Blue Bedroom and Other Stories by Rosamunde Pilcher

interesting.”
    â€œI think everybody’s interesting. And do you know what my mother said when she first saw you? She said you had a beautiful face and that she would like to draw you. So how’s that for a compliment?”
    Miss Cameron flushed with pleasure. “Well, that’s very gratifying…”
    â€œSo tell me about you. Why did you buy this little house? Why did you come here? ”
    And so Miss Cameron, normally so reserved and silent, began painfully to talk. She told Bryony about that first holiday in Kilmoran, before the war, when the world was young and innocent and you could buy an ice cream cone for a penny. She told Bryony about her parents, her childhood, the old, tall house in Edinburgh. She told her about University, and how she had met her friend Dorothy, and all at once this unaccustomed flood of reminiscence was no longer an ordeal, but a kind of relief. It was pleasant to remember the old-fashioned school where she had taught for so many years, and she was able to speak dispassionately about those last bleak times before her father finally died.
    Bryony listened avidly, with as much interest as if Miss Cameron were telling her of some amazing personal adventure. And when she got to the bit about old Mr. Cameron’s will, and being left so comfortably off, Bryony could not contain herself.
    â€œOh, how marvellous. It’s just like a fairy story. It’s just such a terrible pity there isn’t a good-looking, white-haired prince to turn up and claim your hand in marriage.”
    Miss Cameron laughed. “I’m a little old for that kind of thing.”
    â€œWhat a pity you didn’t marry. You’d have been a marvellous sort of mother. Or even if you’d had sisters and brothers and then you could have been the marvellous sort of aunt!” She looked around the little sitting room with satisfaction. “It’s just exactly right for you, isn’t it? This house must have been waiting for you, knowing that you were going to come and live here.”
    â€œThat’s a fatalistic sort of attitude.”
    â€œYes, but a positive one. I’m terribly fatalistic about everything.”
    â€œYou mustn’t be too fatalistic. God helps those who help themselves.”
    â€œYes,” said Bryony. “Yes, I suppose so.”
    They fell silent. A log broke and collapsed into the fire, and as Miss Cameron leaned forward to replace it, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed half-past seven. They were both astonished to realise that it was so late, and Bryony at once remembered her mother.
    â€œI wonder what’s happening?”
    â€œYour father will ring the moment he has anything to tell us. And meantime, I think we should wash up these tea things and decide what we’re going to have for supper. What would you like?”
    â€œMy most favourite would be tinned tomato soup and bacon and eggs.”
    â€œThat would be my most favourite, too. Let’s go and get it.”
    *   *   *
    The telephone call did not come through until half-past nine. Mrs. Ashley was in labour. There was no saying how long it would be, but Mr. Ashley intended staying at the hospital.
    â€œI’ll keep Bryony here for the night,” said Miss Cameron firmly. “She can sleep in my spare bedroom. And I have a telephone by my bed, so don’t hesitate to ring me the moment you have any news.”
    â€œI’ll do that.”
    â€œDo you want to speak to Bryony?”
    â€œJust to say goodnight.”
    Miss Cameron shut herself in the kitchen while father and daughter talked together. When she heard the ring of the receiver being replaced, she did not go out into the hall, but busied herself at the sink, filling hot-water bottles and wiping down the already immaculate draining board. She half-expected tears when Bryony joined her, but Bryony was composed and dry-eyed as ever.
    â€œHe says we just have to wait. Do you