time, if she could be more like Miss Brimble, he would like her after all. She didn’t expect more than that; her mother had made it plain that there was nothing about her to attract a man such as he.

      She got the lunch, listened to her father’s cheerful comments about their visitors and her mother’s plans to go to Taunton and then, with Rastus for company, Matilda went into the garden. It had once been very pretty but was now woefully overgrown. She began raking the leaves which covered the patch of grass in front of the house.

      It was chilly and there was a fresh wind, so that her hair blew free from its tidy pleat, and she had tied a sack over her skirt. The doctor, driving past, thought she looked very untidy, obviously not bothering about her appearance. He dismissed her from his mind and was vaguely irritated to find himself remembering all that pale brown hair, tossed about by the wind.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THERE was nothing about Matilda’s appearance on Monday morning to remind him of her scruffy appearance in the garden. The picture of neatness, she dealt with the patients with good-humoured patience and real pleasure, for she felt that she had been accepted by the village, included in their gossip as they waited their turn. It was to be hoped, she reflected, that Dr Lovell would accept her, too…

      It was a chilly, drizzly morning and she was glad that she had lugged the chimney pot she had found in the garden shed down to the doctor’s house and installed it in the waiting room. It wasn’t ideal but at least it was somewhere to put the umbrellas. She was sure that the doctor hadn’t noticed it; hopefully he wouldn’t notice if she brought some of the neglected chrysanthemums from the back garden and put them on the table in the waiting room—and on his desk; they might cheer him up…!

      The surgery over, she tidied up, received a few instructions about the evening surgery, refused his offer of coffee and went down the street to the shop. Mrs Simpkins sold everything, or such was her proud boast and sure enough from the depths of her shop she produced a small plastic pot.

      ‘That’s what I call sensible,’ she declared. ‘Miss Brimble never thought of it. Well, a maiden lady such as she were wouldn’t ’ave, would she? A real blessing it’ll be for all the mums with little ’uns.’

      She peered across the counter through the shop window. ‘Doctor’s just gone past so you can pop across with it.’

      Which Matilda did.

      At home she found her mother in the best of good spirits. Mrs Milton would be going to Taunton on Wednesday and had offered her a lift. ‘You only work in the morning,’ she reminded Matilda, ‘so you can be here with your father. I don’t know how long I shall be gone; perhaps Mrs Milton will ask me to tea. Will you make some coffee? Your father has a headache; a cup might make him feel better. I must iron a few things—perhaps you would get a fire going in the sitting room? It’s such a miserable day.’

      After lunch Matilda, in an old mac and headscarf, went into the garden. The back garden was quite large and so overgrown it was hard to see what it was once like. But almost hidden against the end fence were the chrysanthemums, deep pink and a bit bedraggled. She picked the best of them, filled a vase for the living room and put the rest in a plastic bag to take with her to the surgery that evening. And while she was about it she rooted round in the garden shed and found two vases. No longer neglected, the chrysanthemums perked up, in one vase on the waiting-room table, and the other on the windowsill in the surgery. Several patients remarked upon them but if the doctor noticed he didn’t choose to say anything…

      In fact, he had seen them the moment he entered the surgery, given them a quick glance and turned his attention to his first patient. He hoped that Matilda wasn’t going to strew cushions around the place or nurture pot plants on the windowsills. Perhaps he had better nip any such ideas in the bud…

      But he had no chance to do so that evening; a farm worker on one of the outlying farms had fallen off a ladder and he was needed there. He left with a brisk goodnight, leaving Matilda to pack up and lock the doors. And, of course, the next day there was no surgery until the evening.

      When she got there he was already at his desk, writing, and she made haste to get out the patients’ notes, and when the phone rang, which it did continuously, answered it. It wasn’t until she ushered out the last patient that Dr Lovell came into the waiting room.

      Matilda was on her knees, grovelling under the row of chairs collecting the toys the smaller patients had been playing with, so she was not at her best.

      His cool, ‘Miss Paige,’ brought her to her feet, pleased to see him but unhappily aware that she wasn’t looking her best.

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