Thoughts of her employer turned her to thoughts of the promise she had made him to wear something more cheerful, and that afternoon she went to a store and searched along the racks. There were plenty of pretty dresses, but regretfully she passed them by, and emerged from the shop with a hideous floral print that she could not wait to wear. What would he say when he saw her in it? A smile tugged Ht the corners of her mouth and she was so deep in thought that she bumped into a man coming out of a newsagent's.
'Anthea!' he exclaimed. 'I've been trying to contact you for a fortnight. Where on earth have you been?'
It was Roger Pemberton, a young sociologist at the
II Diversity whom she had met through her father. For more than a year he had pursued her, blindly ignoring her repeated warnings that she did not love him.
'Your stepmother told me you were working for Mark Allen,' he said, falling into step beside her. 'Does that mean you aren't coming back to get your degree?'
'Of course not. I've only taken the job for a few months.'
'Tell me about it over coffee,' he said, and propelled her Into a nearby cafe.
Sitting opposite him at a window table, Anthea gave him a guarded reason for leaving home, stressing her desire to be independent as well as to give her father and his bride a chance of being alone.
'Don't tell me sixty-year-olds need to be left on their own?' Roger expostulated.
'Wait till you're sixty,' she teased.
'If I go on chasing you, it looks as if I might have to!'
'That's why I keep telling you to find someone else.'
'I don't want anyone else.' He was suddenly serious. 'What's wrong with me, Anthea? All the other girls I know seem to like me.'
'I like you too. But I don't love you.'
'Are you in love with anyone else?'
'No.'
'Then I won't stop trying. How about coming to the cinema with me tonight? There's a Truffaut film showing.'
She accepted the invitation. She had not had more than a couple of afternoons off since she had started work, and with Mr. Allen in Deauville it seemed pointless to remain tied to the house.
'I'll be staying at home for a few days,' she told him. 'It seems ages since I've seen any of my friends.'
'It is ages,' he said plaintively. 'You must tell me when you're free and I'll drive over to see you.'
'You mustn't do that.' She was aghast at what he would make of her braided hair and outlandish clothes. 'Mr. Allen loathes visitors.'
'Really? I heard he was rather sociable. Some of his parties have———- '
'They were for his friends,' she interrupted. 'He wouldn't feel the same having my friends calling round.'
'I'm sure you're exaggerating. If you live there, he can't expect you to be a recluse.'
'That was the understanding on which I went to work for him. That no one came to see me.'
'Then the quicker October comes, the better,' Roger said grimly.
Maude Wilmot made a similar comment the following day when Anthea refused her offer to drive her back to Bartham Manor.
'Living alone on that estate is making you morbid,' she grumbled.
'I'm not alone,' Anthea said hastily. 'The place is teeming with servants.'
'That's hardly the same as having your friends and family around. Your father and I will come over to see you next week. I understand the gardens at the Manor are beautiful. Professor Jenkins's wife was telling me about it. She's a keen horticulturist and Mr. Allen's gardener occasionally takes her through the greenhouses.'
'I can easily fix that for you,' Anthea promised. 'I'll phone and tell you when to come.'
'We'll pop over one afternoon when the weather is good. It's only a short run by car.'
'Make it during the week,' Anthea said instantly. 'I'm generally busy on Saturday and Sunday.'
'That's the time most secretaries are free.'
'Weekends are the only time Mr. Allen can work with me.'
'Why doesn't he take you to London with him?'
'He's too busy to write there.' Anthea marvelled at her ability to lie. 'Don't forget this book is just a hobby for him. He doesn't want it to interfere with his other work.'
'You would have thought that someone in his position would take time off—if he's really serious about the book, of course.'
'He's extremely serious about it,' Anthea said, 'but when you run a financial empire you can't take time off whenever you like.'
Adjuring her stepmother once again not to come over and see her during a weekend, Anthea returned to the Manor.
As always her senses were stirred by the sight of its graceful lines and the beauty of its surroundings. What a pity that its interior was not equally lovely. It was ridiculous that Mark Allen did not find the time to furnish it the way it deserved. It was not even a question of time, she admitted, for as he himself had said, there was no shortage of interior decorators willing to do the work. If only she herself could be given the chance of doing it. Pushing the thought aside, she rearranged her packages more comfortably in her arms and walked round to the back of the house.
She stopped in surprise as she saw the garage doors open and the gleaming Rolls inside. She took a step towards it and then drew back with a gasp. Her hair was loose around her face and she was wearing her own clothes. If anyone saw her like this, the game would be up. Head bent low, she raced the rest of the way to the back door, and only when she reached the safety of her bedroom did she breathe a sigh of relief.
Her stepmother had been at home when she had left the house and because of this she had been forced to depart wearing one of her own jaunty outfits. She had planned to stop off at the local railway station and change into her disguise. But the fact that her employer had so far never returned to the Manor during the week had lulled her into security, and she had considered that the risk of being seen by anyone was so small that it did not justify the bother of changing until she reached the Manor.
With trembling hands she set down her parcels and unbuttoned her jacket. From now on this was a risk she dared not take. She would have to depart and arrive as the dowdy Miss Wilmot.
Quickly she plaited her hair and pinned it round her head, then scrubbed her face clean of make-up. Without mascara and darkened eyebrows she felt almost naked, while her lips were so pale that she bit them to give them more colour.
Unwrapping the parcel, she took out her new dress and hastily put it on. What a monster it was! Pink and yellow daisies fought madly with each other on a mud-brown background, the colour of which gave her skin a sallow tinge. As she had promised Mr. Allen, it did not have long sleeves but full puffed ones that reached just below her elbow—the most unflattering length she could find. The skirt was box-pleated and too large, and she was obliged to fold it double at the waist. This made it fall lumpily over her hips and added inches to them. But the bodice was the real piece de resistance: pin-tucked and high-necked, with a Peter Pan collar embroidered with yellow and pink flowers, and large pink buttons shaped like daisies.
Pursing her mouth into a prim bow, she went down to the kitchen, managing with some effort to maintain her composure in the face of Mrs. Leggat's look of astonishment.
'All dressed up in your summer things, Miss Wilmot?' the woman said, hurriedly averting her face.
'I bought it yesterday,' Anthea answered brightly. 'It's very pretty, isn't it?'
'Yes, dear.' Mrs. Leggat was in control of her expression ügain and gave Anthea an appraising look.
Anthea stood her ground and stared back. It might not be difficult to fool Mark Allen, but it was not so easy to fool people whom she saw every day, particularly this woman, who had a sufficiently keen eye to see beyond the screwed- hack hair and limp clothes. It would take more than a disguise to make the staff put her in the same class and age group as Mrs. Goodbody, and it said much for their kindliness that none of them had asked her what game she was playing or why she had accepted a job for which she had no training beyond a quick
mind and the ability to learn fast.
'I'm surprised Mr. Allen didn't let us know he was coming down,' she commented. 'I would have come back last night if I'd known.'
'There'd have been no need for you to do that,' Mr!.. Leggat responded cheerfully. 'Besides, he only arrived thin morning.'
'How long will he be staying?'
'Just tonight, I think.'
'I'd better go and see if he requires anything,' Anthea said, and went in search of him.
The dusk of early April had settled on the house, and wall sconces were already lit, softening the heavy furniture and sombre wallpaper. There was no sign of her employer, though she saw Leggat setting the table in the breakfast- room, and seeing her hovering in the hall, he pointed to the library.
She knocked on the door and, at Mark Allen's command, went in. He was standing by the window, looking out at the garden.
'Don't bother drawing the curtains yet, Leggat,' he said without turning round. 'I'll do it myself later. I always like this hour of the day.'
'It isn't Leggat, Mr. Allen, it's me, Miss Wilmot.'
At this he turned. With the window behind him his face was in darkness, but though she could riot see his expression, there was no mistaking the convulsive movement of his shoulders as he took in her appearance. But when he spoke his voice was as mild as always, and again she was aware how different it was from his dynamic manner and appearance. Had he deliberately cultivated this quiet voice, or was it his aura which was the false part of him? Yet why should she suppose any part of him to be false? He had no need to pretend. He was rich enough to do as he wanted, when he wanted, regardless of what anyone else thought.
'I came in to see if you require anything, sir,' she said. 'We weren't expecting you until the weekend.'
It was such a lovely day that I got fed up staying in town. If the weather holds, I'll be down tomorrow too.'
'Isn't it a long drive to do each day, sir?' she said, uncomfortably aware that his eyes had moved from the bodice o the hem of her dress and then back again.
'It's pretty quick on the motorway,' he replied. 'And with a tape and telephone in my car, my time isn't wasted.'
'It's a pity you haven't got a telex too.'
'That's a good idea. I hadn't thought of it.' His glasses glinted and she backed to the door.
With his eyes covered by his lenses he had an unfair advantage over her, and she wished her own steel-rimmed spectacles had thicker glass.
'I'm glad to see you've taken my advice,' he said suddenly.
She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she was caught out. 'Advice about what?'
'Buying yourself a prettier dress.'
Knowing he was lying in his back teeth, she determined to take his words at face value. 'It is pretty, isn't it?' She put a deep note of pleasure into her voice. 'I'm so glad you like it, sir.'
'I do indeed, Miss Wilmot. The daisies suit your personality.'
Wondering what a daisy personality was, Anthea slipped from the room, and was halfway across the hall when she remembered she had not found out if he wanted anything special to eat. But nothing would induce her to go back to the library, and she returned to her sitting-room. If he wanted anything he would demand it: of that she could be certain.
During the week, when the house was unoccupied except for the staff, Anthea had made it her duty to go through the main rooms herself each night to check that the windows were securely locked. This was part of Leggat's job, but she none the less double-checked, loath to have anything happen during her stay here.
That evening she automatically did the same, and was coming out of the drawing-room when her employer emerged from the library. He was wearing a silk dressing gown of an unusual Chinese design, and the rich red satin gave a pink tinge to his skin that made him look less forbidding.
'What are you doing here, Miss Wilmot?'
'Checking that the windows are locked.'
'When the burglar alarm is on, it's better to leave them unlocked.'
'Isn't that encouraging someone to come in?'
'They'll set up a hell of a racket if they do! Ever heard those alarms go off?'
'No,' she said quickly, 'and I hope I don't. I've a thing about burglars. Someone broke into our house one night when we were out and ransacked the place.' She shivered at the memory. 'Every cupboard and drawer had been tipped on the floor. They'd even gone through all my clothes.'
'That must have given them a thrill!'
She gave him a startled look and saw the colour come warmly into his face.
'Forgive me, Miss Wilmot, that was extremely uncalled-for on my part.'
'It certainly was,' she retorted primly. 'I'm sorry if my taste in clothes doesn't meet with your approval. But I never knew it was a prerequisite of my job.'
'Oh, come now,' he expostulated, 'I thought a woman is always flattered when a man takes an interest in her appearance.'
'I wear what I can afford,' she said aloofly, and with a toss of her head went down the hall and into the servants' quarters.
Mark Allen left before seven next morning, but this time Leggat was up to serve his breakfast and Anthea had just put in an appearance in the sitting-room when she heard the Rolls purr away.
It promised to be a lovely spring day, and after she had made her usual inspection of the house and spent an hour in the linen room with the seamstress who came once a month to do any necessary repairs, she changed into a sundress, took an armful of books and went to sit in the rose garden.
It was too early for flowers, but it was more secluded here than anywhere else, and she settled herself beneath an arbour and was soon absorbed in her reading.
She only returned to the house as the slanting rays of the 8un cooled, and she was still in her bedroom when she heard a car coming along the drive. Her room was on the top floor, facing the front, unlike those of the other staff who occupied the west wing. But a housekeeper, she supposed, held a more privileged position, and she was glad of it, for it meant that from her windows she had a view of the distant river where an occasional boat could be seen breaking the glassy surface of the water.
She went to the window and peered down. Yes, it was the Rolls. Mr. Allen was back earlier than she had expected. Quickly she slipped off her sun-dress and reached for the floral one, shuddering as she saw the daisy-shaped buttons. Her hand was on the bodice when there was a knock at the door.
'Who is it?' she called.
'It's Elsie,' the Danish maid replied, and came in carrying a box. 'This is for you, Miss Wilmot. From the master.'
'For me?' Anthea took the box. It had a Fortnum & Mason label and, though large, was light in weight. 'You may go, Elsie,' she said, and waited till the door had closed before she undid the string.
Carefully she pulled aside the layers of tissue paper and shook out a silver-grey dress in heavy French crepe. Astounded, she stared at it, her thoughts so chaotic that they made no sense. But after a moment she started to smile and was still smiling as she put it on and regarded her reflection in the mirror. The dress was several sizes too large for her—as she had expected—for in trying to assess her size, Mark Allen had been fooled by the voluminous wrap-round folds of her own dresses. And thank goodness he had been fooled! If this new dress had actually fitted her, it would have put an end to her pretence. It was beautifully cut and styled, with a softly fitted collar, simple bodice, plain long sleeves and graceful gathered skirt. But because it was large and too long, it looked frumpish, and she deliberately increased this by making the belt at the waist even looser.
Chuckling audibly, she put on her usual thick black stockings, heavy lace-up shoes and old-fashioned spectacles, 1 then clumped purposefully downstairs to thank him for his gift. Her hand clutched at the banisters. She sincerely hoped it was a gift. If he expected her to pay for it, she would be broke for a month.
'Of course it's a gift,' he said tersely when she searched him out and found him in the library. 'I thought you'd realise that wit
hout having to ask?'
'I'm not used to receiving things from my employers. It's most kind of you, sir.'
'I did it to please me, not you,' he said, and scowled at her.
'What's wrong?' she asked. 'Don't you like it?'
'Not as much as I thought I would,' he said candidly. 'There's something wrong with it.'
He was looking at the dress so intently that she knew it would not take him long to guess it was too big for her. Hurriedly she went to the door.
'Now where are you off to?' he called.
�'The kitchen.'
'Don't go yet.' Restlessly he moved from his desk. 'What sort of a day has it been here?'
'Beautiful. I was working in the garden all the afternoon.'
'Don't tell me you're a gardener too?'
'Not that sort of work,' she smiled. 'I meant I was reading.'
'One of those weird books of yours?' �
'A history book,' she corrected coldly.
'Can't you find anything more rewarding than the Life of Ethelred the Unready?'
'I enjoy history, sir. You obviously don't.'
'I'm more interested in the future than the past.'
"'Knowing the past can frequently help one to assess what the future will hold.'
'Meaning that life is a circle and the same things recur?' He shook his head. 'I'm afraid I don't support that view, Miss Wilmot. Nothing remains the same; everything changes.'
'People don't. They go on making the same mistakes.'
His dark brows met in a frown and his glasses slipped down. He pushed them back. 'You're right in that respect, Miss Wilmot. Leopards don't change their spots either!'
'I wouldn't liken people to animals, sir.'
'Wouldn't you?' He frowned again. 'No, I wouldn't either. Animals are nicer!'
'Then you've been unlucky in your choice of friends,' she said before she could stop herself.
'I take it you don't like mine?'
'I haven't given them any thought,' she said untruthfully, and walked out with such a determined step that she knew he would think twice before calling her back.
Rachel Lindsay - Love in Disguise Page 7