boxes and bags in the kitchen, greeted Mike and Christine, handed over Dusty to the former for his walk, and sat down at the kitchen table. Christine was sitting there, doing her homework, but she paused to look at her elder sister.
‘You’re tired,’ she declared. ‘The kettle is boiling; I’ll make tea—there is some cake… Then you go upstairs and lie down, Louise; Zoë and I will get the supper and call you when it’s ready. We can talk then.’
Louise drank her tea and, urged by Christine, took herself off to her room. It overlooked the street and, glancing out of the window, she saw that the doctor was still talking to Zoë. Seeing them, she nodded with sleepy satisfaction and, kicking off her shoes, subsided on to the bed, to sleep within seconds.
Over supper, much refreshed, she described her day and discussed the weighty problem of curtains. Since Zoë was free in the morning, they agreed to go together and buy all the material they needed. ‘And on Saturday,’ said Louise, ‘we’ll all go to Ivy Cottage and do the last odd jobs. I hope someone will buy those odds and ends of furniture before we move.’ She ticked off everything which had to be done before they left Bick Street, and half-way through yawned prodigiously.
‘You go to bed this instant,’ said Zoë firmly. ‘You’re asleep on your feet. We’ll make a list and you can check it in the morning.’
A good night’s sleep worked wonders; Louise and Zoë, their list made to everyone’s satisfaction, made their way to the High Street and spent an hour choosing material for the curtains. The windows of Ivy Cottage were small and the shop specialised in remnants; they returned home well pleased with themselves, laden with all they needed. It remained only to get the curtains made. In the cupboard under the stairs was a very old sewing machine; Louise hauled it out, set it to rights and, with Zoë to help her, got started.
They were all up early the next morning, and with Dusty and a number of bags, and a picnic lunch, they were at Ivy Cottage betimes.
Mr Poolley had been working hard. The lino on the kitchen floor was laid, the dining-room was carpeted and there was a sound of hammering from somewhere upstairs. With such an encouraging start to the day they set to work with a will and, by the time they left, the little house was beginning to look like home. Louise went on duty that evening feeling pleased and excited; in four days’ time she would leave, and once they had settled into their new home she would go after a job.
Her euphoria waned a little as the night wore on. The medical wards were unusually busy; they were always full, but now they were spilling over, with extra beds up and a number of new patients who needed extra care. By the time she was due to go off duty she was tired and peevish, wanting her bed above all things.
It was nice to find breakfast ready and waiting when she got to Bick Street; her sisters and brother clustered round as she ate it, and only when she had finished did Zoë say, ‘We knew you wouldn’t mind, Louise—Dr van der Linden met me when I was out with Dusty yesterday evening—at least, he was driving home, I suppose, and came down this street… He stopped and asked if we wanted a lift tomorrow and I said yes.’ She paused to look at Louise’s face. ‘You don’t mind? It seemed such a splendid chance; we could start on the garden and he said we could have lunch at his house and take Dusty, so you’d have a nice long day to yourself. He’ll bring us back this evening.’
Louise squashed a feeling of self-pity welling up in a threatening manner; it was kind of the doctor, and moreover it rather pointed to the fact that he had his eye on Zoë. Besides, if they went there for lunch they would soon know if he was married, in which case, the quicker he took his eyes off her, the better. In the meanwhile there was safety in numbers.
She said with an instant willingness that she didn’t quite feel, ‘What a splendid notion, my dears. Do remember to take Dusty’s food with you and his bowl; he’ll be quite happy in the garden. Christine, if you finished your curtains yesterday evening, will you take them with you and hang them? There is a spade in the little garden shed at the end of the garden, but perhaps Dr van der Linden wouldn’t mind you taking the garden fork—you could leave it there. Take a bottle of milk—you might want tea.’ She saw their relief as she yawned and declared, ‘Must say, a long sleep will be nice…’
‘Then you don’t mind—truly not?’ asked Mike.
‘Not one bit. I’ve had a rotten night—all go—and I can think of nothing nicer than a bath and bed. Take a key with you just in case I’m gone before you get back.’ Something made her add, ‘I told Night Sister on the surgical wards that I would cover for her for the first half hour—she may be late on duty.’
Which wasn’t true, but she had a reluctance to meet Dr van der Linden, although she wasn’t quite sure why. Urged by the other three, she went upstairs to her room and got ready for bed but, although she was so tired, she was still awake when she heard the doctor’s car stop and then the subdued, cheerful murmur of voices and Dusty’s hastily suppressed barks. They would have a lovely day, she told herself with resolute cheerfulness. ‘And I do hope he’s not married,’ she murmured as she dozed off.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WASN’T until the following morning when she reached Bick Street after another night of non-stop work that she had the details of the outing to Much Hadham, for she had prudently left some time before the working party would return. She hadn’t seen Dr van der Linden, either, although he had been in the hospital to check on several very ill patients, but she had been busy at the time in the accident room and he had sent a message to say that he would leave instructions with the night nurse on duty and Ted Giles would get in touch with her as soon as she was free.
She found her brother and sisters in a high state of excitement; they had had a delightful day, they chorused, at the same time assuring her that they had worked like Trojans. Everything that needed to be done had been done, Zoë assured her, plying her with tea and toast, ‘And we went to Aldo’s house…’
‘Aldo?’
Zoë laughed a little. ‘That’s his name, Dr van der Linden. He said it made him feel old when we called him doctor all the time. Well, it’s at the other end of the village—his house—quite beautiful, Louise, and large with a huge garden at the back. It’s old, eighteenth century, one of those with chequered brickwork, and inside it’s furnished with the loveliest antiques. We only went downstairs, of course, but the hall is vast and there is a staircase, stone and wrought iron—there is a carpet on it, of course. We had a heavenly lunch…’ She was interrupted here by Mike and Christine and a chorus of praise in which grilled mushrooms in a wine sauce, roast chicken and gooseberry tart with lashings of cream, and unlimited lemonade—the genuine kind, they explained—jostled in mouth-watering fashion.
Zoë went on just as though there hadn’t been an interruption. ‘And after lunch we went round the garden; it’s beautiful, Louise, you have no idea…’
Louise said equably that no, she hadn’t, and reflected silently that it seemed unlikely that she ever would, although… She allowed her thoughts to stray for a moment; if Dr van der Linden and Zoë should marry, she might be given the chance. And that reminded her.
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