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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.
The shop was quite full. Matilda wasn’t the only one to be paid on a Friday, and Mrs Simpkins was doing a brisk trade, enjoying a good gossip at the same time. Matilda, waiting her turn, listened to the