Rose Cottage Read Free

both killed when a flying bomb got their Sussex home in a direct hit. That, with all it had held, was gone, but there was a London flat, and a great deal of money, all of it apparently mine. No angry relative turned up to contest it; there was no one, and Jon, his lawyers told me gently, had been careful to make a Will a few days before we were married. So there was I, Kate Herrick (Jon had hated the name Kathy and never called me by it), wealthy, widowed, and quite content to throw up her teaching job just as soon as the war ended, and move to the London flat. Eventually, because I found it hard to do nothing, but had no desire to go on teaching, I went to work in a big plant nursery at Richmond, which was run by the widow of one of Jon’s friends, whom I had met during the brief days of my marriage.
    Then came Gran’s telephone call.
    I was working in the potting rooms behind the shop. We had just had a delivery of pot plants, and I was unpacking them, when one of the young sales assistants came running in.
    ‘Phone for you, Kate. Long distance, so hurry.’
    I set down the pots I was holding, and wiped my hands hurriedly on the tissue wrapping. ‘Who is it, do you know? The Dutchmen, I hope? Those bulbs should have been here a week ago.’
    ‘I don’t think so. Moddom says it’s private. It’s in her office, and so’s she.’ ‘Moddom’ was the junior help’s name for Angela Platt-Harman, the owner of Platt’s Plants, and my employer.
    ‘Oh dear,’ I said. We were not supposed to make or take private calls at work, but my apprehension was only a token, a kind of expression of solidarity with my co-employees. In the workplace Angie and I were always, carefully, employer and employed.
    ‘It’s all right, she didn’t look mad.’ She hesitated. ‘I was in the office when she answered it, and she sent me to find you. It’s Scotland. Doesn’t you family live there? I hope it’s not—’
    I didn’t wait to hear what she hoped it wasn’t. I ran to the office.
    Angie was speaking into the telephone. ‘No, it’s no trouble. Quite all right, really. Ah, here she is now. Just a moment.’ She covered the receiver with her hand. ‘Kate, it’s your grandmother, but don’t worry, she says there’s nothing wrong.’ She handed me the receiver and pointed me to the chair behind her desk. ‘Take your time. I’ll see to the shipment.’ She went out of the office.
    I sat down. ‘Hullo, Gran? How lovely to hear you. How are you? When they said it was Scotland, I was afraid there might be something wrong. Are you all right?’
    ‘I’m well enough.’ It seemed to me, though, that there was a quaver in the old voice that told of some distress or urgency. ‘It’s all a lot of fuss, nothing but a touch of flu, and you know how it goes to my stomach, and the fool of a doctor says I’m not to go back to work for a bit yet, but I’m fine now, and come the month-end I’ll be back at the House. That Morag may fancy herself at the clootie dumplings and broth and such,but she’s a lot to learn afore she can dress a fish properly, or put a dinner on when they’ve company.’
    ‘Don’t you worry about that, Gran. They’ll do all right at the House. Just get yourself better, that’s what matters. But hang on a minute, I didn’t know you’d been ill. What is it? You said stomach trouble? What does the doctor say?’
    ‘Never mind that now. This is dear, phoning. I know I didn’t ought to have called you at work, but I can’t get to a phone in the evenings, and you and I’ve got to have a real talk, and not on the phone. What I wanted to ask you – Kathy, hen, when do you get your holidays?’
    ‘When I ask for them. I’m due some time, anyway. Do you want me to come up now, Gran? Of course I will! I can look after you if you’re supposed to rest. In fact I’d love to come. London’s horrid in June. Can they have me? Will I be in my old room?’ My room had been a small attic at the House, with no