Hilltop Tryst

Beatrice poured the coffee. ‘Aunt Sybil, I think you might at least give his advice an airing…’

‘I shall do just as I see fit. We will go now to that agency I have written to; there must be any number of women needing work. Just look at the unemployment…’

But there was no one suitable, nor was there at the other two agencies they visited. Beatrice, a cheerful girl by nature, allowed herself to get despondent at the prospect of weeks of Great-Aunt Sybil’s irascible company.

Only it wasn’t to be weeks, after all. Three days after her aunt’s visit to Dr Latimer, a letter came. The writer, having seen Miss Browning’s advertisement, begged to apply for the post of companion, and was willing to present herself at an interview whenever it was convenient.

‘Let her come this afternoon,’ said Great-Aunt Sybil grandly. ‘She sounds a sensible woman.’

‘Well, she could hardly get here and back again today,’ Beatrice pointed out. ‘It’s a London address—besides, there’s the fare, she might not have it.’

‘I cannot think what these people do with their money.’

‘They don’t have any—or not much to do anything with.’

Her aunt frowned. ‘You have this habit of answering back, Beatrice—most unbecoming. Write a letter and tell her to come the day after tomorrow in the early afternoon. You had better take some money from my desk and enclose it.’

Beatrice, addressing the envelope to Miss Jane Moore, hoped fervently that she would be suitable.

It was obvious from the moment that she faced Great-Aunt Sybil in the drawing-room that she was not only suitable but quite capable of holding her own with the old lady. Polite but firm, she allowed Miss Browning to see that she had no intention of being a doormat—indeed, she stipulated that she should have regular hours of freedom and a day off each week—but she sweetened this by pointing out that she was able to undertake all secretarial duties, keep accounts, drive the car, and read aloud. ‘I also have some nursing skills,’ she added composedly.

Beatrice thought she looked exactly the right person to live with her aunt. Middle-aged, small and wiry, with her pepper and salt hair and a severe bun, Miss Moore exuded competence, good nature and firmness.

Whether she would be able to stand up to her great-aunt’s peevish ill humours was another matter. At the moment, at any rate, her aunt seemed more than satisfied. Miss Moore was engaged with the option of a month’s notice on either side, and agreed to come in two days’ time, Miss Browning’s good humour lasting long enough for her to arrange for Miss Moore to be collected with her luggage at the station.

‘So now you can go home,’ said Miss Browning ungratefully as she and Beatrice sat at dinner that evening. If Beatrice expected thanks, she got none, but that didn’t worry her; she telephoned her mother, packed her bag, and at the end of the next day returned home.

It was lovely to be back in her own room again, to unpack and then go down to the kitchen and help her mother get the supper.

‘Do you think she’ll last, this Miss Moore?’ asked her mother.

‘I think she might. I mean, Great-Aunt Sybil’s other companions have always been so timid, but not Miss Moore—one could think of her as a ward sister used to geriatrics—you know—quite unflustered, but very firm and kind.’

She paused in the enjoyable task of hulling strawberries. ‘I shall get up early tomorrow and take Knotty for a long walk before breakfast.’

‘Yes, dear. Your father will be glad to have you back to give a hand. Carol’s back in Salisbury and Kathy’s staying with the in-laws. Ella will be glad, too. You always help her so nicely with her Latin.’

Beatrice woke as the sun, not yet visible, began to lighten the cloudless sky. She was out of bed, had washed her face, got into an old cotton dress she kept for cleaning out the chicken house, tied back her hair and was in the kitchen within minutes. Knotty was waiting, and together they left the house and started to climb the hill. Knotty had bounded on ahead, and Beatrice, almost at the top, looked up to see why he was barking.

She wasn’t alone on the hill; Dr Latimer was there too, waiting for her.

CHAPTER TWO

BEATRICE gaped, half a dozen questions rushing to her tongue.

‘Later,’ said Dr Latimer. ‘Let us watch the sunrise first.’

They sat side by side with Knotty panting between them, while the sky in the east turned pink and gold, and the sun rose slowly between the distant hills. Only when the whole of its shining splendour was visible did Beatrice speak. ‘You don’t live here…?’ And then, ‘But it’s only just gone five o’clock.’

‘Miss Moore told me that you had returned home, and I knew that you would be here.’

How did he know? She let that pass for the moment. ‘Miss Moore—do you know her? She’s gone as companion to Great-Aunt Sybil.’

She turned her head to look at him, sweeping her hair over her shoulders out of the way. ‘Did you tell her about the job?’

He said placidly, ‘Yes. She is a retired ward sister who worked for me for several years. Not quite ready to sit back and do nothing much—it suits her to live with your aunt for the time being. She will be able to save every penny of the salary she gets—and I must admit that I found it remarkably poor. She intends to share a small house with a widowed sister, but it won’t be vacant for some months.’

‘She seemed awfully capable.’

‘Oh, indeed she is.’

He sat back with nothing more to say, and presently she asked, ‘Have you a day off?’

‘No, but no patients until noon. Do you suppose your mother would give me breakfast?’

‘I’m sure she will. There’s only Ella home, and unless Father’s been called out he hasn’t a surgery until half-past eight.’

‘You’re glad to be home?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a companion…’

‘You have no ambition to take up a career?’

She shook her head. ‘I suppose that years ago, when I was eighteen and full of ideas, I would have liked to train as a vet, but Father taught me a great deal and I like helping him. Ella’s too young, and anyway she’s not made up her mind what she wants to do, and Carol—she’s the brainy one and works in an office, and Kathy will be getting married in a month.’ She was silent for a moment, then, ‘I’m almost twenty-seven, a bit old to start on a career.’

‘But not too old to marry?’ He paused. ‘I feel sure that you must have had several opportunities. Dr Forbes did mention that his son and you…’

‘People make things up to suit themselves,’ declared Beatrice crossly. ‘James and I have known each other forever, but I have no wish to marry him. I keep saying so, too.’

‘Very tiresome for you,’ agreed her companion, and gave her a kindly smile, so that her ill humour went as quickly as it had come. ‘We had better go if we want breakfast…’

They went unhurriedly down the hill with Knotty cavorting around them, and so to the village and her home, carrying on a desultory conversation and on the best of terms with each other.

Early though it was, the village was stirring; Beatrice called cheerful good mornings as they went, not noticing the smiling, knowing looks exchanged behind her back. She was liked in the village, and although no one had actually said so it was generally thought that she was far too good for Dr Forbes’s son. Her companion, aware of the glances, gave no hint of having seen them, although his eyes danced with amusement.

Mrs Browning was breaking eggs into a large frying pan on the Aga, and bacon sizzled under the grill. She looked up as they went into the kitchen, added two more eggs and said happily, ‘Good morning. I do hope you’ve come to breakfast—such a satisfying meal. A lovely day again, isn’t it? Beatrice, make the toast, will you? Ella’s finishing her maths, and your father will be here directly.’ She dished the eggs expertly and put them to keep warm. ‘Are you on holiday, Dr Latimer?’

‘I only wish I were. I must be back in town by noon…’

‘Good heavens! All that way.’

‘I had a fancy to watch the sunrise.’

He took the knife from Beatrice and began to slice the loaf, and Mrs Browning, bursting with curiosity, sliced mushrooms into the frying pan, reflecting that he couldn’t possibly have driven down from London in time to see the sunrise, in which case, he must have spent the night somewhere nearby. After breakfast, when everyone had gone, she would phone the Elliotts… Lorna would surely know something about him. But her curiosity wasn’t to be satisfied; when everyone was out of the way Mrs Browning phoned her friend, only to discover that she was on the point of going out and had to leave the house on the instant. Mrs Browning put down the receiver with something of a thump.

Beatrice, helping her father with his morning surgery, was wondering about Dr Latimer too; it was two hours’ hard driving to get to London, and he had said that he had patients to see at noon. There had been no sign of a car; he must have had one, though, parked somewhere nearby—or did he live close by?

She had to hold a large, very cross cat while her father gave it an injection, her thoughts far away so that her father asked mildly, ‘Will you take Shakespeare back, my dear? Mrs Thorpe will be waiting for him… I want to see him in two weeks, so make an appointment, will you?’