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with Mrs Tyler.’ He went into the bedroom and presently came out of it again, and whisked Bertha into the car.

      He stopped the car in a side-street close to Oxford Street and ushered her into a small café where he sat her down at a table, ordered a pot of tea and took a seat opposite her.

      ‘There is no need to say anything to your stepmother for the moment. It so happens that a nursery school I know of needs someone to read to the children. Would you consider doing that? The times may be different, but I’m sure I can explain that to Mrs Soames. Will you leave it to me? You will want to come to the funeral, won’t you? Will you phone my rooms—tomorrow evening? Can you do that?’

      ‘Well, I take my stepmother’s dog for a walk every evening—I could go to the phone box; it’s not far…’

      ‘Splendid.’ His smile was kind. ‘Now, drink your tea and I’ll take you home.’ He added casually, ‘I don’t think there is any need to say anything to your stepmother about your change of job or Mrs Duke’s death, do you?’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I can explain that it will suit everyone concerned if the times are changed.’

      ‘If you wouldn’t mind. I don’t think my stepmother would notice. I mean…’

      ‘I know what you mean, Bertha.’ His quiet voice reassured her.

      The funeral was to be on Wednesday, she was told when she telephoned the following evening on her walk, and if she went as usual to the doctor’s rooms she would be driven to Mrs Duke’s flat. ‘And as regards Monday,’ went on the doctor, ‘come at the usual time and I’ll take you along to the nursery school so that you can meet everyone and arrange your hours.’

      As she went back into the house she met Clare in the hall, dressed to go out for the evening. She twirled round, showing off the short silky frock.

      ‘Do you like it, Bertha? It shows off my legs very well, doesn’t it? It’s a dinner party at the Ritz.’ She smiled her charming smile. ‘I might as well have as much fun as possible before I settle down and become a fashionable doctor’s wife.’

      She danced off and Bertha took the dog to the kitchen. Was that why the doctor was being so kind to her, finding her work to fill her empty days? To please Clare, with whom he was in love? Well, who wouldn’t be? reflected Bertha. Clare was so very pretty and such fun to be with.

      She was surprised that her stepmother had had no objection to her changing the hours of her reading, but the doctor, driving her to the funeral, observed that there had been no trouble about it. ‘Indeed, Mrs Soames seemed pleased that you have an outside interest.’

      It was a remark which surprised Bertha, since her stepmother had evinced no interest in her comings and goings. It was a thought which she kept to herself.

      A surprisingly large number of people were in the church. It seemed that Mrs Duke while alive had had few friends, but now even mere acquaintances crowded into the church and returned to her flat, filling it to overflowing while her nephew, a young man who had come from Sheffield with his wife, offered tea and meat-paste sandwiches.

      Bertha, in the habit of making herself useful, filled the teacups and cut more bread and listened to the cheerful talk. Mrs Duke was being given a splendid send-off, and there had been a nice lot of flowers at the funeral.

      ‘Aunty left her bits and pieces to me,’ said her nephew, coming into the kitchen to make another pot of tea, ‘as well as a bit in the Post Office. She ’as two cats too—I’ll ’ave ter ’ave ’em destroyed. We’ve got a dog at home.’

      ‘No need. Dr Hay-Smythe has taken them to his home.’

      ‘Up ter ’im. ’E did a good job looking after Aunty.’

      The doctor came in search of her presently. ‘I think we might leave—I’ll get someone to take over from you. Did you get a cup of tea?’

      She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

      He smiled. ‘It’s a powerful brew. Wait there while I get someone…’

      Mrs Tyler came back with him. ‘Off you go, dearie. Everyone’ll be here for another few hours and you’ve done more than your fair share. It was good of you and the doctor to come.’

      ‘I liked Mrs Duke,’ said Bertha.

      ‘So did I. She’d have enjoyed this turn-out.’

      ‘Are you expected home?’ asked the doctor as he drove away.

      ‘My stepmother and Clare are at a picture gallery and then going to have drinks with some friends. I expect you’re busy—if you’d drop me off at a bus stop…’

      ‘And then what will you do?’ he wanted to know.

      ‘Why, catch a bus, of course,’ said Bertha in her practical way. ‘And have a cup of tea when I get home.’

      ‘Someone will have it ready for you?’

      ‘Well, no. Crook’s got the afternoon off and so has Daisy—she’s the housemaid—and Cook will have her feet up—her bunions, you know.’

      ‘In that case we’ll have tea at my place.’

      ‘It’s very kind of you to ask me, but really you don’t have to be polite. I’ve taken up a lot of your time, and you must have an awful lot to do.’

      He spoke testily. ‘Bertha, stop being so apologetic. If you don’t wish to have tea with me say so. If not, come back with me and discuss the funeral over tea and toast.’

      She said indignantly, ‘I’m not being apologetic.’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘I don’t care to be—to be…’

      ‘Pitied? The last thing you can expect from me, my girl.’

      He stopped outside his rooms and got out to open her door. She looked up at him as she got out and found herself smiling.

      Cully had the door open before they had reached it. He was introduced to Bertha and offered her a dignified bow before opening the sitting-room door.

      ‘We would like tea, Cully,’ said the doctor. ‘Earl Grey and hot buttered toast—and if you can find a few cakes?’

      ‘Certainly, sir. Shall I take the young lady’s coat?’

      He shuddered inwardly at the sight of the garish dress, but his face was inscrutable; he had until now had a poor opinion of any young ladies his master had brought home from time to time for the occasional drink or lunch, but this one was different, never mind the horrible garment she was wearing. He glided away to arrange cakes on a plate. Made by himself, of course. He didn’t trust cakes bought in a shop.

      Bertha, happily unaware of Cully’s thoughts, went into the sitting room with the doctor to be greeted by Freddie before he went to his master’s side.

      ‘How very convenient,’ said Bertha, ‘having your home over your consulting rooms. I didn’t know you lived here.’

      She gently rubbed Freddie’s head and looked around her. The room was very much to her taste—a pleasing mixture of comfortable chairs and sofas and antique wall cabinets, lamp-tables, a magnificent Georgian rent table under the window and a giltwood mirror over the fireplace. That was Georgian too, she was sure.

      She gave a little sigh of pleasure. ‘This is a beautiful room,’ she told him gravely.

      ‘I’m glad you like it. Do sit down.’ He offered her a small bergère, with upholstery matching the mulberry brocade curtains, and took an armchair opposite her. When her eyes darted to the long-case clock as it chimed the hour of four, he said soothingly, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see that you get back home before anyone else.’

      Cully came in then with a laden tray. He sat everything out on a low table between them and slid away, but not before he had taken a good look at Bertha—nicely contrived from under lowered lids. His first impressions had been good

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