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An Ideal Wife. Betty Neels
Читать онлайн.Название An Ideal Wife
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781408983232
Автор произведения Betty Neels
Серия Mills & Boon M&B
Издательство HarperCollins
He got up, saying to her surprise, ‘Why not take a few minutes’ stroll in the garden before you start? I’m going now; you won’t be disturbed during the afternoon.’ He turned at the door. ‘Do you like dogs?’
‘Yes.’
‘I shall bring my dog back with me.’
He was holding the door open for her. As she went past him, she asked, ‘What’s his name?’
‘Bellow.’
‘Oh, that sounds like a Latin word—something to do with wars …’
He answered gravely, ‘No, no, nothing so alarming. He has a permanent wheeze.’
‘Oh, bellow, of course!’ She smiled up at him and encountered his bland stare.
He opened a door at the back of the hall leading to the garden and left her then, and she went outside and strolled around, admiring everything. There was nothing formal about the garden, but it was beautifully tended and had been planned and planted by someone with a masterly eye. Just looking at it soothed her, although she wasn’t sure why she needed to be soothed.
There was plenty of work for her to get on with during the afternoon. She dealt with the post in a competent manner, set aside anything she felt the doctor should see himself, and when a tray of tea came sat back and enjoyed it, feeling that she had earned it. And I only hope dinner will be a bit more sociable than lunch, thought Louisa, biting into the last of the scones.
It was tiresome to know so little about the doctor. The practice was obviously a large and far-flung one; he had a partner and he must bear his share of the workload. But he was, after all, a GP, and unlike Sir James didn’t have consulting rooms and a big private practice. She paused to think. She was only guessing; for all she knew he might be a brilliant medical man, preferring to hide his light under a bushel, coming out of obscurity in order to help Sir James.
‘I really must find out,’ said Louisa, talking to herself since there was no one else to talk to.
‘What must you find out, Miss Howarth?’ The doctor’s voice, so quiet just behind her, took her by surprise so that she choked on her scone, coughing and spluttering while he thumped her back.
When she at last caught her breath, she said indignantly, ‘What a beastly thing to do, creeping up on me like that …’
She turned round to look at him, standing there with a very large, silent dog at his side, and he said gravely, ‘I do apologise. I had no idea that you were of a nervous disposition.’
Not an answer to soothe her already ruffled feelings.
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