Stormy Springtime

‘I’ve no idea. There’s a valuer coming…I’ll let you know as soon as he’s been and she’s agreed to his estimate.’

Doreen wandered off and came back presently with a scribbled list. Mostly portraits, a rent table which wouldn’t really be missed in the drawing-room, a little button-backed Victorian chair from one of the bedrooms and a corner cupboard. ‘Not much,’ she commented. ‘I’d rather have the money, anyway. Cora and I don’t really like the idea of you staying on here as housekeeper, you know. It’s only for a few weeks, isn’t it? Let me know in good time so that I can find somewhere for you, Meg.’

It seemed as good a time as any to talk about her future. Meg said quietly, ‘Doreen, I’d like to go on housekeeping; if Mrs Culver will give me a reference I could get a job in some country house—and take Betsy with me—I’d probably get a cottage or a flat, and I’d much rather do that than live in London…’

Doreen looked at her with kindly tolerance. ‘Don’t be daft, love. Just you leave everything to Cora and me—we really know what’s best for you. You’ve lived here too long; it’s time you went into the world and had a look around.’

‘I don’t think it’s my sort of world,’ protested Meg doggedly. ‘I like the country and keeping house and looking after people…’

‘Nonsense,’ said Doreen firmly. ‘How can you be certain of that before you’ve lived somewhere else?’ She added coaxingly, ‘Cora and I do want you to be happy, darling; I know there wasn’t much we could do about it while Mother was alive, but now we intend to see that you have some fun.’

There had been a lot they could have done, but Meg didn’t say so; she loved her two pretty sisters and she wasn’t a girl to bear a grudge.

All she said was, mildly, ‘Well, Betsy and I will be here for two months—plenty of time to make plans.’

Doreen nodded her pretty head; she was looking thoughtful again. ‘I don’t suppose Mrs Culver will mind if I pop down to see you now and again?’ And at Meg’s look of surprise, ‘Just to make sure that everything is OK…’ She gave herself away completely by adding, ‘I wonder where he lives and what he does? I might be able to find out…’

‘Did you like him?’ asked Meg.

‘My dear Meg—grow up, do! He’s got everything: looks—my goodness, he’s got those all right—obviously a good job—probably chairman of something or other—and money. He’s every girl’s dream, ducky.’

‘Oh, is he? I don’t much care for him. Besides, he may be married.’

‘But it’s worth finding out. I must be off. I’ll let you know when to expect the carrier to collect my furniture.’ Doreen dropped a kiss on Meg’s cheek. ‘Be seeing you, darling. Has Cora phoned?’

‘Last week. I expect she’s busy; the boys have half term.’

Getting into the car, Doreen said, ‘I’m broke—this cashmere dress, but it’s worth every penny. You must get yourself some decent clothes, love. You look—well—dowdy!’

She sped away with a wave and Meg stood in the porch, shivering a little in the cold wind, aware that her sister was quite right. A housekeeper should be decently but soberly dressed, and she would need a couple of overalls.

She would go into Hertford in the morning; she had a little money she had been hanging on to for emergencies, and since she was to be paid, she could safely spend it.

It took her some time to find what she wanted. Sober dresses suitable for a housekeeper seemed to be made for very large, tall women and she was size ten. She found something at last: dark grey with white collars and a little black bow; it did nothing for her whatsoever, but then it wasn’t supposed to. She bought overalls too, blue and white checks with a white collar and neat belts, and since she had a little money over she bought Betsy two new aprons, old-fashioned with bibs which crossed over at the back and fastened with giant safety pins. Nothing would convince Betsy that nylon overalls saved time and labour; she had never fancied them, and she wasn’t prepared to change her ideas at her time of life.

Another week went by. The solicitors, at last satisfied that all the parties concerned were not up to something unlawful, cautiously exchanged contracts and then, doubtless egged on by Mrs Culver, allowed them to be signed. The house was Mrs Culver’s. All three of them had had to sign; Doreen had fetched Meg and had driven into Hertford, annoyed at what she called the waste of her precious time, but excited too, and Cora had driven herself from Kent, excited in a controlled way, anxious to get the business over and get back to her modern, split-level house with its well-kept garden and the double garage.

The whole business took only a very few minutes; they stood on the pavement outside the solicitor’s office and looked at each other. ‘I’d better come back to the house and get the pictures and silver,’ said Cora. ‘You heard what Mr Dutton said, Meg? The money will be paid into my account and I’ll send you a cheque for your share, and Doreen, of course.’ She looked at her younger sister. ‘I expect you want to get back to the hospital. I’ll take Meg back, collect my things and go home—I’ve a bridge party this afternoon.’

She tucked her arm into Meg’s. ‘Lovely to have it all settled. What a difference it’s going to make.’

Meg said nothing at all. Doreen and Cora might be over the moon but she had just lost her home. She would rather have gone on living there until it fell in ruins about her ears; what use was the money to her if she had to use it to buy some ghastly basement flat? She swallowed back tears and got into Cora’s car.

A week later Mrs Culver moved in. There had been a small van load of furniture first with instructions as to where it was to be put and at ten o’clock in the morning the Rolls-Royce had come to a quiet halt in front of the door and the new owner had stepped out, helped, Meg was annoyed to see, by her son, massive and calm and for some reason faintly amused. That the amusement had been engendered by her own sober appearance never entered her head. She welcomed Mrs Culver with shy dignity, and led the way to the drawing-room.

‘I expect you’d like coffee. I’ll bring it.’ She glanced at Mr Culver. ‘You’ll have a cup, Mr Culver?’

‘Thank you, yes.’ He glanced round the room. ‘I see you’ve had the time to arrange my mother’s things.’

And when she said yes, he asked, ‘The valuer has been?’

‘Yes. He’ll write to Mrs Culver.’

That lady was sitting back comfortably, taking no part in the conversation. Meg suspected that she was in the habit of leaving business matters to her son. She got herself out of the room and hurried to the kitchen to get the coffee tray.

‘They’re ‘ere,’ said Betsy, unnecessarily. ‘E’s ‘ere too. A proper gent.’

Meg had her own ideas about that, but there was no time to discuss the man. She whipped up the tray and went back with it, and set it down on the lamp table by Mrs Culver’s chair.

‘Where’s your cup?’ asked the older woman.

‘My cup?’ Meg echoed.

‘Yes, dear. Go and fetch it. Ralph hasn’t much time, and he wants to be sure that there are no loose ends.’

Meg fetched another cup and saucer and sat down on a little chair as far from Mr Culver as she dared without being rude. He gave her a hooded glance.

‘I wish merely to thank you for the help you’ve given my mother. Without you, she would have been unable to settle in so quickly. We’re grateful. Do we owe you anything? Are there any outstanding bills?’

Meg said that, no, there weren’t. ‘Willy will be up tomorrow morning on his way to school and will fill the coal scuttles, and he’ll come again in the afternoon on his way back home. The gardener starts on Monday.’

Mr Culver finished his coffee and got up. ‘I think you’ll be happy here, Mother. You know where I am if you need me, my dear.’ He crossed the room and kissed her cheek, and nodded austerely to Meg. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

Meg poured more coffee, and Mrs Culver said, ‘Such a good son—never interferes, you know, but always there when I want him. So convenient. He’s just like his father.’

Meg looked at her companion with something like respect. If his father had been like him, then she must have had her work cut out—but perhaps he had loved her very much and never let her see the cold mockery and impatience—or perhaps it was Meg herself who induced those. She thought that probably it was; she had had no practice in turning a man up sweet. She murmured suitably and asked what Mrs Culver would like for lunch.

It took only a few days to settle into a routine. Mrs Culver liked her breakfast in bed, which meant that Meg and Betsy could eat their own meal and get on with the household chores. Even with Mrs Griffith’s help there was plenty of work to be got through, and they did the bulk of it in the early mornings. Mrs Culver’s own car had arrived with her chauffeur and she was out a good deal, which gave Meg time to see to the washing and ironing and help Betsy with the meals, so that tasks such as arranging the flowers and setting the table for meals could be done when that lady was at home, tasks which Meg concluded were quite suitable for a housekeeper. She had no doubt that Mrs Culver had little idea of what went on behind the scenes; she was charming, easy and very kind, and had very likely grown up and lived all her life with people to do her bidding.

But it had been a surprise to Meg when Mrs Culver had insisted on her taking her meals with her. And when she had demurred, she had insisted, ‘Nonsense, child. You’ve sat at this table all your life; you will continue to do so or upset me very much.’

So Meg sat at the table she had laid so carefully, getting up to clear the dishes and fetch the food from the kitchen, for Betsy had enough to do and her legs hurt in any case, and she entirely approved of the arrangement. The dear soul still thought of her as the lady of the house. Mrs Culver was a nice enough lady, indeed, one couldn’t wish for a better, but there had been Collinses living there for a long time, and she didn’t take easily to change.

Meg was happy; she was still in her own home, she enjoyed the work even though her days were long and there was little time to get into the garden. Cora had phoned to say that her share of the money was paid into her account and to ask, rather casually, if she were happy. And when she had a satisfactory answer, ‘Then I’ll not bother you, Meg; let me know when you leave and I’ll help in any way I can.’

She had a much longer call from Doreen, who wasted little time on questions but plunged at once into her news. She had discovered who Mr Culver was—a Professor, a consultant radiologist, based at one of the big teaching hospitals but with a large area to cover. ‘He’s well known,’ said Doreen, ‘goes to any number of hospitals for consultations—one of the best men in his field—Europe too. When is he going to visit his mother, Meg?’

‘I’ve no idea. Did you want to see him about something? Shall I ask Mrs Culver?’

‘I wish you’d grow up, Meg! Of course I want to see him, but only to get to know him. He’s not married…’

Meg tried to imagine him as a future brother-in-law. ‘He’s quite old,’ she pointed out in her practical manner.

‘Rubbish—thirty-eight at the most. Quite brilliant at his work, too—he’ll end up with a knighthood.’

‘I thought you were keen on that registrar…’

‘Oh, him! Listen, darling, if you hear that he’s coming down to see his mother, give me a ring, will you?’