‘Good evening, Dr Mallard.’ She spoke as if she had seen him just the other day, her voice quiet and even, and he was immediately aware she was on her guard. The ugly face with its big hooked nose was expressionless but her eyes were wary. ‘Can I offer you a hot drink?’
‘Thank you.’ He didn’t like to look about him, but he couldn’t hold Florrie’s eyes for much longer either, so he walked across to join Sarah in front of the fire, saying as he did so, ‘I’ve been too long in the south. I’d forgotten just how cold it can be in these parts.’
‘Put a drop of whisky in the doctor’s tea, Florrie lass,’ Maggie interjected. ‘You’re not a teetotaller, are you, lad?’
‘No.’ He smiled at Maggie as he turned to face the room again with his back to the fire. It was a pleasant room, he noted now, with something akin to surprise. Shabby but pleasant. Whether it was the long red drapes at the window, or the blaze of the fire, he didn’t know, but there was an atmosphere of peace and warmth, space even, which was unusual in such neighbourhoods as this one, where living space was at a premium.
‘I didn’t think you was. All the doctors I’ve ever known have liked a tipple.’ She spoke as if she had known hundreds, and again the urge to laugh was upon him, or at least, he thought it was the urge to laugh until the lump in his throat told him otherwise. ‘Anyway, sit yourself down, lad, an’ I’ll find a bit of somethin’ to go with that tea. We’ve been waitin’ on this one arrivin’ ’ - she inclined her head towards Sarah who had walked over and sat down on the leather couch as Maggie had been talking - ‘an’ me stomach’s thinkin’ me throat’s bin cut.’ So saying she bustled out of the room after Florrie, leaving Rodney and Sarah alone.
Sarah sat quietly on the leather couch without speaking; she had a strange feeling on her that she couldn’t have explained to anyone, but it had to do with the unspoken question in Maggie’s eyes. Why hadn’t she told them it was the doctor who was driving her up? She should have, she knew that, he had been just as much a friend of Maggie’s years ago as he had hers, and it would have given Florrie a chance to prepare herself too, but somehow . . . somehow she just hadn’t been able to. She knew he had thought it odd too, when he had asked her earlier that day what time she had told Maggie to expect them, and she had answered she had told Maggie she wasn’t sure if she was travelling by train or with a friend, and to expect her any time.
Why hadn’t she told them?
She bit on her lip and lowered her head as the answer came. Because she had been frightened to voice it in case the verbalizing of it had prevented it from happening. But that was daft.
She
was daft.
‘I should have written and told them you were bringing me.’
It was quiet, and there was a pause before Rodney said, ‘Oh, I think it was a nice surprise. At least I hope it was a nice surprise?’
The note in his voice made her smile, as it was meant to, and when she said, ‘I think Maggie and Florrie thought it peculiar I didn’t mention it beforehand,’ she was more relaxed.
‘Well in my line of work it could easily not have happened. You wouldn’t believe how many cancelled engagements I add up in a month. One of the first things they warn you about at medical school is never to assume anything, whether it’s about a patient’s symptoms or when you might eat your next meal.’
‘It’s as bad as that?’ She smiled at the mocking hangdog expression on his face.
‘Worse.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘They really shouldn’t go to any trouble, you know.’ He gestured towards the open door through which voices were filtering from the kitchen at the end of the hall. ‘I’m sure Martin and Ruth will be able to rustle up a little supper for me.’
‘Where do your friends live?’
‘Kelton Park. Do you know it?’
She had heard of it. Nob hill, as Maggie described the exclusive area on the outskirts of town. The small estate of new houses was only five years old, and most of the gardens had tennis courts and you could barely see your next door neighbour for the amount of landscaped ground between you. Kelton Park. Nothing could have emphasized the difference between them more.
She shook her head in answer to his question, before saying, ‘Not personally, no, but I’m sure it’s very nice.’
They continued to talk until Maggie and Florrie bustled in with plates laden with sandwiches and cake, and when Sarah saw the small sandwiches were cut wafer-thin, and that there were fancy doilies under the food, she wanted to kiss the pair of them and tell them not to worry. She loved these two rooms, and she loved them, and if Rodney couldn’t accept them all for who and what they were, then that was his misfortune. Almost in the same moment Sarah berated herself for her hypocrisy. She
did
want him to see her as being able to fit into his world, and that was probably what Maggie and Florrie had sensed.
But that wasn’t wrong, was it? To want to improve yourself was natural enough, surely, and a healthy ambition, as long as it was done in the right way and for the right reasons?
As though it were yesterday, a passage from the Bible which Matron Cox had drummed into them every evening after dinner when they were obliged to kneel for a Bible reading and prayers before going up to the dormitories and retiring for the night, came into her mind. ‘Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.’ The Matron had insisted it was God’s word to humble and admonish them to work diligently and without reward, but it had depressed Sarah more than she could ever express, because she had known then, young as she was, that she wanted to make something of herself.
But perhaps the Matron had been right? No, no of course she hadn’t been, she reproached herself immediately. And she didn’t believe God thought so either. He wasn’t up there waiting to beat you over the head with a big stick and laughing when it all went wrong, whatever interpretation Matron Cox had chosen to put on that particular verse.
She had dreams, and she wasn’t ashamed of them. She didn’t want to remain in service all her life, and she
did
want her own home and a family with the man she loved and who loved her. And the other dream, the one that had been with her for as long as she could remember, she would make that happen too. She
would
find her mother, however painful the result of her quest might be.
Rodney left shortly after nine o’clock, and the three women watched the beautiful car drive away down the dark deserted street with very different feelings.
Florrie’s thoughts were less than charitable, on the whole. She knew Dr Mallard didn’t like her. Oh, he’d been polite enough, smiling and saying all the right things, but she could sense how he felt and she just hoped he wasn’t going to make a habit of calling in if he was up visiting these friends of his again. He made her feel . . . uncomfortable. She wasn’t proud of her part in the events which had led him into Sarah’s life; she’d give the world to undo the hurt she’d caused her bonny lass at that time, but Sarah bore her no grudge and that was the main thing.
Florrie’s thin lips compressed and her big nose flared as the car turned the corner with a cheerful honk of its horn. It was all right for him; it was all right for most men if it came to that. Oh, it was a man’s world all right, there was no getting away from it.
Maggie, on the other hand, gazed down the street after the car with a feeling of excitement mingling with faint apprehension. Fancy her lass and the doctor meeting up like that - it was fate, that’s what it was. And he had no side to him, he never had had, unlike most of his class, but . . . Her brow furrowed. He
was
one of the top nobs when all was said and done.
Times were changing mind you, oh aye, she knew that. Look at Katie Taggart taking up with Colonel Smythe’s son, and hardly a raised eyebrow, but still . . . The feeling of unease increased. If she wasn’t much mistaken, his attitude towards the lass was more paternal than anything. And that wouldn’t matter - no, it’d be just fine if Sarah thought of him in the same way. But if she did . . . Maggie sucked in her bottom lip as her eyes narrowed at the disappearing car. If she did, why hadn’t Sarah told them he was bringing her home? And why was she . . . skittish?
Oh, she was probably running away with herself here. Florrie always said she had to have something to worry about before she was happy, but she knew her lass, that was the thing, and although Sarah might not be aware of it herself she was definitely skittish. And she hadn’t seen her like that before.
Sarah watched the car until it turned the corner, and then she touched Maggie’s arm lightly. ‘Come on in, you two, you’ll catch your deaths out here.’
It had been strange coming home in such style, she thought to herself as the three of them turned to enter the house. Strange, but very nice. And Rodney was nice, oh, he was. Different to how she remembered, more serious and reserved perhaps, but then that was the war no doubt. You couldn’t go through something like that and come out just the same. But she was glad she had been able to travel up with him, and the last hour or so, when he’d sat and chatted with Maggie and she had been able to watch his face as he had talked, had made him more . . . familiar again.
Her mind was teeming with all the impressions of the long day and she wanted nothing more than to be alone and able to digest her thoughts in peace and quiet, but Maggie hadn’t got through the door before she said, ‘You didn’t mention you’d seen the doctor again, lass. How did that come about? Last I heard, a couple of years ago now, he was still a prisoner-of-war, poor devil.’
Sarah continued walking through into the room they had just vacated, resuming her seat in front of the fire before she said, ‘I was visiting Peggy’s lodgings and he was attending Mrs Cole’s mother. She’s got a bad heart.’
Maggie wasn’t interested in Mrs Cole’s mother’s bad heart. ‘When was that then?’
‘Oh, two, perhaps three weeks ago. I don’t remember.’
The reserved note Maggie detected in Sarah’s voice gave the lie to the casual answer, and the glance that flashed between her and Florrie was knowing. ‘An’ he offered to bring you back this weekend then?’
‘Yes. I . . . I met him for tea one afternoon, and I happened to say I was missing you all. He’d got friends he wanted to visit up here, so he suggested we could travel together.’ Sarah knew she would have to bring it out into the open, it was clear they had thought it odd she hadn’t mentioned she’d met Rodney, so now she turned, her cheeks slightly pink as she said, ‘Of course, with him being a doctor he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get away until the last minute so I didn’t mention he might be bringing me in case you were disappointed.’ It sounded weak to her own ears, let alone theirs.
‘Aye, I can understand that, lass.’
Sarah glanced first at Maggie and then Florrie before she said, her words rushed, ‘Perhaps I should have told you but I didn’t want you to go to any trouble. Thank you for making him so welcome.’
‘He don’t have to wait for an invitation, not that man.’
It was noticeable to both Sarah and Maggie that Florrie said nothing, and the silence stretched before Sarah rose and said, ‘I’m very tired, we’ve been travelling since early morning. Would it be all right if I went to bed and we talked tomorrow?’
Maggie nodded at her. ‘Aye, lass, you get yourself off to bed an’ we’ll do our jawin’ in the mornin’. Rebecca was here earlier. She had to go when you were late comin’, but she’ll be back the morrer no doubt. The shakedown’s all made up atween our beds in the other room, an’ there’s a bottle already in it. Take this last sup of tea in with you, lass, an’ have it in bed.’
Sarah took the tea after giving both women a quick hug, and the room she entered a moment later via the hall was similar in size to the sitting room, and like that one gave the overall impression of warmth and cheer in the face of adversity.
It was more cluttered than the sitting room, holding two three-quarter-size iron beds with thick flock mattresses and worn brown blankets, a large and battered oak chest, a small wardrobe, two old straight-backed chairs on each of which reposed a towel, flannel and soap, along with a stone bedwarmer, and a small stool in the corner of the room under the window holding a large enamel bowl and jug.
But it was to the bright yellow curtains at the window, their sunshine colour reflected in the worn satin eiderdowns covering both beds, that the eye was drawn, and to the large, thick, gaily coloured clippy mat which stood in front of the open fireplace in which a glowing fire was burning.