seemed shorter than it was; they found plenty to talk about, and stopped for a snack meal at a service station. The time passed pleasantly and, true to her word, Mrs Ingram stopped the car at her home just before three o’clock.
PETER and Paul fell upon her with a rapturous welcome. They had missed her, they chorused, and did she still remember the Dutch they had taught her when they were in Holland? And did she remember that lovely toy shop? And why did she have to live so far away? And was she to stay for a long, long time? For they had, assured Peter, an awful lot to tell her. But first she must go into the garden and see the goldfish…
They had a splendid tea presently, and then everyone sat around the table and played Snakes and Ladders, Ludo and the Racing Game, relics from Mr Ingram’s childhood. Then it was time for supper, and nothing would do but that Araminta should go upstairs when they were in bed and tell them a story.
‘You always did in Uncle Marcus’s house,’ they reminded her.
The day was nicely rounded off by dinner with the Ingrams and an hour or so round the drawing room fire talking about everything under the sun, except Marcus.
It was still dark when she awoke in the pretty bedroom.
‘It’s a bit early,’ said Peter as the pair of them got onto her bed and pulled the eiderdown around them, ‘but you’ve got to go again at tea time, haven’t you? So we thought you might like to wake up so’s we can talk.’
The day went too quickly. They didn’t go out, for the weather had turned nasty—a damp, misty, chilly November day—but there had been plenty to do indoors. It was mid-afternoon when Mr Ingram took the boys into the garden to make sure that the goldfish were alive and waiting for their food, leaving Mrs Ingram and Araminta sitting in the drawing room, talking idly.
They were discussing clothes. ‘It must be delightful—’ began Araminta, and stopped speaking as the door opened and the doctor came in.
He nodded, smiling, at his sister, and said, ‘Hello, Mintie.’
Nothing could have prevented her glorious smile at the sight of him. He noted it with deep satisfaction and watched her pale cheeks suddenly pinken.
‘Good afternoon, Doctor,’ said Araminta, replacing the smile with what she hoped was mild interest, bending to examine one of her shoes.
Mrs Ingram got up to kiss him. ‘Marcus, how very punctual you are. We’re about to have tea. Such a pity that Araminta has to go back this evening.’
The doctor glanced at his watch. ‘You have to be back to get the boys settled in again?’ he asked Araminta. ‘If we leave around four o’clock that should get you there in good time.’
Araminta looked at Mrs Ingram, who said airily, ‘Oh, you won’t mind if Marcus drives you back, will you, Araminta? After all, you do know each other, and you’ll have plenty to talk about.’
‘But it’s miles out of your way…?’
Araminta, filled with delight at the thought of several hours in Marcus’s company, nonetheless felt it her duty to protest.
‘I am interested to hear how you are getting on at the school,’ he observed blandly. ‘I feel sure that there will be no chance to discuss that once the boys have come indoors.’
Which was true enough. They swarmed over their uncle and grown-up conversation of any kind was at a minimum. Tea was eaten at the table: plates of thinly cut bread and butter, crumpets, toasted teacakes, a sponge cake and a chocolate cake.
‘The boys chose what we should have for tea—all the things you like most, Araminta,’ said Mrs Ingram. ‘And, I suspect, all the things they like most, too! We always have an old-fashioned tea with them. I can’t say I enjoy milkless tea and one biscuit at four o’clock.’
She glanced at her brother. ‘Did you have time for lunch, Marcus?’
‘Oh, yes. It’s Briskett’s day off, but he leaves me something.’ He sounded vague. But there was nothing vague about his manner when presently he said that they must leave if Araminta needed to be back at the school by six o’clock. She fetched her overnight bag and got into her coat, then made her farewells—lengthy ones when it came to the boys, who didn’t want her to go.
‘Araminta must come and see us all again soon,’ said Mr Ingram. ‘She gets holidays just like you do.’
A remark which served to cheer up the boys so that she and Marcus left followed by a cheerful chorus of goodbyes.
Beyond asking her if she were comfortable, the doctor had nothing to say. It wasn’t until they were on the M4, travelling fast through the early dusk, that he began a desultory conversation about nothing in particular. He was intent on putting Araminta at her ease, for she was sitting stiff as a poker beside him, giving him the strong impression that given the opportunity she would jump out of the car.
She had said very little to him at his sister’s house, something which no one but himself had noticed, and now she was behaving as though he were a stranger. Driving to Oxford that afternoon, he had decided to ask her to marry him, but now he could see that that was something he must not do. For some reason she was keeping him at arm’s length, and yet at St Jules’ she had flung those arms around him with every appearance of relief and delight at seeing him. She seemed happy enough at the school. Perhaps she was trying to make it plain that she resented his reappearance now that she had settled into a job that she liked.
They reached the M25 and he was relieved to see that her small stern profile had resolved itself into her usual habitual expression of serenity. He waited until they had left the motorway, going south now towards Eastbourne.
‘You are happy at the school?’ he asked casually. ‘You feel that you can settle there, if permanent job should be offered, or would you prefer to use it as a stop-gap? You can always enrol at another hospital, you know.’
‘No. That was a mistake. I hope that I can stay at the school. Matron is thinking of leaving next year; there’s always the chance that I might get her job. I would be very happy there for the rest of my life.’
She spoke defiantly, expecting him to disagree about that, but all he did was grunt in what she supposed was agreement, which should have pleased her but left her illogically disappointed.
Presently he said, ‘You feel that you have found your niche in life?’ He shot past a slow-moving car. ‘Have you no wish to marry? Have a home of your own, a husband and children?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that was exactly what she wished, but what would be the point of wishing? Where was she to find a home and a husband and children? And anyway, the only husband she wanted was beside her, although he might just as well have been on the moon.
She wasn’t going to answer that; instead she asked, ‘And you, doctor, don’t you wish for a wife and children?’
‘Indeed I do. What is more, I hope to have both in due course.’
Not Christina, hoped Araminta, he would be unhappy. She said, at her most Miss Pomfrey-ish, ‘That will be nice.’
A
