An Ideal Wife. Betty Neels
‘No. He wrote to Mr Wolfitt, the surgeon he had in mind, and asked about beds and so on. We’ve had no reply as yet.’
He nodded. ‘And Mr Tait—I see there’s a query on his notes.’
‘Mr Tait can’t make up his mind whether to start a course of treatment or not.’
‘Thank you.’ He glanced up. ‘You are most helpful, Miss Howarth.’
It was after six o’clock when Mr Tait left, still undecided, allowing them to clear up quickly and go home, leaving Dr Gifford sitting at his desk.
‘Poor man,’ said Mrs Grant as they wished each other goodnight on the pavement. ‘I hope there’s someone to look after him.’
‘I should think he’s quite capable of looking after himself,’ said Louisa.
There were only two patients Friday morning, but both were new so they took a good deal longer than usual. Louisa, as neat as a new pin, her overnight bag safely in the cloakroom, got on with her work and wondered if there was any news of Sir James. She had seen Mrs Watts and explained that she would be away from her flat from time to time, and that lady had agreed to keep an eye on the place if she wasn’t there.
‘Mind you, I wouldn’t do it for everyone, but, knowing it’s the doctor that needs you to work for him, I’ll do it willingly.’
Dr Gifford had said they would be leaving at noon and it was precisely that when he came into the waiting room. ‘Ready?’ he wanted to know, and added to Mrs Grant, ‘You’ll lock up and see to everything, Mrs Grant?’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘I’ve left my address and the phone number on the desk; don’t hesitate to let me know if anything crops up which you can’t deal with. You know what to say if anyone wants an appointment?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He took Louisa’s bag from her and ushered her out of the door and down to the pavement, wasted no time in urging her to get into his car, and drove away without speaking.
Louisa allowed five minutes to pass as he crossed the city. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked mildly.
‘Gussage-up-Chettle, just this side of Cranborne.’ He added, ‘The practice is at Blandford; there are surgeries at Cranborne, Broad Chalke and Sixpenny Handley.’
‘Very spread out,’ said Louisa.
‘There is a lot of rural country to cover. Normally we manage very well.’
‘Well, let’s hope that Sir James is back soon. Have you had any news of him?’
He was on the Blandford road, driving fast now. ‘Yes.’
When he had nothing more to say, she said, ‘All right, so you’re not going to tell me anything. It’s a good thing that this is a situation which will soon be over—I hope—for we don’t get on, do we? Of course, it isn’t your fault—you can’t like everyone you meet, can you?’
He had turned off the main road and was driving quite slowly now along country lanes running between farm land. He said coldly, ‘Far be it from me to dispute your opinion, Miss Howarth. Perhaps we might ignore our personal feelings and concentrate on what we have to do. I should appreciate your cooperation.’
‘Oh, I’ll co-operate,’ said Louisa cheerfully. ‘It wouldn’t do for Sir James to come back to chaos, would it?’
His grunt told her nothing.
He turned a corner and there was Gussage-up-Chettle. A handful of cottages, a church set astride a crossroads, fields of ripening wheat stretching away towards gentle tree-covered hills.
‘Oh, very nice,’ said Louisa. ‘I’ve never been here before.’
She didn’t expect an answer and she didn’t get one. He took the left-hand fork, turned in through an open gateway and stopped before a house half-hidden by trees and shrubs. Louisa got out and took a good look at it. It was what an estate agent would have described as a ‘gentleman’s residence’, mostly Regency which had been added to from time to time, for it had a variety of windows at odd levels, wide eaves and a cluster of tall chimneys. The roof was tiled and its walls whitewashed, and the flowerbeds around it were stuffed with flowers—roses of every colour, scabias, wallflowers, morning glory, myrtle, late tulips, forget-me-nots; she lost count.
Dr Gifford had taken her bag from the boot. ‘Come in; lunch will be ready.’
The door stood open, leading to a wide hall, its polished floor strewn with rugs. There was a console table under a giltwood Queen Anne mirror flanked by two side chairs, their high backs upholstered in green velvet. The walls were white with one or two fine paintings which she had no time to study, for the baize door at the back of the hall was opened and a woman as tall and big as Louisa came to meet them. She was middle-aged, her hair still dark, her features severe, but they broke into a smile as she reached them.
‘Ah, there you are, Rosie,’ said the doctor, and to Louisa, ‘This is my housekeeper, Rosie, Miss Howarth. Rosie, will you take Miss Howarth up to her room?’
He turned to Louisa. ‘Lunch in ten minutes. We shall have time to go through the post before my surgery.’
Louisa paused. ‘What post?’
‘I brought it with me from Salisbury. You can get it answered while you are here.’
He was walking away to a door at the side of the hall, and had it opened and went into the room beyond before she could utter a word.
‘This way, miss,’ said Rosie, and she led the way up a nice old oak staircase to the floor above. ‘This will be your room, and if there’s anything that you need you have only to say.’
Louisa stood in the doorway and looked around her. The room was charming and overlooked what appeared to be a very large garden at the back of the house. It was furnished simply but, she could see at a glance, there was every comfort there.
She said warmly, ‘What a delightful room. Thank you, Rosie.’
The housekeeper nodded. ‘Best not waste time; the doctor’s a punctual man.’
She went away, leaving Louisa very tempted to waste ten minutes doing nothing. That wouldn’t do, of course; she was here to work, and obviously the doctor had already arranged that to his satisfaction. She poked at her hair, did her face, took a quick, refreshing look out of the window and went downstairs.
Lunch was served in a large, airy room, its windows wide open. Its walls were panelled in a pale wood. There was a mahogany bow front sideboard, matching the Georgian dining table with its ring of matching dining chairs, and a carpet worn with age on the floor. A priceless carpet, Louisa thought, taking the chair the doctor had pulled back for her.
‘Will you have some of this cold ham? One of the local farmers cures his own,’ the doctor told her.
She accepted the ham and made a good lunch, for she saw no reason not to. Nothing was quite what she had expected but that couldn’t be helped. The meal was delicious and she was hungry. Nevertheless she endeavoured to make conversation since that was the polite thing to do. But without much success. She was answered civilly, but it was obvious that the doctor was a man who never used two words if one would do.
They had their coffee at the table before he said abruptly, ‘If you will come with me to my study, Miss Howarth?’
It was a comfortable room with an untidy desk, an old-fashioned mahogany office chair behind it and a couple of deep leather chairs drawn up on either side of the fireplace. Louisa sat down on one of the small chairs facing the desk and waited.
‘I have been through most of the letters for Sir James,’ said Dr Gifford, ‘and made notes. If you would answer them suitably? Most of them are straightforward; most of them require two appointments. You have brought the appointment book with you? Arrange them as you think fit, using the timetable we have set up. Phone Mrs Grant if you need