Dearest Love

‘I don’t imagine it will take too much time but you could leave—er—Percy’s supper for him, couldn’t you?’

‘Well, yes.’ She took the puppy from him. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘In between bouts of ill nature,’ he reminded her gently. Then watched the pretty colour in her cheeks. He went to the door. ‘I will be back at four o’clock.’

Arabella crammed a lot into the next few hours. There was still the rubbish to take out to the dustbins outside and the brass on the front door to polish; she would see to those later, she told herself, changing into her decent suit and good shoes and doing her face and her hair. It was important to look as little like a caretaker as possible—she wouldn’t want Dr Tavener to be ashamed of her. She took all the money she had with her, remembering the vet’s bills for the dogs when her parents had been alive and, the picture of unassuming neatness, she went to the front door punctually at four o’clock.

He came in as she put her hand on the doorknob. He didn’t waste time in civilities. ‘Well? Where is the little beast?’

‘In the basement. He’s not allowed up here. I’ll fetch him and bring him out to the car from my front door.’

‘Do that. I’ll be with you in a moment.’ He went along to his rooms and she heard him phone as she went downstairs.

He was waiting by the car as she went through the door and up the steps with the puppy tucked under an arm and ushered her into the front seat, got in beside her and drove off.

The puppy was frightened and Arabella, concerned with keeping him quiet, hardly noticed where they were going. She looked up once and said, ‘Oh, isn’t that the Zoo?’ and Dr Tavener grunted what she supposed to be yes. When he stopped finally and helped her out she looked around her with interest. She didn’t know London very well—in happier days she and her mother had come up to shop or go to a theatre, and birthdays had been celebrated by her father taking them out to dine.

‘Where is this?’ she asked now.

‘Little Venice. The vet lives in this house. His surgery is in the Marylebone Road but he agreed to see the puppy here.’

‘That’s very kind of him.’ She went with him up the steps of the solid town house and, when the door was opened by a sober-looking woman in an apron, followed the doctor inside.

‘He’s expecting us, Mrs Wise,’ said Dr Tavener easily. ‘Are we to go up?’

‘Yes, sir, you’re expected.’

They were met at the head of the stairs by a man of the doctor’s age, tall and thin, already almost bald. ‘Come on in,’ he greeted them. ‘Where’s this puppy, Titus?’

Dr Tavener stood aside so that Arabella came into view. ‘This is Miss Arabella Lorimer—John Clarke, a wizard with animals.’ He waited while they shook hands. ‘Hand over the puppy, Miss Lorimer.’

They all went into a pleasant room, crowded with books and papers. There were two cats asleep on a chair and a black Labrador stretched out before a cheerful fire. ‘Sit down,’ invited Mr Clarke. ‘I’ll take a quick look.’ He glanced at Arabella. ‘Titus has told me about his rescue. At first glance I should imagine that good food and affection will soon put him on his feet.’

He bent over the little beast, examining him carefully and very gently. ‘Nothing much wrong. I’ll give you some stuff to put on those sores and I’ll give him his injections while he’s here. There’s nothing broken or damaged, I’m glad to say. What’s his name?’

‘He hasn’t got one yet.’ She smiled at Mr Clarke, who smiled back.

‘You can decide on that as you go home.’ He handed the puppy back and she thanked him.

‘Would you send the bill or shall I…?’

‘Oh, I don’t charge for emergencies or accidents,’ said Mr Clarke cheerfully. ‘Bring him for a check-up in a month or so—or earlier if you’re worried. There will be a fee for that. Titus knows where the surgery is.’

‘Thank you very much. I hope we haven’t disturbed your Saturday afternoon.’

He flicked a glance at Dr Tavener’s bland face. ‘Not in the least. Nice to meet you and don’t hesitate to get in touch if you are worried.’

Getting into the car again Arabella said, ‘It was very kind of you, Dr Tavener, to bring us to the vet. Mr Clarke is a very nice man, isn’t he? We’ve taken up a lot of your time. If you would drop us off at a bus stop we can go home…’

‘Have you any idea which bus to catch?’

‘Well, no, but I can ask.’

‘I have a better idea. We will have tea and I will drive you back afterwards.’

‘Have tea? Where? And really there is no need.’

‘I said, “have tea”, did I not? I live in the next street and my housekeeper will be waiting to make it. And don’t fuss about Percy—we have been away for rather less than an hour and tea will take a fraction of that time.’

‘The puppy?’

‘Is entitled to his tea as well.’ He had turned into a pleasant street bordering the canal and stopped before his house. ‘Let us have no more questions!’

CHAPTER THREE

CLUTCHING the puppy, Arabella was swept into his house, one of several similar houses with their backs overlooking the canal and their fronts restrainedly Georgian. The hall was square with a curved staircase to one side and several doors leading from it. Out of one of these emerged a large, bony woman with a severe hairstyle and a long thin face.

‘Ah, Alice. Miss Lorimer—this is my housekeeper, Mrs Turner. Alice, I’ve brought Miss Lorimer back for tea; could we have it presently?’

Arabella offered a hand and Mrs Turner shook it and said, ‘How do you do?’ in a severe manner and cast a look at the puppy. ‘In five minutes, sir. And perhaps the young lady would like to leave her jacket.’

‘No need,’ he said cheerfully. ‘She won’t be staying long—it can stay on a chair.’ He took the puppy as he spoke and Arabella took off her jacket and laid it tidily on a rather nice Regency elbow chair and went with him into the drawing-room.

It was large, running from front to back of the house, the back French windows opening on to a small wrought-iron balcony which overlooked the canal. She crossed the room, dimly aware of its beauty but intent on looking out of the window. ‘It isn’t like London at all,’ she declared, ‘and there’s a garden…’

As indeed there was, below the balcony—small, high-walled, screened from the houses on either side by ornamental trees and shrubs, with the end wall built over the water.

Dr Tavener stood watching her and saying nothing and presently, aware of his silence, she turned to look at him. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been rude, but it was such a lovely surprise.’

He smiled then. ‘Yes, isn’t it? I’ve lived here for some years and it still surprises me. Come and sit down and we’ll have tea.’

She looked around her then, at the comfortable chairs and the wide sofa before the fire; the Chippendale giltwood mirror over the fireplace and the rosewood table behind the sofa; the mahogany tripod tables with their lamps and the Dutch marquetry display cabinets each side of the fireplace. It was a beautiful room, furnished beautifully. There was a rosewood writing-table under the windows, its surface covered by silver-framed photos. She would have liked to have examined them but good manners forbade that so she sat down composedly in one of the armchairs as Mrs Turner came in with the tea tray.

Cucumber sandwiches, muffins in a silver dish and a rich fruit cake. She sighed silently and swallowed the lump in her throat; it was a long time since she had seen such a tea, eaten and drunk from fine china with the tea poured from a silver pot.