The Convenient Wife

He went away presently with a polite wish that she should enjoy her evening and go to bed at a reasonably early hour, and she in her turn was invited by Todd to accompany him to a pleasant room at the back of the house, where she dined deliciously and in solitary state, and then, not wishing to disrupt the household more than necessary, elected to go to bed.

To her surprise the professor was in the hall, magnificent in a dinner-jacket and looking ill-tempered. He was listening to someone on the telephone, and said curtly, ‘I have been delayed, unavoidably so.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I should with luck be with you in twenty minutes.’ He put down the phone, frowned at her, rumbled something which might have been goodnight, and let himself out of the house.

Venetia stood on the bottom stair and listened to the car being driven away. A staid tabby cat had arranged itself comfortably on one of the high-backed chairs in the hall, and she addressed it for lack of any other audience. ‘Poor man. I am being a nuisance, but he didn’t have to make it quite so obvious, did he? I dare say that was his girlfriend telling him off.’

The cat settled herself just so and began on a meticulous toilet, and Venetia turned and went upstairs. ‘I am lapped in luxury,’ she told herself as she went, ‘so I have no reason to feel lonely.’ But she was.

She spent all of ten minutes wondering about the professor, guessing wildly at his life, wondering, too, whereabouts he lived in Holland. No wife, she decided. Somehow he didn’t strike her as the kind of man to leave his wife at home while he took up residence somewhere else for weeks on end. She was inventing a beautiful blonde sitting opposite him in some exclusive restaurant at the very moment when she fell asleep.

A cheerful girl brought her early-morning tea, wished her a good morning and begged her to stay in bed, since Mrs Todd was even then cooking her breakfast and would bring it up herself.

Which that good lady did, not ten minutes later: scrambled eggs, crisp toast, orange juice and a pot of coffee. ‘And mind you eat every crumb, miss,’ she urged. ‘You could do with a bit more flesh on your bones. A nasty time you’ve been having, by all accounts, and a good lie-in will do you the world of good. There’ll be coffee if you want it when you come downstairs, and I’ll dish up a nice little lunch at half-past twelve sharp, since the professor expects to be home earlier than he thought. Phoned he did, ten minutes ago. He’ll have a sandwich and a glass of beer at the hospital and then come right home.’

Venetia longed to ask questions, there was so much she wanted to know about the professor, but she held her tongue. Mrs Todd was a kind little chatterbox, but she suspected that to chatter about her employer would be the last thing the housekeeper would do.

She ate her breakfast, had a bath—much too hot and lengthy—dressed and went downstairs. Todd, with the cat trailing him, came to meet her in the hall. ‘Good morning, miss. The professor asked me to suggest to you that you should decide which firm you wish to employ to dispose of your furniture. It will save time this afternoon, and allow arrangements to be made.’

He opened the door to the room where she had had dinner. There was a fire burning brightly, and coffee on a tray placed invitingly on a drum table, by a small armchair. ‘I have put the local telephone directory on the table in the window, miss. Also today’s newspaper.’

After the bleak weeks she had struggled through it seemed like a dream world. She sipped coffee and studied the lists of firms who might be suitable. There were one or two things she would like to keep: a papier-mâché work-table which had belonged to her mother, a small collection of her grandmother’s books, one or two pieces of silver left from more affluent days… She made a tidy list of these, picked out the more modest firms who might dispose of the furniture, and opened the Daily Telegraph, suppressing a feeling of guilt because she wasn’t going to do anything useful.

She lunched deliciously: watercress soup, cream sitting on its smooth green; a cheese soufflé; baked apple dumplings with a rich custard; and more coffee afterwards. She was just finishing her second cup when the professor walked in. He was followed by Todd, bringing fresh coffee, and sat down at the table. Venetia wished him good afternoon and received a beetle-browed stare. Evidently he was in no need of the niceties of speech; she finished her coffee and waited silently.

‘If you have decided what you wish to do with your furniture and who is to deal with it, there is no reason why the business shouldn’t be settled at once. Presumably you don’t have any more days off for another week?’

‘No, I don’t. And I should like to get everything settled today and tomorrow. I have chosen a firm I think will do. A local business—perhaps they could collect the furniture before I go back to the hospital.’

He put down his cup. ‘Then let us go without delay.’

‘Give me two minutes,’ begged Venetia, and belted upstairs to fetch her coat and handbag. He was obviously impatient to get the whole business settled; indeed, she suspected that he probably regretted even offering to help her in the first place. Well, two could be businesslike; she nipped down to the hall, intent on getting through the afternoon’s business as quickly as possible.

Things went smoothly. At the professor’s instigation, someone from the house furnishers she had elected to go to accompanied them to her grandmother’s house and, since it was a small place and there wasn’t a great deal of furniture, within the hour he had assessed its contents and named a price, with the undertaking that it would be removed on the following day and a cheque for the amount paid to her if she cared to call in the afternoon. Moreover, he offered to store the one or two pieces she wished to keep. The matter nicely settled, they all drove back to his place of business where Venetia arranged to call on the following day.

The professor had had little to say, but what he had said had been very much to the point and with no words wasted. She got back into the car and they drove back to his house and went indoors. In the hall he said, ‘I suggest that you telephone your solicitor and anyone else concerned with your affairs. There’s a phone in the small sitting-room.’ He turned away. ‘You will excuse me if I leave you? I have some letters to dictate before I go back to St Jude’s.’

‘Thank you very much for your help, Professor. I’m very grateful.’

He paused at his study door. ‘You have no relations other than your father’s cousin who has no interest in you?’

‘No.’ He was frowning so heavily that she added kindly, ‘But it doesn’t matter at all, I’ve lots of friends.’

He nodded. ‘I shall be out this evening. Feel free to come and go as you please. You return to your duties tomorrow?’

She made haste to assure him that she would return to the hospital when she had been to receive the cheque from the furniture company. ‘I—I’ve promised to go out in the evening,’ she fibbed, in case he might think that she would want to stay for dinner.

He regarded her thoughtfully, aware of her small lie, even guessing why she had told it. ‘Just as you wish.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I dare say that we shall see each other occasionally in St Jude’s.’

‘Oh, yes, but not to talk to, of course. I’m not supposed to talk to consultants, only to answer them if they ask me something.’

She gave a brisk nod and went upstairs to take off her coat. When she went down again the house was quiet as she went to the small sitting-room and did her telephoning. That done, she sat quietly until Todd came in with the tea-tray and the news that the professor had returned to the hospital and would only come back for a brief visit in order to change for the evening.

She was saved from loneliness by the presence of the cat, who curled up on the chair on the other side of the hearth and went to sleep while she sat with paper and pen, making plans. The money from the furniture sale wasn’t a great deal, but she felt emboldened to spend a little of it; she needed new boots for the winter as well as a topcoat. The remainder she would put in the bank to swell her tiny capital against a rainy day.

And tomorrow, she reflected, she would leave during the morning, for she felt that she had tried the professor’s hospitable instincts to their limit. She could look at the shops, have a snack lunch, collect her cheque and go back to St Jude’s. Having decided things to her satisfaction, she drank the sherry Todd handed to her and sat down to her dinner. It was a pity that her grandmother wasn’t there to share the delicious food. For a moment her firmly suppressed grief threatened to engulf her, but Granny had had no time for self-pity. She was young, and once she had trained she would have a safe, interesting job for as long as she wanted, or until she retired, she supposed. She dreamed of marrying, as any girl of her age would, but she had no looks to speak of and, according to her friends at the hospital, looks were of paramount importance when it came to getting a husband.

She was a sensible girl, and she didn’t dwell on the lack of romance in her future, but made civil conversation with Todd, who was presiding over her dinner. He excused himself when he had served her pudding, and she heard him talking in the hall, and then the professor’s deep voice. Todd came back presently, and after a little while she heard the professor’s step in the hall and the sound of the heavy front door being shut.

She explained to Todd when she went down to breakfast that she would be leaving that morning, refusing his offer of a nice lunch, although she agreed that she wouldn’t go until he had brought her coffee later on in the morning. And, when it came to the point of leaving, she felt real regret as she thanked the Todds for their kindness; the professor’s home had spelt security and calm just when she had needed it. She refused the taxi Todd offered her, and walked to the High Street, where she idled away an hour before having lunch in a small café and then going to collect her cheque. That done, there was nothing to keep her there any longer. She made her way to Percy Lane and found the little house already empty, and, mindful of the solicitor’s instructions, left the keys on the sitting-room mantelshelf and then went quickly away, closing the door behind her and not looking back.

In a way it was a relief to be back at work, even though Staff Nurse Thomas was sharper tongued than usual and there were several testy patients who wanted attention all the time, never mind how busy the nurses were.

Of the professor there was no sign. It wasn’t for a day or two after her return that Caroline, sharing a pot of tea with her before bed, observed that he had gone back to Holland.

‘How do you know?’ asked Venetia. ‘I mean, you knew last time, too…’

‘Tim told me. But he’ll be back. I heard Theatre Sister telling Sister Bolt that there was a brain tumour being sent over from Jersey—he’s bound to be back to deal with it. It’s a teaser, she said, and they always have him over for the nasty ones.’

Two days later she met him in one of the long downstairs corridors. She was on her way to collect a drug which had to be given immediately, and was racing along much too fast. His long arm, shooting out to try to stop her, brought her to a halt.

He had his registrar with him, which probably accounted for his bland, ‘Ah, Nurse Forbes. Your domestic difficulties are at an end, I trust?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’ She had gone a little pink with the unexpectedness of the meeting, and when he nodded in a dismissive manner she smiled a little uncertainly at him and hurried off on her errand. Seeing him brought back the memories she had been trying so hard to stifle. All at once she longed for her grandmother and the little house in Hampstead—more than that, she longed for an anchor, somewhere to call home, somewhere to go when she was free. She hadn’t moped, she had done her best, spending her free days visiting museums and art galleries, eating economical meals in busy cafés so that she had people around her, assuring her friends when they asked her that she simply loved exploring London, anxious not to infringe upon their kind concern for her. And now the professor was back to upset her. She had some holiday due, she would use some of her little capital and go away. Right away, although just for the moment she had no idea where.

The answer came from an unexpected source the very next day. The professor’s registrar stopped her as she was crossing the entrance hall, intent on giving a message to whoever was in the porter’s lodge.

‘Spare a minute?’ he asked pleasantly, and, since he had always been friendly and she liked him, she stopped willingly enough. ‘I say, you may find this awful cheek, but I’m in a spot. I have to go over to Holland with Professor ter Laan-Luitinga, and it means leaving my wife for a week or ten days. She’s expecting a baby and hates to be on her own, and none of her family or mine is free to go and stay with her. Sister Giles was complaining about being short of a nurse while you were on leave, and I wondered—if you hadn’t anything better to do, if you would stay with Lottie?’

She had met his wife once, at Christmas when Mr Miles had brought her round the wards. They had liked each other, but they hadn’t met since. Venetia said slowly, ‘Well, I wasn’t going anywhere—but how does your wife feel about it?’

‘When I suggested it she was pleased. You have met, haven’t you? I remember she liked you. Would you think about it? The professor will be going back to Holland in two or three days’time—he’s got this tricky case to see to, and a backlog of patients to deal with. When do you start your holiday?’

Nothing in his manner suggested to her that he might already know.

‘Well, I’ve days off on Monday and Tuesday, and then my holiday starts.’

‘Couldn’t be better, I believe we’re to go on the Tuesday evening.’

He smiled in his friendly fashion. ‘Leave a message at the lodge if you would like to come; we’d be eternally grateful.’

‘If you’re sure—?’ began Venetia.

‘Quite sure, and you’ve no idea what a load it would be off my mind.’

She thought about it for the rest of the day. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to get away from hospital life, and, when she came to think about it, hadn’t someone told her that Mr Miles had bought a small cottage—somewhere near Beaconsfield? Penn, that was the name, and, although he and his wife had a small flat in one of the new blocks built by the Thames where the docks once were, they spent his free weekends and holidays there. She was a little surprised that he had asked her, but there probably wasn’t anyone suitable free. By the end of the day she had made up her mind to accept his offer.

On the Friday evening he came on to the ward, very properly asked Sister Giles if he might have a word with Venetia, and drew her to one side.

‘Lottie and I are so glad that you will come. She’s at the flat, but if you could be ready to go with us on Tuesday afternoon, we’ll collect you on the way down to the cottage at Penn; she would rather be there.’

He smiled kindly at her and went away, leaving her feeling pleasantly excited at the prospect of a change of scene.

She felt a little anxious as she waited for Mr Miles to fetch her; supposing his wife didn’t like her after all? And what would they do all day? And would she be expected to help in the house? She wasn’t really a guest, but, on the other hand, she wasn’t employed by the Mileses, either.

She need not have worried; she was popped into the car, her luggage was stowed in the boot, and it was evident from the first moment that she and Mr Miles’s wife were going to like each other.

‘Call me Lottie,’ begged the pretty girl sitting beside him, ‘and I shall call you Venetia. You don’t mind?’

It took a little while to leave London behind them, but once on the motorway they were going through Beaconsfield and turning off for Penn in no time at all. It was a charming village, just as Venetia had hoped it would be, with a green and a duck pond, surrounded by seventeenth-century cottages overlooked by the church and the Crown Inn. The Mileses’ cottage was down a narrow lane, standing sideways on to the road; a small, neat house, its garden bare now, although very tidy. Inside there was a welcoming fire in the sitting room, and an appetising smell coming from the kitchen.

‘Mrs Trent,’ explained Lottie. ‘She comes in every day when we’re here, just for an hour or two. Come and see your bedroom—we’ve only got two—Arthur will bring up your case.’

It was a dear little room, pink and blue and white, sparsely furnished, but there was everything one could need. ‘We share the bathroom.’ Lottie beamed at Venetia. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do when baby gets here.’

Venetia peered out of the small window. ‘Couldn’t you build on? There’s lots of room, isn’t there? The garden’s beautiful, and fairly big.’

‘We don’t want to leave here—we love it. Would you like to unpack? Arthur will have to go back almost at once…’

‘Will you wish him a good trip from me? I’d like to unpack, if I may.’

It was obvious from her companion’s face that she had said the right thing. She opened her case and started putting things away, and found that her thoughts, without any prompting from her, had turned to the professor. He would be going home—and to whom?

CHAPTER THREE

THE two of them settled down happily. They had a lot in common, for they were of a similar age and they both liked clothes, books and the theatre. Although Venetia had a small wardrobe, her clothes were as good as she could afford, even if not in the forefront of fashion. As for Lottie, a slavish follower of all fashion, but for the moment wearing voluminous garments which none the less contrived to look smart, she studied the latest Harper’s, her pretty head full of the clothes she would buy when the baby was born.

Mrs Trent came daily to tidy the house and give what she called a good clean through, so Venetia and Lottie had a minimum of chores. They did the shopping, went for a walk each day, and spent the evenings round the fire, roasting chestnuts and knitting garments for the forthcoming infant. Each evening the phone rang, the signal for Venetia to go into the kitchen to start the supper while Lottie spent the next fifteen minutes or so talking to Arthur. It was on their fourth evening there that she remarked, putting down the phone at last, ‘He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, he thinks at least another four days.’

Venetia came to the open door between the kitchen and the sitting-room. ‘What exactly are they doing?’ she wanted to know.

‘Oh, some VIP needed brain surgery. Arthur doesn’t always go with the professor, but now he’s getting much more experienced—the professor’s very generous with his teaching.’ She looked up, smiling. ‘He’s a nice man. Do you see much of him at St Jude’s?’

‘Almost nothing, but he was very kind to me when my grandmother died.’ Venetia began to beat the eggs for an omelette. ‘He stitched up my arm, too.’

Lottie chuckled. ‘I can just imagine the fuss and bother when they discovered that you were on the staff.’

Venetia spooned in water and did a bit more beating. ‘Yes, it was funny, though I couldn’t have cared less at the time.’

‘A nasty experience. I’d have been terrified.’

‘Well, I was, and I felt such a fool—I was sick while my arm was being stitched…’

‘Not very glamorous, but then medical men expect that kind of thing,’ observed Lottie comfortably.

But not very senior consultant surgeons who had descended from Olympian heights to do a bit of sewing on a student nurse’s arm. But Venetia didn’t say that out loud.

It was cold and wet the next day, and they spent it happily enough writing Christmas cards—not that Venetia had many to write, a lack more than made up for by the list Lottie worked her way through.

‘Will you be in hospital over Christmas?’ she wanted to know.

‘Me? Oh, yes. It’s quite fun, you know. We visit the other wards and sing carols, and each ward has a tree.’

‘Could you have leave if you wanted it?’

Venetia said a little too quickly, ‘Not really. We all get some time off, of course, but it’s split up… Will you be here for Christmas?’

‘Yes, Arthur’s got the three days off. We’ll go to his parents’ on Christmas Eve, and mine on Boxing Day, but we’ll have Christmas Day here together.’

‘That’s nice. That shop in the village has got some lovely tree decorations in. Do you want to buy some tomorrow?’

Christmas as a topic of conversation kept them busy until bedtime.

It was still cold the next morning, and the grey sky held a yellowish tinge. ‘It’s going to snow,’ said Venetia as they walked briskly into the village and returned presently with a basket full of tinsel, baubles and the ingredients for a beef casserole.

‘You ought to sort out the decorations,’ suggested Venetia, ‘while I get this casserole into a pot. I’ll just nip into the garden and pull a couple of leeks.’

Easier said than done—there had been a hard frost for several nights and she had to prise them out with a gardening fork. The first few flakes of snow were falling as she went back indoors. A lovely wave of warm air met her as she opened the kitchen door, to stop short on the threshold and gape at the professor, who was leaning against the kitchen table, eating the carrots she had laid out neatly for the casserole.

‘Come in and shut the door, Venetia. You’re letting all the cold air in.’

She pushed the door shut with one foot and put the leeks beside the carrots. ‘You’re in Holland,’ she said.

‘An unnecessary remark, and untrue,’ he pointed out. ‘Arthur and I arrived here not ten minutes ago.’

‘Oh, well, I’ll go and—’

‘No, you won’t. They haven’t seen each other for a week. Why do you think I am mewed up here with nothing but carrots to eat?’

She took off her coat and kicked off her boots. She looked small without them. She said tartly, ‘You could get into that car of yours and drive home, and Mrs Todd would give you a super meal.’

‘What an unkind girl you are, and what a way to talk to someone of my age! Besides, I’ve been invited to stay for lunch and tea. Will there be muffins?’

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