A Winter Love Story. Бетти Нилс
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.
It was furnished sparsely, with a desk and chair, two other chairs along one wall, and a great many shelves stuffed with paper files. The woman behind the desk had a narrow, pale face, a straight haircut in an unbecoming bob and small dark eyes. She looked up as Claudia went in, pursing her mouth and frowning a little.
‘Miss Ramsay? It’s too late for you to do much for the rest of the day. I’ll get someone to show you your room and take you to where you will be working. But if you will draw up a chair I will explain your schedule to you.’
Not a very good start, reflected Claudia, but perhaps the poor soul was tired.
Her duties were many and varied and rather vague. She would work from seven o’clock until three in the afternoon three days a week, and her free day would follow that duty, and for the other three days the hours would be three o’clock in the afternoon until ten o’clock at night.
‘The off duty is arranged so that you are free from three o’clock before your day off, and not on duty until three o’clock on the day following.’
Two nights at home, thought Claudia, and felt cheered by the thought.
She asked politely, ‘Am I to call you Matron?’
‘Miss Norton,’ she was told, in a manner which implied that she should have known that without being told. She was dismissed into the care of a small woman with a kind face and a bright smile, who told her that her name was Nurse Symes.
‘You’re on duty in the morning,’ she told her. ‘Ward B—that’s on the other wing. First floor, thirty beds. Sister Clark is in charge there.’
She paused, and Claudia said encouragingly, ‘And…?’
‘She’s terribly overworked, you know—we can’t get the staff. She doesn’t mean half she says.’
‘Tell me, what exactly do I do? General assistant covers a lot of ground, and Miss Norton was a bit vague.’
‘Well, dear, there aren’t many trained nurses, so you do anything that’s needed.’
They got into the lift at the back of the hall and stepped out on the top floor, went through a door with ‘Private’ on it and started down another corridor lined with doors.
‘Here we are,’ said Nurse Symes. ‘Quite a nice room, and the bathrooms are at the end. There’s a little kitchen too, if you want to make tea.’
The room was small, with a bed, a small easy chair, a bedside table and a clothes cupboard. It was very clean and there was a view of chimneypots from its window. There was a washbasin on one corner, and