A Christmas Proposal. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ He pushed forward a small, comfortable chair, sat her down and went back to his own chair. ‘Do undo your raincoat; it’s warm in here.’

      He was friendly and easy and she lost her shyness and settled comfortably, undoing her raincoat to reveal the dress. The doctor blinked at its startling colour as he picked up his pen. Another of Clare’s cast-offs, he supposed, which cruelly highlighted Bertha’s nondescript features. Really, he reflected angrily, something should be done, but surely that was for her father to do? He finished his writing and left his chair.

      ‘I’m going to the clinic to see one or two patients. I’ll take you to Mrs Duke and pick you up when I’ve finished. Will you wait for me there?’ He noticed the small parcel she was holding. ‘Books? How thoughtful of you.’

      ‘Well, Cook likes romances and she let me have some old paperbacks. They may please Mrs Duke.’

      They went out together and the receptionist got up from her desk.

      ‘Mrs Taylor, I’m taking Miss Soames with me. If I’m not back by five o’clock, lock up, will you? I’ve two appointments for this evening, haven’t I? Leave the notes on my desk, will you?’

      ‘Yes, Doctor. Sally will be here at six o’clock…’

      ‘Sally is my nurse,’ observed the doctor. ‘My right hand. Mrs Taylor is my left hand.’

      ‘Go on with you, Doctor,’ said Mrs Taylor, and chuckled in a motherly way.

      Bertha, brought up to make conversation when the occasion warranted it, worked her way painstakingly through a number of suitable subjects in the Rolls-Royce, and the doctor, secretly amused, replied in his kindly way, so that by the time he drew up in a shabby street lined with small terraced houses she felt quite at ease.

      He got out, opened her door and led the way across the narrow pavement to knock on a door woefully in need of a paintbrush. It was opened after a few moments by an old lady with a wrinkled face, fierce black eyes and an untidy head of hair. She nodded at the doctor and peered at Bertha.

      ‘Brought that girl, ’ave yer? Come on in, then. I could do with a bit of company.’ She led the way down the narrow hall to a door at the end. ‘I’ve got me own flat,’ she told Bertha. ‘What’s yer name?’

      ‘Bertha, Mrs Duke.’

      The doctor, watching her, saw with relief that she had neither wrinkled her small nose at the strong smell of cabbage and cats, nor had she let her face register anything other than friendly interest.

      He didn’t stay for more than a few minutes, and when he had gone Bertha, bidden to sit herself down, did so and offered the books she had brought.

      Mrs Duke peered at their titles. ‘Just me cup of tea,’ she pronounced. ‘I’ll ’ave Love’s Undying Purpose for a start.’ She settled back in a sagging armchair and an elderly cat climbed onto her lap.

      Bertha turned to the first page and began to read.

      CHAPTER TWO

      BERTHA was still reading when the doctor returned two hours later. There had been a brief pause while Mrs Duke had made tea, richly brown and laced with tinned milk and a great deal of sugar, but Bertha hadn’t been allowed to linger over it. She had obediently picked up the book again and, with a smaller cat on her own knees, had continued the colourful saga of misunderstood heroine and swashbuckling hero.

      Mrs Duke had listened avidly to every word, occasionally ordering her to ‘read that bit again’, and now she got up reluctantly to let the doctor in.

      ‘Enjoyed yourselves?’ he wanted to know.

      ‘Not ’arf. Reads a treat, she does. ’Artway through the book already.’ Mrs Duke subsided into her chair again, puffing a bit. ‘Bertha’s a bit of all right. When’s she coming again?’

      He looked at Bertha, sitting quietly with the cat still on her knee.

      ‘When would you like to come again?’ he asked her.

      ‘Whenever Mrs Duke would like me to.’

      ‘Tomorrow? We could finish this story…’

      ‘Yes, of course. If I come about the same time?’

      ‘Suits me. ’Ere, give me Perkins—like cats, do you?’

      ‘Yes, they’re good company, aren’t they?’ Bertha got up. ‘We’ll finish the story tomorrow,’ she promised.

      In the car the doctor said, ‘I’ll bring you over at the same time and collect you later. I want to take a look at Mrs Duke; she’s puffing a bit.’

      ‘Yes—she would make tea and she got quite breathless. Is she ill?’

      ‘Her heart’s worn out and so are her lungs. She’s turned eighty and had a very hard life. She refuses to go into hospital. You have made her happy reading to her—thank you, Bertha.’ She smiled and he glanced at her. ‘You didn’t find the smells and the cats too much for you?’

      ‘No, of course not. Would she be offended if I took a cake or biscuits? I’m sure Cook will let me have something.’

      ‘Would you? I think she would be delighted; she’s proud, but she’s taken to you, hasn’t she?’

      He reflected with some surprise that he had rather taken to Bertha himself…

      ‘Could we settle on which days you would like to visit Mrs Duke? I’ll bring you tomorrow, as I’ve already said, but supposing we say three times a week? Would Monday, Wednesday and Friday suit you? Better still, not Friday but Saturday—I dare say that will help her over the weekend. I’ll give you a lift on Wednesdays and Saturdays and on Mondays, if you will come to my rooms as usual, there will be someone to take you to Mrs Duke.’

      ‘I’ll go any day you wish me to, but I must ask my stepmother… And I can get a bus—there’s no need…’

      ‘I go anyway. You might just as well have a lift. And on Mondays there is always someone going to the clinic—I’m one of several who work there.’

      ‘Well, that would be nice, if you are sure it’s no trouble?’

      ‘None whatsoever. Is your stepmother likely to object to your going?’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ Bertha paused. ‘But she might not like me going with you…’ She spoke matter-of-factly.

      ‘Yes. Perhaps you are right. There is no need to mention that, is there?’

      ‘You mean it will be a kind of secret between us?’

      ‘Why not?’ He spoke lightly and added, ‘I’m taking your stepsister out to dinner tomorrow evening. She is a very popular girl, isn’t she?’

      Which somehow spoilt Bertha’s day.

      Two weeks went by and autumn showed signs of turning into winter. Mrs Soames had decided that Bertha, since she went out so seldom, needed no new dresses; Clare had several from last year still in СКАЧАТЬ