A Christmas Proposal. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ asked casually, ‘You live here with your parents?’

      ‘Yes. Father is a lawyer—he does a lot of work for international companies. My stepmother prefers to live here in London.’

      ‘You have a job?’

      ‘No.’ She turned her head to look out of the window, and he didn’t pursue the subject but talked idly about this and that as he left the quiet streets with their stately houses and presently, in a narrow street bustling with people, stopped the car by an empty meter. ‘Shall we try that pub on the corner?’ he suggested, and helped her out.

      Heads turned as they went in; they made an odd couple—he in black tie and she in a shabby raincoat—but the landlord waved them to a table in one corner of the saloon bar and then came over to speak to the doctor.

      ‘Ain’t seen yer for a while, Doc. Everything OK?’

      ‘Splendid, thank you, Joe. How is your wife?’

      ‘Fighting fit, thanks to you. What’ll it be?’ He glanced at Bertha. ‘And the little lady here? A nice drop of wine for her?’

      ‘We’re hungry, Joe…’

      ‘The wife’s just this minute dished up bangers and mash. How about that, with a drop of old and mild?’

      Dr Hay-Smythe raised an eyebrow at Bertha, and when she nodded Joe hurried away, to return presently with the beer and the wine and, five minutes later, a laden tray.

      The homely fare was well cooked, hot and generous. The pair of them ate and drank in a friendly silence until the doctor said quietly, ‘Will you tell me something about yourself?’

      ‘There’s nothing to tell. Besides, we’re strangers; we’re not likely to meet again.’ She added soberly, ‘I think I must be a little mad to be doing this.’

      ‘Well, now, I can’t agree with that. Madness, if at all, lies with people who go to parties and eat too much and drink too much and don’t enjoy themselves. Whereas you and I have eaten food we enjoy and are content with each other’s company.’ He waited while Joe brought the coffee he had ordered. ‘Being strangers, we can safely talk knowing that whatever we say will certainly be forgotten.’

      ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before,’ said Bertha.

      ‘I’m perfectly normal; there must be thousands exactly like me.’ He smiled a little. ‘I think that perhaps you haven’t met many people. Do you go out much? The theatre? Concerts? Sports club? Dancing?’

      Bertha shook her head. ‘Well, no. I do go shopping, and I take my stepmother’s dog out and help when people come for tea or dinner. That kind of thing.’

      ‘And your sister?’ He saw her quick look. ‘Stepsister Clare—has she a job?’

      ‘No—she’s very popular, you see, and she goes out a great deal and has lots of friends. She’s pretty—you must have seen that…’

      ‘Very pretty,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Why are you unhappy, Bertha? You don’t mind my calling you Bertha? After all, as you said, we are most unlikely to meet again. I’m a very good listener. Think of me as an elder brother or, if you prefer, someone who is going to the other side of the world and never returning.’

      She asked, ‘How do you know that I’m unhappy?’

      ‘If I tell you that I’m a doctor, does that answer your question?’

      She smiled her relief. ‘A doctor! Oh, then I could talk to you, couldn’t I?’

      His smile reassured her.

      ‘You see, Father married again—oh, a long time ago, when I was seven years old. My mother died when I was five, and I suppose he was lonely, so he married my stepmother.

      ‘Clare was two years younger than I. She was a lovely little girl and everyone adored her. I did too. But my stepmother—you see, I’ve always been plain and dull. I’m sure she tried her best to love me, and it must be my fault, because I tried to love her, but somehow I couldn’t.

      ‘She always treated me the same as Clare—we both had pretty dresses and we had a nice nanny and went to the same school—but even Father could see that I wasn’t growing up to be a pretty girl like Clare, and my stepmother persuaded him that it would be better for me to stay at home and learn to be a good housewife…’

      ‘Was Clare not a partner in this, too?’

      ‘Well, no. She has always had lots of friends—I mean, she hadn’t time to be at home very much. She’s really kind to me.’ She laid a hand on a glimpse of pink frill which had escaped from the raincoat. ‘She gave me this dress.’

      ‘You have no money of your own?’

      ‘No. Mother left me some, but I—I don’t need it, do I?’

      The doctor didn’t comment on that. All he said was, ‘There is a simple solution. You must find a job.’

      ‘I’d like that, but I’m not trained for anything.’ She added anxiously, ‘I shouldn’t have said all that to you. Please forget it. I have no right to complain.’

      ‘Hardly complaining. Do you not feel better for talking about it?’

      ‘Yes, oh, yes. I do.’ She caught sight of the clock and gave a little gasp. ‘Heavens, we’ve been here for ages…’

      ‘Plenty of time,’ said the doctor easily. ‘I dare say the party will go on until midnight.’ He paid the bill and stowed her in the Rolls once more, then drove her back and went with her into the house. Bertha shed the raincoat in the hall, smoothed the awful dress and went with him into the vast drawing room. The first person to see them was her stepmother.

      ‘Bertha, where have you been? Go at once to the kitchen and tell Cook to send up some more vol-au-vents. You’re here to make yourself useful—’

      Mrs Soames, suddenly aware of the doctor standing close by, became all at once a different woman. ‘Run along, dear.’ She spoke in a quite different voice now, and added, ‘Don’t be long—I’m sure your friends must be missing you.’

      Bertha said nothing, and slipped away without a glance at the doctor.

      ‘Such a dear girl,’ enthused Mrs Soames, her massive front heaving with pseudo maternal feelings, ‘and such a companion and help to me. It is a pity that she is so shy and awkward. I have done my best—’ she managed to sound plaintive ‘—but Bertha is an intelligent girl and knows that she is lacking in looks and charm. I can only hope that some good man will come along and marry her.’

      She lifted a wistful face to her companion, who murmured the encouraging murmur at which doctors are so good. ‘But I mustn’t bother you with my little worries, must I? Come and talk to Clare—she loves a new face. Do you live in London? We must see more of you.’

      So when Bertha returned he was at the other end of the room, and Clare was laughing up at him, a hand on his arm. Well, what did I expect? reflected Bertha, and went in search of Crook the butler, a lifelong friend and ally; she had had a good supper, and now, fired by a rebellious spirit induced by СКАЧАТЬ