A Summer Idyll. Бетти Нилс

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      ‘Why not the district nurse?’ asked Phoebe.

      ‘Won’t have her near me,’ declared Aunt Kate, and Phoebe sighed; the old lady took fierce dislikes to some people and no amount of inconvenience to other people would alter that. ‘Nothing more than a baggage, that nurse Dr Pritchard made me have. Always looking at herself in the glass, wanting time off, if you please, said she needed recreation.’ Aunt Kate gave a weary little snort. ‘As though she had anything to do here! Susan cleans the house.’

      Phoebe held her tongue and then asked what time she wanted her supper.

      ‘Half past seven, and no later. And mind you do that fish in milk.’

      Phoebe left a bedside light on, laid spectacles, book, handkerchief and bell within reach and took herself off to the kitchen. The fish looked unappetising; a morsel of creamed potato might brighten it up a bit, and she could purée a few carrots.

      She had just set the egg custard in its pan of warm water when the front door was opened. Susan couldn’t have closed it properly and she hadn’t bothered to look herself. It might be a neighbour, but she doubted that; Aunt Kate didn’t encourage neighbours; she ought to go into the hall and see who it was, but if she did the custard might spoil if she didn’t get it into the oven at once.

      Her decision was made for her. The kitchen door, half open, was flung wide and a large man came in. He was tall as well as broad with fair hair, cut short; a handsome face and a decidedly brisk manner.

      ‘So you got here,’ he stated with satisfaction. ‘Thought I’d make sure you had arrived, otherwise it would have been the district nurse and fireworks. What’s your name?’

      ‘Phoebe Creswell.’ Phoebe frowned. ‘What’s yours?’

      ‘Pritchard, George.’ He held out a hand and smiled and she didn’t feel put out any more; he had a smile which was nice, friendly and reassuring. ‘I hope your aunt is pleased to see you.’

      Phoebe closed the door gently on the custard. ‘Well, yes, I think on the whole she is.’

      He nodded. ‘Good. She’s ill, you know that.’ His gaze swept round the kitchen and stayed on the fish. ‘Her supper?’ he wanted to know. ‘What about you?’

      She was touched that he had thought of that. ‘Well, there’s nothing much in the house—I can’t think what the nurse had to eat. I’ll make some toasted cheese.’ The small nose twitched; she was hungry again. After all, she hadn’t had much to eat all day—a good cooked dinner. Her mouth watered at the thought.

      ‘I’m on the other side of the green. When I’ve done my rounds I’ll send my housekeeper over to sit here while you have supper with me. No, don’t argue, it’ll give me a chance to explain your aunt’s case to you and discuss medicines and so on.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘About eight o’clock. Right?’

      Phoebe nodded happily. If this was Aunt Kate’s little whipper-snapper then she liked him. She closed the door after him and went back to her cooking. Life was suddenly full of promise. She hadn’t thought of Basil even once.

      CHAPTER TWO

      AUNT KATE, while showing no gratitude for her supper, ate all of it, reminded Phoebe that she would have a glass of hot milk at nine o’clock precisely and told her grudgingly that she might go downstairs and eat her own meal. But first she needed her pillows shaken up, her spectacles, glass of water, and the local newspaper. Only then did she add: ‘At least your cooking is passable, and don’t forget my milk.’ She added: ‘I shall be perfectly all right for an hour or so. When you’ve cleared up you can unpack your things.’

      ‘Yes, Aunt Kate.’ Phoebe spoke mildly, her thoughts on supper.

      She had had the forethought to leave the front door on the latch, and before she had done more than clear the tray, a thin elderly woman came quietly in. She was dressed in a thick skirt and a grey cardigan, which, with her pepper-and-salt hair cut severely short and her pale face, gave Phoebe the impression that she was looking at an etching. They shook hands and she changed her mind. Mrs Thirsk had the bluest eyes she had ever met, and when she smiled her whole face lit up.

      ‘Supper’s on the table, Miss…’

      ‘Call me. Phoebe, please, Mrs Thirsk.’

      ‘Phoebe.’ The smile came and went again. ‘But I’ll just see to these…’

      ‘You leave them. The doctor said you were to go straight over.’ She studied Phoebe’s small, too thin figure. ‘You look as though you could do with a good hot meal.’

      ‘Oh, I could—there’s been no time…’

      ‘And nothing in the house, I’ll be bound.’ Mrs Thirsk went to the sink and filled the bowl with water from the kettle. ‘I’ve brought my knitting,’ she stated. ‘Take your jacket, it’s chilly.’

      Phoebe nodded, slung her cardigan over her shoulders and went out of the house, across the green, to tap on the solid wooden door of the doctor’s house. It was a good deal grander than her aunt’s, of white bricks, with a tiled roof and Elizabethan chimneypots to match and latticed windows. She stood back to get a better view just as the door was opened.

      ‘Come in,’ invited Dr Pritchard, ‘it’s rabbit stew with dumplings—one of Mrs Thirsk’s masterpieces.’

      The hall was square, with a curved staircase to one side of it and several doors leading from it. The floor was of flagstones covered for the most part with rugs with a carved chest along one wall. A large black labrador pranced to meet Phoebe as she went in, sniffed her fist and barked cheerfully.

      ‘Beauty,’ said Dr Pritchard, ‘I hope you like dogs?’

      ‘Oh, yes, but I’ve never had one of my own.’ She gave him a rather shy smile. ‘I like cats too.’

      ‘In the kitchen,’ he said briefly, ‘a basket full of them; Venus has just had kittens.’

      He pushed open one of the doors and she went past him into the sitting room, a low-ceilinged, beamed and cosily furnished room, with chairs pulled up to the log fire in the wide hearth.

      ‘You could do with a glass of sherry,’ stated the doctor, and handed her one before she could answer. ‘Do sit down.’

      They didn’t talk much as they had their drinks, only a few questions and answers; how long was it since she had been there? How far was she with her training? Did she intend to resume that later on?

      To all of which she replied a little vaguely, since she hadn’t really thought about it yet. And over supper the doctor kept the conversation on general topics while they ate with healthy appetites. It was only when they had carried the dishes to the kitchen, admired Venus and her kittens and taken the coffee tray into the sitting room that he started to tell her about Aunt Kate.

      ‘Of course, she can’t last out much longer,’ he explained. ‘She’s worn out and her heart is already weak. I’ve done what I can, but she refuses to go into hospital or a nursing home and the nurse I arranged for was given short shift. How about you? You’ve not had much to say so far.’

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