might help her.’
He looked across the room at Rosie. ‘I’m sorry I shall have to leave you quite soon. Eat something, the pair of you, and then lie down for an hour or so. Before I go I’ll do some phoning, if I may. I’ll need some phone numbers.’
It was Clotilde who got up and fetched the telephone book for him. She felt curiously empty and tired. The shock was beginning to wear off now and she was aware of the sharp edge of pain. She said: ‘Do you have to go?’
‘Yes, but I shall be back this evening. Can you put me up for the night? I’ll be fairly late, I’m afraid.’
Rosie said eagerly: ‘You’ll want your supper, doctor. I’ll see and cook you something.’
‘That would be kind, but don’t stay up for me. Something kept hot on the stove will suit me very well.’ His blue eyes studied Clotilde from under their lids. ‘If I might suggest that you both go to bed? I expect you leave the key under the mat?’
Clotilde nodded. ‘Everyone does. But you don’t need to come back, really you don’t. You’ve been so kind and helpful—you’ve done too much already. We’ll be quite all right.’
He only smiled gently, got up and went away to the telephone. Presently he came back. ‘Your vicar will be round very shortly and your solicitor will be down to see you in the morning. Remember what I said and have a rest after lunch.’ He bent and kissed Rosie’s cheek, and at the door turned to kiss Clotilde too. ‘Look after each other,’ he said gravely. ‘I’ll see you, and I can let myself out.’
‘What a nice gentleman,’ said Rosie, ‘doing all that for us too—and him no more than someone at the hospital. What happened to Mr Johnson?’
‘He couldn’t get away.’ Clotilde busied herself putting the cups and saucers back on the tray. ‘Rosie, I can’t believe it, but we’ve got to go on as usual, haven’t we? I’ll go and make up a bed for Dr Thackery while you do something for lunch, I’m not hungry and I don’t suppose you are either, but he said we must have something.’
Rosie was crying again, and she went and put her arms round the dear soul. ‘Rosie, don’t, please don’t! The next few days are going to be awful and we’ve got to get through them somehow.’ She kissed her and Rosie said between sobs:
‘He kissed me too—so natural like, just as though he was a friend and really minded.’
‘I think he does mind. He’s always kind to his patients, and calm and quiet.’ Clotilde added thoughtfully: ‘But I don’t know what he’s really like.’
She made herself busy until the vicar came—an old man, and very shaken by the news. She gave him a glass of sherry because he looked as though he needed it, then poured one for Rosie and another for herself.
‘Your friend has everything in hand,’ observed the vicar. ‘You are most fortunate to have someone so helpful at such a sad time.’ He added inevitably: ‘Is Mr Johnson not with you?’
‘He’s unable to leave the hospital.’ Clotilde was filled with fresh unhappiness. The one person who could have consoled her wasn’t there. And he couldn’t help it, she reminded herself—an important engagement with Sir Oswald just couldn’t be missed; his future depended upon pleasing the great man. It wasn’t as if Bruce had known her parents well. They had met on countless occasions, but in all fairness there was only a mild affection between them. A tiny voice reminded her that Dr Thackery hadn’t known them at all, yet he was prepared to go to France for her.
She listened politely to the vicar making tentative arrangements and offering help. ‘The village will be shocked,’ he told her. ‘Your parents were well liked. You will stay on here, of course? We would not like to see you go.’
‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ said Clotilde, ‘but I expect Rosie and I will go on living here, at least until I marry. We’ll have to think about that later.’
He went away presently and she and Rosie had their lunch, sitting at the kitchen table, not talking much and not eating much either. They washed up together and then, obedient to the Doctor’s instructions, went and lay down, and surprisingly, slept.
They had tea, then Rosie busied herself making soup to keep hot on the stove and a caramel custard to follow it. ‘Because I’ll be bound he’ll be hungry when he gets here.’ She asked hesitantly: ‘When will he go to France, Miss Tilly?’
‘I don’t know, he’ll tell us, though.’ Clotilde went to answer the phone yet again; the news had got around and people were ringing up all the time.
They had their supper quite early and then because they couldn’t bear to talk anymore, said goodnight and went to their rooms. Clotilde didn’t undress at once but sat at her window, looking out on to the dark evening, not even thinking. It was much later when she got to her feet, cold now, and went to run a bath. She could hear Rosie snoring and uttered a thankful sigh; the poor dear had had a shock and she must be worn out with grief. She would have to go to bed herself, she supposed, and she took as long as possible undressing and bathing, brushing her long hair for ten minutes or more before at last getting into bed. It surprised her to see that it was already almost eleven o’clock. She was still making up her mind to put out the light when she heard the Bentley surge almost silently up to the front door. She had been dreading the moment when she must lie in the dark and try and sleep, now she seized on the chance to put that moment off till later. She got up, put on a dressing gown and slippers, and went silently downstairs.
Dr Thackery was in the kitchen, a saucepan lid in one hand, eyeing the soup. He looked up as she went in, said ‘Hullo’ in an unsurprised voice and then: ‘How about sharing some of this soup with me? I dislike eating alone.’
Clotilde came slowly into the kitchen, her face puffy with weeping, her hair hanging in a curtain down her back, her nose pink. All the same, she still looked quite lovely.
‘You didn’t eat your supper.’ He wasn’t asking, just stating a fact, and she said quickly: ‘We did try, really we did.’
He turned and fetched two bowls from the dresser and added them to the neatly laid tray Rosie had left ready, while Clotilde went to the bread bin and got out a loaf and sliced some bread.
‘Have you been busy?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I saw Sally, and she sent a great many kind messages and you’re not to worry about a thing; she’s been sent extra help until you get back and all the patients are okay. She won’t bother you with phoning, but if you want to ring her, she’d like that very much.’
They ate in silence for a minute or two and presently he went on: ‘I’m going over to France tomorrow. I should be back in a couple of days at the latest. I’ve arranged things with the undertakers.’ He mentioned the name of a firm in the nearest town. ‘That’s all you need to know at present, I think. As soon as you feel that you can and you want to, you can take over.’
Clotilde got up and fetched the coffee from the stove and put the soup bowls into the sink. There was one of Rosie’s bacon and cheese flans on the table and she pushed it towards him. ‘Please have some, you must be hungry. I can’t thank you enough for all you’re doing…’
He smiled at her. ‘You would have done the same, I fancy. I’ve been high-handed, haven’t I, but the matter is urgent. Authority doesn’t like to be left hanging around.’
‘No. I— I wouldn’t have known what to do anyway.’ She drank her coffee and some of the burden of sadness seemed to have been lifted from her shoulders. ‘I still can’t believe it.’
‘That’s natural, and it’s nature’s way of protecting you until you can cope again.’ He finished his flan. ‘Now go to bed, Clotilde, and go to sleep. I’ll clear away these things. If you can’t sleep, come and say so and I’ll give you something. Where am I sleeping?’
He was as calm and matter-of-fact as a brother. ‘The first door on the left at the head of the