Stormy Springtime. Бетти Нилс

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      He gave the kind of answer Meg would have expected of him. ‘I work in London for most of the time. And you?’

      Doreen told him, making the telling amusing and self-effacing at the same time. ‘Come into the house and have a cup of tea—I know Meg is dying for us to go so that she can finish her potatoes.’ She smiled at her sister. ‘Finished in ten minutes or so, Meg? I’ll have the tea made.’

      She led the way back to the house, leaving Meg in the potting shed, quite happy to be left on her own once more. Doreen had never made a secret of the fact that she intended to marry and marry well. She thought it very likely that before Mr Culver left Doreen would have found out what he did, whether he was engaged or even married, and where he lived. She chuckled as she started on the last row of potatoes; Mr Culver had met his match.

      It was half an hour before she joined them in the sitting-room, wearing a neat shirt blouse and a pleated skirt, her small waist cinched by a wide soft leather belt. Mr Culver was on the point of going, which was what she had been hoping; anyway, she wished him a coolly polite goodbye, leaving Doreen to see him to the door, assuring him that she would do as Mrs Culver asked. The moment they were in the hall, she picked up the tea-tray and whisked herself off to the kitchen to make a fresh pot. Doreen would want another cup before she started on the furniture.

      ‘What a man!’ observed that young lady as she sank into a chair. ‘Is that fresh tea? I could do with a cup. Believe it or not, Meg, I couldn’t get a thing out of him—he’s a real charmer, no doubt of that, but as close as an oyster. I bet he’s not married.’ She took the cup Meg was offering. ‘I wonder what he does? Perhaps you can find out…?’

      ‘Why?’ Meg sounded reasonable. ‘He’s nothing to do with us; we’re not likely to see him—he only called with a message.’

      Doreen looked thoughtful. ‘Yes, well, we’ll see. That’s a nice car, and unless I’m very mistaken, his shoes are hand-made…’

      ‘Perhaps he’s got awkward feet,’ suggested Meg, quite seriously.

      Doreen looked at her to see if she was joking and saw that she wasn’t, so she didn’t reply. ‘When’s Mrs Culver due to arrive?’ she asked instead. ‘I’d better decide on the things I want and get them away. Have you got yours?’

      Meg nodded. ‘Yes, I got Willy to come up and move them. Most of it’s in my room; the rest is in the attic. Betsy’s got some bits and pieces, too—in her room and some in the attic.’

      ‘Well, I’ll get it over with and have it taken up to town and stored until I want it. Does Mrs Culver want everything else? How much will she pay for it?’

      ‘I’ve no idea. There’s a valuer coming…I’ll let you know as soon as he’s been and she’s agreed to his estimate.’

      Doreen wandered off and came back presently with a scribbled list. Mostly portraits, a rent table which wouldn’t really be missed in the drawing-room, a little button-backed Victorian chair from one of the bedrooms and a corner cupboard. ‘Not much,’ she commented. ‘I’d rather have the money, anyway. Cora and I don’t really like the idea of you staying on here as housekeeper, you know. It’s only for a few weeks, isn’t it? Let me know in good time so that I can find somewhere for you, Meg.’

      It seemed as good a time as any to talk about her future. Meg said quietly, ‘Doreen, I’d like to go on housekeeping; if Mrs Culver will give me a reference I could get a job in some country house—and take Betsy with me—I’d probably get a cottage or a flat, and I’d much rather do that than live in London…’

      Doreen looked at her with kindly tolerance. ‘Don’t be daft, love. Just you leave everything to Cora and me—we really know what’s best for you. You’ve lived here too long; it’s time you went into the world and had a look around.’

      ‘I don’t think it’s my sort of world,’ protested Meg doggedly. ‘I like the country and keeping house and looking after people…’

      ‘Nonsense,’ said Doreen firmly. ‘How can you be certain of that before you’ve lived somewhere else?’ She added coaxingly, ‘Cora and I do want you to be happy, darling; I know there wasn’t much we could do about it while Mother was alive, but now we intend to see that you have some fun.’

      There had been a lot they could have done, but Meg didn’t say so; she loved her two pretty sisters and she wasn’t a girl to bear a grudge.

      All she said was, mildly, ‘Well, Betsy and I will be here for two months—plenty of time to make plans.’

      Doreen nodded her pretty head; she was looking thoughtful again. ‘I don’t suppose Mrs Culver will mind if I pop down to see you now and again?’ And at Meg’s look of surprise, ‘Just to make sure that everything is OK…’ She gave herself away completely by adding, ‘I wonder where he lives and what he does? I might be able to find out…’

      ‘Did you like him?’ asked Meg.

      ‘My dear Meg—grow up, do! He’s got everything: looks—my goodness, he’s got those all right—obviously a good job—probably chairman of something or other—and money. He’s every girl’s dream, ducky.’

      ‘Oh, is he? I don’t much care for him. Besides, he may be married.’

      ‘But it’s worth finding out. I must be off. I’ll let you know when to expect the carrier to collect my furniture.’ Doreen dropped a kiss on Meg’s cheek. ‘Be seeing you, darling. Has Cora phoned?’

      ‘Last week. I expect she’s busy; the boys have half term.’

      Getting into the car, Doreen said, ‘I’m broke—this cashmere dress, but it’s worth every penny. You must get yourself some decent clothes, love. You look—well—dowdy!’

      She sped away with a wave and Meg stood in the porch, shivering a little in the cold wind, aware that her sister was quite right. A housekeeper should be decently but soberly dressed, and she would need a couple of overalls.

      She would go into Hertford in the morning; she had a little money she had been hanging on to for emergencies, and since she was to be paid, she could safely spend it.

      It took her some time to find what she wanted. Sober dresses suitable for a housekeeper seemed to be made for very large, tall women and she was size ten. She found something at last: dark grey with white collars and a little black bow; it did nothing for her whatsoever, but then it wasn’t supposed to. She bought overalls too, blue and white checks with a white collar and neat belts, and since she had a little money over she bought Betsy two new aprons, old-fashioned with bibs which crossed over at the back and fastened with giant safety pins. Nothing would convince Betsy that nylon overalls saved time and labour; she had never fancied them, and she wasn’t prepared to change her ideas at her time of life.

      Another week went by. The solicitors, at last satisfied that all the parties concerned were not up to something unlawful, cautiously exchanged contracts and then, doubtless egged on by Mrs Culver, allowed them to be signed. The house was Mrs Culver’s. All three of them had had to sign; Doreen had fetched Meg and had driven into Hertford, annoyed at what she called the waste of her precious time, but excited too, and Cora had driven herself from Kent, excited in a controlled way, anxious to get the business over and get back to her modern, split-level house with its well-kept garden and the double garage.

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