Dearest Love

‘Quite,’ said Dr Tavener. ‘What comes after the soup?’

She laid another place at the table. ‘Well, a Spanish omelette with a salad. I haven’t a pudding, but there is bread and butter and cheese…’

‘Home-made bread?’ And when she nodded he said, ‘I can think of nothing nicer. While you are cooking the omelette I shall go and get a bottle of wine. Five minutes?’

He had gone. She heard the door close behind him and the car start up. She broke three eggs into a bowl and then a fourth—he was a very large man.

The omelette was ready to cook when he got back, put a bottle on the table and asked if she had a corkscrew. It was a good wine—a red burgundy of a good vintage, its cost almost as much as half of Arabella’s pay-packet. He opened it to let it breathe.

Arabella was ladling soup into the large old-fashioned soup plates which had belonged to her grandmother. Dr Tavener, sampling it, acknowledged that it was worthy of the Coalport china in which it was served.

He fetched the wine and poured it as she dished up the omelette and, warmed by its delicious fruitiness, Arabella forgot to be a caretaker and was once again a well brought-up young lady with a pleasant social life. Dr Tavener, leading her on with quiet cunning, discovered a good deal more about her than she realised. Not that he asked questions but merely put in a word here and there, egging her on gently.

They finished the omelette and sat talking over coffee and slices of bread and butter and a piece of cheese. If he found the meal a trifle out of the ordinary way of things he gave no sign. Bread and butter, he discovered, when the bread had been baked by his hostess, was exactly the right way to finish his supper. Being a giant of a man, he ate most of the loaf and a good deal of the butter. She would have to go to the shops the next day…

It was almost ten o’clock when he went, taking her with him so that she could lock up after him. He stood on the pavement, thinking of her polite goodnight and listening to the bolts being shot home and the key turned in the lock. He had never worried about Mrs Lane being alone in the house for the simple reason that she frequently had had various members of her family spending a few days with her, but Arabella had no one. The idea of Arabella being alone at night nagged at him all the way to his home.

It was on the following Saturday afternoon that Arabella added another member to her household. She was returning from the shops, laden with a week’s supply of basic food, taking shortcuts through the narrow streets which would bring her into Wigmore Street. It had been a dull, chilly day and bid fair to lapse into early dusk bringing a fine drizzle of rain. Head bowed against the damp wind, weighed down with her shopping, she turned down a short alleyway which would take her close to Dr Marshall’s rooms.

She was almost at its end when a faint movement in the gutter caused her to stop. A puppy lay there, rolled up and moving to and fro, its yelps so faint that she could hardly hear them. She put down her plastic bags and bent to take a closer look. It was a pitiful sight, thin and very wet, and someone had tied its back legs together. Arabella let out a snort of rage and knelt down the better to deal with it. The cord was tight but roughly tied; it took only a moment to untie it and scoop up the small creature, pop him on top of her shopping and carry him back to her basement.

He was a very young puppy and, even if well fed and cared for, would have had no good looks. As it was he was a sorry sight, with tiny ribs showing through his dirty coat and sores on his flanks. Notwithstanding, he lay passive on the table while she gently examined him, and even waved a very long and rat-like tail. She dumped her shopping, fetched warm water and some old cloths, and cleaned him gently, wrapped him in an old curtain and set him before the gas fire where he lay too tired to move when Percy went to examine him in his turn.

‘Bread and warm milk,’ said Arabella who, living alone with only a cat for company, frequently uttered her thoughts out loud, and suited the action to the words. It was received thankfully and scoffed with pathetic speed so she gave him more warm milk with some vague idea about dehydration and then, aware of Percy’s indignant stare, offered him his supper too, before taking off her jacket and putting away her shopping. She got her own tea presently, pausing frequently to look at the puppy. He was sleeping, uttering small yelps as he slept, and presently Percy stretched out beside him, with the air of someone doing a good deed, and curved himself round the small skinny creature.

‘That’s right, Percy,’ encouraged Arabella. ‘He could do with a good cuddle. He’ll be a handsome dog if we look after him.’

He woke presently and she gave him some of Percy’s food and took him into the dark garden, and when she went off to bed she lifted him on to its foot beside Percy. He looked better already. She woke in the night and found him still sleeping, but Percy had crept up the bed and was lying beside her.

It was then that she began to wonder what Dr Marshall was going to say when he discovered that she had a dog as well as a cat. Why should she tell him? The puppy was very young—his bark would be small and until he was much stronger he might not bark at all. Indeed, he would be no trouble for some time; he was far too weak to behave as a normal puppy would. Things settled to her satisfaction, she went back to sleep until Percy’s nudges woke her once more.

Being Sunday, she had the place to herself and nothing could have been more convenient. The puppy, shivering with terror, was borne out into the garden again and then given his breakfast while Percy ate his, afterwards curling up before the fire and allowing the puppy to crouch beside him. Presently Percy stretched his length before the warmth and the puppy crept even closer and went to sleep.

He slept and ate all day and by the evening he cringed only occasionally, waving his ridiculous tail in an effort to show his gratitude.

‘I shall keep you,’ said Arabella. ‘Percy likes you and so do I! And you’re more than welcome.’

The puppy, unused to a kind voice, gave a very small squeaky bark, ate a second supper and went to sleep—this time with his ugly little head on Percy’s portly stomach.

Monday came and with it a nasty nervous feeling on Arabella’s part, but she went about her duties as usual and by the end of the day was lulled into a sense of security by the exemplary behaviour of the puppy who, doubtless because he was still very much under the weather, did nothing other than eat the food she offered him and sleep, keeping as close to a tolerant Percy as possible.

By the end of the week he had filled out considerably although he was still quite content to curl up and sleep. He went willingly enough into the garden before anyone was about and, although the dark evenings scared him, provided Percy was nearby he ventured on to the grass and even scampered around for a few minutes.

It was carelessness due to her overconfidence that was Arabella’s undoing. On the Friday evening everyone left as usual and, after a quick reconnoitre upstairs to make sure that that really was the case, she went into the garden before she tidied the rooms. It was a fine clear evening and not quite dark and she took her torch and walked down the path while the animals pottered on the grass.

Dr Tavener, returning to fetch a forgotten paper, trod quietly through the empty rooms and, since there was still some light left, didn’t bother to turn on his desk lamp. He knew where the paper was and he had picked it up and turned to go again when he glanced out of his window.

Arabella stood below, her torch shining on the animals.

‘Well, I’m damned,’ said Dr Tavener softly and watched her shepherd them indoors before going silently and very quickly back to the front door and then letting himself out into the street. He got into his car and drove himself home, laughing softly.

As for Arabella, blissfully unaware that she had been discovered, she gave her companions their suppers and went upstairs to clean and tidy up, then cooked her own meal before getting on with another cushion cover.

Saturday morning was busy. Dr Tavener, Miss Baird told her, had only two patients but he was going to the hospital and would probably not be back until after midday. ‘So I’m afraid you won’t be able to do your cleaning until he’s gone again.’

Arabella, who turned the place upside-down on a Saturday, changed the flowers and polished everything possible, said she didn’t mind. Secretly she was annoyed. She would have to do her weekly shopping and she didn’t like to go out and leave him in his rooms—supposing the puppy were to bark? The shops closed at five o’clock—surely he wouldn’t stay as late as that?

It was a relief when he came back just before everyone else went home, shut himself in his room for a while and then prepared to leave. Arabella was polishing the chairs in the waiting-room since Hoovering might disturb him and she heard him coming along the passage.

She had expected him to go straight to the door and let himself out but instead he stopped in the doorway, so she turned round to wish him good afternoon and found him staring at her. Her heart sank; he looked severe—surely he hadn’t discovered about the puppy?

It seemed that he had. ‘Since when have we had a dog in the house, Miss Lorimer?’ His voice was silky and she didn’t much care for it.

She put down her duster and faced him. ‘He isn’t a dog—he’s a very small puppy.’

‘Indeed? And have you Dr Marshall’s permission to keep him here?’

‘No. How did you know?’

‘I saw him—and you—the other evening in the garden. I trust that he isn’t rooting up the flowerbeds.’

She was suddenly fierce. ‘If you’d been thrown in a gutter with your legs tied together and left to die you’d know what heaven it is to sniff the flowers.’

His mouth twitched. ‘And you found him and of course brought him back with you?’

‘Well, of course—and I cannot believe that, however ill-natured you are, you would have left him lying there.’

‘You are quite right; I wouldn’t. Perhaps if you could bear with my ill nature, I might take a look at him? He’s probably in rather poor shape.’

‘Oh, would you?’ She paused on her way to the door. ‘But you won’t take him away and send him to a dogs’ home? He’s so very small.’

‘No, I won’t do that.’

She went ahead of him down the stairs and opened the basement door. Percy, asleep on the end of the bed, opened an eye and dozed off again but the puppy tumbled on to the floor and trotted towards them, waving his ridiculous tail.

Dr Tavener bent and scooped him up and tucked him under an arm.

‘Very small,’ he observed, ‘and badly used too.’ He was gently examining the little beast. ‘One or two nasty sores on his flank…’ He felt the small legs. ‘How long have you had him?’

‘Since last Saturday. I thought he was going to die.’

‘You have undoubtedly saved his life. He needs a vet, though.’ He looked at Arabella and smiled—a quite different man from the austere doctor who strode in and out of his consulting-room with barely a glance if they should meet—and she blinked with surprise. ‘If I return at about four o’clock would you bring him to a vet with me? He is a friend of mine and will know if there is anything the little chap needs.’

Arabella goggled at him. ‘Me? Go to the vet with you?’

‘I don’t bite,’ said Dr Tavener mildly.

She went pink. ‘I beg your pardon. I was only surprised. It’s very kind of you. Only, please don’t come before four o’clock because I’ve the week’s shopping to do. It won’t take long, will it? Percy likes his supper…’