Betty Neels - When Two Paths Meet

‘By her name, of course,’ observed Mr Grainger.

‘Katherine,’ said Katherine.

‘A very good name,’ said his wife. ‘I had a sister of that name—we called her Katie. She died of the scarlet fever. No one has the scarlet fever nowadays. Are you called Katie, my dear?’

‘No, Mrs Grainger, although my mother always called me that.’

The old lady turned to the doctor. ‘She seems a very nice girl, Jason. Not pretty, but well spoken and with a pleasant voice. I think we shall get on splendidly together.’

Mr Grainger put down his newspaper. ‘Glad to have you here,’ he said gruffly. ‘Don’t see many young faces these days, only Dodie—our granddaughter, and she has got a life of her own, bless her. You’re only young once.’ He glanced at Dr Fitzroy, standing placidly between them. ‘Seen her lately?’

‘Yes, and we’re dining together this evening.’

‘Then you won’t want to be hanging around here with us old fogeys.’

The doctor left very shortly, and Mrs Dowling was summoned to take Katherine to her room. She was led silently up the carpeted stairs with shallow treads and along a short passage leading to the back of the house.

‘Here you are,’ said Mrs Dowling, rather ungraciously. ‘The bathroom’s beyond.’ She opened a door, and Katherine went past her into a fair-sized room, prettily furnished, its window overlooking the large garden. Her cases were already there and Mrs Dowling said, ‘Dinner’s at eight o’clock, so you’ll have time to unpack first. They won’t expect you to change this evening. Mrs Grainger asked me to take you round the house. Come downstairs when you are ready and I’ll do that, though it’s not the easiest of times for me, what with dinner to dish up and all.’

‘Would you prefer me to come with you now? I can unpack later when I come to bed, and it won’t take me long to tidy myself.’

Mrs Dowling relaxed her stern expression; the girl looked harmless enough and, heaven knew, she had no looks to speak of, not like some of the pert young things these days who thought that because they had pretty faces and smart clothes, they could indulge in bad manners towards their elders and betters. She cast an eye over Katherine’s sober appearance.

‘Suits me, Miss…’

‘Would you mind calling me Katherine?’ She smiled at the older woman. ‘I haven’t had a job before, and Miss Marsh is a bit—well, I am going to work here.’

Mrs Dowling folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure—how would Miss Katherine do?’

‘If you prefer that, Mrs Dowling.’

They toured the bedrooms, the bathroom and the small pantry off the front landing, where Katherine would be able to make hot drinks if Mr and Mrs Grainger were wakeful during the night.

‘And that’s often enough,’ observed Mrs Dowling, ‘but the doctor will have told you that.’ She led the way downstairs. ‘Very kind and good he is, too. Of course, him being smitten with Miss Dodie, I dare say he sees more of them than he needs to, though they’re not in the best of health.’

She opened a door in the hall, and Katherine saw the dining-room: a rather gloomy apartment, heavily furnished, with a great deal of silver on the sideboard. There was a small study next to it and a charming little room opposite, used as a breakfast-room and sitting-room, its door leading to the drawing-room and with french windows opening out on to the garden at the back of the house.

‘You’d best go tidy yourself,’ said Mrs Dowling. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock, and they’ll want their drinks poured. There now, you know where the drawing-room is?’

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Dowling. Do you want me to help with dinner? I could carry in the dishes for you.’

‘They wouldn’t like that, thanks all the same. Besides, you’ll be busy enough; they ring the bell half a dozen times in an evening for me…’

‘Oh, well,’ said Katherine cheerfully, ‘they won’t need to do that now, will they? You must have been busy.’

Mrs Dowling watched her go back upstairs. Not such a bad young woman, after all, she decided. No looks, but a nice voice, and not in the least bossy.

Mr and Mrs Grainger didn’t appear to have moved when Katherine went back into the drawing-room. She poured their sherry, accepted a glass for herself, and made gentle small talk until Mrs Dowling appeared to say that dinner was on the table. And from then on the evening went well. The old people liked to talk; indeed, half the time they talked at the same time, interrupting each other quite ruthlessly.

Katherine fetched their hot milky drinks from the kitchen at ten o’clock and then saw them upstairs, staying with Mrs Grainger until that lady declared that she could very easily manage for herself.

‘And if I wake in the night, my dear, there’s a bell in my room. Mr Grainger has one, too. I must say it’s a comfort to have you here.’ She bade Katherine a kind goodnight. ‘We’ll have a nice little talk in the morning,’ she promised.

Katherine unpacked, admired her room, had a leisurely bath and thought how lovely it was to have a bathroom all to herself. She thought, too, fleetingly of Henry and Joyce, and felt guilty because she hadn’t missed them or the children. I can’t be a very nice person, she reflected as she curled up snugly in her bed. Not that the idea kept her awake; she slept within moments of her head touching the pillow.

Twenty-four hours later, tired though she was, she stayed awake long enough to review her day. Not too bad, she thought sleepily. The highlight of it had been the doctor’s visit, although he had been impersonal in his manner towards her; all the same, he had smiled nicely at her when he left, and expressed the view that she was exactly right for the job. The old people were demanding in a nice way, but they seemed to like her, and even Mrs Dowling had unbent a little. She had had no chance to go out, or even take an hour off, but she had hardly expected that for the first day; it had been filled with undertaking the multiple small tasks the Graingers expected of her. Going upstairs to fetch a forgotten book, Katherine found time to sympathise with Mrs Dowling, who must have been dead on her feet by bedtime…

All the same, she had been happy. The house was warm, cheerful and charmingly furnished, she had a delightful room all to herself, the meals were elegantly served and the whole tempo of life slowed down. And, over and above all that, she would be paid. It was a splendid thought on which to close her eyes.

The week wound to a close. By Saturday she had found her feet, and for the last two days she had gone out while Mr and Mrs Grainger snoozed on their beds after lunch. Mrs Dowling, she discovered, liked to put her feet up after tea for an hour or so, and Katherine had offered to do any small chores for her during that time, an offer accepted rather ungraciously by that lady.

Katherine had spent her two brief outings window-shopping. She saw at once that forty pounds would go nowhere; she would have to buy essentials during the first few weeks then save up. All the same, she was willing to wait until she had enough money to buy the kind of clothes she wanted; good clothes, well cut and well made.

On Saturday night she had gone to bed content; she had found her week’s wages on the breakfast table, and that afternoon she had gone to Marks and Spencer and spent almost all of it on undies. A methodical girl, she had made a list of the clothes she intended to buy, and crossed out the first line with satisfaction; next week it would almost certainly have to be a dress, Marks and Spencer again, something simple and unobtrusive to tide her over until she could afford something better. And perhaps a nightie? She hated the plain cotton ones she had had for so long.