not gardening, only pulling rhubarb. I was going to dig that patch over there.’ She pointed with a stick of the fruit. ‘I told Aunt Thirza I would and she’ll wonder why if it isn’t done.’
‘The pair of us should be able to get that done later on…’ At her look of surprise, he added, ‘I like gardening.’ ‘You do? All right. I don’t suppose it will take long, whatever it is that you have to tell me.’ She dusted off her grubby hands. ‘Come and have a cup of coffee first.’ She added belatedly, ‘This must be spoiling your Sunday?’
The professor, beginning to enjoy himself, assured her that it was still early and he had the whole day before him.
‘I expect you are glad to be out of London for the day,’ said Katrina, leading the way into the house.
They had their coffee in the little living room, with the sun shining in on the rather shabby chairs and the polished sofa table and old-fashioned chiffonnier, both old and valuable. It shone on Katrina’s wealth of hair, too, and the professor admired it silently. A strikingly lovely girl, he had to admit, who made no effort to engage his attention.
When she had refilled their cups, Katrina said, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me? It’s about Aunt Thirza, of course. Dr Peters said he would prefer you to explain in more detail.’ For a moment she faltered.
‘Your aunt has lymphatic leukaemia, which is incurable, although there is a great deal to be done which can prolong her life. But one must consider the fact that she is no longer young. It is a slow-moving illness. Indeed it can be compatible with a normal lifespan.’
Katrina didn’t look at him; she was staring out of the window. ‘You mean that Aunt Thirza might—might live until her death without knowing?’
‘Yes, that is exactly what I do mean. Unless she asks me to tell her chapter and verse, in which case I should do so. I hope that will not happen, and I suggest that she is allowed to believe that she has a simple anaemia which we shall treat in the prescribed way. She is a sensible lady, is she not? And she will go along with any treatment we suggest—pills, of course, diet, rest.’ He added abruptly, ‘You can cope with that?’
‘Yes, of course I can.’ She looked at him then, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. ‘I owe everything to Aunt Thirza. She gave me a home when no one else wanted me.’
A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, and for a moment he had a vision of a small sad girl whom no one had wanted. He offered a beautifully laundered handkerchief and said nothing; he sensed that if he did speak she would dislike him even more. He had been the bearer of bad news, and now he had seen her in tears. He sat quietly until she had mopped her face and mumbled that she would launder his handkerchief and send it to him.
‘I never cry,’ she told him fiercely.
‘How old were you when you came to live here?’ He sounded friendly, and she responded to the sound of his quiet voice.
‘Twelve. Mother and Father died in an air crash on their way back from the Middle East. Father built bridges and sometimes Mother went with him.’
‘No brothers or sisters? No family other than your aunt?’
‘No, but several other aunts and uncles, and cousins…’ She broke off. ‘This is boring for you. Will you tell me what you intend to do for Aunt Thirza and advise me as to the best way to look after her?’
‘Certainly I will.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘It’s a lovely morning. Would you come back with me to my home and have lunch? We can discuss every small detail at our leisure.’
‘Lunch?’ said Katrina. ‘Lunch with you?’ Her unflatter ing surprise caused his thin mouth to twitch with sudden amusement. ‘But I can’t; I’ve got that digging to do.’ She added belatedly, ‘Thank you.’
Over the years the professor had cultivated a bedside manner second to none: courteous and matter-of-fact, nicely laced with sympathy.
‘How would it be if I do the digging while you do whatever you need to do? Don’t dress up; it will only be the two of us.’
Just as though he couldn’t care less what I look like, thought Katrina peevishly. She said loudly, ‘You can’t dig in those clothes…’
He wore beautifully cut trousers, an open-necked shirt and a cashmere sweater, not to mention the shoes on his large feet.
He didn’t answer her but got to his feet. ‘Fifteen minutes be long enough?’ he wanted to know, and went unhurriedly into the garden.
‘The nerve of him,’ said Katrina to herself, clashing cups and saucers together, and then spun round.
‘Nerve is something which the medical profession have to employ from time to time, Katrina. You don’t mind if I call you Katrina?’ he said mildly. ‘You don’t look like a Miss Gibbs. I came back to ask if there is a bigger spade?’
‘In the shed.’
He went away again, and she put everything in the sink and went up to her room. She wasn’t going to change her dress, for it was apparent to her that he couldn’t care less what she wore, but she changed her old sandals for a better pair and attacked her mane of hair, subduing it to tidiness and a neat coil in the nape of her neck. She powdered her face too, and used lipstick, took a quick look at herself in the little mirror on the dressing table and went downstairs.
She was spooning cat food into a bowl for the little cat when the professor joined her. He noted the lipstick, and the tidy head of hair, but all he said was, ‘What is your cat’s name?’
‘Betsy.’
She put the saucer on the floor for the small creature and said, ‘Had I better come and look?’
He had made a very good job of it. Moreover he had managed to remain as elegant as he had been when he arrived. She thanked him warmly, forgetting how much he vexed her for the moment, and when he asked her if she was ready to leave said that she was, quite meekly. ‘Only I must just open the window in the kitchen so that Betsy can get in and out.’
They went out together, and he locked the door and put the key above it out of sight. ‘At what time shall your aunt return?’
‘She is to spend the day with the Peterses, so soon after tea, I suppose. Supposing she comes back earlier and I am not here?’
‘We will worry about that when it happens.’
Getting into the car, she asked, ‘Where do you live? In London? We’ll never get there and back…’
‘I live in Wherwell—a village south of Andover. I go to and fro to town; it’s an easy drive.’
It was a matter of thirty-five miles or so, and the big car swallowed them effortlessly. Beyond a casual remark from time to time the professor didn’t speak, and Katrina was glad of that as she tried to look into the future.
Of course she had always known that Aunt Thirza wouldn’t live for ever, but she had dismissed such thoughts from her mind as morbid. Her aunt had always seemed the same to her: brisk and matter-of-fact, full of energy, with a finger in every village pie. And as to her own future she had taught herself not to dwell too much on that. She was twenty-four, and
