Matilda's Wedding

She gave herself a shake. Self-pity was a waste of time; and life wasn’t all that bad. She had a job, she liked the village and the people she had met were friendly, and there was Dr Lovell. If they hadn’t come here to live she would never have met him. The fact that he didn’t like her overmuch made no difference to the fact that she was in love with him. That coloured her dull days and perhaps in time, if she could be more like Miss Brimble, he would like her after all. She didn’t expect more than that; her mother had made it plain that there was nothing about her to attract a man such as he.

She got the lunch, listened to her father’s cheerful comments about their visitors and her mother’s plans to go to Taunton and then, with Rastus for company, Matilda went into the garden. It had once been very pretty but was now woefully overgrown. She began raking the leaves which covered the patch of grass in front of the house.

It was chilly and there was a fresh wind, so that her hair blew free from its tidy pleat, and she had tied a sack over her skirt. The doctor, driving past, thought she looked very untidy, obviously not bothering about her appearance. He dismissed her from his mind and was vaguely irritated to find himself remembering all that pale brown hair, tossed about by the wind.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was nothing about Matilda’s appearance on Monday morning to remind him of her scruffy appearance in the garden. The picture of neatness, she dealt with the patients with good-humoured patience and real pleasure, for she felt that she had been accepted by the village, included in their gossip as they waited their turn. It was to be hoped, she reflected, that Dr Lovell would accept her, too…

It was a chilly, drizzly morning and she was glad that she had lugged the chimney pot she had found in the garden shed down to the doctor’s house and installed it in the waiting room. It wasn’t ideal but at least it was somewhere to put the umbrellas. She was sure that the doctor hadn’t noticed it; hopefully he wouldn’t notice if she brought some of the neglected chrysanthemums from the back garden and put them on the table in the waiting room—and on his desk; they might cheer him up…!

The surgery over, she tidied up, received a few instructions about the evening surgery, refused his offer of coffee and went down the street to the shop. Mrs Simpkins sold everything, or such was her proud boast and sure enough from the depths of her shop she produced a small plastic pot.

‘That’s what I call sensible,’ she declared. ‘Miss Brimble never thought of it. Well, a maiden lady such as she were wouldn’t ’ave, would she? A real blessing it’ll be for all the mums with little ’uns.’

She peered across the counter through the shop window. ‘Doctor’s just gone past so you can pop across with it.’

Which Matilda did.

At home she found her mother in the best of good spirits. Mrs Milton would be going to Taunton on Wednesday and had offered her a lift. ‘You only work in the morning,’ she reminded Matilda, ‘so you can be here with your father. I don’t know how long I shall be gone; perhaps Mrs Milton will ask me to tea. Will you make some coffee? Your father has a headache; a cup might make him feel better. I must iron a few things—perhaps you would get a fire going in the sitting room? It’s such a miserable day.’

After lunch Matilda, in an old mac and headscarf, went into the garden. The back garden was quite large and so overgrown it was hard to see what it was once like. But almost hidden against the end fence were the chrysanthemums, deep pink and a bit bedraggled. She picked the best of them, filled a vase for the living room and put the rest in a plastic bag to take with her to the surgery that evening. And while she was about it she rooted round in the garden shed and found two vases. No longer neglected, the chrysanthemums perked up, in one vase on the waiting-room table, and the other on the windowsill in the surgery. Several patients remarked upon them but if the doctor noticed he didn’t choose to say anything…

In fact, he had seen them the moment he entered the surgery, given them a quick glance and turned his attention to his first patient. He hoped that Matilda wasn’t going to strew cushions around the place or nurture pot plants on the windowsills. Perhaps he had better nip any such ideas in the bud…

But he had no chance to do so that evening; a farm worker on one of the outlying farms had fallen off a ladder and he was needed there. He left with a brisk goodnight, leaving Matilda to pack up and lock the doors. And, of course, the next day there was no surgery until the evening.

When she got there he was already at his desk, writing, and she made haste to get out the patients’ notes, and when the phone rang, which it did continuously, answered it. It wasn’t until she ushered out the last patient that Dr Lovell came into the waiting room.

Matilda was on her knees, grovelling under the row of chairs collecting the toys the smaller patients had been playing with, so she was not at her best.

His cool, ‘Miss Paige,’ brought her to her feet, pleased to see him but unhappily aware that she wasn’t looking her best.

‘I see that you have introduced one or two—er—innovations. And while I appreciate your efforts I must beg you not to make too many drastic alterations.’

Matilda tucked a wisp of hair behind an ear. ‘Well, I won’t,’ she assured him. ‘Only the umbrellas dripping all over the floor are nasty and you can’t expect a toddler to perch on a loo, you know. And I thought a few flowers would cheer the place up a bit. A potted plant or two?’ she added hopefully.

‘If you have set your heart on that, by all means, but I must make it clear that I do not wish for a plant in my surgery.’

She said warmly, ‘Oh, do they give you hay fever or something?’

The doctor, self-assured and used to being treated with a certain amount of respect, found himself at a loss for a reply. Being in the habit of advising others as to their various illnesses, he hardly expected to hear an opinion passed as to his own health.

When Matilda got back from the Wednesday morning clinic her mother had already left with Mrs Milton.

‘Most fortunate,’ her father observed as they drank their coffee together, ‘that your mother has the opportunity to enjoy a day out; she has so few pleasures.’

‘Well,’ said Matilda, ‘Mrs Milton is going to introduce Mother to her friends and I’m sure she will be asked to join in the social life around here. I suppose there is some…’

‘Oh, I believe so. Lady Truscott has a large circle of friends; your mother will enjoy meeting them.’ He added, ‘Perhaps there will be some young people for you, my dear.’

She agreed cheerfully. She would have dearly liked to go dancing, play tennis, and even venture into amateur theatricals, but only if the doctor was there too, and somehow she couldn’t imagine him as an actor. Tennis, yes—he would be a good tennis player and a good dancer—a bit on the conservative side, perhaps. She allowed herself a few moments of daydreaming, waltzing around some magnificent ballroom in his arms. She would, of course, be exquisitely dressed and so very pretty that she was the object of all eyes… But only Dr Lovell’s eyes mattered.

Not that he showed any signs of interest in her at the surgery; indeed, she had the strong feeling that as a person she just wasn’t there—a pair of hands, yes, and a voice for the telephone and someone to find old notes. He was engaged to be married, she reminded herself, and quite rightly didn’t notice any female other than his betrothed…

Later in the day Mrs Paige came back from Taunton, bubbling over with the delights of her day.

‘A marvellous hairdresser, Matilda, worth every penny, and the shops are excellent. Of course I had no money but next time there are several things I simply must have.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’m to go with Mrs Milton to Lady Truscott’s—the next committee meeting for some charity or other—so I must smarten up a little. You wouldn’t want your mother to look shabby, would you?’

Her father said, ‘My dear, I’m sure I can let you have a little extra. Matilda should have her own money to spend how she likes.’

Matilda slipped out of the room. She had heard her father’s mild remonstrance often enough but it went unheeded. Once the outstanding bills had been paid she would go to Taunton herself and buy some new clothes, have her hair done, a manicure, new cosmetics… Dr Lovell hadn’t noticed her yet; perhaps he never would. He was going to marry, she reminded herself then, and remembered that Mrs Simpkins hadn’t liked his fiancée.

Matilda, peeling potatoes, made up her mind to find out more about her.

After morning surgery next day, since it was a fine day with a strong wind blowing, she filled the washing machine and went into the garden and began to sweep up the leaves lying thick on the neglected grass, suitably but unglamorously dressed in an elderly sweater and skirt and wellies. Since there was no one to see, she had tied her hair back with a bit of string from the garden shed. She had found a rake there and set to with a will, for the moment happy; her small worries were forgotten as she planned just how the garden would look once she had tamed its wildness and cared for it. She paused to lean on the rake.

‘Roses,’ she decided, ‘and lavender and peonies and lupins and hollyhocks.’

She had been talking to herself, something she quite often did even if Rastus wasn’t there to listen. ‘It’ll look lovely, I promise you.’

She flung an arm wide and nearly fell over when the doctor said, an inch or so from her ear. ‘Do you often talk to yourself?’

She shot round to face him and he thought that she looked quite pretty with colour in her cheeks and her hair hanging loose.

‘Of course not.’ She sounded tart. ‘I was talking to the garden. Flowers like being talked to. The Prince of Wales talks to his…’

‘So he does.’ The doctor sounded mild. ‘I’ve never found the time.’

‘No—well, of course I don’t suppose you would. Anyway, you would want to spend it with your…’

She paused, not liking the cold look he gave her. She went on quickly. ‘Is it me you want to see about something? Or Father…?’

‘Your father.’ He watched her idly. The shabby clothes she was wearing did nothing for her but he had to admit that he liked her hair—and he was intrigued by her naturalness. Not his type, of course…

He said briskly, ‘Your father is home?’

‘Oh, yes. He’ll be in his study—he’s writing a book.’

She led the way to the front door, kicked off her wellies and ushered him into the narrow hall. ‘Mother’s in the sitting room…’

‘I’ll see your father first if I may.’

Matilda put her head round the study door. ‘Father, here’s Dr Lovell to see you.’

He went past her with a brief nod and closed the door gently behind him, and as he did so her mother came out of the sitting room. ‘Who is that?’ She frowned. ‘You should have fetched me, Matilda…’

‘Dr Lovell said he’d see Father first.’