Hilltop Tryst

‘James? He’s not my young man, Aunt Sybil, and I have no intention of marrying him, and I expect that Father would offer me a third glass,’ she answered politely and in a reasonable voice, which gave her aunt no opportunity to accuse her of impertinence…

That lady gave her a fulminating look; a paid companion would have been dismissed on the spot, but Beatrice was family and had every right to return home. She said in a conciliatory voice, ‘I dare say that you have had several opportunities to marry. You were a very pretty young girl and are still a pretty woman.’

‘Twenty-six on my last birthday, Aunt.’

Beatrice spoke lightly, but just lately faint doubts about her future were getting harder to ignore. Somehow the years were slipping by; until her sudden certainty that she couldn’t possibly marry James, she supposed that she had rather taken it for granted that she and James would marry, but now she knew that that wouldn’t do at all. She didn’t love him and she didn’t think he loved her. Perhaps she was never to meet a man who would love her and whom she could love. It was getting a bit late in the day, she thought wryly.

‘Time you were married and bringing up a family,’ declared Aunt Sybil tartly. ‘A woman’s work…’

And one which her aunt had never had to do, reflected Beatrice. Perhaps if she had had a husband and a handful of children, she might not have become such a trying old lady: always right, always advising people how to do things she knew nothing about, always criticising and correcting, expecting everyone to do what she wanted at a moment’s notice…

‘Well,’ said Beatrice naughtily, ‘when you find another companion and I can go home again, perhaps I’ll start looking for a husband.’

‘Do not be impertinent, Beatrice,’ was all her aunt said quellingly…

Wednesday came to break the monotony of the days, and since it was a lovely summer morning Beatrice got into a rather nice silky two-piece in a pale pearly pink, brushed her hair into a shining chignon, thrust her feet into high-heeled sandals and got into the elderly Daimler beside her aunt.

Her aunt eyed her with disapproval. ‘Really, my dear, you are dressed more in the manner of someone going to a garden party than a companion.’

‘But I’m not a companion,’ observed Beatrice sweetly. ‘I’m staying with you because you asked me to. And it’s a lovely day,’ she added, to clinch the matter.

‘We will lunch,’ stated Great-Aunt Sybil in a cross voice, ‘and visit some of these agencies. The sooner I can approve of a companion the better. You are becoming frivolous, Beatrice.’

Beatrice said meekly, ‘Yes, Aunt Sybil, perhaps I’m having a last fling before I dwindle into being an old maid.’

Jenkins drove them sedately Londonwards, and at exactly the right time deposited them outside a narrow Regency house in a row of similar narrow houses. Beatrice rang the bell and then followed her aunt’s majestic progress into a pleasant waiting-room, where they were greeted by an elderly receptionist and asked to sit down.

‘My appointment is for half-past eleven,’ pointed out Aunt Sybil, ‘and it is exactly that hour.’ She drew an indignant breath so that her corsets creaked.

‘That’s right, Miss Browning.’ The receptionist spoke smoothly. ‘But the doctor is engaged for the moment.’

‘I do not expect to be kept waiting.’

The receptionist smiled politely, picked up the telephone and became immersed in conversation. She was putting it down again when a door at the end of the room opened and a woman came out. Beatrice could hear her saying goodbye to someone on the other side of the door and sighed thankfully; any minute now and her aunt would be whisked away by the nurse who had come into the room.

‘You will accompany me,’ decreed her aunt. ‘I may need your support.’ She sailed in the wake of the nurse and was ushered through the door, and Beatrice, walking reluctantly behind her, came to a sudden halt. The eminent doctor, a cardiologist of the first rank, according to her aunt, coming forward to shake her aunt’s hand, was Mr Latimer.

A rather different Mr Latimer, though; this elegant man in his sober grey suit and spotless linen was a far cry from the casual walker in his old trousers and shirt. He showed no surprise at the sight of her, but greeted her aunt quietly and then waited with a slightly lifted eyebrow until Great-Aunt Sybil said testily, ‘Oh, this is a great-niece of mine. I have a delicate constitution and may require her support.’

Mr Latimer said ‘How do you do?’ to Beatrice with a blandness which led her to suppose that he had forgotten her completely, observed that he had an excellent nurse in attendance and asked in what way could he advise his patient?

‘You are a very young man,’ observed Miss Browning in a suspicious voice. ‘I trust that you are adequately trained to diagnose illness?’

Beatrice blushed and looked at her feet; her aunt was going to be awful.

‘If I might know the nature of your illness?’ asked Mr Latimer with just the right amount of professional dignity. He glanced at the folder on his desk, containing letters from various colleagues on the subject of Miss Browning.

Miss Browning fixed him with a cold stare. ‘I suffer great pain in my chest. It is at times unendurable, but I do not wish to bother those around me with complaints: I have learnt to conceal my suffering. I think I may say that I have more than my share of courage and patience. The pain is here,’ she patted her massive bosom gently, ‘and I will explain exactly…’

Which she did at great length, while Dr Latimer sat quietly watching her, though now and again he took a quick look at Beatrice, still examining her feet and wishing the ground would open beneath her.

Presently he interrupted her aunt’s flow of talk. ‘Yes. Well, Miss Browning, I think the best thing is for me to examine you. If you will go with Nurse, she will prepare you.’

Miss Browning swept out, pausing by Beatrice to beg her in ringing tones to come to her aid of she were to fall faint. ‘For this will be an ordeal.’

Beatrice mumbled and peeped across the room to where Dr Latimer sat behind his desk. He was looking at her and smiling, and after a moment she smiled back.

‘Don’t you miss your green fields and hills?’ he asked.

She nodded. After a moment she said, ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’

‘No? I rather feel it was inevitable that somehow we should meet.’

He got up in response to the buzzer on his desk and went to the examination-room, leaving her to wonder what on earth he meant.

She had plenty of time to ponder his words, for it was quite fifteen minutes before he came back, and there was nothing in his face to tell her what his examination had revealed. He sat down and began to write until after another five minutes his patient came back.

Miss Browning swept in on a tide of ill temper, sat herself down and addressed herself in quelling tones to the impassive man sitting behind his desk.

‘I very much doubt,’ began Great-Aunt Sybil, ‘if you are qualified to diagnose my particular illness. It seems to me that you have failed to appreciate my suffering.’

Dr Latimer appeared unworried. He said smoothly, ‘Miss Browning, you have a sound heart; your pain is caused by indigestion. I will give you a diet which, if you choose to follow it, will dispel the pain. From what you have told me, your diet is too rich. I will write to your doctor and inform him of my diagnosis.’

He stood up and went to her chair. ‘What a relief it must be to you that you are so splendidly healthy.’ He offered a hand, and she had perforce to take it. ‘Nurse will give you the diet sheet.’

He accompanied her to the door, and Beatrice was relieved to see that for once her aunt had met her match: Dr Latimer’s silky manners screened a steely intention to be in command of the situation. They were ushered out without Miss Browning having the time to utter any of the telling replies she might have had in mind.

The nurse had gone ahead to open the waiting-room door, and for a moment Beatrice and Dr Latimer were alone.

He held out a large, firm hand. ‘Goodbye for the present,’ he said.

‘Oh, do you intend to see my aunt again?’

‘Er—no—but we shall meet again.’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘You don’t live with your aunt?’

‘Heavens, no! Her companion left and I’m staying with her until we can find another one.’ She paused. ‘I did tell you.’

Aunt Sybil had turned at the doorway and was looking back at them. ‘Come at once, Beatrice. I am exhausted.’

‘Dear, oh, dear,’ murmured Dr Latimer at his most soothing, ‘we must see about that companion, mustn’t we?’

She thought that he was merely being comforting, but then, she didn’t know him well.

Lunch was a stormy meal, taken at her aunt’s favourite restaurant. Naturally it consisted of all the things Miss Browning had been advised not to eat, and while they ate she gave her opinion of doctors in general and Dr Latimer in particular. ‘He should be struck off,’ she declared.

‘Whatever for?’ asked Beatrice. ‘I thought he had beautiful manners.’

‘Pooh—any silly woman could have her head turned by the professional civility these men employ—I am able to see through such tricks.’