Matilda's Wedding

As for the doctor, dining at the Reverend Mr Milton’s table that evening, he professed himself satisfied with his new receptionist. He had no more to say about her than that, though.

The week progressed. Tuesday was an evening surgery only for he held the post of anaesthetist at Taunton Hospital and spent the day there. On Wednesday the surgery bulged with victims of the first serious chills of winter and on Thursday there was no surgery in the evening. Matilda enjoyed her work although she wished it could have been conducted in a clearer atmosphere than the surgery, redolent of damp coats and the earthy smells clinging to farm workers who came in straight from their work. But she had found her sensible feet by now and she was happy despite the doctor’s chilly politeness towards her. At least she saw him each day and sooner or later he would stop comparing her with Miss Brimble and decide that she was quite nice, really…

And, Matilda being Matilda, she already had a few plans. A potted plant for the waiting room, a small vase of flowers for the doctor’s desk, a chamber pot for the small children—she wondered why Miss Brimble hadn’t thought of that—and some container where people could put their dripping umbrellas. There were still a lot of odds and ends her mother had consigned to the garden shed; there might be something suitable there…

After the first morning she had politely refused coffee after the morning surgery, standing by his desk, listening to whatever it was he needed to tell her and then bidding him a cheerful good morning, shutting the door quietly behind her.

There was no point in sitting there drinking coffee when he was so obviously unaware of her. She would then tidy the waiting room, lock up and go home.

There was an envelope on her desk on Friday morning. She had asked at her interview if she could be paid each week and in cash, and he had agreed without comment. She put it in her handbag and bade the first patient good morning. Her father had taught her that money was no easy path to happiness but she couldn’t help feeling rich…

There was a small branch of her father’s bank in the village, open on three days a week for a few hours. Matilda paid most of the money into his account, bought sausages from Mrs Simpkins and went home, treading on air.

There was a car parked outside the gate when she reached it: an elderly Rover, immaculately kept. It belonged to the Reverend Mr Milton and she was pleased to see it for it meant that that gentleman had come to visit her parents. He had called briefly a day or so after they had moved in but the place had been in chaos and he hadn’t stayed.

He was in the living room and his wife was with him. Mrs Milton was a small, placid lady with a kind face, and according to Mrs Simpkins was very well liked in the village.

Matilda shook hands and, bidden by her mother, went to fetch more coffee, sorry that she hadn’t brought some biscuits with her. She handed around second cups and sat down to answer Mrs Milton’s gentle questions.

She liked her job with Dr Lovell? Such a dear, good man but very overworked; so fortunate that he had found Matilda to replace Miss Brimble. And did Matilda play tennis? In the summer there was a flourishing club—and amateur theatricals in the winter. ‘You must meet some of the younger ones here,’ said Mrs Milton.

Mrs Paige interrupted her in the nicest possible way. ‘Matilda isn’t a very sociable girl,’ she said. ‘Quite a homebird in fact, which is so fortunate for I’m not very strong and all the worry of my husband’s illness has upset my nerves.’

Mrs Milton said that she was sorry to hear it. ‘I was hoping you would enjoy meeting a few people here and perhaps join me on one or two of our committees. We do a good deal for charity in a quiet way. And the Mother’s Union flourishes. Lady Truscott is our president and we meet each month at her house. The Manor, you know…’

‘I shall be delighted to do that and give what help I can.’ Mrs Paige had become quite animated. ‘And anything else that I can do in my small way.’ She gave a rueful little laugh. ‘This is all so strange. And I do miss the house—and the social life attached to the church. And, of course, the ease with which one could obtain things. It seems I must go all the way to Taunton to a hairdresser.’

‘There’s Miss Wright in the village; she is really not at all bad. I must confess that I go to Tessa’s in Taunton. If you would like it I’ll give you her phone number and if you mention my name I’m sure she will fit you in.’

‘That’s most kind. It would have to be on the day the bus goes to Taunton; I’m told that there is one.’

‘You don’t drive?’

‘No, unfortunately not, and, of course, Jeffrey isn’t allowed to, so we sold the car.’

Mrs Milton turned to Matilda. ‘You don’t drive, my dear?’

Matilda just had time to say yes, before her mother said quickly, ‘There seemed no point in keeping the car just for Matilda’s use. She enjoys walking and there is a bicycle she can use.’

‘In that case,’ said Mrs Milton, ‘I’ll be glad to offer you a lift the next time I go to Taunton. Matilda, too…’

‘One of us has to stay home just in case Jeffrey isn’t well, but I’d be glad of a lift; it’s most kind of you to offer. Perhaps I could fit it in with the hairdresser and have time for a quick shop. I’m sure the shop in the village is excellent but there are several things I need which I’m sure aren’t stocked there.’

‘We will arrange something soon and I’ll let you know about joining our committee.’ Mrs Milton got to her feet. ‘I’m glad you have come here to live and I’m sure you will be happy once you have settled in.’

She caught her husband’s eye and he rose reluctantly from the earnest talk he was enjoying with Mr Paige. Goodbyes were said and Matilda saw them out of the gate and into their car, waving them away with a friendly hand.

‘A very nice girl,’ said Mrs Milton, ‘but I don’t imagine she has much of a life. Her mother…’

‘Now, my dear, don’t be too hasty in your judgement, although I do see what you mean. We must endeavour to find Matilda some friends.’

‘I wonder how she gets on with Henry?’

‘Presumably well enough; I don’t imagine he’s a hard taskmaster. Once they have got used to each other I’m sure she will prove every bit as efficient as Miss Brimble.’

Which wasn’t what Mrs Milton had meant at all, although she didn’t say so.

Mrs Paige followed Matilda into the kitchen. ‘Did you get paid?’

Matilda stacked cups and saucers by the sink. ‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Good. If Mrs Milton phones I can go to Taunton. I need one or two things as well as having my hair done. If you’d let me have twenty-five pounds? You must see that if I’m to meet all these women I must look my best, and you’ll have the rest of your money…’

‘I’ve paid it into Father’s account at the bank.’

‘Matilda—are you out of your mind? His pension will be paid in in a week or so and we can open an account at the shop.’

‘There’s a gas bill overdue and the plumber to be paid…’

Mrs Paige said tearfully, ‘I can’t believe that my own daughter could be so mean.’ She started to cry. ‘I hate it here; can’t you understand that? This poky little house and no shops and nothing to do all day. There was always something at the vicarage—people calling, wanting advice or help; things happening.’ She added, ‘Of course you don’t care; I don’t suppose you miss your friends and it isn’t as if there were any men keen on you. It’s just as well, for I doubt if you’ll meet anyone here who’ll want to marry you.’

Matilda said quietly, ‘No, I don’t suppose I will. I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Mother, but perhaps you will meet some people you will like when you see Mrs Milton again.’

She took some notes out of her handbag. ‘Here is twenty-five pounds.’ She laid the money on the table. ‘I’ll get lunch, shall I?’

Her mother said something but she didn’t hear it, for she was fighting a strong wish to run out of the house, go somewhere where she wasn’t reminded that she was dull and plain and mean. Life would have been so different if she had been pretty…

She gave herself a shake. Self-pity was a waste of time; and life wasn’t all that bad. She had a job, she liked the village and the people she had met were friendly, and there was Dr Lovell. If they hadn’t come here to live she would never have met him. The fact that he didn’t like her overmuch made no difference to the fact that she was in love with him. That coloured her dull days and perhaps in time, if she could be more like Miss Brimble, he would like her after all. She didn’t expect more than that; her mother had made it plain that there was nothing about her to attract a man such as he.

She got the lunch, listened to her father’s cheerful comments about their visitors and her mother’s plans to go to Taunton and then, with Rastus for company, Matilda went into the garden. It had once been very pretty but was now woefully overgrown. She began raking the leaves which covered the patch of grass in front of the house.

It was chilly and there was a fresh wind, so that her hair blew free from its tidy pleat, and she had tied a sack over her skirt. The doctor, driving past, thought she looked very untidy, obviously not bothering about her appearance. He dismissed her from his mind and was vaguely irritated to find himself remembering all that pale brown hair, tossed about by the wind.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was nothing about Matilda’s appearance on Monday morning to remind him of her scruffy appearance in the garden. The picture of neatness, she dealt with the patients with good-humoured patience and real pleasure, for she felt that she had been accepted by the village, included in their gossip as they waited their turn. It was to be hoped, she reflected, that Dr Lovell would accept her, too…

It was a chilly, drizzly morning and she was glad that she had lugged the chimney pot she had found in the garden shed down to the doctor’s house and installed it in the waiting room. It wasn’t ideal but at least it was somewhere to put the umbrellas. She was sure that the doctor hadn’t noticed it; hopefully he wouldn’t notice if she brought some of the neglected chrysanthemums from the back garden and put them on the table in the waiting room—and on his desk; they might cheer him up…!

The surgery over, she tidied up, received a few instructions about the evening surgery, refused his offer of coffee and went down the street to the shop. Mrs Simpkins sold everything, or such was her proud boast and sure enough from the depths of her shop she produced a small plastic pot.

‘That’s what I call sensible,’ she declared. ‘Miss Brimble never thought of it. Well, a maiden lady such as she were wouldn’t ’ave, would she? A real blessing it’ll be for all the mums with little ’uns.’

She peered across the counter through the shop window. ‘Doctor’s just gone past so you can pop across with it.’

Which Matilda did.

At home she found her mother in the best of good spirits. Mrs Milton would be going to Taunton on Wednesday and had offered her a lift. ‘You only work in the morning,’ she reminded Matilda, ‘so you can be here with your father. I don’t know how long I shall be gone; perhaps Mrs Milton will ask me to tea. Will you make some coffee? Your father has a headache; a cup might make him feel better. I must iron a few things—perhaps you would get a fire going in the sitting room? It’s such a miserable day.’

After lunch Matilda, in an old mac and headscarf, went into the garden. The back garden was quite large and so overgrown it was hard to see what it was once like. But almost hidden against the end fence were the chrysanthemums, deep pink and a bit bedraggled. She picked the best of them, filled a vase for the living room and put the rest in a plastic bag to take with her to the surgery that evening. And while she was about it she rooted round in the garden shed and found two vases. No longer neglected, the chrysanthemums perked up, in one vase on the waiting-room table, and the other on the windowsill in the surgery. Several patients remarked upon them but if the doctor noticed he didn’t choose to say anything…

In fact, he had seen them the moment he entered the surgery, given them a quick glance and turned his attention to his first patient. He hoped that Matilda wasn’t going to strew cushions around the place or nurture pot plants on the windowsills. Perhaps he had better nip any such ideas in the bud…

But he had no chance to do so that evening; a farm worker on one of the outlying farms had fallen off a ladder and he was needed there. He left with a brisk goodnight, leaving Matilda to pack up and lock the doors. And, of course, the next day there was no surgery until the evening.

When she got there he was already at his desk, writing, and she made haste to get out the patients’ notes, and when the phone rang, which it did continuously, answered it. It wasn’t until she ushered out the last patient that Dr Lovell came into the waiting room.

Matilda was on her knees, grovelling under the row of chairs collecting the toys the smaller patients had been playing with, so she was not at her best.

His cool, ‘Miss Paige,’ brought her to her feet, pleased to see him but unhappily aware that she wasn’t looking her best.

‘I see that you have introduced one or two—er—innovations. And while I appreciate your efforts I must beg you not to make too many drastic alterations.’

Matilda tucked a wisp of hair behind an ear. ‘Well, I won’t,’ she assured him. ‘Only the umbrellas dripping all over the floor are nasty and you can’t expect a toddler to perch on a loo, you know. And I thought a few flowers would cheer the place up a bit. A potted plant or two?’ she added hopefully.

‘If you have set your heart on that, by all means, but I must make it clear that I do not wish for a plant in my surgery.’

She said warmly, ‘Oh, do they give you hay fever or something?’

The doctor, self-assured and used to being treated with a certain amount of respect, found himself at a loss for a reply. Being in the habit of advising others as to their various illnesses, he hardly expected to hear an opinion passed as to his own health.

When Matilda got back from the Wednesday morning clinic her mother had already left with Mrs Milton.

‘Most fortunate,’ her father observed as they drank their coffee together, ‘that your mother has the opportunity to enjoy a day out; she has so few pleasures.’

‘Well,’ said Matilda, ‘Mrs Milton is going to introduce Mother to her friends and I’m sure she will be asked to join in the social life around here. I suppose there is some…’

‘Oh, I believe so. Lady Truscott has a large circle of friends; your mother will enjoy meeting them.’ He added, ‘Perhaps there will be some young people for you, my dear.’

She agreed cheerfully. She would have dearly liked to go dancing, play tennis, and even venture into amateur theatricals, but only if the doctor was there too, and somehow she couldn’t imagine him as an actor. Tennis, yes—he would be a good tennis player and a good dancer—a bit on the conservative side, perhaps. She allowed herself a few moments of daydreaming, waltzing around some magnificent ballroom in his arms. She would, of course, be exquisitely dressed and so very pretty that she was the object of all eyes… But only Dr Lovell’s eyes mattered.

Not that he showed any signs of interest in her at the surgery; indeed, she had the strong feeling that as a person she just wasn’t there—a pair of hands, yes, and a voice for the telephone and someone to find old notes. He was engaged to be married, she reminded herself, and quite rightly didn’t notice any female other than his betrothed…

Later in the day Mrs Paige came back from Taunton, bubbling over with the delights of her day.

‘A marvellous hairdresser, Matilda, worth every penny, and the shops are excellent. Of course I had no money but next time there are several things I simply must have.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’m to go with Mrs Milton to Lady Truscott’s—the next committee meeting for some charity or other—so I must smarten up a little. You wouldn’t want your mother to look shabby, would you?’

Her father said, ‘My dear, I’m sure I can let you have a little extra. Matilda should have her own money to spend how she likes.’

Matilda slipped out of the room. She had heard her father’s mild remonstrance often enough but it went unheeded. Once the outstanding bills had been paid she would go to Taunton herself and buy some new clothes, have her hair done, a manicure, new cosmetics… Dr Lovell hadn’t noticed her yet; perhaps he never would. He was going to marry, she reminded herself then, and remembered that Mrs Simpkins hadn’t liked his fiancée.

Matilda, peeling potatoes, made up her mind to find out more about her.

After morning surgery next day, since it was a fine day with a strong wind blowing, she filled the washing machine and went into the garden and began to sweep up the leaves lying thick on the neglected grass, suitably but unglamorously dressed in an elderly sweater and skirt and wellies. Since there was no one to see, she had tied her hair back with a bit of string from the garden shed. She had found a rake there and set to with a will, for the moment happy; her small worries were forgotten as she planned just how the garden would look once she had tamed its wildness and cared for it. She paused to lean on the rake.

‘Roses,’ she decided, ‘and lavender and peonies and lupins and hollyhocks.’

She had been talking to herself, something she quite often did even if Rastus wasn’t there to listen. ‘It’ll look lovely, I promise you.’

She flung an arm wide and nearly fell over when the doctor said, an inch or so from her ear. ‘Do you often talk to yourself?’

She shot round to face him and he thought that she looked quite pretty with colour in her cheeks and her hair hanging loose.

‘Of course not.’ She sounded tart. ‘I was talking to the garden. Flowers like being talked to. The Prince of Wales talks to his…’

‘So he does.’ The doctor sounded mild. ‘I’ve never found the time.’

‘No—well, of course I don’t suppose you would. Anyway, you would want to spend it with your…’

She paused, not liking the cold look he gave her. She went on quickly. ‘Is it me you want to see about something? Or Father…?’

‘Your father.’ He watched her idly. The shabby clothes she was wearing did nothing for her but he had to admit that he liked her hair—and he was intrigued by her naturalness. Not his type, of course…

He said briskly, ‘Your father is home?’

‘Oh, yes. He’ll be in his study—he’s writing a book.’

She led the way to the front door, kicked off her wellies and ushered him into the narrow hall. ‘Mother’s in the sitting room…’

‘I’ll see your father first if I may.’

Matilda put her head round the study door. ‘Father, here’s Dr Lovell to see you.’

He went past her with a brief nod and closed the door gently behind him, and as he did so her mother came out of the sitting room. ‘Who is that?’ She frowned. ‘You should have fetched me, Matilda…’

‘Dr Lovell said he’d see Father first.’

‘Well, you go back into the garden; I’ll have a talk with him.’

Mrs Paige went back to the sitting room and had a look in the old-fashioned mirror over the fireplace. She looked all right, she decided, but it wouldn’t harm her to add a little lipstick. And perhaps a touch more powder…

Dr Lovell shook hands with his patient and drew up a chair. He said easily, ‘I’ve had all your notes from your previous doctor—Dr Grant, wasn’t it? I’ve met him; you couldn’t have been in better hands. But I’d like you to tell me how you feel now and then perhaps I might take a look at you?’

He took his time, listening patiently to Mr Paige’s vague recital of how he felt. ‘Of course, I’m aware that I may have another heart attack at any time, but I feel well; I find it most restful living here and I have my writing, and possibly later on I shall be able to assist Mr Milton from time to time should he wish it.’

Dr Lovell listened gravely and said presently, ‘Well, if I might take a look?’

That done, he sat back in his chair. ‘As far as I can judge you are in excellent shape. I shall write you up for some different pills and I advise you to take a walk each day. Well wrapped up and for half an hour. Taking reasonable precautions you should be able to enjoy a normal life.’

‘Splendid. I feel a fraud that you should visit me; I could quite well come to your surgery.’

‘Better that I look in on you from time to time, but let me know if you are worried about anything.’

‘Indeed I will; Matilda can always take a message. I hope she is proving satisfactory? She seems very happy working at your surgery. Perhaps she will meet some young people once she gets to know the village. She leads a quiet life and, of course, she is indispensable to my wife here in the house.’ Mr Paige nodded contentedly. ‘We are indeed lucky to have such a caring daughter.’

The doctor, who almost never thought of Matilda, felt a sudden pang of pity for her, destined to play the role of dutiful daughter—and why was she indispensable to her mother?

‘Your wife is an invalid?’

‘No, no, nothing like that, but she has always been delicate—her nerves.’

So the doctor was forewarned when he found Mrs Paige waiting for him in the sitting-room doorway.

She held out a hand. ‘Dr Lovell, so good of you to come. I do worry so much about my husband; it upsets me so. My wretched nerves…’ She smiled up at him. ‘I’m not at all strong and having to move here to this poky little house has upset me, too. My husband loves it and so does Matilda, so I suppose I must learn to make a new life. They are both content with so little.’

He said blandly, ‘I’m sure you will be glad to know that Mr Paige is doing well. I’ve advised him to go out for a short time each day for a brisk walk.’

‘Such a pity we gave up the car. But, of course, he doesn’t drive any more and I have never learned.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Silly me.’

‘Your daughter drives?’

‘Matilda? Oh, yes, but there was no point in keeping the car just for her. Won’t you come and sit down for a while?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t stay; I’m on my afternoon round.’ He smiled—a professional smile with no warmth—and shook hands and went out of the open door into the garden.

Matilda was still raking leaves but when she saw him she went to meet him. ‘Father? He’s all right? I won’t keep you; you are on your visits, aren’t you?’

She went with him to his car and he said, ‘He’s pretty fit. I’ll give you some pills for him and please see that he walks for a while each day. Let me know if you are worried.’ His smile was kind.

He got in and drove away with a casual nod and she watched the grey Bentley slide away down the lane. She thought about the smile; he had looked quite different for a moment. She wondered what he was really like beneath his calm, professional face. Would she ever find out? He was courteous towards her but in a cool, offhand way which daunted her; quite obviously he had no wish to add warmth to their relationship.

And quite right too, reflected Matilda that evening, nodding her sensible head. If I were engaged to marry someone I wouldn’t bother with anyone else. She wished very much that she could meet his fiancée, for, loving him as she did, it was important to her that he should be happy.

‘I am a fool,’ said Matilda, addressing Rastus, making the pastry for a steak and kidney pie. The butcher’s van called twice a week in the village and it was a meal that her father enjoyed. Rastus gave her a long, considering look and turned his back.

There was always pay day to cheer her up. She prudently paid most of her wages into the bank and crossed the street to the shop, intent on buying one or two extras for the larder. She also needed tights and toothpaste, and Mrs Simpkins stocked a certain shampoo guaranteed to bring out the highlights on one’s hair.