A Christmas Proposal. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ course, for there had been no good reason for her not to be, wearing the frightful pink frock again—quite unsuitable, but really, when the girl went out so seldom there was no point in buying her a lot of clothes.

      Dr Hay-Smythe had been a delightful guest, Mrs Soames had noted, paying court to her darling Clare and treating Bertha with a friendly courtesy but at the same time showing no interest in the girl. Very satisfactory, Mrs Soames had reflected, heaving such a deep sigh that her corsets creaked.

      It was at the end of the third week on the Saturday that Mrs Duke died. Bertha had just finished the third chapter of a novel that the old lady had particularly asked her to read when Mrs Duke gave a small sigh and stopped breathing.

      Bertha closed her book, set the cat on her lap gently on the ground and went to take the old lady’s hand. There was no pulse; she had known there wouldn’t be.

      She laid Mrs Duke’s hands tidily in her lap and went into the tiny hall to where the doctor had left a portable phone, saying casually that she might need it and giving her a number to call. She hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now she blessed him for being thoughtful. She dialled the number—the clinic—and heard his quiet voice answer.

      ‘Mrs Duke.’ She tried to keep her voice steady. ‘Please would you come quickly? She has just died…’

      ‘Five minutes. Are you all right, Bertha?’

      ‘Me? Yes, thank you. Only, please come…’ Her voice wobbled despite her efforts.

      It seemed less than five minutes until he opened the door and gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder as he went past her into the living room to examine Mrs Duke. He bent his great height over her for a few minutes and then straightened up.

      ‘Exactly as she would have wished,’ he said. ‘In her own home and listening to one of her favourite stories.’

      He looked at Bertha’s pale face. ‘Sit down while I get this sorted out.’

      She sat with the two cats crouching on her lap—they were aware that something wasn’t quite right—while he rang the clinic, and presently a pleasant elderly woman came and the doctor picked up Mrs Duke and carried her into her poky bedroom.

      ‘I’ll take you home,’ he told Bertha. ‘It’s been a shock. I’m sorry you had to be here.’

      ‘I’m not. I’m glad. If Mrs Duke didn’t know anything about it… The cats—we can’t just leave them.’ She stroked their furry heads. ‘I’d have them, only I don’t think my stepmother…’

      ‘I’ll take them. There’s room for them at my flat and Freddie will enjoy their company—my dog.’

      ‘Mrs Duke would be glad of that; she loved them.’ Bertha put the pair gently down and got to her feet. ‘I could go by bus. I expect there’s a lot for you to do.’

      ‘Time enough for that. Come along.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You need a cup of tea.’

      ‘Please don’t bother.’ Two tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. ‘It doesn’t seem right to be talking about tea…’

      ‘If Mrs Duke were here it would be the first thing that she would demand. Be happy for her, Bertha, for this is exactly what she wished for.’

      Bertha sniffed, blew her nose and mopped up her tears. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry. I’ll come now. You’re sure about the cats?’

      ‘Yes. Wait while I have a word with Mrs Tyler.’ He went into the bedroom and presently came out of it again, and whisked Bertha into the car.

      He stopped the car in a side-street close to Oxford Street and ushered her into a small café where he sat her down at a table, ordered a pot of tea and took a seat opposite her.

      ‘There is no need to say anything to your stepmother for the moment. It so happens that a nursery school I know of needs someone to read to the children. Would you consider doing that? The times may be different, but I’m sure I can explain that to Mrs Soames. Will you leave it to me? You will want to come to the funeral, won’t you? Will you phone my rooms—tomorrow evening? Can you do that?’

      ‘Well, I take my stepmother’s dog for a walk every evening—I could go to the phone box; it’s not far…’

      ‘Splendid.’ His smile was kind. ‘Now, drink your tea and I’ll take you home.’ He added casually, ‘I don’t think there is any need to say anything to your stepmother about your change of job or Mrs Duke’s death, do you?’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I can explain that it will suit everyone concerned if the times are changed.’

      ‘If you wouldn’t mind. I don’t think my stepmother would notice. I mean…’

      ‘I know what you mean, Bertha.’ His quiet voice reassured her.

      The funeral was to be on Wednesday, she was told when she telephoned the following evening on her walk, and if she went as usual to the doctor’s rooms she would be driven to Mrs Duke’s flat. ‘And as regards Monday,’ went on the doctor, ‘come at the usual time and I’ll take you along to the nursery school so that you can meet everyone and arrange your hours.’

      As she went back into the house she met Clare in the hall, dressed to go out for the evening. She twirled round, showing off the short silky frock.

      ‘Do you like it, Bertha? It shows off my legs very well, doesn’t it? It’s a dinner party at the Ritz.’ She smiled her charming smile. ‘I might as well have as much fun as possible before I settle down and become a fashionable doctor’s wife.’

      She danced off and Bertha took the dog to the kitchen. Was that why the doctor was being so kind to her, finding her work to fill her empty days? To please Clare, with whom he was in love? Well, who wouldn’t be? reflected Bertha. Clare was so very pretty and such fun to be with.

      She was surprised that her stepmother had had no objection to her changing the hours of her reading, but the doctor, driving her to the funeral, observed that there had been no trouble about it. ‘Indeed, Mrs Soames seemed pleased that you have an outside interest.’

      It was a remark which surprised Bertha, since her stepmother had evinced no interest in her comings and goings. It was a thought which she kept to herself.

      A surprisingly large number of people were in the church. It seemed that Mrs Duke while alive had had few friends, but now even mere acquaintances crowded into the church and returned to her flat, filling it to overflowing while her nephew, a young man who had come from Sheffield with his wife, offered tea and meat-paste sandwiches.

      Bertha, in the habit of making herself useful, filled the teacups and cut more bread and listened to the cheerful talk. Mrs Duke was being given a splendid send-off, and there had been a nice lot of flowers at the funeral.

      ‘Aunty left her bits and pieces to me,’ said her nephew, coming into the kitchen to make another pot of tea, ‘as well as a bit in the Post Office. She ’as two cats too—I’ll ’ave ter ’ave ’em destroyed. We’ve got a dog at home.’

      ‘No need. Dr Hay-Smythe has taken them to his home.’

      ‘Up ter ’im. ’E did a good job looking after Aunty.’

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