Dearest Love

He said pleasantly, ‘I read your letter with interest, Miss Lorimer. Will you tell me about your last job?’

‘I haven’t had one. I’ve always lived at home—my mother was delicate and my father was away a good deal; he had his own business. I always did the housekeeping and dealt with minor repairs around the house.’

He nodded. ‘Why do you want this job?’

She was sitting very quietly—no fidgeting, he noticed thankfully.

‘My parents were killed recently in a car accident and now my home is no longer mine. We lived at Colpin-cum-Witham in southern Wiltshire; there is no work there for someone with no qualifications.’ She paused. ‘I need somewhere to live and domestic work seems to be the answer. I have applied for several jobs but they won’t allow me to have Percy.’

‘Percy?’

‘My cat.’

‘Well, I see no objection to a cat as long as he stays in your room—he can have the use of the garden, of course. But do you suppose that you are up to the work? You are expected to clean these rooms—mine, the reception and waiting-room, the passage and the stairs, my partner’s rooms—and polish all the furniture and brass, and the front door, then answer the bell during our working hours, empty the bins, lock up and unlock in the mornings… Are you of a nervous disposition?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Good. Oh, and if there is no one about you will answer the telephone, run errands and take messages.’ He gave her a shrewd glance. ‘A bit too much for you, eh?’

‘Certainly not, Dr Marshall. I dare say I should call you sir? I would be glad to come and work for you.’

‘Shall we give it a month’s trial? Mrs Lane who is retiring should be in her room now. If you will go with Miss Baird she will introduce you. Come back here, if you please, so that we can make final arrangements.’

The basement wasn’t quite what Arabella had imagined but it had possibilities. It was a large room; its front windows gave a view of passing feet and were heavily barred but the windows at the other end of the room, although small, could be opened. There was a door loaded down with bolts and locks and chains beside them, leading out to a small paved area with the garden beyond. At one side there was a door opening into a narrow passage with a staircase leading to the floor above and ending in another heavy door and, beside the staircase, a very small kitchen and an even smaller shower-room. Mrs Lane trotted ahead of her, pointing out the amenities. ‘Of course I shall ’ave ter take me things with me, ducks—going up ter me daughter, yer see; she’s got a room for me.’

‘I have some furniture, Mrs Lane,’ said Arabella politely. ‘I only hope to be able to make it as cosy as you have done.’

Mrs Lane preened. ‘Well, I’ve me pride, love. A bit small and young, aint yer?’

‘Well, I’m very strong and used to housework. When did you want to leave, Mrs Lane?’

‘Just as soon as yer can get ’ere. Bin ’appy ’ere, I ’ave, but I’m getting on a bit—the stairs is a bit much. ’Is nibs ’as always ’ad a girl come in ter answer the door, which save me feet.’ She chuckled. ‘’E won’t need ’er now!’

Back with Dr Marshall, Arabella, bidden to sit, sat.

‘Well, want to come here and work?’

‘Yes, I do and I will do my best to satisfy you, sir.’

‘Good. Fix up dates and so on with Mrs Lane and let me know when you’re going to come.’ He added sharply, ‘There must be no gap between Mrs Lane going and you coming, understand.’

Outside in the street she went looking for a telephone box to ring the warehouse in Sherborne and arrange for her furniture to be brought to London. It was a matter of urgency and for once good fortune was on her side. There was a load leaving for London in three days’ time and her few things could be sent with it and at a much smaller cost than she had expected. She went back to Mrs Lane, going down the few steps to the narrow door by the barred window and explaining carefully, ‘If I might come here some time during the morning and you leave in the afternoon, could we manage to change over without upsetting your routine here?’

‘Don’t see why not, ducks. Me son-in-law’s coming with a van so I’ll clear off as soon as yer ’ere.’

‘Then I’ll let Dr Marshall know.’

‘Do that. I’ll ’ave ter see ’im for me wages—I’ll tell ’im likewise.’

Back at Miss Pimm’s, Arabella told her that she would be leaving in three days and ate her supper—fish and chips from the shop on the corner—and went to bed, explaining to Percy as she undressed that he would soon have a home of his own again. He was a docile cat but he hadn’t been happy at Miss Pimm’s; it was a far cry from the roomy house and garden that he had always lived in. Now he curled up on the end of her narrow bed and went to sleep, instinct telling him that better times were in store.

Dr Marshall sat at his desk for some time doing nothing after Arabella had gone. Presently he gave a rich chuckle and when Miss Baird came in he asked her, ‘Well, what do you think of our new caretaker?’

Miss Baird gave him a thoughtful look. ‘A very nice young lady, sir. I only hope she’s up to all that hard housework.’

‘She assures me that she is a most capable worker. She will start in three days’ time and I must be sure and be here when Dr Tavener sees her for the first time.’

It wasn’t until the next morning, discussing a difficult case with his partner, that Dr Marshall had the chance to mention that he had engaged a new caretaker. ‘She will start in two days’ time—with her cat.’

Dr Tavener laughed. ‘So she turned out to be suitable for the job? Let us hope that she is quicker at answering the doorbell and emptying the wastepaper baskets.’

‘Oh, I imagine she will be.’ Dr Marshall added slyly, ‘After all, she is young.’

‘As long as she does her work properly.’ Dr Tavener was already engrossed in the notes in his hand and spoke without interest.

Despite misgivings that her furniture wouldn’t arrive, that Percy would disappear at the last minute or that Dr Marshall would have second thoughts about employing her, Arabella moved herself, her cat and her few possessions into the basement of Wigmore Street without mishap. True, empty it looked pretty grim and rather dirty, but once the floor had been cleaned and the windows washed, the cobwebs removed from the darker corners, she could see possibilities. With the help of the removal men she put her bed in a corner of the room, put a small table and chair under the back window and stacked everything else tidily against a wall. Her duties were to commence in the morning and she conned Mrs Lane’s laboriously written list of duties before she made up the bed, settled Percy in his cardboard box and rolled up her sleeves.

There was plenty of hot water and Mrs Lane had left a variety of mops and brushes in the cupboard by the stairs. Arabella set to with a will; this was to be her home—hers and Percy’s—and she intended to make it as comfortable as possible. Cleanliness came before comfort. She scrubbed and swept and polished and by evening was satisfied with her work.

She cooked her supper on the newly cleaned stove—beans on toast and an egg—gave Percy his meal and sat at the table, well pleased with her efforts, while she drank her tea and then made a list of the things she still needed. It was not a long list but she would have to buy a little at a time each pay-day. Her rather muddled calculations showed her that it would be Christmas before she had all she wanted but that didn’t worry her—after the last awful months this was all that she could wish for.

She washed her dishes and opened the back door with Percy tucked under one arm. The garden was surrounded by a high brick wall and ringed by flowerbeds but there was a good-sized strip of lawn as well. She set Percy down and watched him explore, at first with caution and then with pleasure. After Miss Pimm’s little yard this was bliss…

She perched on a small rustic seat, tired now but happy. It had been a fine day but it was getting chilly now and dusk had dimmed the colourful garden. She scooped up Percy and went back indoors and then, mindful of Mrs Lane’s instructions, went up the stairs and inspected each room in turn, making sure that the windows were closed and locked, the doors bolted and all the lights turned out. The two floors above her were lived in, Mrs Lane had told her, by a neurologist and his wife. They had a side entrance, a small door at the front of the house, and although he was retired he still saw the occasional patient. ‘But nothing ter do with us,’ Mrs Lane had said. ‘Yer won’t ever see them.’

All the same it was nice to think that the house wasn’t quite empty. She took her time in locking up, looking at everything so that she would know where things were in the morning and, being of a practical turn of mind, she searched until she found the stopcock, the fire-extinguisher and the gas and electricity meters. She also searched for and eventually found a box containing such useful things as a hammer, nails, spare light-bulbs, a wrench and adhesive tape. They were hidden away in a small dark cupboard and she felt sure that no one had been near it for a very long time. She put everything back carefully and reminded herself to ask for a plunger. Blocked sinks could be a nuisance, especially where people would be constantly washing their hands. Satisfied at last, she went back to her room, had a shower and got into bed, and Percy, uninvited but very welcome, climbed on too and settled on her feet.

She was up early, tidied the room and made the bed, fed Percy and escorted him into the garden, ate a sketchy breakfast and took herself off upstairs, wearing her new nylon overall.

There was everything she might need—a vacuum cleaner, polish and dusters. She emptied the wastepaper baskets, set the chairs to rights, arranged the magazines just so, polished the front door-knocker and opened the windows. It looked very nice when she had finished but a little austere. She went back downstairs and out into the garden; she cut Michaelmas daisies, dahlias and one or two late roses. She bore them back, found three vases, arranged the flowers in them and put one in each of the consulting-rooms and the last one in the waiting-room. They made all the difference, she considered, and realised that she had overlooked the second waiting-room. Back in the garden, she cut asters this time, arranged them in a deep bowl and put them on the table flanked by the magazines.

She hadn’t met Dr Marshall’s partner; she hoped he was as nice as that gentleman.

She went back to the basement then, tidied herself, made sure that her hair was neat and when the doorbell rang went to answer it. It was Dr Marshall’s nurse, who had introduced herself as Joyce Pierce and then exclaimed, ‘You’re the new caretaker? Well, I must say you’re a bit of a surprise. Do you think you’ll like it?’

‘Well, yes. I can live here, you see, and I don’t mind housework.’

She was shutting the door when the second nurse arrived, small and dark and pretty. ‘The caretaker?’ she asked and raised her eyebrows. ‘Whatever’s come over Dr Marshall?’ She nodded at Arabella. ‘I’m Madge Simmons. I work for Dr Tavener.’ She spoke rather frostily. ‘Come on, Joyce, we’ve time for a cup of tea.’

The first patient wouldn’t arrive until nine o’clock so Arabella sped downstairs. There was still a tea-chest of bed-linen, table-linen and curtains to unpack. As soon as she could she would get some net and hang it in the front window, shutting off all those feet…

At a quarter to nine she went upstairs again. There was no sign of the two nurses, although she could hear voices, and she stood uncertainly in the hall—to turn and face the door as it was opened. The man who entered seemed to her to be enormous. The partner, she thought, eyeing his elegance and his good looks and was very startled when he observed, ‘Good lord, the caretaker!’ and laughed.

The laugh annoyed her. She wished him good morning in a small frosty voice and went down to her room, closing the door very quietly behind her. ‘He’s what one would call a magnificent figure of a man,’ she told Percy, ‘and also a very rude one!’

The front doorbell rang then, and she went upstairs to admit the first patient. For the next hour or so she trotted up and down the stairs a dozen times until finally she shut the door on the last patient and Miss Baird came to tell her that Dr Marshall wanted to see her.

He eyed her over his specs. ‘Morning, Miss Lorimer. Where did you get the flowers?’