A Winter Love Story

Mrs Ramsay beamed at her. ‘Oh, Claudia, really? I mean, it’s something you want to do, not just any old job you’re taking to make things easy for us?’

To tell a lie was sometimes necessary, reflected Claudia, if it was to a good purpose, and surely this was. ‘It’s exactly what I’m looking for—quite good money and I can come back here for weekends and holidays, if George will have me?’

‘Of course we’ll have you.’ Her mother squeezed her arm. ‘Isn’t it strange how everything is coming right despite Uncle William’s horrid cousin? And George has found a place for Jennie—they were looking for someone up at the Manor, so she will still keep her friends in the village and see Mrs Pratt and Tombs if she wants to.’

‘Good. Now, when will you marry?’

‘Well, as soon as George can get a licence.’

‘You’ll stay with him, of course?’

‘Mrs Pratt and Tombs will be with me.’

‘Mr Ramsay wants to talk to you about his plans. He didn’t say anything at lunch…’

‘Perhaps this evening.’

He was waiting for them when they got back. ‘Be good enough to come to my study?’ he asked Mrs Ramsay. ‘I dare say Claudia has things to do.’

Dismissed, she went to her room; there were clothes to pack and small, treasured ornaments she had been given since childhood to be wrapped and stowed in boxes. As soon as Mr Ramsay went back to York Dr Willis would come and load up his car and stow everything they didn’t want in his attics.

She hoped that the new owner of the house would stay away for several days, for they all intended to be gone, the house empty of people, by the time he and his wife arrived. He had said nothing to Tombs or Mrs Pratt, nor to Jennie; perhaps he expected them to stay on until he saw fit to discharge Tombs. He was arrogant enough to suppose that Mrs Pratt and Jennie would be only too thankful to remain in his service.

Since it was teatime, she went downstairs and found her mother in the morning room. There was no sign of Mr Ramsay, and at her questioning look Mrs Ramsay said, ‘He’s gone to see the vicar. He’s going to York tomorrow afternoon and returning with Monica in two days’ time. I am to tell Mrs Pratt and Jennie that they are to stay on in his employment—he hasn’t bothered to ask them if they want to—and I’m to dismiss Tombs.’

‘Why doesn’t he do his own dirty work?’ demanded Claudia. ‘What else?’

‘He avoided asking me where you and I were going; he made some remark about us having friends and he was sure we had sufficient funds to tide us over until we had settled somewhere.’

‘Mother, he’s despicable. Does he know about you and George?’

‘No, I’m sure he doesn’t, for he made a great thing of offering to send on our belongings once we had left.’

‘Have you had a chance to tell Tombs?’

‘No, I’d better go now; if he comes back, come and let me know.’

Not a word was said about their departure during dinner, and the following day Mr Ramsay got into his car and drove himself back to York.

‘You may, of course, remain until the day following our return,’ he told Mrs Ramsay. ‘Monica will wish to be shown round the house.’ He looked over her head, avoiding her eyes. ‘Kindly see that Tombs has gone by the time we return.’

He turned back at the door. ‘It will probably be late afternoon by the time we get here. Tell Mrs Pratt to have a meal ready and see that the maid has the rooms warm.’

Mrs Ramsay lowered her eyes and said, ‘Yes,’ meekly. She looked very like her daughter. ‘I’m sure that if you think of anything else you will phone as soon as you get home.’

They waited a prudent hour before starting on their packing up. He was, observed Claudia, the kind of man who would sneak back to make sure that they weren’t making off with the spoons. They collected their belongings, taking only what was theirs, and presently, when Dr Willis drove up, loaded his car. Mr Ramsay had said two days before he returned, but to be on the safe side they had decided to move out on the following day.

Dr Willis would have taken them all to his house for supper, but they refused and, while Mrs Pratt got a meal for them, began on the business of leaving the house in perfect condition. Tombs was set to polish the silver, Jennie saw to the bedrooms, and Claudia and her mother hoovered and dusted downstairs. After supper, tired but happy, they all went to bed.

They were up early in the morning, making sure that there was nothing with which the new owner could find fault, and as soon as the morning surgery was over Dr Willis came to fetch them to his house. He had to make two journeys, and Claudia left last of all, wheeling her bike and leading Rob on his lead. Mr Ramsay had a key—he had taken care to have all of the keys in his possession—but she had a key to the garden door which she had kept. She wasn’t sure why and she didn’t intend to tell anyone.

Dr Willis’s housekeeper had already left, and Mrs Pratt slipped into the kitchen as though she had been there all her life, taking Tombs and Jennie with her.

‘There are an awful lot of us,’ worried Mrs Ramsay as they ate the lunch the unflappable Mrs Pratt had produced.

‘The house is large enough, my dear, and Jennie goes to her new job tomorrow.’

‘And I go to mine in a day or two,’ said Claudia.

‘You’re quite happy about it?’ he asked her kindly. ‘There’s no hurry, you know.’

‘It sounds just what I’m looking for. When will you marry? I’d like to come to the wedding.’

‘Darling, we wouldn’t dream of getting married unless you were there.’

‘Within the week, I hope,’ said George. ‘Very quiet, of course, just us and a few friends here at the church. I’ve put a notice in the Telegraph.’

Everyone in the village knew by now that there was a new owner at Colonel Ramsay’s house. Those that had met him didn’t like him overmuch. The postman, who had been spoken to sharply by Mr Ramsay because he whistled too loudly as he delivered the letters and had been discovered drinking tea in the kitchen, had promised that any letters would be delivered to the doctor’s house. The village considered Mr Ramsay an outsider, for he had made no effort to be pleasant. Even the vicar, a mild and godly man, pursed his lips when his name was mentioned.

There was a letter for Claudia the next morning. Her references had been accepted for the post of general assistant and she should present herself without delay to take up her duties. The list enclosed was vague about these, but the off duty seemed fair enough. She was to have two days a week free and the money was adequate. There was accommodation for her within the hospital.

She wrote back at once, accepting the post, and saying that she would present herself for duty in the early evening of the following day. Feeling pleased that things were turning out so well, she went away to unpack and repack what she would need to take with her.

Dr Willis drove her to Southampton after lunch the following day, and that same afternoon, as dusk was gathering, Mr Ramsay came back to take possession of his new home. An arrogant man, and insensitive to other people’s feelings, he had taken it for granted that he would be received suitably—the house lighted and warm, a meal waiting to be put on the table, Mrs Ramsay there to show his wife round, Jennie to see to the luggage. He got out of the car and surveyed the dark, silent house with a frown before unlocking the door.

It was obvious that there was no one there. Monica pushed past him, switched on the lights and looked around her. She saw the letter on the side table and opened it. Mrs Ramsay wrote politely that as Mr Ramsay had requested they had left the house. And, since neither Mrs Pratt or Jennie wished to work for him, they had also left. There was food in the fridge, the fires were laid ready to light and the beds were aired and made up.

Monica laughed. ‘You told them you wanted them out, and they’ve gone. I wonder where they went?’

‘It’s of no consequence. We can get help from the village easily enough, and I had nothing in common with either Mrs Ramsay or that daughter of hers.’

‘A pity about the servants…’

‘Easily come by in a small place like this—they’ll be only too glad to have the work.’

‘There was a butler, you said.’

‘Oh, he was too old to work. I dare say he has found himself a room or gone to live with someone. He’d have his pension.’

His wife gave him a long look. ‘You’re a heartless man, aren’t you? You’d better bring in the luggage while I find the kitchen and see what there is to eat.’

Dr Willis left Claudia at the door of the hospital with some reluctance. The place looked gloomy and down at heel, and he was sorry that he hadn’t found out about it before. True, geriatric hospitals were usually the last ones to get face lifts—probably inside it was bright and cheerful enough, and she had wished him goodbye very happily, with the promise that she would be at the wedding. She poked her head through the open window of the car.

‘I know that you and Mother will be happy. You really are a very nice man, George.’

She picked up her case and went into the hospital.

She knew she wasn’t going to like it before she had gone ten yards from the door, but she ignored that. A tired-looking porter asked her what she wanted, told her to leave her case and follow him and led her down a long passage. He knocked on the door at the end of it. The label on the door said ‘Hospital Manager,’ and when the porter opened the door in answer to the voice inside, she went past him into a small austere room.