Once For All Time

There was a little pause before Clotilde said: ‘Well, do come in, we’ve just got the tea ready, and Rosie’s been busy getting a meal prepared for you—we weren’t quite sure when you would get here.’

They all went into the sitting room and Dr Thackery followed Clotilde to the kitchen. At the door he put a hand on her arm. ‘Just hang on for a bit longer,’ he urged her. ‘After tea we’ll have a talk, you and I and that will be the worst part over.’

He opened the door, put a friendly arm around a tearful Rosie and carried in the tea tray. He carried, metaphorically speaking, Rosie in as well, ignoring Bruce’s raised eyebrows, and sustained a conversation, not one word of which Clotilde could remember afterwards.

And after tea he carried Clotilde off to her father’s study, with the mild observation that the solicitor and Bruce could entertain each other for a short while, and once there, he sat her down in one of the elderly armchairs and gave her a sensible, down-to-earth account of his journey. But his sympathy was real and he dealt gently with her. All the same, she wept a little, snivelling into his shoulder, and he made no effort to stop her. At length she dried her eyes, mumbled that she was sorry and sat up straight. ‘What happens next?’ she asked.

He told her with a calm matter-of-factness which she had learned to expect, for it was his way. ‘You’ll come to the funeral?’ she asked finally.

‘Of course, if you would like me to. Have you any family at all?’

She shook her head. ‘My brother-in-law phoned— Laura, my sister, hasn’t been told. There isn’t anyone else, except friends, of course.’

He nodded. ‘There are some things I brought back with me. I’ll take them upstairs to your parents’ room, if I may—you can deal with those later.’ He pulled her gently to her feet. ‘Now we’d better go back, hadn’t we? Is Johnson staying the night?’

‘Oh, no. He’s got a list in the morning, but I’m sure he’ll come again.’ The doctor didn’t say anything, only opened the door and he ushered her out. Crossing the hall, he observed; ‘Mr Trent will want to go home, I expect, and since Johnson is here, I’ll not need to stay any longer.’

His words were a disappointment to her. There wasn’t any more to be said, she knew that, but he was such a comfort to have around the house and he knew exactly what had to be done and did it with a quiet competence which he made no effort to advertise.

‘You won’t stay to supper?’ she asked.

‘No need, with Johnson to keep you company; you’ll have all the evening together.’

Clotilde said ‘Yes,’ rather doubtfully and led the way back to the others.

Almost the whole village turned out for the funeral, although only a few people, about a dozen or so, went back to the house afterwards. Bruce had been there, of course, solicitous in his care of her, very much in charge, and she was grateful for that. Dr Thackery had been there too, a quiet figure in the background who had made his excuses once they reached the house again and gone off, brushing aside her thanks. ‘Don’t come back until you feel that you can cope—on the other hand, don’t stay here and mope. Is there anyone to keep Rosie company while you’re at St Alma’s?’

Clotilde was grateful for his concern for her loyal friend. ‘She’s got a niece— I’m sure she’d come and stay for a little while.’ She smiled at him. ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’ She offered her hand. ‘Thank you again, Dr Thackery. I’ll be back on the ward quite soon— I— I’ll need to fill my days.’

She watched him go with a pang of regret.

Mr Trent was waiting for her. ‘My dear, if you can spare ten minutes—people are leaving already, I see. There is the will…’

Half an hour later Clotilde left Bruce sitting by the fire and went with Mr Trent into the study. He sat himself down at the desk and when she had taken a chair opposite him, started to talk. He took a long time to come to the point, and she wondered why. A small legacy for Rosie, that was to be expected, and the remainder for her sister and herself. ‘Only it isn’t quite as simple as that,’ he observed cautiously. ‘This will was made many years ago and since then there have been changes. Rosie’s legacy is intact, I’m glad to say, but I’m afraid that the rest… Your father mortgaged this house up to the hilt, and unfortunately, your parents were only insured for the first week of their holiday. I have no idea why, but there it is. There is virtually no capital and of course there will be the foreclosure on the house.’ He added with sympathy in his dry old voice: ‘I’m afraid you are practically penniless, my dear.’

Clotilde sat and stared at him. The unexpectedness of it numbed her brain. ‘But I can’t be! Father said Bruce should have the money to buy a practice when we marry…’

‘Yes, he told me that, and in order to avoid making a new will, he put almost every penny of his capital into an enterprise started by an acquaintance of his. I warned him at the time, but if it had succeeded, the profits would have been substantial, and your father gambled on that.’

‘Oh, poor Father! There’s no chance…?’

‘None, my dear.’

‘I don’t know just how much it was, but Dr Thackery arranged everything—he must be paid, of course, even if I have to do it monthly out of my salary.’

Mr Trent coughed and shuffled the papers before him, remembering the conversations he had had with the doctor during their mission. ‘There will be sufficient funds to meet all expenses,’ he assured her blandly. ‘There are a few debts of a trifling nature, household expenses, you know. When they are settled there will be a few hundreds for you and your sister. I’m very sorry, Clotilde, indeed I am. There is one thing—these things take time; you will be able to live here for some months yet.’ He put his papers in his briefcase. ‘I shall, of course, keep in touch with you and you have only to let me know if you need advice or help. Your father and mother were good friends of mine.’

Clotilde said in a tight voice; ‘Yes, they had a great number of friends. They were happy here.’ She didn’t dare say more; the thought of leaving the old house almost choked her.

Mr Trent was in no hurry to go. He sat for a time, talking gently about nothing in particular, and she was surprised to see that he had been with her for an hour when he finally got up from his chair. She went with him to his car, thanked him for his kindness, assured him that she and Rosie would be all right, and stood on the step until he had driven sedately away.

She would have to tell Bruce. Her heart sank at the thought; it would be a bitter blow to him—to them both. Bruce had no family to offer to help and nor had she. It would mean that he would have to go as an assistant in a practice and she would have to go on working, even if they married. Certainly it put paid to Sir Oswald’s offer. She lifted her head and walked quickly into the sitting room. The quicker she told him, the better.

The room was empty and after a moment she went along to the kitchen; he might be there with Rosie. But he wasn’t. Rosie was sitting in her shabby old chair by the Aga with Tinker at her feet.

‘There you are, love. Dr Johnson waited as long as he could. He said he simply had to get back to the hospital.’

‘But he didn’t say…’ Clotilde didn’t finish what she was going to say; there was no point in feeling hurt and surprised. Bruce was a busy man, and his time was seldom his own. ‘Oh, well,’ she said with forced cheerfulness, ‘we’ll have that marvellous meal together, Rosie. There are some things I have to tell you too.’

She told Rosie everything, and why not? She had been with the family for so long that she was part of it. At first she refused the annuity. ‘Better you had it, Miss Tilly— I’ve got my niece to go to and next year I’ll have the old age pension.’

‘No, Rosie, Father and Mother wanted you to have it— I’ve got quite a good salary, you know, and I live at the hospital. There’s one thing, Mr Trent says we shan’t have to go for several months, that’ll give us time to get things straightened out.’

‘You’ll be getting married, no doubt. Nothing to wait for, is there?’

Clotilde hesitated. ‘Well, Rosie, it’s like this— Bruce wants to buy himself into a practice. It was all arranged, Father was going to give us the money when we married, but of course, that’s not possible now.’

‘Maybe not, Miss Tilly, but Dr Johnson’s got a good steady job, hasn’t he? And I suppose you could go on working until the babies come.’

‘Yes, yes, I suppose so. We’ll have to talk about it. I’ll be seeing him soon, I expect. Did he say if he was going to phone?’

Rosie shook her head. ‘Not a word. To tell you the truth, he was a mite put out because you were so long with Mr Trent. Said his time was valuable and he couldn’t hang around for hours.’

A bit different, thought Clotilde, from the Bruce who had been the picture of efficient, caring concern in front of all those who had come to the funeral. She checked her thoughts with something of a shock; he had been kind and thoughtful and he was a busy man, it must have been difficult for him to have got away from St Alma’s even for a few hours. She hated herself for being disloyal and promised herself she would ring him up presently and thank him for coming.

The next few days went by on dragging feet. There were a number of sad little jobs to do and when they were finished with she turned her attention to the garden. It was a charming place, her father’s pride, and it needed tidying up for the winter, although there were still masses of late summer flowers. But there were leaves to sweep up, and the last of the roses to deadhead, and the chrysanthemums to tie back. And there was Tinker to take for walks; a subdued dog these days, and Clotilde was beginning to worry as to what would happen to him. Thank heaven, she thought for the hundredth time, that they had a respite of a few months in which to plan the future for the best.

She found herself wondering about Dr Thackery and wished she knew him well enough to tell him of the turn of events and ask his advice. But he had already done enough, she decided, and Bruce would surely advise her.

She had telephoned on the day after the funeral, but he hadn’t been in the hospital and he hadn’t phoned either. At the end of a week she wrote him a brief letter, saying that she intended returning to work in two days’ time. She wrote to Sally, too, and the Senior Nursing Officer and Fiona Walters.

Bruce telephoned the next day. He had been rushed off his feet, he told her, but he would be down on the following afternoon to drive her back. There would be a lot to talk about, he added, they could discuss their future on the way.

Clotilde packed her few things, made sure that Rosie’s niece would be coming, arranged for the teenage son of a neighbour to take Tinker for at least one walk a day, then sat down to think what she was going to say to Bruce. It was going to be difficult and she dreaded it.

He arrived after lunch and his greeting was all that she could have wished for; the faint feeling of disquiet she had been experiencing about him must have been a result of the awful happenings of the last week or so. She bade Rosie goodbye, begged her niece to make herself at home, give Tinker a final hug and got into the car.

They drove for a few minutes in silence until Bruce said: ‘Well, it’s been a rotten time for you, darling. But now you must look ahead. I’ve been thinking, as soon as the will’s proved and the money free, I’ll buy myself in and we can get married. Sir Oswald’s willing to wait a month or two. It’s more than your father was going to give us, but I thought perhaps you’d put some of your own money into it.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘You shall have it back a hundredfold when I’m famous!’

‘There isn’t any money,’ said Clotilde dully. It wasn’t the way she had intended to tell him, but there was no help for it.

‘No money? Darling, if it wasn’t such a serious matter, I’d believe you were joking!’

‘I’m not. It’s true, there is no money—even the house has to go. I was going to tell you when Mr Trent went, but you’d gone, and it’s not the sort of thing one can shout down the telephone.’

‘Your father promised…’ persisted Bruce, and his voice had a peevish note.

‘Yes, I know. I’ll tell you exactly what Mr Trent said.’ She gave him the account of the interview word for word, talking into a silence which got colder and colder.