A Summer Idyll

Life settled itself into a routine, taking care of an increasingly querulous Aunt Kate, shopping as frugally as she was able and taking snatches of time off whenever she could. The highlight of her day was Dr Pritchard’s visit—not that he wasted much time on her, merely giving her fresh instructions, enquiring casually as to her own welfare and urging her to get out into the fresh air as often as she could. ‘Make a point of going for a walk before you do the shopping,’ he suggested. ‘Susan’s in the house and she’ll let me know if I’m needed in a hurry.’

His intent eyes studied her face. ‘You’re too thin and far too pale.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Pining for the bright lights or a boy-friend?’

She was furious to find herself blushing. ‘No, I’m very happy here.’

His grunt was unbelieving.

Days became weeks and March became April, and the early mornings were now a delight. She read letters from her friends at St Coram’s and found herself glad that she wasn’t there any more. There was nothing to do in Woolpit, and yet she was content with her dull life, nor did she look ahead. It was soothing to live from day to day, forgetting the past and paying no attention to the future. Aunt Kate took up more and more of her time, for she was becoming weaker and more difficult to nurse. She had no appetite now and Phoebe spent a long time with her nose in a cookery book, turning out appetising little meals which, as often as not, were not eaten. But ill though she was, Aunt Kate’s tongue hadn’t lost its sharpness, nothing was right. Phoebe spent too much money on the food, didn’t answer the bell as quickly as she should, left her poor old aunt alone for hours on end…

She said nothing, because it was clear that Aunt Kate was getting worse. Dr Pritchard had taken to calling in twice a day now, never stopping for more than a few minutes, but it was comforting to know that he was very aware of the situation. Phoebe had been in Woolpit almost three weeks when Aunt Kate began to go downhill fast. Phoebe took to sitting up late and getting up very early and then, finally, getting into her dressing gown and sitting in a chair in Aunt Kate’s room and dozing through the night, waking at the first cough or movement.

‘Getting tired?’ Dr Pritchard wanted to know. ‘Hang on if you can—I don’t want to upset her by bringing in a strange face. I’ll come over about midnight. Would you like Mrs Thirsk to sleep here?’

Phoebe shook her head. ‘No, thank you all the same. I’ll be all right. If—if I’m worried I shall run over and fetch you?’

‘Right, do that.’

Her aunt was weaker when he came that afternoon. ‘Plenty to drink if she’ll take it, and keep her comfortable,’ he said and went again.

With the evening the house seemed very quiet. Phoebe saw to her patient, made herself some tea and finally got ready for bed. She longed to sleep, but although Aunt Kate was sleeping she looked much worse. She curled up in a chair just beyond the lamp’s dim light and longed for Dr Pritchard to come. But that wouldn’t be for another couple of hours.

He came long before then, opening the street door and calling softly as he came into the house. When he came into the room Phoebe got out of the chair. ‘I am glad you’re here,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think—that is, I think Aunt Kate’s not so well…’

He had gone to bend over his patient. ‘We won’t disturb her. I’ll stay—you can go to bed, you’re asleep on your feet!’

‘Is she…?’ And when he nodded: ‘I’ll stay, she’s my aunt.’

So they sat facing each other in the big bedroom while Aunt Kate slipped peacefully away. It was after midnight when the doctor stood up finally.

‘You’d better sleep at my place,’ he suggested gently.

‘I’ll be quite all right, thank you. Would you like tea before you go?’

‘A good idea. I’ll get the writing done while you are making it. You’d rather stay here?’

‘Yes.’ She went past him and down to the kitchen and put the kettle on. There was really a good deal to think about, but she was far too tired.

They drank their tea almost in silence, while Dr Pritchard did his writing, and she got up and went to the door with him when he’d finished. It was a chilly night and she shivered as she opened it, and not altogether with cold, although her thanks and goodnight were composed enough. He took the door handle from her. ‘Mrs Thirsk will be over in five minutes,’ he told her and was gone before she could argue.

Indeed, she didn’t much want to argue. She was thankful not to be alone in the house despite her assurances to him, and the housekeeper’s matter-of-fact presence was comforting. She waved away Phoebe’s apologies, took the cup of tea which she was offered and sat talking about nothing much for a few minutes. Then she got up briskly, asked where the hot water bottles were kept, filled them, gave one to Phoebe and told her with brisk kindness to go to bed, ‘And no getting up at crack of dawn,’ she warned. ‘I’ll see that you’re up in time for Susan before I get the doctor’s breakfast.’

Phoebe hardly heard her. She said goodnight in a wispy voice and went upstairs and presently got into her bed, listening with childish relief to Mrs Thirsk’s rather heavy footfall mounting to the room on the other side of the landing. The bed hadn’t been made up, thought Phoebe sleepily, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them Mrs Thirsk was standing by the bed with a cup of tea in her hand. ‘Plenty of time, Phoebe. Just you drink this up and then come down when you’re ready. I’ve put everything out for your breakfast. I’ll be off now—you’ll be all right?’

Phoebe sat up in bed, her mousy hair a fine curtain round her still pale face. ‘Oh, Mrs Thirsk, thank you! Yes, of course I will.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure what to do…’

‘Doctor will be over when he’s had his breakfast—he’ll know,’ said Mrs Thirsk comfortably.

Things seemed so different now. The morning was bright and sunny and Dr Pritchard would see to everything. Phoebe dressed and got her breakfast, then opened the door to Susan, who in some mysterious way knew all about Aunt Kate. ‘Poor ol’ soul,’ she observed in her soft courteous country voice. ‘She’ll be better off where she is. When’s the funeral, miss?’

Phoebe shook her head. ‘I don’t know—I don’t know anything at present.’

Dr Pritchard came then, and sat himself down at the kitchen table. ‘The district nurse will be here in a few minutes,’ he observed. ‘Now listen to me…’

He had thought of everything. When he had finished he said, ‘Mr Cole, your aunt’s solicitor, will come here for the funeral—you’ll stay here for the time being, of course. Do you mind being in the house alone?’

‘No.’ She glanced at Susan, sitting between them, listening to every word. ‘Susan and I could springclean.’

‘You’ll sleep here on your own?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She looked enquiringly at him and he said: ‘You’ll have it to yourself, Phoebe.’ He started for the door. ‘Borrow Mrs Thirk’s bike and take yourself off for a ride round, and don’t come back until after twelve.’ He smiled. ‘Doctor’s orders!’

The next day or so went quickly enough. Susan came each morning and the pair of them scrubbed and polished and turned out cupboards and drawers, and Phoebe was too tired in the evenings to do more than tumble into bed. She saw almost nothing of Dr Pritchard, but he was there, on the other side of the green, and she was content with that.

It surprised her that so many people came to the funeral. The church was full, but only a handful of people came back to the house afterwards and they didn’t stay long. And when the last one had gone Mr Cole sat down in the sitting room and opened his briefcase.

‘Miss Mason’s will is brief,’ he began in his dry elderly voice. ‘It was made some months ago, before you came to nurse your aunt.’ He smoothed the paper in his hand. ‘I will read it to you.’

Aunt Kate had left every penny she possessed, a not inconsiderable amount, to charity, and the house was to be sold and the proceeds of it given to a list of charities she named. ‘I leave nothing to my sole surviving relation, Phoebe Creswell,’ she had written. ‘She is young and strong enough to make her own way in life.’

Mr Cole coughed and folded the paper carefully. ‘I regret this, Miss Creswell—you could, of course, contest it.’

Phoebe shook her head. She supposed that in the back of her mind she had nurtured the faint hope that Aunt Kate had left her a small sum, but she wasn’t surprised at the will and since Aunt Kate didn’t want her to have any money, then she for her part had no intention of trying to get it.

‘I can go back to nursing,’ she pointed out quite cheerfully, ‘and I really didn’t expect anything, Mr Cole. Aunt Kate didn’t like me—indeed, we hardly knew each other.’

Mr Cole grunted morosely. ‘I still regret it, my dear. You have, after all, interrupted your training in order to look after her.’

‘Yes, but I daresay she didn’t realise that. I can always start again.’

‘There is, of course, no hurry for you to leave here. The place will have to be sold, but it will probably take some time and it will be all the better for someone living here. Have you any money?’

‘Well, I can manage for a week or two, but I can’t afford to pay Susan.’

Mr Cole looked thoughtful. ‘Ah yes—well…it would be quite in order for the estate to settle her wages until such time as the house is sold. I can arrange that and I will see that she is told. You will remain for the time being?’ Phoebe said yes, she would. A week or two would give her time to apply to be taken on as a student nurse—not in London, though. She didn’t want to go back there, she didn’t much care if she never saw London again, nor St Coram’s, nor Basil. Certainly not Basil.

He arrived the next day, driving up in his flashy little car and hooting furiously in front of the house. Phoebe, upstairs sorting blankets, poked her head out of the window, and when she saw who it was, gazed down at him speechlessly.

‘Hullo there—aren’t you going to let me in?’ He spoke loudly enough for the neighbours to hear—indeed, Dr Pritchard, on the other side of the green, heard him and turned a placid gaze on him through his surgery window. He had been about to ring for the next patient, now he took his hand off the bell and waited to see what would happen.

Phoebe withdrew her head and went down to open the door, to stand squarely in the doorway. She didn’t invite Basil in. Not only was she aware that several people would be peering through their windows at her, but she really didn’t want to see Basil. She realised this with great relief. She had got over him entirely—indeed, looking at him, she wondered how on earth she could ever have thought she was in love with him in the first place.

She said soberly, ‘Hullo, Basil,’ and waited.

‘Well, aren’t I to come in?’ he asked, and flashed her his charming smile.

‘No, I’d rather you didn’t.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve driven all this way to see how you were getting on. How’s that aunt of yours?’

‘Aunt Kate died a few days ago.’

‘Left you all her worldly goods and the house? Lucky you!’

‘Aunt Kate didn’t leave me anything.’

‘The miserable old…’ He stopped at the look on Phoebe’s face.

‘She was my aunt, she was entitled to leave her money to anyone she wished. I hardly knew her.’

‘Hard luck, old girl. Coming back to St Coram’s?’

Phoebe studied his face. Very good-looking, but there was something missing. ‘No.’

‘Oh, come on, now!’

‘Why do you ask?’

He shrugged again. He wasn’t going to tell her that he had had a bet with some of the other housemen that he would persuade her to return to St Coram’s. ‘Idle curiosity. I say, aren’t you really going to ask me in?’

‘No.’ She added: ‘I’m very busy. Goodbye.’ She closed the door in his face.

Basil muttered to himself, got into his car and roared off, and Dr Pritchard, his face still placid, rang for the next patient.

When he had done his morning rounds he crossed the green and knocked on the door. Phoebe, still upstairs, poked her head out of the window again. She said with marked relief: ‘Oh, it’s you—I’ll come down. Susan’s just gone.’

She was very untidy and faintly grubby with it. Dr Pritchard eyed her keenly and went past her into the kitchen. ‘Having a busy morning?’ he wanted to know.’

‘Well, yes, there is a lot to do. The whole house needs a good clean, and I’m making an inventory—in case someone wants to buy the furniture and things.’

‘Not lonely?’

‘No, Susan comes.’

‘Your aunt didn’t leave you the house?’ The doctor sounded very casual.

Phoebe hadn’t told anyone about the will. ‘No—she left everything, this house as well, to charities. I’m just staying for a few days. Mr Cole said I could until they put the house up for sale, it’ll give me a chance to apply for training somewhere.’

He leaned against the kitchen table. ‘And that’s what you intend to do?’

‘Yes,’ said Phoebe in a determined voice. She picked up the crockery spread on the table, ready to pack, and started to stack it neatly.

‘Start all over again?’

‘I’ll have to, won’t I?’

‘Only if that’s what you want.’ He went to the door. ‘You and I must have a talk. A pity I have to go out this evening. How about tomorrow morning? Before surgery? Say eight o’clock, we’ll have half an hour. I’ve been having breakfast at half-past seven—have it with me?’

She hesitated. ‘Thank you, but isn’t that—I mean, isn’t it rather an odd time?’

He grinned. ‘I don’t imagine anyone in the village could possibly weave a romance round breakfast at half-past seven in the morning, do you?’

Phoebe went pink. ‘No, of course not. Aren’t I silly… I’d like to come. What do you want to talk about?’

He was suddenly serious. ‘Why, your future, Phoebe, what else?’

She went back to her sorting of the contents of the linen cupboard, wondering why he should show even a faint interest in what she intended to do. But it spurred her on to make some definite plans. When she had finished with the endless counterpanes, pillowcases and enormous linen sheets her aunt had favoured, she changed into the grey dress, did her face and tidied her hair and went down to Mrs Platt’s shop. One end of the counter was stacked with weekly magazines and daily newspapers, but there wasn’t a Nursing Mirror or Nursing Times among them. Phoebe bought some sausages for her supper, then crossed the street to the row of brick cottages where the district nurse lived. Nurse Wilkins was at home, getting her lunch and feeding her cats; she called ‘Come in’ in answer to Phoebe’s knock and shouted: ‘I’m in the kitchen, come through.’ She smiled when she saw who it was, ‘Hullo, love, feeling lonely?’

Phoebe shook her head. ‘I’ve got too much to do—the house goes up for sale in a few days and I’m getting it ready.’

‘Miss Mason didn’t leave it to you? The village seemed to think she might, and she had pots of money.’

‘Everything is to go to several charities.’ And at the look of disbelief on her companion’s face: ‘It doesn’t matter—I hadn’t expected anything, she didn’t have anything to do with the family for years and years.’

‘Until she needed someone to nurse her. What are you going to do?’

‘That’s why I came. Have you any copies of the Nursing Times? I’ll apply to start training.’

‘But didn’t I hear that you’d done a year already? Won’t your old hospital take you back?’

‘I don’t want to go back to London. I’d forgotten how lovely it is living in the country. I thought I’d try a provincial town.’

Nurse Wilkins prudently refrained from pointing out that the country could be quite a long way from a provincial town large enough to have a training school for nurses. ‘You’ll find a pile in the sitting room—there are some Nursing Mirrors there too—take as many as you want. I’d ask you to stay to have a meal, but I popped back for half an hour from a midder case. I’m sorry you’ve had such rotten luck.’

‘That’s all right. Actually I’ve liked being here very much, and thanks.’

Nurse Wilkins waved her spoon at her. ‘Any time.’

There were depressingly few hospitals offering vacancies. Phoebe made a careful note of them while she ate her lunch and then sat down to apply to each one of them. She couldn’t expect to be taken on for at least a month, but she had a little money saved, so perhaps she could find a job in Stowmarket while she waited for the answers. She wrote her letters, and since she had no stamps and Mrs Platt was closed for the half day, put on her jacket and took herself off for a long walk. The house seemed very empty when she got back. She made tea, then sat in the kitchen at the table and worked out how long she would be able to manage on the money she had. The result wasn’t very satisfactory. She went into the sitting room and settled down to washing the china in the cabinet opposite the window. While she was doing it she saw Dr Pritchard, splendid in a black tie, get into his Bristol and drive off. Somehow the sight of him made her feel lonelier than ever. She ate her sausages gloomily, then took herself off to bed and stayed awake a long time feeling depressed.

It was a relief to wake early to a lovely morning with the sun already streaming through the window. She got up and dressed in the grey dress once more, did her hair rather more severely than usual and at half-past seven crossed the green and rang Dr Pritchard’s bell.

Mrs Thirsk opened the door with a cheerful good morning, and the news that she was on the point of dishing up the bacon and eggs and would Phoebe like to go straight into the dining room. ‘Doctor had an early morning call, and he’s having a shave, but he’ll be down in a moment.’

‘Oh,’ said Phoebe, ‘perhaps some other time—I mean, I daresay he’s tired…’

‘No, he’s not, only ravenous. Good morning, Phoebe.’ He had come down the stairs and caught her arm and whisked her into the dining room. ‘Pour the coffee, there’s a good girl.’

She did as she was asked, taking a quick look at him. He didn’t look in the least tired and his manner was as unhurried as it always was.

Mrs Thirsk came in with their breakfast then, and beyond a word here and there for politeness’ sake, he said very little. Only when they had got to the toast and marmalade and his third cup of coffee did he ask: ‘Made any plans?’

‘I’ve borrowed some nursing magazines from Nurse Wilkins and written to five hospitals to see if they’ll take me in their training schools.’

‘Posted them?’

Phoebe thought it a funny question. ‘As a matter of fact, no—I hadn’t any stamps.’

‘Good. Tear them up, I’ve got a much better idea.’

She opened her grey eyes wide. ‘You have? Whatever is it?’

‘It seems to me to be an excellent idea if we were to get married.’

Phoebe’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘Married? You and me? But you don’t and I don’t…that is, we don’t know anything about each other.’

‘Oh, I know a great deal about you, quite enough to be sure you’ll make me an excellent wife. As for me—well, I live here, don’t I? I live in this house and intend to live here for the rest of my life. I like it here. I like to travel too. My mother is Dutch; my father died several years ago and she spends a good deal of the year in Holland—she has a home there as well as a house in Grantchester; naturally I visit her frequently.’

Phoebe closed her open mouth to ask: ‘You’re half Dutch?’ A silly question, but it was all she could think of.

‘Yes.’ He smiled at her. ‘I could practise there if I wished—I qualified there as well as in England.’

‘Oh, yes, well…’ She gave him a bewildered stare. ‘But why do you want to marry me?’

‘I’m thirty-two and it’s time I settled down. I haven’t met a girl I wanted to marry, someone who would fit into my life—but you, you would. We could, of course, get to know each other better, have a long engagement, but what would be the point of that? You have no plans for the future, no money, no family, your heart is whole…’

Phoebe nodded. ‘Yes, oh yes. But I’m not sure…I mean, would it work?’

‘I can’t think why not. We get on well, don’t we? We might just as well get married now and get to know each other.’ He smiled kindly. ‘I won’t rush you, Phoebe. We’ll have a month or two of getting to know each other, just as an engaged couple would, only we’ll get married for the sake of convenience.’

Phoebe was still bowled over. ‘I—I must think about it—it’s a bit of a surprise.’

He glanced at his watch and said matter-of-factly: ‘Off you go, then. I must start surgery. Only promise me one thing—don’t send those letters until you’ve made up your mind. Give it a couple of days’ thought.’

‘All right,’ said Phoebe, ‘I’ll think about it, and I won’t send those letters.’

‘Good girl! I must fly.’ He patted her shoulder and left the room as Mrs Thirsk came in.

‘It was a lovely breakfast,’ said Phoebe. ‘Thank you, Mrs Thirsk.’ She had no idea how agitated her face looked, nor did she see Mrs Thirsk’s thoughtful glance. ‘I must get on with the packing up,’ she told that lady, and got herself out of the house.

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