Free The Penningtons by Pamela Oldfield Page B

way.’
    ‘Maybe one of us could talk to his doctor.’
    ‘It would have to be me. I’m his sister. You’re only a Pennington by marriage.’
    Hettie bridled. ‘What difference does that make? I’m part of the family and if you did not exist I would be a perfectly acceptable person – and it was my idea. I shall go.’
    The room was filling up and as they had finished drinking they felt it only fair to surrender the table so they gathered up gloves and purses and left the Pump Room and stood outside, still talking.
    Hettie said, ‘I wonder how much of Cressida’s money has gone.’
    ‘Presumably she left it all to Montague. She had no one else to leave it to.’
    ‘But why should he need it?’ Hettie demanded. ‘Montague’s comfortably well off and he rarely seems to spend any of it so he’ll hardly be using Cressida’s money. I wish he would spend some on the house. It’s beginning to look dilapidated, don’t you think?’
    Dilys sighed. ‘A little shabby, perhaps. I’ll find another possible housekeeper and we’ll both go over there and see what can be done to improve matters. I don’t like that girl being alone with him. If he were to take a tumble . . . or have a fit of some kind, she’d probably panic.’
    And on this gloomy note they once more agreed and then went their separate ways.
    Two days later, which was Wednesday, Hettie sat in the doctor’s waiting room as arranged, waiting for the afternoon surgery to begin, and trying to avoid the other patients who were sharing the large space with her. It was an airy, high-ceilinged room with chairs against three walls and a table in the centre on which piles of magazines had been arranged. Hettie was pretending to read ‘Country Homes’, having already flipped through ‘The Literary Scene’ without finding anything to interest her. She wondered how many copies of these magazines were sold each month and how many were actually read while they languished on private coffee tables, or in doctors’ and dentists’ waiting rooms.
    Suddenly she became aware that the receptionist was trying to catch her attention. Abandoning her magazine she hurried to the desk.
    ‘Mrs Pennington, we don’t seem to have any notes for you. I’m a little confused.’
    ‘I thought I had explained,’ Hettie told her irritably, aware that the other patients were listening to the exchange. ‘I’m here on behalf of my brother-in-law Montague, who is unable to attend. He is elderly and rather frail and I want to speak to his doctor on his behalf.’ She hoped it sounded reasonable.
    ‘Certainly, Mrs Pennington. Then I shall send in his notes. The doctor will need them.’
    After another five-minute wait Hettie was called in to the doctor’s consulting room and found herself shaking hands with an elderly man whom she took to be in his mid-sixties. He had greying hair and a tired smile. In fact there was a general weariness about him which Hettie hoped might prove to her advantage. A younger, more alert doctor might see through her little plan.
    He was reading a thin file which she presumed had been provided by the receptionist.
    ‘And what exactly is the matter with your brother-in-law?’ he asked after a very brief final glance at the notes. ‘He has no history of serious illness.’
    ‘No, that’s right,’ she agreed. ‘We are, on the whole, a very healthy family but I fear that the last time we visited him – that is my sister-in-law and I – we found him rather vague and forgetful . . . that is, compared with the last visit which was about two months ago.’
    ‘You are saying that this deterioration has not been gradual but rather sudden?’
    ‘That’s it exactly, doctor. We don’t visit very often – he values his privacy, you see, and this noticeable vagueness took us by surprise.’
    ‘Does he live alone?’
    ‘No. He did have a devoted housekeeper but she has left very abruptly and we are trying to replace her. In the meantime there is a