Dr Braddock is going to call and see your stepmother on his way home. I dare say she will come and see you and bring you anything you need.’
The very last thing that lady would do, but there was no point in saying so. Cressida murmured suitably and since the bed was comfortable and she had had an irksome morning she closed her eyes and took a nap.
Miss Mogford came that evening, carrying a small holdall with what she considered necessary for Cressida’s comfort while she was in hospital.
Cressida was delighted to see her, but worried too. ‘Moggy, however did you get away? It’s the dinner party too… is Stepmother very cross?’
‘Livid,’ said Miss Mogford, succinctly, ‘but Dr Braddock was quite sharp with her, told her she was responsible for you and I don’t know what else—I just happened to be passing through the hall and the door wasn’t quite closed—so when he’d gone she phoned a catering firm and they’re there now, seeing to everything. She told me to bring you what you needed here and I got the baker’s van to bring me.’
‘How will you get back?’
‘The van’s going back in an hour—the driver’s got the day off tomorrow.’
‘I don’t know how long I’m here for…’
‘I heard Dr Braddock say a couple of days, so you have a nice rest, Miss Cressida, and you’ll have to take things easy when you come home.’
‘Is my stepmother very annoyed?’
‘Well, she’s put out,’ said Miss Mogford, uttering the understatement of a lifetime.
It was surprising what two days at the hospital did for Cressida. Of course there were the painful physiotherapy sessions, but for a good deal of each day she sat, the injured ankle resting on a stool, reading the discarded magazines and newspapers of the other patients, racing through the romantic fiction the lady from the hospital library was kind enough to bring her. She didn’t turn up her unassuming nose at the food either; by the end of the second day she had colour in her cheeks and had put on a much-needed pound or two.
It was after breakfast on the following morning that the orthopaedic registrar came to tell her that she was fit enough to go home. ‘You must wear an elastic stocking for a couple of weeks and keep off your feet as much as possible, and mind you rest the ankle properly. Sister phoned your stepmother and she assures us that you will be well looked after. We’ll arrange for the hospital car service to pick you up after midday dinner today.’
Cressida thanked him and reflected that with a stocking and a stick she would be able to manage well enough. Indeed, she would have to…
She was sitting dressed and ready to leave, her ankle resting on the stool before her, when the door opened and Dr van der Linus walked in.
His greeting was genial. ‘I had to have a word with someone here and thought I would call and see how you are getting on. I hear you’re going home?’
‘Yes. I’m waiting for transport. I’m quite better again.’ She gave him a steady smile. ‘I’m most grateful for everything you did for me.’
‘Think nothing of it. I’m going past your home; I’ll take you if you’re ready to go. Just let me have a word with Sister…’ He had gone before she could answer.
On the way back he told her that he was going to London on the following day and then back to Holland. ‘I don’t expect to be back here for some time,’ he told her, and then casually, ‘Have you any plans for your future?’
‘No, none,’ said Cressida bleakly. Her look was sad. ‘At least not for some time.’
‘Ah, well,’ said the doctor easily, ‘I dare say you have your reasons for staying at home.’
‘Yes, I have. What will happen to the dog while you’re in London?’
He accepted the change of subject without demur. ‘He’s to stay at the vet’s. I will collect him when I leave England. He looks quite handsome, you know, although I’m not quite sure what he is. He’s young still, about six months, and still going to grow.’
‘You’ll have room for him at your home?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He stopped in front of her house and got out to help her.
‘Thank you very much,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come in and see my stepmother?’
The doctor smiled a little; it was obvious that she hoped that he would refuse. ‘Why not?’ he said cheerfully, and took her arm. ‘Use your stick,’ he counselled her, and, ‘Put your weight on your good foot and for heaven’s sake don’t stand about; sit when you can and keep your foot up.’
Miss Mogford had been on the watch for Cressida’s return. She opened the door wide, and her severe features softened into a smile. ‘There, that’s better. My goodness, a couple of days in hospital have done you a power of good, Miss Cressy—I swear you’ve put on a pound or two.’
‘Is my stepmother in?’ asked Cressida. ‘I’m sure Dr van der Linus—’
The rest of her words were lost in Mrs Preece’s voice, ‘Is that you, Cressida? And about time too. All this rubbish I’ve been hearing about this ankle of yours…’ A half-open door was thrust open and she came into the hall, caught sight of the doctor’s vast person and went on smoothly, ‘You poor child, have you had a lot of pain? I didn’t come to visit you for you know how sensitive I am about illness.’ She smiled at Dr van der Linus. ‘My nerves, you know—I’m a martyr to them.’ She turned to Cressida. ‘Run along upstairs, dear, I dare say you would like a rest. Miss Mogford shall bring you your tea presently.’
She turned her back on Cressida, ‘Tea is just made,’ she said to the doctor. ‘Do have a cup with me. I see so few people and you must tell me about Cressida’s ankle.’
He refused with a charm as smooth as her own. ‘I have an evening appointment and have still some distance to drive. Miss Preece should be all right now—a week or two keeping off the ankle and plenty of rest. But, of course, you will know what to do.’
He shook hands again and then turned to Cressida standing so quietly close by. ‘I am sure that Dr Braddock will be over to see you shortly. I’m glad that the damage wasn’t worse. I’ll take care of the dog.’
She smiled. ‘I’m sure you will and it’s very kind of you to have him. I hope you have a good journey home.’
He stared down at her—such a plain little face but such beautiful eyes, and despite her smile she was unhappy. Not surprisingly, he considered; he had a poor view of Mrs Preece.
Sitting opposite his grandmother that evening, he voiced his vague disquiet about Cressida. ‘The girl seems sensible enough,’ he observed, ‘and really one hardly expects the modern young woman to behave like Cinderella. Mrs Preece is someone that anyone with an ounce of good sense would get away from as quickly as possible.’
‘Then there must be a good reason for the girl to remain there. Have you any idea what it might be?’
‘None.’ He added, ‘I suppose there is no way of finding out?’
‘Well,
