A Summer Idyll. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ old lady’s eyes snapped. ‘My own niece demanding a salary?’

      ‘That’s right. After all, you had to pay the nurse, didn’t you? Private nurses are very expensive.’

      Aunt Kate mumbled something in a cross voice and Phoebe was given to understand that she would be given pocket money—the sum mentioned would buy toothpaste and shampoo and tights, but precious little else, but Phoebe was satisfied. It was, after all, a small declaration of independence; if she hadn’t taken a stand then and there, she would have become a doormat.

      She took the tea tray downstairs and went back again to wash her aunt’s face and hands and make her bed, chatting cheerfully as she did so. The doctor, her aunt told her grudgingly, came in the morning after surgery; it was he who had insisted on her having a nurse after calling unexpectedly one afternoon and finding her out of bed and struggling to get downstairs to get herself a meal.

      ‘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.

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