Betty Neels - The Convenient Wife

Nothing in his manner suggested to her that he might already know.

‘Well, I’ve days off on Monday and Tuesday, and then my holiday starts.’

‘Couldn’t be better, I believe we’re to go on the Tuesday evening.’

He smiled in his friendly fashion. ‘Leave a message at the lodge if you would like to come; we’d be eternally grateful.’

‘If you’re sure—?’ began Venetia.

‘Quite sure, and you’ve no idea what a load it would be off my mind.’

She thought about it for the rest of the day. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to get away from hospital life, and, when she came to think about it, hadn’t someone told her that Mr Miles had bought a small cottage—somewhere near Beaconsfield? Penn, that was the name, and, although he and his wife had a small flat in one of the new blocks built by the Thames where the docks once were, they spent his free weekends and holidays there. She was a little surprised that he had asked her, but there probably wasn’t anyone suitable free. By the end of the day she had made up her mind to accept his offer.

On the Friday evening he came on to the ward, very properly asked Sister Giles if he might have a word with Venetia, and drew her to one side.

‘Lottie and I are so glad that you will come. She’s at the flat, but if you could be ready to go with us on Tuesday afternoon, we’ll collect you on the way down to the cottage at Penn; she would rather be there.’

He smiled kindly at her and went away, leaving her feeling pleasantly excited at the prospect of a change of scene.

She felt a little anxious as she waited for Mr Miles to fetch her; supposing his wife didn’t like her after all? And what would they do all day? And would she be expected to help in the house? She wasn’t really a guest, but, on the other hand, she wasn’t employed by the Mileses, either.

She need not have worried; she was popped into the car, her luggage was stowed in the boot, and it was evident from the first moment that she and Mr Miles’s wife were going to like each other.

‘Call me Lottie,’ begged the pretty girl sitting beside him, ‘and I shall call you Venetia. You don’t mind?’

It took a little while to leave London behind them, but once on the motorway they were going through Beaconsfield and turning off for Penn in no time at all. It was a charming village, just as Venetia had hoped it would be, with a green and a duck pond, surrounded by seventeenth-century cottages overlooked by the church and the Crown Inn. The Mileses’ cottage was down a narrow lane, standing sideways on to the road; a small, neat house, its garden bare now, although very tidy. Inside there was a welcoming fire in the sitting room, and an appetising smell coming from the kitchen.

‘Mrs Trent,’ explained Lottie. ‘She comes in every day when we’re here, just for an hour or two. Come and see your bedroom—we’ve only got two—Arthur will bring up your case.’

It was a dear little room, pink and blue and white, sparsely furnished, but there was everything one could need. ‘We share the bathroom.’ Lottie beamed at Venetia. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do when baby gets here.’

Venetia peered out of the small window. ‘Couldn’t you build on? There’s lots of room, isn’t there? The garden’s beautiful, and fairly big.’

‘We don’t want to leave here—we love it. Would you like to unpack? Arthur will have to go back almost at once…’

‘Will you wish him a good trip from me? I’d like to unpack, if I may.’

It was obvious from her companion’s face that she had said the right thing. She opened her case and started putting things away, and found that her thoughts, without any prompting from her, had turned to the professor. He would be going home—and to whom?

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