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And with that he left her, feeling just rather breathless and with the renewed conviction that it didn’t really pay to cross swords with this man. Somehow or other he always managed to have the last word! It really was exasperating.

It surprised Meg to find how quickly and easily she slipped into the new routine. Immediately after breakfast she went to Hector’s office and worked until lunchtime. After lunch, she drove Aunt Ellen to the hospital and when she returned put in a briefer spell of work for Hector if that was necessary. Then in the early evening there was another trip to the hospital. After dinner she was nominally free, but she invariably rang Hector up on the house phone to ask if there was anything he wanted done that night. So far, he had only wanted her on one occasion, and that very briefly.

To her relief, she found that he evidently did trust her, for while he usually had letters to dictate in the morning, there were other times when he was already out. In this case, he either explained what he wanted her to do overnight or else left explicit directions. Sometimes the work consisted of dealing with the notes he had taken when visiting a farm or had had a telephone conversation with one of the farmers. It was Meg’s task to expand these notes into a straightforward statement of facts which while making their meaning clearer, must none the less be concise. She had, perhaps, looked a little dubious about her ability to do this adequately since, not having any personal knowledge of the farms, she could only make a guess at the meaning of some of Hector’s extremely elliptical comments. However, he had evidently foreseen just this difficulty and dealt with it with characteristic promptness.

“If you get into difficulties, hunt for the relevant file in one or other of the filing cabinets,” he told her. “Everything is arranged alphabetically according to the name of the farm. If you look up earlier letters or notes, you’ll soon find out what’s led up to the notes I’m giving you and what I’m driving at. All clear?”

"Yes, thank you,” Meg replied, wondering if there was anything for which this man wasn’t prepared and for which he had the answer ready.

She went into her own room feeling rather elated. So far she had not attempted to find out the contents of the filing cabinets though she had realised that they were not locked. Now he had given her the right to delve into his papers—yes, it was certainly rather gratifying, and she knew that she worked all the better because of Hector’s implied trust.

On two occasions she did have to consult the files, and on each occasion she marvelled at the thoroughness and clarity of style which Hector brought to his records. Anyone having to take over from him would find absolutely all the information necessary at his fingertips.

Each file was a batch of smaller files clearly marked with their contents: they came under such headings as: Financial, soil, rotation of crops, stock, repairs to farm buildings and fencing—absolutely nothing had been left out But the sub-file which Meg found the most interesting was one which dealt with the history of the farm—when it was built, who had farmed the land and for how long, with details of the farmer’s age, who he had married and how many children they had had. There was even a note of the children’s names and birthdays and in some cases, notes regarding their health. There was nothing, it appeared, about his tenants which didn’t interest Hector.

Just at first Meg felt a certain distaste for the lengths to which Hector had gone to probe into what were really the private affairs of other people, and even more for die care with which he had recorded all the information. To Meg, independent to her fingertips, there was something sinister about records which were tantamount to the all too frequent questionnaires to which one was subjected in town whose purpose was sometimes suspect Then she looked closer and found herself smiling.

Against the names of some of the children were brief little notes:

“Prefers milk to plain chocolate.” “Diabetic. No sweets. Adventure stories enjoyed.” “Rather shy but doesn’t run away now.” “Musical to an unusual degree. Parents determined to foster gift.”

Meg gave a sigh of relief. A man who went to this length to record the likes and dislikes of children and of their needs could hardly be thought of as having any sinister purpose in mind. In particular, she liked that entry about the embryo musician. Quite evidently Hector was interested in the child’s gift, but respecting the parents’ desire to give him his chance, had no intention whatever of robbing them of that right by offering patronage which would put them in his debt.

Meg was in a thoughtful mood when she put the file back in its place. The more she learned about Hector, the more confused she became. Arbitrary and domineering at times, sympathetic and understanding on others —it was all so contradictory. And intriguing. One couldn’t help wondering which was the true man—or if, surprisingly, both were.

“He took it extremely well,” Aunt Ellen remarked suddenly.

She and Meg were on their way back to Heronshaw House after a visit to the hospital, and Meg didn’t have to ask to what she was referring.

“Oh, I am glad!” she exclaimed fervently. “All the same, it must have been very difficult for you.”

“No, it wasn’t. You see, I didn’t have to tell him. He knew already, and it was he who brought the subject up.”

“But how did he know? Who told him?” Meg asked urgently.

“No one from Heronshaw House, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Aunt Ellen assured her shrewdly. “It was one of the nurses—the little redheaded one that’s such a chatterbox.”

“But how could she know that Uncle Andra would be interested?” Meg puzzled. “It wasn’t general knowledge, surely?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Aunt Ellen agreed. “It was simply that in the way of general chatter she remarked that her father was very much put out because he wanted house repairs and decorations done and had been told that it was out of the question because the work being done at the hotel was taking every available man and would do for some time to come. That gave Andra something to think about, and then, on another occasion, she was rather bubbling over because a cousin of hers who had been involved in a road accident was now well enough to come home, though she’d have to report to our hospital for a time yet.”

“Not Mrs Jeavons!” Meg exclaimed.

“Mrs Jeavons,” Aunt Ellen confirmed. “And that really did make Andra sit up. He asked when the accident had happened—and there you are! ”

“Well—” Meg said consideringly, “I’m not sure that wasn’t the best possible way for him to find out. I mean, he must have realised that the nurse could have had no ulterior motive in telling him anything but the truth.”

“He realised much more than that,” Aunt Ellen told her with evident approval. “He’s not the sort of man to shirk facing up to facts, you know! The way he told me about it made that very clear.”

“Yes?” Meg said breathlessly.

“He said: ‘
Ellen, it would appear that I’ve made a very complete fool of myself—and that I owe young Hector an apology
.' Then he told me what he’d found out and, of course, I couldn’t hide that I knew all about it. Still, he appreciated that we’d had to leave it to Mr Messiter and Dr Muir to decide when he should be told, so that was all right. Then he asked me if I’d take a message to Hector to the effect that as he—your uncle, I mean—couldn’t come to Hector, then would he be so good as to come to the hospital.”

“And do you think he will?” Meg asked breathlessly.

“Of course. No doubt about it,” Aunt Ellen said placidly. “And I must say I’m pleased. It’s absurd to have two nice men bickering like schoolboys when there’s really no reason why they shouldn’t be the best of friends. And there’s another thing This will simplify persuading Andra to come to Heronshaw House when he’s discharged. I must say, I’d been rather anxious about that.”

“What I don’t understand is how we’re all going to be fitted into the flat,” Meg confessed. “There simply isn’t room—”

“Oh well, Hector and Millicent tell me that they’ve got that worked out all right, so I’m leaving it to them,” Aunt Ellen explained tranquilly. “And that reminds me, your Uncle Tom is coming up next week-end—that’s all been worked out, too. Millicent is going to sleep in the main part of the house, you’ll have her room in the flat and Tom and I will share the double room. How amazingly kind they’re being to us!”

"Yes,” Meg agreed soberly, “they are.”

But that aspect of the situation, important though it was, didn’t linger very long in her mind. What Aunt Ellen had told her about the little redheaded nurse’s proclivity to gossip had made her realise that it would be perfectly easy to obtain answers to questions which still puzzled her and yet which she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask anyone at Heronshaw House.

They were questions about Nanny, and the most important one which Meg had a feeling would make other questions reasonable was:
How long had elapsed between when Nanny had been admitted to hospital and when she had died?

In other words, how long had the cottage been empty and, consequently, who was responsible for its deplorable condition?

TO Meg’s great disappointment she had no opportunity of talking to the little redheaded nurse. She seemed to have vanished entirely and finally Meg was driven to asking Sister what had happened to her.

“Nurse Heyward? Oh, she’s on night duty now in the Women’s Surgical Ward,” Sister explained. “Nurses have to be moved around, you know. It’s the only way for them to gain experience, but I must say, I’m sorry to have lost Nurse Heyward. She’s only in her first year, but she’s showing every sign of becoming a really good nurse. She’s conscientious and cheerful and she has a gift for getting round even the most cantankerous of patients—and we do have some, I assure you! She’ll go a long way, I’m quite sure.”

Which was all very interesting, but didn’t help Meg. For the time being at least there seemed to be little chance of making contact with Nurse Heyward, though at the last moment Sister did supply another piece of information which cheered Meg up.

“She’s a Blytheburn girl, you know. Her father is our local chemist and she lives at home.”

Meg made a mental note of that, but for the next few days Hector had so much work for her to do that she had no opportunity of going down to the village.

Hector, too, was unusually busy, but none the less, he found time to go and see Uncle Andra. Just what transpired between the two men no one ever knew, but judging by the fact that Hector paid a second and a third visit, it was clear that they had settled their differences and were finding that they had more in common than they had at first supposed.

Their reconciliation had another result. Meg had suspected that until the misunderstanding between the two men had been resolved, Mrs Laidlaw had felt that it was wiser for her not to go and see Uncle Andra, partly, in all probability, out of loyalty to Hector but perhaps also because, in the circumstances, she had felt that Uncle Andra would not welcome her. Now, however, she visited him regularly, and Aunt Ellen was so delighted at this that she made no attempt to hide the fact from Meg.

“They always got on well together,” she confided jubilantly. “In fact, there was a time when it seemed likely—” Sudden discretion seized her at that point, but her meaning had been so clear that Meg had no difficulty in knowing what had been in her mind. It had been expected that Uncle Andra and Mrs Laidlaw would make a match of it.

“And now it’s too late,” Meg said regretfully.

“Too late?” Aunt Ellen repeated, indignation overcoming her earlier caution. “Why should it be? Millicent is just about my age, and I’ve only just got married ! I suppose you'll be saying next that I shouldn’t have done! ”

“No, of course I won’t,” Meg denied quickly. “What I meant was that after this illness Uncle Andra isn’t likely to think of getting married.”

“No, perhaps not,” Aunt Ellen agreed judicially. “But fortunately he’s not the only person concerned, and Millicent is an extremely clever and sensible woman
¹
If she decides that they should get married, they will And what’s more, Andra will always be under the impression that it was originally his idea! ”

“Oh, Aunt Ellen, to hear you, one would think that it’s we women who do the proposing!” Meg reproached her laughingly.

“And so it is, my dear,” Aunt Ellen declared dogmatically. “Oh, not in so many words, of course. But a hint here and a little bit of encouragement there— you wait until your time comes, Meg! You’ll soon find I’m right.”

“Well, I hope I don’t!” Meg declared decisively. "When—if—my turn comes, I want it to be a man who knows his own mind and who—who—” she stopped short and coloured up, because Aunt Ellen was regarding her with amused and tolerant eyes.

“Who sweeps you off your feet?” she suggested. “Well, of course you do, my dear. And don’t worry, when the time comes, I’m sure that’s what will happen. Only don’t be
too
discouraging, because no decent man takes too much for granted, you know. In fact, it’s likely to be the one time when the masculine sex is overcome with a sense of humility, so, while making the most of that, don’t snub the poor creature too ruthlessly. It might have the effect of convincing him that he hadn’t a chance and he’d beat a retreat. And then where would you be?”

Meg didn’t reply. Aunt Ellen had spoken in a somewhat whimsical way as if she didn’t want to be taken too seriously. At the same time Meg felt that perhaps there was quite a lot of common sense in what she had said, but not for the world would she admit that to her aunt. It might give her an entirely false impression—

When Tom Farmer arrived for the week-end, he slipped naturally and easily into the ways of Heronshaw House and particularly those of the flat. Meg, who had only known him since his engagement to Aunt Ellen some six months before, quickly realised that this was due in no small degree to the fact that he was an extremely nice man, genial and easy to get on with. It was also due to the fact that he was given a very warm welcome by everyone—with one exception: Fiona.