on to the dark evening, not even thinking. It was much later when she got to her feet, cold now, and went to run a bath. She could hear Rosie snoring and uttered a thankful sigh; the poor dear had had a shock and she must be worn out with grief. She would have to go to bed herself, she supposed, and she took as long as possible undressing and bathing, brushing her long hair for ten minutes or more before at last getting into bed. It surprised her to see that it was already almost eleven o’clock. She was still making up her mind to put out the light when she heard the Bentley surge almost silently up to the front door. She had been dreading the moment when she must lie in the dark and try and sleep, now she seized on the chance to put that moment off till later. She got up, put on a dressing gown and slippers, and went silently downstairs.
Dr Thackery was in the kitchen, a saucepan lid in one hand, eyeing the soup. He looked up as she went in, said ‘Hullo’ in an unsurprised voice and then: ‘How about sharing some of this soup with me? I dislike eating alone.’
Clotilde came slowly into the kitchen, her face puffy with weeping, her hair hanging in a curtain down her back, her nose pink. All the same, she still looked quite lovely.
‘You didn’t eat your supper.’ He wasn’t asking, just stating a fact, and she said quickly: ‘We did try, really we did.’
He turned and fetched two bowls from the dresser and added them to the neatly laid tray Rosie had left ready, while Clotilde went to the bread bin and got out a loaf and sliced some bread.
‘Have you been busy?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I saw Sally, and she sent a great many kind messages and you’re not to worry about a thing; she’s been sent extra help until you get back and all the patients are okay. She won’t bother you with phoning, but if you want to ring her, she’d like that very much.’
They ate in silence for a minute or two and presently he went on: ‘I’m going over to France tomorrow. I should be back in a couple of days at the latest. I’ve arranged things with the undertakers.’ He mentioned the name of a firm in the nearest town. ‘That’s all you need to know at present, I think. As soon as you feel that you can and you want to, you can take over.’
Clotilde got up and fetched the coffee from the stove and put the soup bowls into the sink. There was one of Rosie’s bacon and cheese flans on the table and she pushed it towards him. ‘Please have some, you must be hungry. I can’t thank you enough for all you’re doing…’
He smiled at her. ‘You would have done the same, I fancy. I’ve been high-handed, haven’t I, but the matter is urgent. Authority doesn’t like to be left hanging around.’
‘No. I— I wouldn’t have known what to do anyway.’ She drank her coffee and some of the burden of sadness seemed to have been lifted from her shoulders. ‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘That’s natural, and it’s nature’s way of protecting you until you can cope again.’ He finished his flan. ‘Now go to bed, Clotilde, and go to sleep. I’ll clear away these things. If you can’t sleep, come and say so and I’ll give you something. Where am I sleeping?’
He was as calm and matter-of-fact as a brother. ‘The first door on the left at the head of the stairs.’ Suddenly bed seemed a nice place to be; shock and grief had numbed her to a standstill and all she wanted to do was sleep. She said goodnight and went upstairs, and slept the moment her head touched the pillow.
Dr Thackery left soon after breakfast, but not before he had written a list of things to be done and which would keep her, and Rosie, for that matter, busy until his return. ‘I’ll phone you before we leave France,’ he told her. ‘Two or three days’ time, I expect—if there’s a delay, I’ll let you know.’ He went out to the car and Clotilde went with him, reluctant to see him go. ‘I’m going to St Alma’s first, and I’ll be in touch with your solicitor.’ He looked away from her, across the garden. ‘Perhaps Johnson could manage to come down and be here when I get back?’
‘I expect he’ll ring.’ Clotilde put out a hand and had it engulfed and held. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Oh, dear, I suppose I’ll say that whenever I see you!’
He smiled. ‘I daresay someone will do the same for me one day.’
She nodded. ‘I quite forgot to ask you; about money— I mean, it must be costing a great deal, I can…’
‘I’ll settle with your solicitor later.’ He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Get Johnson down here as soon as he can manage it—someone can take over for him for a few days.’
He drove off with a casual wave, and she stood watching him go, suddenly engulfed in unhappiness again. But there was no use in standing there feeling sorry for herself: there was that list to work her way through, friends to write to, to telephone, the vicar to see, as well as the house to run. Rosie had been given a list too, and Clotilde went back to the house to find her and read it. Dr Thackery seemed to have thought of everything. ‘We’d better tick things off as we see to them,’ said Clotilde.
And so the next two days went by somehow. She ate and drank and slept and worked her way faithfully through her list. Soon after Dr Thackery had left she rang the hospital and asked for Bruce, but he wasn’t available. ‘But I’ll get him to ring you as soon as he’s free,’ the sympathetic receptionist told her.
Which wasn’t till the evening. Worth waiting for, Clotilde told herself, just to hear Bruce’s voice asking how she was, telling her that he’d been up to his eyes all day. ‘But I’ll see you some time tomorrow,’ he promised.
It was only when she had hung up that she realised that he hadn’t asked her how she was managing. Perhaps he thought there was an uncle or cousin or old family friend. But tomorrow he would be with her, she told herself as she got ready for bed that evening. She needed him badly. She had no tears left, but there was a hard lump of misery in her chest which she had to conquer, and she didn’t think she could manage it by herself.
Bruce didn’t come. Rosie had cooked a proper meal that evening; they waited and waited, and it wasn’t until almost ten o’clock that he phoned—an emergency which Sir Oswald had asked him to deal with, and Clotilde, keeping her temper with an effort, longing to scream and rail at him, asked: ‘Aren’t I an emergency?’
‘Of course you are, darling, you must know how I long to be with you; but this poor chap…well, never mind that now. At least he’s going to recover.’
Clotilde felt mean and petty and ill-used at the same time. She was fighting to keep her voice normal when the operator broke in to say that there was an urgent call from France, and would she take it. She hung up without saying goodbye to Bruce and a moment later Dr Thackery was on the line.
‘You sound as though you’re crying,’ were his first words after she had mumbled a greeting. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow around tea time. I’ll see you then.’And when she didn’t answer: ‘You don’t want to talk, do you? Eat your supper and go to bed. Goodnight, Clotilde.’
She hardly slept that night, and nor, she suspected, had Rosie. They busied themselves around the house and Clotilde took Tinker for a long walk after their scratch lunch, leaving Rosie to have a rest and then make her preparations for a meal that evening. Dr Thackery and her father’s solicitor would be tired and hungry when they arrived.
It was going on for four o’clock when Bruce arrived and Clotilde, just for a while, found comfort in his sympathy and concern. She had gone to the kitchen to help Rosie with tea when she heard the Bentley stop
