new aprons, old-fashioned with bibs which crossed over at the back and fastened with giant safety pins. Nothing would convince Betsy that nylon overalls saved time and labour; she had never fancied them, and she wasn’t prepared to change her ideas at her time of life.
Another week went by. The solicitors, at last satisfied that all the parties concerned were not up to something unlawful, cautiously exchanged contracts and then, doubtless egged on by Mrs Culver, allowed them to be signed. The house was Mrs Culver’s. All three of them had had to sign; Doreen had fetched Meg and had driven into Hertford, annoyed at what she called the waste of her precious time, but excited too, and Cora had driven herself from Kent, excited in a controlled way, anxious to get the business over and get back to her modern, split-level house with its well-kept garden and the double garage.
The whole business took only a very few minutes; they stood on the pavement outside the solicitor’s office and looked at each other. ‘I’d better come back to the house and get the pictures and silver,’ said Cora. ‘You heard what Mr Dutton said, Meg? The money will be paid into my account and I’ll send you a cheque for your share, and Doreen, of course.’ She looked at her younger sister. ‘I expect you want to get back to the hospital. I’ll take Meg back, collect my things and go home—I’ve a bridge party this afternoon.’
She tucked her arm into Meg’s. ‘Lovely to have it all settled. What a difference it’s going to make.’
Meg said nothing at all. Doreen and Cora might be over the moon but she had just lost her home. She would rather have gone on living there until it fell in ruins about her ears; what use was the money to her if she had to use it to buy some ghastly basement flat? She swallowed back tears and got into Cora’s car.
A week later Mrs Culver moved in. There had been a small van load of furniture first with instructions as to where it was to be put and at ten o’clock in the morning the Rolls-Royce had come to a quiet halt in front of the door and the new owner had stepped out, helped, Meg was annoyed to see, by her son, massive and calm and for some reason faintly amused. That the amusement had been engendered by her own sober appearance never entered her head. She welcomed Mrs Culver with shy dignity, and led the way to the drawing-room.
‘I expect you’d like coffee. I’ll bring it.’ She glanced at Mr Culver. ‘You’ll have a cup, Mr Culver?’
‘Thank you, yes.’ He glanced round the room. ‘I see you’ve had the time to arrange my mother’s things.’
And when she said yes, he asked, ‘The valuer has been?’
‘Yes. He’ll write to Mrs Culver.’
That lady was sitting back comfortably, taking no part in the conversation. Meg suspected that she was in the habit of leaving business matters to her son. She got herself out of the room and hurried to the kitchen to get the coffee tray.
‘They’re ‘ere,’ said Betsy, unnecessarily. ‘E’s ‘ere too. A proper gent.’
Meg had her own ideas about that, but there was no time to discuss the man. She whipped up the tray and went back with it, and set it down on the lamp table by Mrs Culver’s chair.
‘Where’s your cup?’ asked the older woman.
‘My cup?’ Meg echoed.
‘Yes, dear. Go and fetch it. Ralph hasn’t much time, and he wants to be sure that there are no loose ends.’
Meg fetched another cup and saucer and sat down on a little chair as far from Mr Culver as she dared without being rude. He gave her a hooded glance.
‘I wish merely to thank you for the help you’ve given my mother. Without you, she would have been unable to settle in so quickly. We’re grateful. Do we owe you anything? Are there any outstanding bills?’
Meg said that, no, there weren’t. ‘Willy will be up tomorrow morning on his way to school and will fill the coal scuttles, and he’ll come again in the afternoon on his way back home. The gardener starts on Monday.’
Mr Culver finished his coffee and got up. ‘I think you’ll be happy here, Mother. You know where I am if you need me, my dear.’ He crossed the room and kissed her cheek, and nodded austerely to Meg. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
Meg poured more coffee, and Mrs Culver said, ‘Such a good son—never interferes, you know, but always there when I want him. So convenient. He’s just like his father.’
Meg looked at her companion with something like respect. If his father had been like him, then she must have had her work cut out—but perhaps he had loved her very much and never let her see the cold mockery and impatience—or perhaps it was Meg herself who induced those. She thought that probably it was; she had had no practice in turning a man up sweet. She murmured suitably and asked what Mrs Culver would like for lunch.
It took only a few days to settle into a routine. Mrs Culver liked her breakfast in bed, which meant that Meg and Betsy could eat their own meal and get on with the household chores. Even with Mrs Griffith’s help there was plenty of work to be got through, and they did the bulk of it in the early mornings. Mrs Culver’s own car had arrived with her chauffeur and she was out a good deal, which gave Meg time to see to the washing and ironing and help Betsy with the meals, so that tasks such as arranging the flowers and setting the table for meals could be done when that lady was at home, tasks which Meg concluded were quite suitable for a housekeeper. She had no doubt that Mrs Culver had little idea of what went on behind the scenes; she was charming, easy and very kind, and had very likely grown up and lived all her life with people to do her bidding.
But it had been a surprise to Meg when Mrs Culver had insisted on her taking her meals with her. And when she had demurred, she had insisted, ‘Nonsense, child. You’ve sat at this table all your life; you will continue to do so or upset me very much.’
So Meg sat at the table she had laid so carefully, getting up to clear the dishes and fetch the food from the kitchen, for Betsy had enough to do and her legs hurt in any case, and she entirely approved of the arrangement. The dear soul still thought of her as the lady of the house. Mrs Culver was a nice enough lady, indeed, one couldn’t wish for a better, but there had been Collinses living there for a long time, and she didn’t take easily to change.
Meg was happy; she was still in her own home, she enjoyed the work even though her days were long and there was little time to get into the garden. Cora had phoned to say that her share of the money was paid into her account and to ask, rather casually, if she were happy. And when she had a satisfactory answer, ‘Then I’ll not bother you, Meg; let me know when you leave and I’ll help in any way I can.’
She had a much longer call from Doreen, who wasted little time on questions but plunged at once into her news. She had discovered who Mr Culver was—a Professor, a consultant radiologist, based at one of the big teaching hospitals but with a large area to cover. ‘He’s well known,’ said Doreen, ‘goes to any number of hospitals for consultations—one of the best men in his field—Europe too. When is he going to visit his mother, Meg?’
‘I’ve no idea. Did you want to see him about something? Shall I ask Mrs Culver?’
‘I wish you’d grow up, Meg! Of course I want to see him, but only to get to know him. He’s not married…’
Meg tried to imagine him as a future brother-in-law. ‘He’s quite old,’ she pointed out in her practical manner.
‘Rubbish—thirty-eight at the most.
