small, rather plump woman, well into middle age, but so well dressed and exquisitely made-up that she gave the lie to that. Not pretty but with a delightful smile and twinkling eyes so that one was forced to smile back at her.
‘It’s quite convenient,’ Meg assured her. ‘Would you like to sit and rest for a few minutes or would you like to look round now?’
‘May I look round?’ Mrs Culver studied her surroundings. ‘This is a charming room.’
Meg found herself liking the little lady. She led the way back into the hall and started her tour, and found for once an appreciative companion. What was more, Mrs Culver didn’t seem at all put off by the bathroom pipes, and remarked upon the elegance of the Adam fireplace before Meg could even mention it.
‘I like this house,’ observed Mrs Culver as they returned to the drawing-room. ‘I shall buy it.’
Meg said rather faintly, ‘Oh, will you? Would you like some coffee?’
‘Indeed I would,’ and when Meg returned from the kitchen, ‘Tell me, has it been in your family for a long time?’
‘Ages. It was built in 1810, but of course it’s had things done to it since then.’
‘But not very recently,’ remarked Mrs Culver drily, ‘therein lies its charm. I promise you that if I do do anything at all it will be done so well that you wouldn’t even notice it.’
Meg poured the coffee, wrestling with a variety of feelings. It was splendid news for Cora and Doreen, of course, but not for her and Betsy. The poky flat loomed large, and how was she going to bear leaving her home? She stifled these feelings with the common sense she had cultivated since she was a child; the house had to be sold, and who better to buy it than this nice elderly lady who liked the making of marmalade and knew an Adam fireplace when she saw one? She said, ‘You’ll be very happy here,’ and meant it. ‘Do you want the name of our solicitor or would you like to think about it first?’
‘I’ve thought, my dear. I shall go straight to the estate agents and then instruct my solicitor.’ She paused and frowned. ‘There is just one thing.’
Meg waited for Mrs Culver to go on. Problems sometimes turned into insurmountable snags—it would be the bathrooms and those pipes. She herself had grown up with them, but every single person who had inspected the house had remarked upon them. She assumed a sympathetically listening face and looked across at her companion.
‘My housekeeper,’ began that lady, ‘has been waiting for some months for an operation—something to do with her toes—and only this morning she told me that there was a bed for her at last. She offered to put the whole thing off, bless her, until it was convenient for me, but I can’t have that—it isn’t an emergency, you understand, but it will take time before she can come back to me—nasty little pins in her toes to straighten them, so I’m told, and when she does return she must have someone to do the lion’s share of the work until she can cope once again. I’m told that when she has got over whatever it is that they intend to do to her, her feet will be like new. She has been with me for more than twenty years and is a treasure as well as a friend.’ She stopped to take a breath. ‘Very like that nice woman who opened the door to me.’
‘Betsy—she’s been with me since I was a baby.’
Mrs Culver eyed Meg thoughtfully. ‘It’s scarcely my business to ask, but when you leave here, will she go with you? If not, would she consider staying on until my Kate is well enough again? Two months at least…and I suppose you wouldn’t know of a good cook? Someone to work with her—it’s a big house and I’m not allowed to be energetic. I dare say I could get someone from the village to help with the rough work.’ She smiled at Meg. ‘I’m an impertinent old woman, aren’t I? And you’re at liberty to say so if you wish.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, and I don’t think you are anyway,’ declared Meg. ‘It’s a most sensible idea. As a matter of fact, my sisters want me to go and live in London in a flat and find a job, and they thought Betsy could find a room in the village.’ She felt a strong urge to tell Mrs Culver all about her sisters’ arrangements and plans, but of course that was out of the question.
Mrs Culver nodded and gave Meg a sharp glance, sensing that there was a lot left unsaid. ‘What work will you do?’ she asked.
‘I have no idea. I’m not trained for anything; our mother was ill for a long time so I took over the housekeeping, and Betsy taught me to cook…’ She stopped suddenly and stared at her companion, who stared back.
‘It’s as plain as the nose on my face,’ said Mrs Culver. ‘I suspect that we’re being unbusinesslike and impulsive, but I’ve always relied on my female intuition, and it tells me that I can’t go wrong. Will you stay on as housekeeper and have your Betsy to help you? It would give you time to settle your future; I dare say you’re in no hurry to go and live in a London flat. And dear old Kate can have her feet put right without worrying about getting back to me until she’s quite fit and well. Would you mind being a housekeeper, my dear?’
Meg hadn’t felt so happy for months; the dreaded London flat could be abrogated at least for a month or two, she could stay in her home, doing exactly what she had been doing for some years, and Betsy would have time to get used to changes. Her vague idea had become reality.
‘I wouldn’t mind at all, Mrs Culver. I’d like it very much and I know Betsy would too, and if you want someone for the rough work, Mrs Griffiths, the postman’s wife, has been coming here for years.’
They beamed at each other, and Mrs Culver asked, ‘The garden? Is there a man…?’
‘Well, no, I’ve been doing the gardening, though you could do with someone for the hedges and the digging—I’ve had to leave a good bit.’
‘Well, you find someone, my dear; I’m sure I can safely leave it to you—and more help in the house if you need it. I suppose it will take the solicitors weeks to get things settled— I’ve been mystified as to why. But in the meantime, will you go on as you have been doing? I’ll write to you as soon as things are settled, and we must have a talk before I move in.’ She looked round the pleasant room. ‘Would you consider selling the furniture? There must be treasured pieces you would want to keep so that you can furnish your flat eventually, but the rest?’
‘I’ll have to ask my sisters,’ said Meg. ‘They did suggest that I had some of it and my younger sister might want some things—she hopes to buy a flat near the hospital and live out.’
‘And you have another sister?’
‘Yes, older than me—she’s married and doesn’t want anything here.’
Mrs Culver got up to go. ‘Well, we can settle that when you have seen them, can’t we? You’re sure that you are happy about our little arrangement?’
Meg smiled widely. ‘Oh, yes—very happy. I—I really am not too keen on living in London.’ They walked unhurriedly to the door, pleased with each other’s company. ‘Would you like a word with Betsy?’
‘A very good idea. Shall we go to the kitchen, if she’s there?’
Betsy’s elderly face crumpled into dozens of wrinkles at the news; she looked as though she might cry, but she chuckled instead. ‘There, Miss Meg—yer never know, do yer? What’s round the corner, I mean. I’m sure I’ll bide ‘ere and ‘appy ter do so just as long as I’m
