you are, love. Dr Johnson waited as long as he could. He said he simply had to get back to the hospital.’
‘But he didn’t say…’ Clotilde didn’t finish what she was going to say; there was no point in feeling hurt and surprised. Bruce was a busy man, and his time was seldom his own. ‘Oh, well,’ she said with forced cheerfulness, ‘we’ll have that marvellous meal together, Rosie. There are some things I have to tell you too.’
She told Rosie everything, and why not? She had been with the family for so long that she was part of it. At first she refused the annuity. ‘Better you had it, Miss Tilly— I’ve got my niece to go to and next year I’ll have the old age pension.’
‘No, Rosie, Father and Mother wanted you to have it— I’ve got quite a good salary, you know, and I live at the hospital. There’s one thing, Mr Trent says we shan’t have to go for several months, that’ll give us time to get things straightened out.’
‘You’ll be getting married, no doubt. Nothing to wait for, is there?’
Clotilde hesitated. ‘Well, Rosie, it’s like this— Bruce wants to buy himself into a practice. It was all arranged, Father was going to give us the money when we married, but of course, that’s not possible now.’
‘Maybe not, Miss Tilly, but Dr Johnson’s got a good steady job, hasn’t he? And I suppose you could go on working until the babies come.’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose so. We’ll have to talk about it. I’ll be seeing him soon, I expect. Did he say if he was going to phone?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘Not a word. To tell you the truth, he was a mite put out because you were so long with Mr Trent. Said his time was valuable and he couldn’t hang around for hours.’
A bit different, thought Clotilde, from the Bruce who had been the picture of efficient, caring concern in front of all those who had come to the funeral. She checked her thoughts with something of a shock; he had been kind and thoughtful and he was a busy man, it must have been difficult for him to have got away from St Alma’s even for a few hours. She hated herself for being disloyal and promised herself she would ring him up presently and thank him for coming.
The next few days went by on dragging feet. There were a number of sad little jobs to do and when they were finished with she turned her attention to the garden. It was a charming place, her father’s pride, and it needed tidying up for the winter, although there were still masses of late summer flowers. But there were leaves to sweep up, and the last of the roses to deadhead, and the chrysanthemums to tie back. And there was Tinker to take for walks; a subdued dog these days, and Clotilde was beginning to worry as to what would happen to him. Thank heaven, she thought for the hundredth time, that they had a respite of a few months in which to plan the future for the best.
She found herself wondering about Dr Thackery and wished she knew him well enough to tell him of the turn of events and ask his advice. But he had already done enough, she decided, and Bruce would surely advise her.
She had telephoned on the day after the funeral, but he hadn’t been in the hospital and he hadn’t phoned either. At the end of a week she wrote him a brief letter, saying that she intended returning to work in two days’ time. She wrote to Sally, too, and the Senior Nursing Officer and Fiona Walters.
Bruce telephoned the next day. He had been rushed off his feet, he told her, but he would be down on the following afternoon to drive her back. There would be a lot to talk about, he added, they could discuss their future on the way.
Clotilde packed her few things, made sure that Rosie’s niece would be coming, arranged for the teenage son of a neighbour to take Tinker for at least one walk a day, then sat down to think what she was going to say to Bruce. It was going to be difficult and she dreaded it.
He arrived after lunch and his greeting was all that she could have wished for; the faint feeling of disquiet she had been experiencing about him must have been a result of the awful happenings of the last week or so. She bade Rosie goodbye, begged her niece to make herself at home, give Tinker a final hug and got into the car.
They drove for a few minutes in silence until Bruce said: ‘Well, it’s been a rotten time for you, darling. But now you must look ahead. I’ve been thinking, as soon as the will’s proved and the money free, I’ll buy myself in and we can get married. Sir Oswald’s willing to wait a month or two. It’s more than your father was going to give us, but I thought perhaps you’d put some of your own money into it.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘You shall have it back a hundredfold when I’m famous!’
‘There isn’t any money,’ said Clotilde dully. It wasn’t the way she had intended to tell him, but there was no help for it.
‘No money? Darling, if it wasn’t such a serious matter, I’d believe you were joking!’
‘I’m not. It’s true, there is no money—even the house has to go. I was going to tell you when Mr Trent went, but you’d gone, and it’s not the sort of thing one can shout down the telephone.’
‘Your father promised…’ persisted Bruce, and his voice had a peevish note.
‘Yes, I know. I’ll tell you exactly what Mr Trent said.’ She gave him the account of the interview word for word, talking into a silence which got colder and colder.
‘My whole future,’ burst out Bruce, ‘it’s ruined! Where am I going to lay hands on money like that?’
Clotilde’s head was beginning to ache. Bruce wasn’t behaving in the least like she had hoped he would. She had known that he would be bitterly disappointed, but then so was she. He could have made the best of it, and reassured her; now he was behaving as if she were to blame.
‘You could marry an heiress,’ she suggested tartly. It frightened her a little when he didn’t answer her.
He hardly spoke for the rest of the journey, but let her out at the hospital entrance, put her case inside the door, said briefly that he would see her later on, and drove off.
‘He’ll get over it,’ she muttered as she went over to the Nurses’ Home. ‘It’s the surprise after being so sure.’ She went into her room and found that someone had put flowers in a vase on her dressing table and laid out her uniform ready for the morning, and before she had time to unlock her case, Fiona came in with tea, strong and dark and well sugared.
‘Hullo, love,’ she said cheerfully, ‘we’re all so glad to have you back. Your Staff’s been out of her mind, says nothing on earth will ever induce her to take a Ward Sister’s post!’
She refilled their mugs and went to sit down in the bed beside Clotilde.
‘Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, okay, but if you do, we’ll all listen and help if we can—you know that, don’t you? We kept our heads down because Bruce will have been with you. I heard him telling Dr Thackery that he was seeing you every day and helping you get things sorted out.’
Clotilde took a long breath. ‘Oh? It was nice of Dr Thackery to enquire.’
Fiona gave her a puzzled look. ‘Well, he sent all those messages via Bruce, you must have had them. I expect you’ve had so much to do you’ve forgotten.’ She hesitated. ‘We were wondering—when you have days off, if you’d like one of us to come with you, just for a bit, you know.’
Clotilde’s hard-won calm
