An Innocent Bride

‘Such a fuss,’ said Aunt Thirza, but for once did what she had been told to do, sitting down with her knitting and allowing Katrina to get on with the household chores.

While she hung out the washing and pulled radishes and lettuce for their lunch Katrina allowed her faint suspicions to surface. Dr Peters had been almost too reassuring. She would ask him to tell her exactly what was wrong in the morning…

There was no need, for when she went into the surgery he told her. ‘We do not need to give up hope,’ he said. ‘Your aunt’s illness is almost always slow in its progress, and she is elderly.’ He glanced at her to see if she had understood and she nodded. ‘There is no reason to tell her at the moment, but if at any time she should ask then Professor Glenville will explain it to her. By the way, he is coming here on Sunday; he thinks it advisable that he should talk to you so that you understand fully and know what to expect.’

She said rather tartly, ‘Is there any need for that? Surely you can tell me anything I need to know.’

Dr Peters said mildly, ‘My dear, Professor Glenville is at the very top of his profession. If there is a way by which your aunt can be helped he will do that, but he would need co-operation, and you are the one to give that. He suggests that I invite your aunt to spend Sunday with us. She and Mary are old friends; there is plenty for them to gossip about. And when she is safely out of the house the professor will call on you.’

‘He won’t expect lunch?’

Dr Peters hid a smile. ‘Most unlikely! A cup of coffee should suffice. You don’t like him, Katrina?’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘But you trust him?’

‘Yes, and I’ll do anything to help Aunt Thirza.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose you don’t know how long?’

‘No, my dear, I don’t. That is a question for Professor Glenville; he will be better able to answer than I.’

So Katrina went back home with a note from Mrs Peters, and Aunt Thirza agreed with pleasure to spend the day with her friends. ‘You won’t be lonely, Katrina? I know it wouldn’t be very interesting for you to accompany me, but it might be preferable to sitting here on your own.’

‘I shan’t sit,’ said Katrina promptly. ‘There’s heaps of work in the garden, and I can get on with it without being interrupted. I’ve all those lettuces to transplant, and the rhubarb to pull, and I want to dig that empty patch at the bottom of the garden. Remember those seedlings I got from the farm? If I don’t get them in there won’t be any peas later on.’

Dr Peters was coming for her aunt soon after ten o’clock on Sunday, so Katrina was up early, tidying the little house, getting breakfast, and making sure that her aunt had all she needed for her day out. As she herself was going to work in the garden she had got into an elderly cotton jersey dress, faded to a gentle blue and, had she but known it, very flattering to her shapely curves. She had no intention of dressing up just because Professor Glenville chose to call. She tied her hair back with a ribbon and dug her feet into sandals. Digging was hot work, and now that it was May the days were warmer.

Her aunt safely away, Katrina put the coffee pot on the stove, cups and saucers on a tray with a tin of biscuits, and went down the garden to the shed at the bottom. She found her fork and spade, a trug for the rhubarb, and set to work. First the rhubarb…

She had the trug half full when the professor drew up silently, opened the gate, mindful of its creaking, and trod up the path to the open door of the house. There was no answer to his knock, naturally enough, and after a few moments he wandered down the garden to be rewarded by the sight of Katrina, bent double over the rhubarb.

His quiet, ‘Good morning, Katrina,’ brought her upright, clutching an armful of pink stalks.

‘Oh, Lord…I didn’t expect you so soon.’

He kept a straight face. ‘Shall I go for a drive around while you finish your gardening?’

‘I’m not gardening, only pulling rhubarb. I was going to dig that patch over there.’ She pointed with a stick of the fruit. ‘I told Aunt Thirza I would and she’ll wonder why if it isn’t done.’

‘The pair of us should be able to get that done later on…’ At her look of surprise, he added, ‘I like gardening.’ ‘You do? All right. I don’t suppose it will take long, whatever it is that you have to tell me.’ She dusted off her grubby hands. ‘Come and have a cup of coffee first.’ She added belatedly, ‘This must be spoiling your Sunday?’

The professor, beginning to enjoy himself, assured her that it was still early and he had the whole day before him.

‘I expect you are glad to be out of London for the day,’ said Katrina, leading the way into the house.

They had their coffee in the little living room, with the sun shining in on the rather shabby chairs and the polished sofa table and old-fashioned chiffonnier, both old and valuable. It shone on Katrina’s wealth of hair, too, and the professor admired it silently. A strikingly lovely girl, he had to admit, who made no effort to engage his attention.

When she had refilled their cups, Katrina said, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me? It’s about Aunt Thirza, of course. Dr Peters said he would prefer you to explain in more detail.’ For a moment she faltered.

‘Your aunt has lymphatic leukaemia, which is incurable, although there is a great deal to be done which can prolong her life. But one must consider the fact that she is no longer young. It is a slow-moving illness. Indeed it can be compatible with a normal lifespan.’

Katrina didn’t look at him; she was staring out of the window. ‘You mean that Aunt Thirza might—might live until her death without knowing?’

‘Yes, that is exactly what I do mean. Unless she asks me to tell her chapter and verse, in which case I should do so. I hope that will not happen, and I suggest that she is allowed to believe that she has a simple anaemia which we shall treat in the prescribed way. She is a sensible lady, is she not? And she will go along with any treatment we suggest—pills, of course, diet, rest.’ He added abruptly, ‘You can cope with that?’

‘Yes, of course I can.’ She looked at him then, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears. ‘I owe everything to Aunt Thirza. She gave me a home when no one else wanted me.’

A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, and for a moment he had a vision of a small sad girl whom no one had wanted. He offered a beautifully laundered handkerchief and said nothing; he sensed that if he did speak she would dislike him even more. He had been the bearer of bad news, and now he had seen her in tears. He sat quietly until she had mopped her face and mumbled that she would launder his handkerchief and send it to him.

‘I never cry,’ she told him fiercely.

‘How old were you when you came to live here?’ He sounded friendly, and she responded to the sound of his quiet voice.

‘Twelve. Mother and Father died in an air crash on their way back from the Middle East. Father built bridges and sometimes Mother went with him.’

‘No brothers or sisters? No family other than your aunt?’

‘No, but several other aunts and uncles, and cousins…’ She broke off. ‘This is boring for you. Will you tell me what you intend to do for Aunt Thirza and advise me as to the best way to look after her?’

‘Certainly I will.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘It’s a lovely morning. Would you come back with me to my home and have lunch? We can discuss every small detail at our leisure.’

‘Lunch?’ said Katrina. ‘Lunch with you?’ Her unflatter ing surprise caused his thin mouth to twitch with sudden amusement. ‘But I can’t; I’ve got that digging to do.’ She added belatedly, ‘Thank you.’

Over the years the professor had cultivated a bedside manner second to none: courteous and matter-of-fact, nicely laced with sympathy.

‘How would it be if I do the digging while you do whatever you need to do? Don’t dress up; it will only be the two of us.’

Just as though he couldn’t care less what I look like, thought Katrina peevishly. She said loudly, ‘You can’t dig in those clothes…’

He wore beautifully cut trousers, an open-necked shirt and a cashmere sweater, not to mention the shoes on his large feet.

He didn’t answer her but got to his feet. ‘Fifteen minutes be long enough?’ he wanted to know, and went unhurriedly into the garden.

‘The nerve of him,’ said Katrina to herself, clashing cups and saucers together, and then spun round.

‘Nerve is something which the medical profession have to employ from time to time, Katrina. You don’t mind if I call you Katrina?’ he said mildly. ‘You don’t look like a Miss Gibbs. I came back to ask if there is a bigger spade?’

‘In the shed.’

He went away again, and she put everything in the sink and went up to her room. She wasn’t going to change her dress, for it was apparent to her that he couldn’t care less what she wore, but she changed her old sandals for a better pair and attacked her mane of hair, subduing it to tidiness and a neat coil in the nape of her neck. She powdered her face too, and used lipstick, took a quick look at herself in the little mirror on the dressing table and went downstairs.

She was spooning cat food into a bowl for the little cat when the professor joined her. He noted the lipstick, and the tidy head of hair, but all he said was, ‘What is your cat’s name?’

‘Betsy.’

She put the saucer on the floor for the small creature and said, ‘Had I better come and look?’

He had made a very good job of it. Moreover he had managed to remain as elegant as he had been when he arrived. She thanked him warmly, forgetting how much he vexed her for the moment, and when he asked her if she was ready to leave said that she was, quite meekly. ‘Only I must just open the window in the kitchen so that Betsy can get in and out.’