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‘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