An Innocent Bride

They went out together, and he locked the door and put the key above it out of sight. ‘At what time shall your aunt return?’

‘She is to spend the day with the Peterses, so soon after tea, I suppose. Supposing she comes back earlier and I am not here?’

‘We will worry about that when it happens.’

Getting into the car, she asked, ‘Where do you live? In London? We’ll never get there and back…’

‘I live in Wherwell—a village south of Andover. I go to and fro to town; it’s an easy drive.’

It was a matter of thirty-five miles or so, and the big car swallowed them effortlessly. Beyond a casual remark from time to time the professor didn’t speak, and Katrina was glad of that as she tried to look into the future.

Of course she had always known that Aunt Thirza wouldn’t live for ever, but she had dismissed such thoughts from her mind as morbid. Her aunt had always seemed the same to her: brisk and matter-of-fact, full of energy, with a finger in every village pie. And as to her own future she had taught herself not to dwell too much on that. She was twenty-four, and the years she might have spent at university and later in some worthwhile job had slipped away, just as her chances of meeting a man who would want to marry her were slipping away.

Indeed, she knew very few young men, and they were either on the verge of marriage or already married. There had been men who had shown an interest in her, of course, but Aunt Thirza had frightened them off, though not intentionally.

She was roused from her thoughts by the professor observing that Wherwell was round the next bend in the country road, and she looked around her.

She fell in love with it immediately. There was no one around and the place drowsed in Sunday calm, the charming houses lining the street grouped round the church like a chocolate box picture.

When he stopped outside his own front door she got out slowly and stood looking around her.

‘You live here?’ she asked, and blushed because it was such a silly question. ‘Such a beautiful house. You’re married, of course, and have children?’

He didn’t speak for a moment, looking down his splendid nose at her, and the blush, which had been fading, returned with a vengeance.

‘I am not married, nor do I have children. There is, of course, always that possibility in the future.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that. It’s none of my business.’

‘No. It isn’t. You feel that the house is wasted on me?’

‘No, no. It’s so beautiful—and the garden…’

‘Yes. I enjoy the garden; the house has been in the family for a long time.’

Peach had opened the door, gravely welcoming his master and then, when he was introduced to Katrina, shaking the hand she offered. A nice young lady, he thought, a sight nicer than that Mrs Carew. Widow she might be, and handsome enough, but never so much as wished him good day. If ever she managed to marry the professor Peach felt in his bones that he and Mrs Peach would be in for a rough time.

He said now, ‘The dogs are in the garden, sir.’ And indeed their barks made that evident enough. ‘Would you and Miss Gibbs like coffee?’

‘No, thanks, Peach, we’ve had it. May we have lunch in half an hour or so?We have to go back in a couple of hours.’

‘I’ll tell Mrs Peach. Would the young lady like to refresh herself?’

The professor eyed Katrina. ‘She looks all right to me.’

He lifted eyebrows at Katrina, who said coldly, ‘Thank you, not at the moment.’

‘Good. We’ll be in the garden, Peach.’

He walked her down the hall and out of the door at its end, to be met by Barker and Jones. Katrina offered a fist to Barker. ‘He’s beautiful,’ she said, and scratched the top of his sleek head, and then bent down to do the same for Jones.

‘Why Jones?’ she asked.

‘We are not quite sure, but we suspect that there may be Welsh blood in him. A trace of Corgi.’

‘They’re friends?’

‘Oh, yes. Jones is Barker’s faithful follower!’

He led the way along a garden path to a gazebo over looking a pool fed by a small rivulet emerging from a clump of trees at the end of the garden. Katrina sat down and looked about her. The garden wasn’t formal; it was like a large cottage garden. In full summer, she supposed, it would be full of old-fashioned flowers. One side sloped downhill to the kitchen garden, with high walls, thatched like the house, and on the other side there was a wide green path bordered by flowerbeds. She gave a sigh of content.

‘Will you tell me what I must do to help Aunt Thirza? And what sort of treatment she is to have.’

‘That is my intention. Bad news is never as bad if it is given in the right surroundings, is it? Now sit still and don’t interrupt…’

He didn’t try to make light of the matter, but neither was he full of gloomy forebodings. ‘We must take each day as it comes. Your aunt may fail so slowly that it is barely noticeable; on the other hand she may die without any warning. If you can accept that, it will help you. Don’t stop her from doing what she wishes to do. I think that she is someone who would dislike being an invalid, but try and discreetly curb her activities as much as possible. Dr Peters will be keeping an eye on her and will keep you up to date. Now, as to diet…’

Katrina listened carefully, and the thought crossed her mind that perhaps she didn’t dislike him after all. She didn’t like him, but only because she knew nothing about him, and she was grateful to him…

The professor glanced at his watch, whistled the dogs, and they went back to the house to have lunch. Aunt Thirza wasn’t mentioned again. Instead he led the talk to Katrina’s own interests, slipping in questions about her life so that by the time they left the table he had a very good idea of it. And pretty dull too, he reflected, watching her pour coffee into the delicate porcelain coffee cups. She might be buried alive in the country, but she had the potential for a career of some sort. He asked abruptly, ‘How old are you, Katrina?’

‘Twenty-four. Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a girl how old she is?’

‘I stand corrected. Unfortunately it is a question I have to ask all my patients—it has become a bad habit.’

‘Oh, well, I don’t mind. How old are you, Professor?’

He laughed, and she thought that he looked ten years younger. ‘Thirty-nine. Middle-aged.’

‘Rubbish, no one is middle-aged these days. You were fifteen when I was born…’

‘You had a happy childhood, Katrina, for those first twelve years?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’She wanted to ask him if he had been happy as a boy, but she didn’t dare. She mustn’t allow herself to get too friendly with him, although she didn’t think that there was much fear of that. He would never allow it.

Presently he said, ‘We should be going,’ and she got to her feet at once, anxious not to outstay her welcome.

‘It was kind of you to ask me to come here,’ she told him. ‘I hope I haven’t spoilt your day.’ And, when Peach came into the hall, she said, ‘Will you tell Mrs Peach that lunch was lovely? I wish I could cook like that.’

Indeed it had been lovely. Potted shrimps and brown bread and butter, cut wafer-thin, rack of lamb with tiny new potatoes, and rhubarb fool to follow with clotted cream. The professor certainly lived well. Sitting beside him in the car, she wondered if he earned a great deal of money, and thought he probably did. Dr Peters had said that he was highly regarded, and of course it must cost a great deal to train as a doctor. She voiced her thoughts out loud.

‘Does it cost a lot of money to train as a doctor?’

If he was surprised by her question he didn’t show it.

‘Yes, but it isn’t only the money; it’s the years of hard work.’

‘Have you been a doctor for a long time?’