quite charming. ‘They hate it,’ she told him.
‘And you? You have hated living in Hoxton?’
She nodded. ‘It’s been worse for Zoë—she’s young and so pretty, and she has had no fun.’
He gave her a thoughtful look; he could only see her profile. She had a determined chin; probably she was an obstinate girl, and proud.
‘Very pretty,’ he agreed blandly. ‘I have no doubt that she will find a job and friends without any difficulty. How long are you going to kneel there, scrubbing?’
‘Until five o’clock, Dr van der Linden.’ Something in her voice implied that it was time that they got back to their usual relationship of cool, friendly respect.
He ignored it. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Louise? After all, you are not on duty now.’ He didn’t wait for her to answer, but got to his feet and strolled to the door. ‘I’ll be back here at five o’clock; we’ll have tea and I will drive you back home.’
He had gone while she was still trying to find a good reason for not accepting his invitation.
‘Well,’ said Louise indignantly, addressing the empty room, ‘it was more of an order.’ She frowned. ‘And I talked too much. Whatever came over me?’
She attacked the bedside table with unnecessary force; it was an ordinary white-painted piece of furniture, like the bed, but when the room was carpeted and curtained and there were flowers and ornaments around it would do very well. She worked with a will; by five to five she was finished and had tidied away the bucket and brush, washed out the apron, combed her hair and done something to her face. Her hands were still red, but at least they were clean and she had nice nails, well kept and a good shape. She was locking the back door when Dr van der Linden opened the front door and walked in.
‘Punctual,’ he commented pleasantly. ‘You bring your disciplined working life into your private living. Very commendable.’
A remark to which for some reason Louise took exception.
At the back of her head had been the vague idea that he would take her to his house for tea, but she was wrong. He ushered her into the car and drove off through the village, and, when they reached Stanstead Abbots, stopped at Briggens House and ushered her inside its elegant portals and ordered tea and delicate little sandwiches and mouth-watering cakes. She enjoyed it all; all the same she felt disappointment at not going to his house—after all, it was so close to Ivy Cottage. Perhaps his wife was there—but was he married? She had never bothered about his private life before and there was no point in starting now, she reminded herself smartly, carrying on the kind of conversation she was in the habit of having with the consultant at the hospital when they stopped to chat upon occasion.
Dr van der Linden watched her face unobtrusively, reading her thoughts very accurately, while bearing his part in their talk with the cool pleasantness he exhibited when they met at hospital, so that her uneasiness subsided; he was, after all, only doing what any charitable-minded person would do for someone they knew, however slightly.
Bick Street, despite the neatness of its little houses, was a different kettle of fish from Much Hadham. Louise reflected that she wouldn’t feel a spark of regret when they left it. She voiced her thoughts as the doctor stopped before her front door. ‘I shall be glad to leave here,’ she said, and turned to thank him for her lift. But Zoë had opened the door and was already standing by the car, her pretty, eager face beaming at them.
‘I’ve just made tea; come and have a cup with us Dr van der Linden?’
Louise began, ‘Oh, but we’ve…’
But she was forestalled by his calm, ‘That would be delightful,’ and his speedy removal of his vast person from his car. He came and opened the door for her, smiling down at her so that she found it quite impossible to say anything more.
Inside the house they went into the sitting-room, where signs of their departure were much in evidence, with packing cases in corners and books piled tidily. The tea-tray was on a corner of the table by the window, and Zoë said, ‘There is plenty in the pot…’ and raised her voice to call, ‘…Christine, bring that cake Louise made yesterday, and find Mike; tea is made.’ She smiled at Louise. ‘I’ll pour, Louise, you look tired. How come you met Dr van der Linden?’
‘He lives at Much Hadham…’
Christine and Mike had joined them. The three younger members of the family turned surprised faces to their guest and chorused happily, ‘How utterly super—do you live near Ivy Cottage? Are you married? Did you know Great-Aunt Payne?’
Louise’s quiet voice brought them all to a halt. ‘My dears, I hardly think that Dr van der Linden would wish to answer you.’
Zoë said at once, ‘Oh, sorry, we didn’t mean to be rude. It was awfully kind of you to bring Louise back, though; it’s saved her hours. Have some of this cake; she is a marvellous cook.’
Louise was astonished to see him eat a slice with evident appetite, after the splendid tea they had had, too. Of course, he was a very large man; moreover he was kind; he was probably eating it for fear of hurting her feelings. The conversation centred round the trials of moving house, enlivened by Dusty’s antics and Mike’s high-flown ideas as to what he intended to do with the attic at Ivy Cottage. The doctor sat back at his ease, listening with interest and occasionally putting in a question. It was almost an hour before he rose, saying that he had an appointment and would have to go. Louise thanked him again politely as he took his leave, but it was Zoë who went out to the car with him, and stood talking by it for a few more minutes.
Louise, glancing out of the window, frowned thoughtfully. Dr van der Linden and Zoë seemed taken with each other, but her sister was very young, he must be almost twice her age. Besides, he hadn’t answered their questions, had he? She supposed that she could find out easily enough at the hospital if he was married or not, but that was something she would never do. In any case, she told herself they were very unlikely to see much of him; once they had moved the two youngest would be at school, Zoë would get a job and she would, with luck, have a job in Stevenage. With Zoë earning as well as herself, and no rent to pay, there would be more money; Zoë would be able to have some pretty clothes and join a tennis club, get to know young people of her own age. Louise, her thoughts busy with the future, turned away from the window and went along to the kitchen to see what there was for supper.
She made the journey to Ivy Cottage again the next day; she was on duty that night, but it was worth going for the morning at any rate; she was sure she would have time to clean out another bedroom, and perhaps someone would come and buy the bed.
Her hopes were realised; the bedroom was a small room and there wasn’t much furniture in it. She had washed the paint and cleaned the walls ready for the painting they would do the next time they came, and was consulting with Mr Baxter about the Aga, when an elderly couple thumped the knocker.
They had a daughter getting married, they explained, and the bed might do as a wedding present. Louise led them upstairs and watched patiently while they tried the springs, examined the mattress and, finally, offered her rather less than she had asked. She accepted without demur; the money would come in very handy, and the bed would be out of the way. They had a van outside; the bed was dismantled and stowed safely, and both parties parted on the best of terms, well satisfied. If the tables and chairs were sold as easily there would be money enough to have the kitchen modernised a little: she went straight back to Mr Baxter and sounded him out upon the matter. He had just the thing, he assured her,
