Second Thyme Around (19 page)
‘But why?’
‘Sister said I could only have family members to visit. Lucas said he
was
family.’ Kitty chuckled laboriously. ‘Sister said, couldn’t be. You’d said I had no relatives.’ The chuckles became so strong Perdita feared her old friend might actually die laughing. ‘He said you didn’t know about him, he was a black sheep denied by all family members.’
was
family.’ Kitty chuckled laboriously. ‘Sister said, couldn’t be. You’d said I had no relatives.’ The chuckles became so strong Perdita feared her old friend might actually die laughing. ‘He said you didn’t know about him, he was a black sheep denied by all family members.’
‘But how did he find out you were ill, I mean, if he really was a black sheep?’
‘Telepathy!’ Kitty would have been speechless with mirth even if she hadn’t just had a major stroke.
Perdita was laughing too. ‘So what happened? Sister surely didn’t just let Lucas find you? I mean, if you hadn’t seen him for nearly forty years, or whatever, she wouldn’t have let him just bowl up to you and say, “Hi, Auntie, long time, no see!”’
‘No, she led him by the arm and brought him to my bed. Then she said, “Bit of a surprise for you, Kitty – I mean, Mrs Anson.” ’ Kitty paused for breath. ‘“Lucas has come all the way from Scotland to visit you.” ’ Kitty’s giggles again became life-threatening. ‘“He heard you were ill in
a dream, and he’s come to visit you. You remember Lucas? Matilda’s youngest son?” Had to disguise my laughter as emotion.’
a dream, and he’s come to visit you. You remember Lucas? Matilda’s youngest son?” Had to disguise my laughter as emotion.’
Perdita could appreciate the funny side of the situation, but was more pleased with Kitty’s upturn in spirits. But how was
she
supposed to react? Would the sister spare her the knowledge of Lucas’s appearance? Or would she draw her tactfully to one side and explain about the long-lost nephew with second sight?
she
supposed to react? Would the sister spare her the knowledge of Lucas’s appearance? Or would she draw her tactfully to one side and explain about the long-lost nephew with second sight?
‘He brought food,’ Kitty went on, still delighted.
‘Well, I don’t suppose a clean nightie can really compete,’ she said, fishing about in Kitty’s locker for dirty washing. ‘Though I did bring “a wee dram”. If Dr Edwards approves it, you might be allowed an occasional sniff of the cork.’
‘How kind, dear,’ said Kitty, suddenly tired after all her laughter. ‘Do you know, I’m not missing my pipe at all. Do you think that means I’m getting old?’
When she got home later that evening, having discussed the miracles of ESP with the ward sister, Perdita found an array of little pots and a note on her kitchen worktop.
You must make your house more secure and give me a key. It’s far too easy to break in. Eat this for your supper, I know you won’t have anything decent otherwise. Love, your friendly neighbourhood house-breaker and counterfeit nephew to the stars.
Smiling in spite of herself, Perdita inspected the pots. There was a little ramekin of some very strong-smelling pate, a pile of matchstick carrots with threads of courgettes sprinkled with herbs and blobbed with mayonnaise, and some soup. The soup had ‘Heat in the microwave if you can find it’ written on it. There was a pot of chocolate mousse with a large dollop of cream on it.
Perdita ate the chocolate mousse and then glanced at the clock: half past ten. The kitchen would be quiet now. It would just be clearing up and serving coffee time. She rang the number. Lucas answered.
‘Hi. Thanks for the food.’
‘Have you eaten it? What did you think of the soup?’
‘I’ve only had the mousse so far. It was yummy.’
‘How did you get on at the hospital?’
‘Kitty was delighted with your performance. She could hardly speak for laughing. The sister was fairly gaga about you too.’
‘It must come from working with all those old ladies,’ he said blankly.
Perdita chuckled. ‘Will you be able to get in and see her again, do you think?’
‘Of course! You don’t think I’d miss an opportunity to mix with all those lovely, desperate nurses, in uniform, do you?’
‘The sister’s on to you, by the way. She worried in case you’re after Kitty’s money.’
‘So how did you react to that?’
‘Oh, I was very noncommittal. I said it didn’t matter who you were as long as you cheered up Kitty.’
‘Very noble of you.’
‘Noble yourself. It was kind of you to visit Kitty and bring her nice things to eat. And me too,’ she added, with an effort. ‘It was kind of you to leave me a midnight feast.’
‘I know you don’t eat properly, and you’ll need your strength.’
Perdita did need her strength. It was hard work keeping her business going and keeping Kitty well visited, cheerful and in clean clothes. And then one evening, after a particularly hard day, there was a man sitting by Kitty’s bedside as she arrived.
It could only be a doctor, and Perdita’s heart sank. She approached him carefully, preparing herself for bad news.
‘Hello, are you the specialist?’ She tried to smile as he got up. ‘I’m Perdita Dylan. I’m not actually related to Mrs Anson, but I look after her.’
He put out his hand. He was a pleasant-looking man, probably in his early thirties, smartly dressed with a tie and shiny shoes. Just as Perdita decided that Kitty would like him, she noticed the camelhair coat over the back of a chair.
‘No, no. I’m not a doctor,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’m Roger Owen. Unlike you, I am related to Aunt Kitty, although only very distantly. Do sit down, I’ll get another chair. We can chat while Aunt Kitty dozes.’
Perdita did as she was told, wondering simultaneously why on earth she’d never heard of him before, and how the nursing staff had coped with a second long-lost relative.
Kitty continued to sleep, offering no information on either count.
Roger Owen came back with another plastic chair. ‘How do you do? I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of me. I’m the son of a distant cousin of Aunt Kitty’s, but they didn’t speak. After my mother died I found some correspondence relating to Aunt Kitty, and I was just thinking about looking her up when a Mrs Dylan – would that be your mother, I wonder? – rang me and told me about Aunt Kitty being ill.’
‘It probably was my mother, but how did she know about you?’ And why did she get in touch with you without telling me? Perdita wanted to add, furious that her mother had obviously gone on a relative hunt without consulting her.
‘I don’t know, but she told me you were dealing with the situation all on your own.’ He smiled. ‘You’re probably not at all pleased to see me, and have everything in hand.’
Because this was what she was thinking, she found herself smiling. ‘No, no, it’s very nice to meet you, and I expect Kitty was pleased you came.’
He smiled back. ‘She was rather surprised, and the nurses insisted I produced documentary evidence of our relationship. Fortunately I’d brought some, for Aunt Kitty, but apparently there’s another nephew who’s been visiting.’
‘Yes, it’s complicated. But how long can you stay? I’m sure we could wake Kitty if you’ve got to get off somewhere.’
‘Actually, I’m hoping to do a little work while I’m around, so I’ve booked in at a hotel here in town. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s comfortable and not too expensive.’
‘Oh.’ Perdita was just struggling to think of something to say when Kitty stirred.
‘Oh, hello, Perdita, darling. How nice to see you. Have you met … ?’
‘Roger – Roger Owen.’
‘Yes,’ said Perdita. ‘We’ve just been introducing ourselves.’
‘Poor Roger,’ said Kitty. ‘I’d forgotten all about him. I never got on with his grandmother, and so lost touch.’
‘Apparently Mummy got in touch with him,’ said Perdita.
‘Clever of her, wasn’t it? I expect she thought it was too much for you, looking after me all by yourself. Quite right too. You’re looking dreadfully tired. I keep telling you, you don’t need to visit every day.’
‘But, darling, you need some contact from the outside world, or you’ll go mad.’
‘Lucas can come and see me on the days you don’t. One visitor a day is more than most of these poor old things get.’
‘And now I’m here, I can visit too,’ Roger added.
Both women regarded him thoughtfully, unable to decide, without conferring, whether this was good news or bad.
‘You’re probably far too busy,’ they said, more or less together.
‘Not at all,’ he said with another smile. ‘I’d be delighted. But I must go now. I’ll leave you two ladies to have a chat.’
They watched him make his way through the ward in silence.
‘He’s a nice man,’ said Kitty, ‘but I do hate being referred to as a public convenience.’
‘He could hardly have said “women”, although I do agree with you. So, tell me all. Who is he? Or are you too tired?’
‘His grandmother was a vicious old woman who kept changing her will depending on which relative she’d taken against. Apparently poor Roger got nothing.’ She paused. ‘I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but do try to be nice to him while he’s here.’
‘Of course.’
A couple of days later, Kitty had progressed to a wheelchair, and now spent her days in the day room, where the television watched itself, and the old ladies watched each other slip further down in their seats. Kitty had taken it upon herself to be in charge of the bell. The moment anyone looked remotely uncomfortable, she would demand, ‘Shall I ring for the nurse?’ Few patients ever said no.
Perdita privately asked the sister if Kitty was driving them mad.
‘Oh no, if she’s in there, we don’t have to go and check up on them. We know Mrs Anson will let us know immediately anyone wants a bedpan, even if they don’t when the time comes.’
‘She’s doing well, isn’t she?’
‘She certainly is. She grumbles about the physio, but she’s very determined to improve, and works really hard at her exercises. You’d better think about how you’re going to manage when she comes home.’
Dr Edwards summoned Perdita to discuss this. ‘She’s done extremely well. She’s absolutely determined to get
home. But what she doesn’t quite realise is that she’ll never be able to cope on her own again.’
home. But what she doesn’t quite realise is that she’ll never be able to cope on her own again.’
‘I can look after her …’
‘I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to manage on your own either. You’ll have to have a professional carer full time.’ He paused. ‘It might, of course, be cheaper to put her in a home. A lot easier for you, too.’
Perdita took a deep breath. ‘Not while—’
‘I knew you’d say that,’ said Dr Edwards, before Perdita had time to finish. ‘Kitty seems confident that her finances are fairly healthy. You’ll need to organise enduring power of attorney. You are her next of kin, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m not kin at all, really, and now she’s got Roger – Roger Owen. He’s some distant cousin, and visiting regularly.’
‘I’d heard about a couple of long-lost nephews. Why two?’
Perdita grinned. ‘One’s genuine, and the other’s Lucas, the chef at Grantly House. You remember? He helped us carry Kitty into the house when she had her stroke. He told them he was a nephew so he could visit.’
‘Well, if he’s the one bringing her all those delicious titbits it doesn’t matter who he is. Eating well has greatly improved her recovery. Now,’ he became more businesslike, ‘Kitty’s going to be able to come home in about a month. Here’s a list of numbers, the district nurse, et cetera. And here’s a couple of numbers of nursing agencies. It’s not going to be easy for you, but if you’re determined, we’ll give you all the support we can.’
The agencies were less helpful. Most of them, it appeared, catered for people, who, it seemed to Perdita, were fit enough not to need carers. No one incontinent, unable to use the lavatory unsupported, or who woke in the night was acceptable.
Eventually Perdita found herself speaking to a very aristocratic-sounding woman who, Perdita felt, would
refuse to provide carers unless the caree was guaranteed to be a lady. Perdita dropped every name she could think of, dragging into the conversation all of Kitty’s well-connected friends. At last a bargain was struck, and Perdita could prepare for Kitty to come home.
refuse to provide carers unless the caree was guaranteed to be a lady. Perdita dropped every name she could think of, dragging into the conversation all of Kitty’s well-connected friends. At last a bargain was struck, and Perdita could prepare for Kitty to come home.
Perdita decided to ask Ronnie for help in transforming Kitty’s elegant drawing room into a bedroom fit for an invalid, or, as Ronnie remarked when he saw the task before them, turning it into ‘a cross between
Casualty
and
The Antiques Roadshow’.
Casualty
and
The Antiques Roadshow’.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘That sofa’s got to go. It’s huge, probably not very comfortable, and without it, we could put the bed along here.’
‘She and her husband first made love on that sofa,’ Perdita informed him.
‘Well, if she wants to make love now, she’ll have to use the bed, like everyone else. You said the bed had to be by a wall?’
‘So the lifting gear can be fixed to it.’ She gave the wall an experimental knock. ‘It has to be a good wall, too. A lot of the walls in this house are held together by plaster.’
Ronnie gave the wall a thump. ‘Solid as a rock. The bed goes here, the sofa goes to the tip – if there isn’t room for it anywhere else.’
‘There must be somewhere we can put it. I can’t just get rid of Kitty’s past—’
‘So we’ve got room for her future life.’
Perdita sighed. Ronnie was right. It was no good trying to hang on to the things as they were. Everything was different now.
Once she’d got into the swing of it, and found a corner in the spare room in the attic which would take a large
chesterfield with the stuffing coming out of it, she began to enjoy herself.
chesterfield with the stuffing coming out of it, she began to enjoy herself.
‘It’s quite like
Changing Rooms,
isn’t it?’ she said to Ronnie, ‘only without the redecorating.’
Changing Rooms,
isn’t it?’ she said to Ronnie, ‘only without the redecorating.’
‘Mind you, you’ll have to redecorate a bit when they put the grab handles in. Now, where is the nearest bathroom?’
‘Upstairs. There’s a cloakroom down here. I’m going to knock through that alcove,’ she pointed to where several shelves of china were tastefully displayed, ‘so you can get straight into the downstairs loo, which will become a bathroom.’
‘Wow!’ Ronnie was impressed. ‘I bet that took a bit of persuading, to get the old lady to agree to that.’
‘It was hell. Fortunately I had support from Roger – did I tell you about him? Long-lost nephew?’
‘You did mention it. Nice-looking, is he?’
‘All right, I suppose. Anyway, he turned up just at the right moment.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Hell! We must get on, he’s coming for lunch in a minute. I promised Kitty I’d be nice to him.’
‘So where are you going to put all the china?’ Ronnie nodded towards it. ‘That looks like Meissen to me.’
‘It is. There’s a cupboard upstairs that’s full of the cups and saucers Kitty used for when the garden was open to the public. I told her it would all fit in there.’ She sighed. ‘I felt awful having to bully her. It’s such a dreadful upheaval for her – mentally more than anything. Eventually I said if she didn’t agree to pay the builders, I’d sell my own furniture and pay for them myself.’
‘It’s horrid having to take charge of someone’s life when they’ve always taken charge of yours. I felt just the same when my mother died.’
They were sharing a consoling hug when they heard a car draw up outside.
‘That’ll be Roger.’
‘Well, I’ll have a quick butcher’s at him, and then leave you to it. He’s single, is he?’
‘As far as I know.’
Ronnie gave her a knowing look. ‘And he’s going to help you sort out the furniture?’
‘Well, he said he would.’
Perdita offered Roger a glass of sherry. He accepted with a pleasant smile. ‘I never knew Aunt Kitty when she was well, but I imagine she liked a glass of sherry.’
Perdita returned the smile. ‘Well, she really preferred whisky, but she did drink sherry at lunchtime, sometimes.’
Roger frowned slightly. ‘Whisky? I would have thought she was too much of a lady to drink spirits.’
Perdita laughed, bringing a bowl of salad to the table. ‘She wouldn’t care about things like that.’ Perdita found room for the bowl in between a pile of post and a pot of African violets. ‘She smoked a pipe, after all.’
Roger appeared disconcerted by this information. ‘Um – is there anything I can do to help?’
‘If you’d just bring the breadboard over … I’ll get the butter. Do sit down. Just shove those catalogues on that spare chair … Well done. Damn, the butter’s rock hard. I’ll just pop it in the microwave for a second.’
Having managed to rescue the butter before it turned to liquid, Perdita turned round and found that Roger had shuffled all the papers into a neat pile. She felt a pang of something she identified as jealousy, as if she was the only one entitled to mess with Kitty’s things. It probably comes from being an only child, she thought. I don’t want to share Kitty with Roger. She summoned an especially charming smile to make up for the meanness of her thoughts. ‘Do tuck in. It’s only tinned soup, I’m afraid, but I’ve dolled it up a bit with sherry and cream, à la Kitty.’
Roger picked up his spoon. ‘It’s really very nice,’ he said after trying it.
Perdita decided that he was, too. ‘Have some butter on your bread.’
He shook his head. ‘Better not. I have to watch the waistline, I’m afraid.’
‘It looks fine to me,’ said Perdita, having checked.
‘Only because I watch what I eat and work out.’
‘Oh.’ Perdita scanned him for evidence of this. Perhaps a perfect six-pack might mean he was more exciting than he first appeared, but nothing was visible under his crisp cotton shirt. ‘Have some salad. It hasn’t got dressing on it. I never add it to the whole bowl unless I can guarantee it’s all going to get eaten.’
He poured a dribble of dressing on his leaves. ‘I can tell you either watch what you eat very carefully, or you take lots of exercise. What do you do? Jog?’
‘No, dig,’ said Perdita, chuckling. ‘I’m a market gardener, don’t forget.’
‘Of course. And do you do that nearby?’
‘Oh yes. Just over the fence, really. You must come and have a look after lunch.’
‘I must say I would like to see Aunt Kitty’s garden. I gather it was all she really cared about.’
‘She still does care about it.’
Roger put out his hand to cover Perdita’s. ‘Of course she does, and I hope she will do for a very long time.’
Perdita put her hand back in her lap. ‘It’s easy to talk about her in the past tense because she’s not here. Would you like some more soup? There’s a bit left, and it would only be wasted.’
‘I think I’ve had enough, thank you. Now,’ he got up briskly, ‘shall we tackle the washing-up?’
‘Oh no. Let’s not waste a lovely afternoon. Let’s go and see the garden.’
Roger was regarding the orchard at the bottom of the plot with narrowed eyes, and Perdita felt Kitty’s reputation as a great gardener was on the line. ‘It’s nothing like as good now as it was years ago, when Kitty was really well, but it’s jolly good considering.’
‘Oh no, it’s fine. And an absolute haven for wildlife, of course. How big is it, do you think?’
‘I’m not sure. About an acre, I suppose. There was more before she gave me a chunk. Those are my poly-tunnels, over there.’
‘I see. I expect she let the undergrowth develop to screen them.’
‘I suppose they are rather an eyesore, now you point it out. I don’t come to this bit of the garden much.’
‘I’m sure Aunt Kitty wouldn’t have minded them being there. After all, she gave you the land, didn’t she? Or did she just suggest you use it?’
Perdita bit her lip. ‘I don’t know. Is there a difference?’
‘Only technically. You may need to get the boundaries sorted out. Later.’ He smiled. ‘I know we’ve agreed not to talk about Aunt Kitty as if she was already dead, but when the time comes, do call on me if you need help sorting out those sort of details.’
Perdita opened her mouth to say that it didn’t matter about the boundaries because she would probably inherit it all anyway, but stopped herself. She had no real right to make such a presumption. ‘Thank you, that’s a kind offer.’
‘Sometimes it’s useful to have someone who’s accustomed to these things handy. Someone who understands, that is.’ His gaze lingered on her for a second before he went on briskly, ‘Now, do show me where you grow your salads.’
‘Of course.’ Perdita had meant to ask him what he did for a living, but now had lost her chance.
‘Aunt Kitty tells me that you and Lucas Gillespie used to be married,’ he said, as they walked to the gap in the fence.
‘It must be difficult for you, with him hanging round Aunt Kitty all the time.’ He opened the gate for her.
‘It must be difficult for you, with him hanging round Aunt Kitty all the time.’ He opened the gate for her.
‘Oh no, not at all. They get on really well.’
‘That’s all right then.’ He waited for her to go through before closing the gate carefully behind him. ‘I wasn’t sure if there was anything – you know – still between you,’ he added diffidently.
‘Oh, no.’ She crossed her fingers in her coat pocket to expunge a certain evening on his restaurant floor. ‘He’s a local chef I supply salads to, and he and Kitty talk about books. There’s nothing more to it than that.’
‘Oh, good.’ He smiled, and brushed his hair back from his forehead. ‘I’m glad you’re not spoken for.’
Perdita blushed. She wasn’t used to people making gallant remarks.
After they’d inspected Bonyhayes Salads, Roger offered to go back with Perdita to Kitty’s, to advise on the shifting of furniture. While he was very strong, and had lots of useful suggestions, Perdita couldn’t help wishing it had been Ronnie helping her instead. Roger didn’t seem to understand sentimental value in the way Ronnie did.
It was Ronnie, however, who was with her to greet the carer as Roger, who had offered, was away on business. Perdita and Ronnie were peering out of the upstairs window, watching for her car, speculating wildly what she might be like – they’d decided on a modern Mary Poppins – when she arrived.
She was of the school of nursing which Perdita would have assumed would have gone out of fashion before Florence Nightingale’s time. She appeared to be in late middle age, but had probably looked the same since her twenties. She cast Ronnie a brisk, reptilian flicker from the corner of her eye, which consigned him to the outer darkness.
‘As the agency will have told you,’ she addressed Perdita coldly, ‘I am a qualified nurse, unlike most of those on our books.’ There was a disapproving pause. ‘Miss Argent likes to send me to new clients, especially if they need physiotherapy, which I understand Mrs Anson does.’
‘That’s right.’ Miss Argent had also explained that Nurse Stritch was a lot more expensive than the other carers, but until a routine was established, it was a good idea to have a fully qualified nurse. ‘Do come into the kitchen. We can have a cup of tea.’
Nurse Stritch followed Perdita cautiously. ‘I am also here to ensure that the circumstances are suitable for unqualified staff, and that nothing untoward is expected of carers.’ She scanned the kitchen through narrowed eyes, looking for mousetraps and coal buckets.
While she was inspecting the pantry, which housed the washing machine and freezer, and just a touch of damp, Ronnie whispered in Perdita’s ear, ‘Sorry to bail on you, love, but I’m a coward. You’ll be better on your own.’
The sensible, grown-up side of Perdita, which had shrunk to minute proportions since Nurse Stritch’s arrival, hoped that Kitty would take to this anachronistic woman, a Mrs Gamp unsoftened by the humanity of her gin bottle. The child in Perdita, which had swelled almost overwhelmingly, hoped Kitty would send the martinet packing.
‘Would you like to come upstairs? Let me help you with your bags.’
Nurse Stritch inspected the bedroom which Perdita and Miriam, Kitty’s cleaner, had prepared for her. It had its own washbasin, was pleasantly furnished, and had an excellent view of the garden. Perdita had washed and ironed the curtains, provided a lace mat for the dressing table as well as a huge selection of towels – bath, hand and a linen one for her face – and a carefully arranged vase of flowers.
Nurse Stritch’s lack of comment offended her.
‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here,’ said Perdita stiffly, hoping the room was haunted, and that the bed turned out to be hugely uncomfortable.
‘There isn’t a television. Could you please arrange to have one installed?’
‘Of course,’ Perdita replied, kicking herself for not having thought of this, knowing she would have to bring her own television from home. Kitty, if applied to for funds for a television for the carer, would just say, ‘Nonsense,’ which might make Nurse Stritch hate her.
Fortunately, William was still working when Perdita flew into one of the poly-tunnels, needing his immediate assistance.
‘Can you be a love and put my telly into the carer’s room at Kitty’s? I should have thought of it, really, but I didn’t and I’m hopeless with aerials and things.’
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