which, for the last few months of her life, had confined her to bed and couch, which meant a good deal of running to and fro and disturbed nights for Meg. And Meg, being Meg, had never complained. Not that she had ever felt downtrodden or put upon; she was a girl of common sense, and it was obvious to her that, since Cora had a home and family to look after, and Doreen had set her ambitious sights on becoming the wife of some eminent doctor, it was perfectly natural for them to pursue their own interests, since she had never exhibited any ambitions of her own.
She had those, of course, hidden away deep inside her—to marry and have a home of her own, a clutch of children, animals around the place and a garden—and a husband, of course. She was a little vague about him, but he would have to love her dearly for ever… At the moment, at any rate, there was no likelihood of meeting him. She had friends enough in the village, mostly elderly, and the young men she had grown up with had either got married or were engaged; besides, she had had very little time for the leisurely pursuits of her friends, and now that she was alone with time on her hands, she felt disinclined to join the activities in the village. Mrs Collins had died two months previously and Meg missed her sorely, more so because she had nursed her so devotedly for so long. She had gone on living alone save for Betsy, polishing the furniture, doing the flowers, tending the garden, taking it for granted that she would go on doing that for the foreseeable future. After all, it was her home, somewhere for Doreen to come when she wanted to, somewhere for Cora to send the boys to during the school holidays. She had a small annuity from her grandmother, just enough to live on and to pay Betsy and Mrs Griffiths.
She sat quietly now, filled with cold surprise and uncertainty. When Cora had finished explaining where the boys were to go to school, she asked, ‘What about me—and Betsy?’
They turned to look at her, smiling reassuringly. ‘Why, darling, you’ll have your share, enough to buy a little flat somewhere—you could get a job—you’d like that after the quiet life you’ve been leading.’
It would be a waste of breath to ask what job; she wasn’t trained for anything and it was a bit late to start at twenty-three. ‘And Betsy?’
‘Remember there was something in the will about those shares Mother had? They were for Betsy. They’ll top up her state pension nicely.’
‘Where will she live?’
Doreen said lightly, ‘There must be any number of people in the village who’d be glad to let her have a room—she knows everyone for miles around.’
She got up and sat on the edge of Meg’s chair and flung an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’ll get everyone looking for a flat for you, darling. You’ll love London, and you’ll make heaps of friends. You must be lonely here in this big place.’
Meg said in a wooden voice, ‘No. I miss Mother, but it’s still home, and there’s plenty to keep me busy—and the garden even in winter.’
‘We’ll find you a basement flat with a paved area; you can fill it with pot plants.’
Meg let that pass. She said in her matter-of-fact way, ‘I’ll have to train for something,’ and then, ‘I suppose I have to leave here?’ Neither of her sisters heard the wistfulness in her voice.
‘Shorthand and typing,’ said Cora, ‘—jobs going all the time for shorthand typists…’
‘Receptionist?’ suggested Doreen vaguely. She didn’t say what for. ‘Anyway, that’s settled, isn’t it? Let’s get the estate agents on to it, Cora—there’s a flat near the hospital which I rather like. There is no point in waiting, is there?’
‘What about the furniture?’ Meg had a quiet voice, but it brought them up short.
‘Sell it?’ essayed Cora.
‘Put it in store? I could use it—some of it—in my new flat when I get it.’
Meg said slowly, ‘Why not sell it with the house?’ At the back of her mind there was an idea taking slow shape. She wasn’t quite sure of it at the moment, but it would need thinking about later.
Cora looked at her approvingly. ‘That’s not a bad idea. We’ll see what the agents say. I must fly—the boys will be back and Natasha—the au pair—is no good at all. I’ll have to find someone else.’
They kissed Meg goodbye, went out to their cars, and got in and drove away, and Meg went back into the house and sat down in the gathering gloom to think. If it were humanly possible, she didn’t intend to leave her home, and certainly not to leave old Betsy to live out her days in a poky bedsitter. Presently Betsy came in with the teatray and Silky, the rather battered tomcat Meg had found skulking round the back door, had fed and sheltered and, since he had obviously made up his mind to become one of the family, had adopted. He got on to Meg’s lap now, and Betsy put the tray down and said, ‘Well, they’ve gone, then?’ There was a question mark behind the words which couldn’t be ignored.
‘Cora and Doreen want to sell the house,’ said Meg. ‘And everything in it. But don’t worry, Betsy, I’ve an idea…so that we can stay here.’
‘Marry a millionaire, like as not, Miss Meg.’ Betsy’s cockney voice sounded cheerfully derisive. ‘What’s to happen to us, then?’
Meg said hearteningly, ‘It takes weeks—months—to sell a house. I’ll do something about it, I promise you.’
Betsy was only too willingly reassured; she trotted back to the kitchen and Meg sat drinking her tea, thinking about the future. Of course it would be marvellous if a very rich man came along and bought the house and fell in love with her at the same time, but that only happened in books… What was needed was someone elderly who needed a housekeeper or companion and a good plain cook and who didn’t object to an elderly tomcat. Meg, who was a practical girl, thought it unlikely, though there was no harm in hoping.
Her sisters wasted no time. Within a week a pleasant young man from a London estate agent came to inspect the property. He walked round, with Meg beside him explaining about the old-fashioned bathrooms, the central heating, the Aga stove and why the large drawing-room was icy cold.
‘There’s only me,’ she pointed out, ‘there’s no point in having a fire there just for one—my sisters are seldom here. We switch on the central heating twice a week, though, because of the furniture—Hepplewhite, you know.’
He nodded, rather at sea; he knew a lot about houses but not much about furniture. He felt vaguely sorry for the rather mouselike girl who was showing him round with such a self-possessed air. He spared a moment to wonder where she would go when the house was sold, for sold it would be, he could see that. Fine old Georgian houses with a generous spread of garden were much sought after. He accepted the coffee she offered him, agreed with her that people wishing to view the house might do so only with an appointment, and took his leave.
The first couple came within three days. In the morning, because Meg was on the committee which organised the Church Bazaar and that would take the whole afternoon.
Mr and Mrs Thorngood arrived in a splendid Mercedes and Meg, rarely given to criticising anyone, disliked them on sight. She led them round her home, listening with a calm face to their loud-voiced remarks about old-fashioned bathrooms, no fitted cupboards and a kitchen which must have come out of the Ark. They didn’t like the garden, either: no swimming pool, all those trees and outbuildings which were of no use to anyone…
‘We use the end one as a garage,’ Meg pointed out.
‘Well,
