An Innocent Bride. Бетти Нилс
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him. Her accident had been a small disruption in their quiet life, and neither she nor her aunt were given to dwelling on any mishap they might encounter.
Katrina made light of her bruises and cuts, did the bulk of the household chores, dug the garden and, once she had her new bike, shopped. The event had caused something of a stir in the village, which was so small and out of the way that anything outside its normal gentle routine was a subject for talk for several days. The people living there liked her and were vaguely sorry for her. It was no life for a pretty girl, living in that poky cottage with an elderly aunt, never meeting any young men. Several of them had hinted as much to her face, but she had fobbed them off, saying that she was very happy and had no wish for the bright lights.
‘But you’d have money to buy lovely clothes, and meet people,’ one well-wisher had reminded her.
‘But there are people here,’ Katrina had pointed out, ‘and when would I wear lovely clothes?’ And she had added in a voice which had effectively closed the conversation, ‘I’m happy here.’
Which wasn’t quite true. She wasn’t unhappy, but she was young and pretty and full of life; pretty clothes, visits to the theatre, dining out, dancing—she wished that she could sample them all, while at the same time knowing that it was most unlikely.
She had lived with Aunt Thirza since her parents had been killed in a plane crash when she was twelve years old. She had no brothers or sisters; there were numerous aunts and uncles and cousins, but Aunt Thirza was the only one of the family who had given her a home. That had been twelve years ago, before she had retired as headmistress of a girls’ school—a privately run establishment where Katrina had been educated. When Aunt Thirza had retired Katrina had been seventeen, and hopeful of going on to university. But it seemed that that wouldn’t be possible. Aunt Thirza had pointed out in her forthright way that she had only her pension, which would not stretch to it.
‘But something may turn up,’ she had said. ‘I suggest that you stay at home with me. You’re still young; a year or two won’t matter at your age. I shall write to your uncles and aunts and enlist their help. After all, they were your father’s brothers and sisters.’
However, offers of help had not been forthcoming. Did Thirza not realise that Katrina’s cousins were a constant drain on parental purses? Had she any idea what it cost to give them a start in life?
Vague offers of help in a year or two had been made, and so she had stifled her disappointment and agreed with her aunt that a year or so living at the cottage would be delightful. She had made a tentative offer to find work of some sort; she had her A levels, and she was quick and intelligent—a job in Warminster, perhaps? In a shop or as a dental assistant…
Aunt Thirza had been disapproving. ‘No niece of mine will waste her talents in a shop,’ she had said vigorously. ‘If your cousins can go to university, then so shall you. It is merely a question of waiting for a year or two.’
But the years had slipped by, and the cousins, no longer at university had still been a constant expense to their parents. The girls became engaged, and expected splendid weddings, the young men naturally needed allowances while they found their feet earning their living in something suitable.
After a few years Aunt Thirza had given up talking about university, and Katrina’s pleas to get a job had also been swept aside. She had plenty to keep her busy. She had taken over most of the household chores now that Aunt Thirza was getting on a bit, and besides, there was the garden, the Youth Club in the village, the church flowers, the various bazaars and fêtes—regular events. And she had friends, as Aunt Thirza had pointed out. Her aunt had ended by asking her if she wasn’t happy, in a voice which shook a little, and Katrina, seeing the unhappiness in the elderly face, had assured her that she was very happy.
And after that she gave up talking about jobs or university; her aunt had given her a home and affection when no one else was willing to do so, and she was deeply grateful for that. Besides, she was fond of the old lady.
Professor Glenville drove himself home, cutting across country along narrow, less used roads to Wherwell, a village tucked away in Hampshire but near enough to the motorway for him to travel to and fro to London each day, where he had consulting rooms as well as beds at St Aldrick’s. His friends and colleagues thought him crazy, living away from London, but he found the early-morning drive to his rooms a pleasant start to his day, even in bad weather, and, however late at night, he made a point of returning to Wherwell; only in an emergency would he spend the night at the small flat above his consulting rooms.
As he drove he decided what he would do with the rest of his day. He had been in Bristol for several days, for he was an examiner for several hospitals, but now he was free until the morning—he could do some writing, catch up on his reading, potter in his garden and take the dogs for a walk, and Mrs Peach, who ran his home with Peach, would give him a splendid tea…
He allowed his thoughts to dwell on Miss Thirza Gibbs and her niece, but only briefly, thinking it a pity, though, that Katrina had been so tart. Even making allowances for shock she need not have been quite so frosty. As for her aunt, he had been in his profession long enough to recognise her type—sharp-tongued, never looking for sympathy, and hiding a soft heart beneath a brisk manner. He decided that he rather liked her.
Wherwell was a delightful village, most of its houses thatched, the country around it peaceful. He drove down its main street and turned into a narrow lane, and then through open gates to his home, which was black and white timber-framed with its thatched roof curling round the upstairs windows. It was a fair size, and the garden around it was sheltered by trees. He drove round the side, parked the car, and went in through the side door, along a flag-stoned passage and into the kitchen. Peach and his wife were there. She sat at the table rolling out pastry, Peach at the other end of the table, cleaning the silver.
Peach got up at once. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said mildly. ‘You’ll be wanting lunch…’
‘No, no, Peach. One of Mrs Peach’s magnificent teas in half an hour would be fine. Everything all right?’
‘Right as rain, sir. Barker and Jones are in the garden. Tea in half an hour, sir.’
The professor picked up his bag and went through a door into the hall, which was long and narrow with a door at each end. He opened his study door, put his bag on the desk and went out of the end door into the garden. Two dogs were waiting for him, uttering pleased barks, running to him as he bent to fondle them: a coal-black Alsatian and a small dog of no known parentage, with a foxy face, heavy whiskers and a feathery tail. The three of them made their way down a path bordered by flowerbeds already full of colour, skirted a large lawn with a small pond at its end and went through a gate into the fields beyond. The dogs raced on ahead now, and the professor sauntered along, his thoughts idle, vaguely irritated that they turned every so often to the events of the other morning.
He went indoors presently, to Mrs Peach’s tea, and then spent an hour or so in his study with his dogs for company. He went back there after his dinner too, making notes for the book he was writing concerning his work. He was a clever man, wrapped up in his profession but by no means a hermit; he had friends, close friends he had known for years, and a host of acquaintances and family scattered throughout the country, but as yet he had found no one whom he wished to make his wife. And that was a pity, Peach had confided to his wife. A good man like the master ought to have been married years ago, with a handful of children. ‘Knocking forty,’ Peach had grumbled. ‘And dear knows he meets enough ladies to pick and choose.’
‘She’ll turn up,’ said Mrs Peach. ‘Just you let Fate take its course.’ Fate must have been listening.
It was a week or so after Katrina’s accident that she noticed that Aunt Thirza didn’t look well. Indeed, now she thought about it, she hadn’t looked well for some weeks. But Aunt Thirza wasn’t a woman to angle for sympathy for herself, and when once or twice Katrina had asked her if she felt all right, she had responded in her usual blunt manner. All the same, there was no denying that she was paler than usual, and lacked energy. And when one morning Katrina found her sitting in the living room with her eyes