that she is so shy and awkward. I have done my best—’ she managed to sound plaintive ‘—but Bertha is an intelligent girl and knows that she is lacking in looks and charm. I can only hope that some good man will come along and marry her.’
She lifted a wistful face to her companion, who murmured the encouraging murmur at which doctors are so good. ‘But I mustn’t bother you with my little worries, must I? Come and talk to Clare—she loves a new face. Do you live in London? We must see more of you.’
So when Bertha returned he was at the other end of the room, and Clare was laughing up at him, a hand on his arm. Well, what did I expect? reflected Bertha, and went in search of Crook the butler, a lifelong friend and ally; she had had a good supper, and now, fired by a rebellious spirit induced by Dr Hay-Smythe’s company, she was going to have a glass of champagne.
She tossed it off under Crook’s fatherly eye, then took a second glass from his tray and drank that too. Probably she would have a headache later, and certainly she would have a red nose, but since there was no one to mind she really didn’t care. She wished suddenly that her father were at home. He so seldom was…
People began to leave, exchanging invitations and greetings, several of them saying a casual goodbye to Bertha, who was busy finding coats and wraps and mislaid handbags. Dr Hay-Smythe was amongst the first to leave with his party, and he came across the hall to wish her goodbye.
‘That was a splendid supper,’ he observed, smiling down at her. ‘Perhaps we might do it again some time.’
Before she could answer, Clare had joined them. ‘Darling Oliver, don’t you dare run off just as I’ve discovered how nice you are. I shall find your number in the phone book and ring you—you may take me out to dinner.’
‘I’m going away for some weeks,’ he said blandly. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I phoned you when I get back.’
Clare pouted. ‘You wretched man. All right, if that’s the best you can do.’
She turned her head to look at Bertha. ‘Mother’s looking for you…’
Bertha went, but not before putting out a small, capable hand and having it shaken gently. Her, ‘Goodbye Doctor,’ was uttered very quietly.
It was after Bertha had gone to her bed in the modest room on the top floor of the house that Mrs Soames went along to her daughter’s bedroom.
‘A successful evening, darling,’ she began. ‘What do you think of that new man—Oliver Hay-Smythe? I was talking to Lady Everett about him. It seems he’s quite well-known—has an excellent practice in Harley Street. Good family and plenty of money—old money…’ She patted Clare’s shoulder. ‘Just the thing for my little girl.’
‘He’s going away for a while,’ said Clare. ‘He said he’d give me a ring when he gets back.’ She looked at her mother and smiled. Then she frowned. ‘How on earth did Bertha get to know him? They seemed quite friendly. Probably he’s sorry for her—she did look a dowd, didn’t she?’
Clare nibbled at a manicured hand. ‘She looked happy—as though they were sharing a secret or something. Did you know that he has a great deal to do with backward children? He wouldn’t be an easy man… If he shows an interest in Bertha, I shall encourage him.’ She met her mother’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I may be wrong, but I don’t think he’s much of a party man—the Paynes, who brought him, told me that he’s not married and there are no girlfriends—too keen on his work. If he wants to see more of Bertha, I’ll be all sympathy!’
The two of them smiled at each other.
Dr Hay-Smythe parted from his friends at their house and took himself off to his flat over his consulting rooms. Cully, his man, had gone to his bed, but there was coffee warm on the Aga in the kitchen and a covered plate of sandwiches. He poured himself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, and the Labrador who had been snoozing by the Aga got up sleepily and came to sit beside him, ready to share his sandwiches. He shared his master’s thoughts too, chewing on cold roast beef and watching his face.
‘I met a girl this evening, Freddie—a plain girl with beautiful eyes and wearing a truly awful frock. An uninteresting creature at first glance, but somehow I feel that isn’t a true picture. She has a delightful voice—very quiet. She needs to get away from that ghastly stepmother too. I must think of something…’
Bertha, happily unaware of these plans for her future, slept all night, happier in her dreams than in her waking hours.
It was two days later that the doctor saw a way to help Bertha. Not only did he have a private practice, a consultancy at two of the major hospitals and a growing reputation in his profession, he was also a partner in a clinic in the East End of London, dealing with geriatrics and anyone else who could not or would not go to Outpatients at any of the hospitals.
He had spent the evening there and his last patient had been an old lady, fiercely independent and living on her own in a tiny flat near the clinic. There wasn’t a great deal he could do for her; a hard working life and old age were taking their toll, but she stumped around with a stick, refusing to go into an old people’s home, declaring that she could look after herself.
‘I’m as good as you, Doctor,’ she declared after he had examined her. ‘But I miss me books—can’t read like I used to and I likes a good book. The social lady brought me a talking book, but it ain’t the same as a real voice, if yer sees what I mean.’ She added, ‘A nice, quiet voice…’
He remembered Bertha then. ‘Mrs Duke, would you like someone to come and read to you? Twice or three times a week, for an hour or so?’
‘Not if it’s one of them la-de-da ladies. I likes a nice bit of romance, not prosy stuff out of the parish mag.’
‘The young lady I have in mind isn’t at all like that. I’m sure she will read anything you like. Would you like to give it a try? If it doesn’t work out, we’ll think of something else.’
‘OK, I’ll ’ave a go. When’ll she come?’
‘I shall be here again in two days’ time in the afternoon. I’ll bring her and leave her with you while I am here and collect her when I’ve finished. Would that suit you?’
‘Sounds all right.’ Mrs Duke heaved herself out of her chair and he got up to open the door for her. ‘Be seeing yer.’
The doctor went home and laid his plans; Mrs Soames wasn’t going to be easy, a little strategy would be needed…
Presently he went in search of Cully. Cully had been with him for some years, was middle-aged, devoted and a splendid cook. He put down the silver he was polishing and listened to the doctor.
‘You would like me to telephone now, sir?’
‘Please.’
‘And if the lady finds the time you wish to visit her unacceptable?’
‘She won’t, Cully.’
Cully went to the phone on the wall and the doctor wandered to the old-fashioned dresser and chose an apple. Presently Cully put back the receiver.
‘Five o’clock tomorrow afternoon, sir. Mrs Soames will be delighted.’
The
