No Time For Love (Bantam Series No. 40) by Barbara Cartland Page B
Authors: Barbara Cartland
Ads: Link
leave at once, it would be too late, and even if he did they would only have a very short time together!
It seemed impossible that what she had said to him in Switzerland had come true.
“I might easily die before you,” she had told him, but she had not meant it.
It had just been a way of talking, but now she knew she would not outlive Elvin, and she was not prepared, as he was, to face the inevitability of death.
‘Help me, help me!’ she cried in her heart as she walked home.
She felt there was something almost menacing about the empty house as she entered the door which needed painting, saw the shabby stair-carpet and felt the silence.
Neither she nor her mother had cared much for 68 Eaton Terrace.
They had in fact both hated leaving their big comfortable home in Sussex Gardens on the other side of the Park.
When Dr. Milton had died unexpectedly from a virus he had caught from one of his patients, his wife found the house belonged to his partners in the practice.
Larina and her mother had also discovered in consternation that he had left very little money.
Dr. Milton had a fairly lucrative practice amongst well - to-do people who lived in that part of London.
But being a man of deep compassion and sympathy, he treated a great number of the poor in the slums around Paddington without charging them a fee, and moreover out of his own pocket, he often provided them with medicines and small luxuries they could not afford for themselves.
Many of his poorer patients carrying pathetic little bunches of flowers attended his funeral, all of them ready to talk of the ‘good doctor’ and his kindness.
At the same time it was depressing to realise how little money he had left his wife and daughter.
Because her mother was so unhappy and in a state of collapse after her father’s death it had been left to Larina to find them a place to live.
Because she thought it was a good idea for her mother’s sake to get away from the neighbourhood where she had been so happy, Larina had gone south of the Park and searched round Belgravia for a cheap house to rent.
The one she had found in Eaton Terrace was certainly cheap, but it seemed small, stuffy and unattractive even after it had been furnished with the things they brought with them.
“It is stupid of me, I know,” Mrs. Milton had said after they had been in it a few weeks, “but I find it difficult to think of this house as home.”
She was finding it, Larina knew, far more difficult to adjust herself to being a widow with no husband to take care of her.
Mrs. Milton had always been cosseted and loved all her life. She had no desire for independence nor was she interested in the much talked of emancipation of women.
“I do not want to vote, darling,” she said to her husband once in Larina’s hearing. “I am quite content for you to explain the political situation to me if I have to hear about it, and, quite frankly, I would rather talk of something else.”
“I am afraid you will never make an efficient modern woman,” her husband had replied with a smile.
“I just want to be your wife,” Mrs. Milton had said with an adoring look in her eyes.
They had been so happy together that sometimes Larina had felt unwanted.
Yet she knew that her father loved her deeply, and when he died her mother clung to her in a manner which assured her over and over again how much she mattered.
But now she was alone and she realised how unfit she was to endure loneliness after the close companionship she had enjoyed with her parents.
“Perhaps it is a good thing to have so short a time to live,” she told herself somewhat bitterly. “I have been brought up in the wrong way to cope with a world where a woman is helpless alone.”
She thought of how when she was on her way to visit Sir John Coleridge she had been planning that she must get a job as a secretary.
It had been an idea, but she knew that there was a great deal of unemployment in the country at the moment
It seemed impossible that what she had said to him in Switzerland had come true.
“I might easily die before you,” she had told him, but she had not meant it.
It had just been a way of talking, but now she knew she would not outlive Elvin, and she was not prepared, as he was, to face the inevitability of death.
‘Help me, help me!’ she cried in her heart as she walked home.
She felt there was something almost menacing about the empty house as she entered the door which needed painting, saw the shabby stair-carpet and felt the silence.
Neither she nor her mother had cared much for 68 Eaton Terrace.
They had in fact both hated leaving their big comfortable home in Sussex Gardens on the other side of the Park.
When Dr. Milton had died unexpectedly from a virus he had caught from one of his patients, his wife found the house belonged to his partners in the practice.
Larina and her mother had also discovered in consternation that he had left very little money.
Dr. Milton had a fairly lucrative practice amongst well - to-do people who lived in that part of London.
But being a man of deep compassion and sympathy, he treated a great number of the poor in the slums around Paddington without charging them a fee, and moreover out of his own pocket, he often provided them with medicines and small luxuries they could not afford for themselves.
Many of his poorer patients carrying pathetic little bunches of flowers attended his funeral, all of them ready to talk of the ‘good doctor’ and his kindness.
At the same time it was depressing to realise how little money he had left his wife and daughter.
Because her mother was so unhappy and in a state of collapse after her father’s death it had been left to Larina to find them a place to live.
Because she thought it was a good idea for her mother’s sake to get away from the neighbourhood where she had been so happy, Larina had gone south of the Park and searched round Belgravia for a cheap house to rent.
The one she had found in Eaton Terrace was certainly cheap, but it seemed small, stuffy and unattractive even after it had been furnished with the things they brought with them.
“It is stupid of me, I know,” Mrs. Milton had said after they had been in it a few weeks, “but I find it difficult to think of this house as home.”
She was finding it, Larina knew, far more difficult to adjust herself to being a widow with no husband to take care of her.
Mrs. Milton had always been cosseted and loved all her life. She had no desire for independence nor was she interested in the much talked of emancipation of women.
“I do not want to vote, darling,” she said to her husband once in Larina’s hearing. “I am quite content for you to explain the political situation to me if I have to hear about it, and, quite frankly, I would rather talk of something else.”
“I am afraid you will never make an efficient modern woman,” her husband had replied with a smile.
“I just want to be your wife,” Mrs. Milton had said with an adoring look in her eyes.
They had been so happy together that sometimes Larina had felt unwanted.
Yet she knew that her father loved her deeply, and when he died her mother clung to her in a manner which assured her over and over again how much she mattered.
But now she was alone and she realised how unfit she was to endure loneliness after the close companionship she had enjoyed with her parents.
“Perhaps it is a good thing to have so short a time to live,” she told herself somewhat bitterly. “I have been brought up in the wrong way to cope with a world where a woman is helpless alone.”
She thought of how when she was on her way to visit Sir John Coleridge she had been planning that she must get a job as a secretary.
It had been an idea, but she knew that there was a great deal of unemployment in the country at the moment
Similar Books
