Happy With Either

by Ruth Clemence

  'What for?' Mrs. Bentham asked. 'We're practically on the doorstep, I see no reason for it.'

  'Apparently he sometimes likes to work late at night and he says it's a bit of a bore having to get the car out and run me home,' Bobbie laughed.

  'I can see his point,' Mr. Bentham remarked, butting into the conversation. 'I know what it was like when I was marking school books or doing reports late at night. I certainly wouldn't have wanted to turn out to take a secretary home, however near she lived. It won't prevent you coming down here in your free moments, Bobbie,' and with this the subject of Harry and his confidential secretary was shelved.

  Bobbie was anxious to hear all the details of her parents' holiday and she was overcome with pleasure at the presents which they had brought her home from the Canary Islands where they had spent the greater part of their holiday—a beautiful lacy blouse, some French perfume and an enormous sunhat which Mr. Bentham said had been nothing but a problem all the way home. 'Better not try it on in here either,' he said, indicating the small living-room, 'you'll sweep all your mother's ornaments off the mantelpiece.'

  Bobbie laughed and promised to wear the enormous straw hat only when out in the garden, and the Benthams settled down to their meal still talking about the people they had met while they were away, the sights they had seen and how much they had enjoyed their annual break.

  To Bobbie's surprise, no Harry had appeared at eight-thirty the next morning, and knowing his usual punctuality was amazed as the clock crept round and there was still no sign of him.

  When at length the sound of a car stopping outside made her go swiftly to the front door to open it, she found Nils Sorensen outside the cottage gate.

  He walked up the short path to the front door and smiled at her. 'Morning, Bobbie—all ready, I see. I'm sorry that I'm substituting for Harry, but he can't come this morning. I won't lend him my car and somebody wrote his off last night. It's a complete wreck.'

  'Oh, not his beautiful new car! How on earth did that happen?' Bobbie asked.

  'We had a bit of a party and one of the guests got stoned and borrowed it. Harry's absolutely hopping mad, especially as the chap never even got out on to the road. He rammed it into one of the trees by the gate. You know the big elm?'

  Bobbie nodded. 'Is it absolutely irreparable?' she asked.

  'I should think so. The garage came this morning and towed it away, and they're going to let Harry know, but between you and me I think he's had it. In the meantime he's car-less and very irritable. Which reminds me—I'm a bit late coming to pick you up. If we don't hurry he'll be tearing his hair out at the roots.'

  It only took a minute to put Bobbie's bag on the back seat of the car and for her to bid goodbye to her parents before climbing in beside Nils. He was looking very debonair this morning in a lightweight suit of some expensive material, and Bobbie, when she thought he was not looking, kept glancing at him in silent admiration. Where Sean and Harry were dark, Nils was of a Scandinavian blondness and the blue eyes looked even bluer against the deep tan of his face.

  He got out briefly when they reached the house to carry Bobbie's luggage inside, and then waved a careless hand. 'Got to get off to London now. I'm supposed to be at my desk at ten o'clock, and you can see,' he glanced briefly at his watch, 'that I'm going to be a little late this morning. Father will be absolutely furious,' and calling a laughing 'Goodbye' he ran down the steps and got into the car again.

  Bobbie left her suitcase in the hall and made her way through the house to the doorway which led to Harry's sanctum. She had knocked before she realised that he would not hear any sound on the outer door, so she went quietly inside, standing watching him for a few minutes before he was aware of her presence.

  Harry Redmayne was in a big chair dictating quietly into the machine at his side, when suddenly glancing up he became aware of Bobbie standing there. Immediately he switched off the microphone to lean back in his chair and look silently down the room towards her.

  He made no comment on her late arrival, merely saying, 'Good morning, Bobbie. Nils delivered you safely, then? I've left the first spool of chapter one on the typewriter. I'd be grateful if you'd start on it right away.' Simply nodding acquiescence, Bobbie went straight into the small office, and putting down her handbag slipped the tape into the machine and took the cover off the typewriter.

  She worked steadily until lunchtime when the light on the house telephone began to flash. Lifting up the receiver, she heard Harry say, 'Have you finished the spool yet? I think this is a good time to break and have some lunch.' He went on without waiting for Bobbie's reply. 'I've got two more tapes ready. You can either work through the afternoon or have the afternoon free and do them this evening, whichever you prefer.'

  Bobbie agreed to work during the afternoon and coming out of the office a few minutes later to ask him if he too was coming to lunch, she discovered that Harry, having concluded his conversation with her over the internal telephone, must have instantly departed. Two spools were lying invitingly on the edge of his desk, but the tape recorder was covered as if he himself did not intend to do any more work that afternoon.

  Bobbie let herself into the house and going along to the kitchen collected some salad from Mabel, the family housekeeper who had been with Mrs. Sorensen for many years and was almost one of the family. 'Do you mind if I eat my lunch here, Mabel? I don't want to take it back to the office and eat on my own.'

  Mabel, only too happy to have someone to gossip with, nodded immediately. 'I was just going to have a bite myself, Miss Bobbie,' she said, 'so if you don't mind, we could have it together. Mrs. Sorensen's gone to London this morning and I don't suppose she'll be back today, and I haven't meals to do for any of the others.'

  This obviously meant that Harry too was lunching out, and Bobbie secretly wondered where he had gone. It's none of my business, she reminded herself, I'm merely here to do the typing, not to get interested in his private life.

  But soon details of all the latest family events were being forced upon her by the garrulous Mabel. She had to hear all about the 'goings on' at the party the night before, and the disaster to Harry's car, the postmortem about the accident which had taken place afterwards, when the inebriated driver, then slightly concussed, had been brought back to the house and given first aid.

  'You never saw such a to-do in your life, Miss Bobbie,' Mabel concluded as she helped herself liberally to salad cream. 'Blood all over the place, there was—Mr. and Mrs. Sorensen in their night attire trying to bring the young man round and Mr. Harry swearing that he'd padlock the garage and keep the key next time there was a party for the twins. A jolly good thing he keeps his office locked, if you ask me, otherwise they'd all have been in there last night. In fact I did hear that one of them tried to get in through the window and Mr. Harry caught him.'

  Bobbie, silently listening to all these confidences, was amazed that Mrs. Sorensen should have permitted such a party to take place in her house, but perhaps she had not known what the boys were planning. Certainly last week Harry had made no mention of a party, and she could only conclude that it had been arranged on the spur of the moment by the twins themselves.

  Finishing off about six-thirty that evening, she was surprised to see Harry drive up in a brand-new car. She was just leaving the house to walk down and have supper with her parents when he drove up and stepped out of a sleek grey Mercedes, smiling mischievously at her expression.

  'You look surprised,' he remarked. There was a hint of defensiveness in his tone, and Bobbie wondered if she had looked a trifle censorious at his extravagance in buying another expensive car. 'I've got to have something to get around in,' Harry continued, 'and while it's not a patch on the Lotus, it's not too bad. When I think of the months I waited while that car was on order I could sit down and cry like a baby. What I can't understand is how that ass could write oft a car so completely and do so little damage to himself. By rights he should have been killed, which thank heavens he wasn't. I could
have cheerfully strangled him with my bare hands when they broke the news to me, but that's different. Fortunately Sean and Nils kept him out of the way until I'd cooled off. I'm afraid when I went down this morning to look for a replacement it was this or nothing, unless I was prepared to wait for their next delivery. I hadn't time for that because I shall be taking you up to Worcestershire on Wednesday.'

  Bobbie could feel her eyes widen with surprise. 'Worcestershire?'

  'Don't open those big eyes as if you feared immediate abduction,' Harry's voice was at its most dry. 'I merely want to go up and see the house where my hero actually lived. I hear it's been quite exceptionally well preserved, so I thought a visit to steep ourselves in its atmosphere might be an idea as well as a nice breather from the proverbial grindstone. I don't know about you—after all, you have your digressions, thanks to my brothers—but I'm beginning to feel that all work is making me very dull indeed. A really early start will enable us to make a day of it.'

  Bobbie was lost for words. As she was cudgelling her brain for a fitting retort Harry suddenly asked, 'Want a lift home? I take it that is where you're going?'

  'Thanks, but I shall enjoy the stroll,' then thinking this sounded a little ungracious Bobbie smiled over her shoulder as she turned and set off down the drive.

  She enjoyed the evening spent with her parents. The family sitting-room was like a pool of tranquillity. The french doors stood wide to her father's cherished garden and Mrs. Bentham, busy with a hassock she was embroidering for the little parish church, looked up, delight in her eyes, as Bobbie crossed the threshold from the garden.

  'Harry actually let you loose this evening?' Mr.

  Bentham's voice was grimly jocular.

  'Don't get wrong ideas, Dad. Harry's no slave-driver. I don't think any union would object to the actual number of hours I work, it's just that they have to be when his fancy moves him.'

  Now why had she jumped so readily to Harry Redmayne's defence? Bobbie wondered to herself. She could almost imagine the ironic smile which would light up his eyes had he been able to hear her last remark.

  He was eating a grapefruit on Wednesday when she entered the dining-room to have breakfast. As his keen eyes roved over her, Bobbie was glad she had taken extra trouble over her appearance. It was still warm for mid-September and she was wearing a lightweight suit in her favourite golden brown over a colourful cotton blouse. Brown suede and leather shoes matched her suede shoulder-bag.

  'Glad to see you're a punctual lass,' Harry remarked as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. 'Nothing annoys me more than hanging around while you women paint the lily.'

  'You should know,' Bobbie remarked sarcastically, nettled by his opening gambit. 'Judging by the dollies you've acquired in recent years you must have plenty of experience,' and then flushing at the instantly wicked gleam she saw lighting Harry's grey eyes she hurried on, 'At waiting around, I mean.'

  'Oh, I have,' Harry agreed as he pushed back his chair and walked over to the hotplate. 'That's why I appreciate punctuality in a woman. It's so rare. You know…' he went on as returning with a loaded plate he took his place at the table again, 'you're much too ready to jump to your own defence. Now looking at you anyone might be forgiven for thinking you a sensible, well-adjusted young woman, but you're a mass of complexes. I wonder why?'

  'It's a bit too early in the day for character analysis,' Bobbie retorted, 'and in any case I thought this was to be a day for historical research, not probing into my subconscious.'

  Harry grinned as he reached for a piece of toast. 'Pax, sweetie! Not another personal remark shall pass my lips. Now get on with your breakfast or we shall be here all morning.'

  As they took their seats in the car, he threw a map into her lap. 'I hope you're good at navigating. I thought we'd make for Stratford first. That means going through the three Bs, I think, if we're to avoid too much traffic.'

  'The three Bs?' Bobbie's amazed voice made Harry chuckle as he set the car in motion.

  'Yes, Bletchley, Buckingham and Banbury. That way we should miss the motorway traffic—and I don't know about you, but when I'm out for a day in the countryside, whenever possible I keep away from the first-class roads.'

  Whether by chance or due to Harry's timing of their departure, they were able to enjoy the autumn colouring without running into a single traffic jam. The trees were just beginning to turn to russet and gold and rooks rose off the stubble as they passed fields, where until recently the swollen grain had stood awaiting the harvest. Harry did not hurry and it was almost midday before he slid the powerful car to a standstill in a public car-park in Stratford-on-Avon and turned to Bobbie.

  'It's turned out so mild, how about buying some food and going on the river? I haven't been in a rowing boat since I left college, but I think I can still remember how to use an oar. Are you game?'

  Bobbie nodded, her eyes sparkling. 'So long as all I'm expected to do is trail one hand elegantly in the water,' she mocked him.

  'Lazy girl!' Harry admonished her without rancour as they got out of the car. 'Come on then, help me choose our lunch.'

  Twenty minutes later he was assisting her into a rowing boat, and as the boatman pushed them out, he took off his jacket and loosened his tie. From the stern of the boat where she was comfortably seated on a pile of cushions Bobbie watched him curiously. The more she saw of him, the more curious she became about the real Harry Redmayne. He was such a complex character, she had discovered. Four weeks ago nothing would have convinced her that in so short a time she would be sharing a river trip with him, the pair of them in complete harmony and with Harry grinning in mocking triumph as he propelled the small boat expertly, making it move swiftly through the water as his powerful arms pulled on the oars.

  When they reached a pleasantly leafy spot, secluded from the other river traffic, he tied the boat to a convenient root growing out of the river bank and wiped his forehead. 'Makes me realise I've been letting myself get old and lazy,' he remarked as he put away his handkerchief and began to roll up his shirt sleeves. 'Come on, open the bag and let's have the beer.'

  Obediently Bobbie leaned forward and opened the carrier bag which Harry had dumped at her feet earlier. Inside were packets of foil-wrapped sandwiches, fruit and several cans of beer and bitter lemon. As she handed him one of the cans and a plastic mug he asked, 'Want me to make you a shandy, Bobbie? I can easily lob a spot of beer into your lemon if you'd prefer it.'

  Bobbie, contentedly sipping her own beverage, shook her head. 'Thanks, but this is fine. I've never managed to acquire a taste for beer.'

  Harry made no comment as they sat in lazy silence, but his eyes were on his companion as she gazed thoughtfully across the river. 'Ever been to the theatre here?' he asked suddenly as he reached for a sandwich.

  Bobbie brought herself back from her absorption in a family of swans sailing majestically in line astern down the river. 'No, never, though I love Shakespeare, either to see on a stage or to read. He's one of the few classical writers who don't bore me to extinction after the first few pages. Look at Dickens! By the time you've coped with his lengthy descriptions you wonder if it's really worth it. He comes out beautifully on television, of course, because all the prosiness is cut out.'

  Bobbie looked up as she finished speaking and noticed Harry was watching her, his eyes twinkling. 'Go on, laugh at me,' she went on. 'I suppose you consider my opinions hilariously funny.'

  'It's not that,' Harry replied, and he chuckled out loud. 'It's your face when you get carried away on a subject. You have a way of screwing up your eyes and gazing into the middle distance as if that will help you to concentrate. Did you know?'

  'No, and it doesn't sound very attractive the way you describe it,' Bobbie said as she brushed crumbs off her skirt. 'I can see I shall have to be more careful in future what I say to you and how I say it.'

  'No, don't do that,' Harry interrupted her swiftly. 'You'll spoil all the enjoyment I get out of your company if you suddenly become
self-conscious. I'm sorry I told you about your curiously attractive way of talking.'

  Bobbie was silenced, then just as she became painfully aware that she was beginning to blush Harry glanced at his watch and said, 'Come on, eat up. I think we'd better be getting back if we're to get to Huddington in good time. I don't want to arrive just as the place is closing,' and he quickly drank down the last of his beer as Bobbie put the used wrappers and cups into the carrier bag, ready to deposit in the first litter bin she came across when they landed. He untied the painter and pushed them out into the stream.

  Bobbie sighed as the landing stage came into sight. It had been a very pleasant little interlude; an unexpectedly peaceful hour. When they were out on the road again Bobbie waited until they were clear of the town traffic before she asked, 'Where exactly is our destination? You haven't told me—not the actual place, anyway.'

  'It's an old house called Huddington Court,' Harry replied, his eyes on the road. 'It's about six or seven miles this side of Worcester and was once owned by Thomas and Robert Winter—you know, the Thomas Winter I'm writing about.'

  'Yes, I'd gathered that,' Bobbie retorted, 'but do you mean the house is actually as it was at the time he lived in it?'

  'More or less. I think it was perhaps a bit bigger then. There are records which give its size around 1650 which is, as you know, fifty years after Thomas Winter died, give or take a year or two. He and his brother Robert were first cousins to Robert Catesby and it's said that a lot of the initial plans for the Gunpowder Plot actually took place in this house. Of course it's only hearsay, there's no documentary evidence to prove it, but it is known that after the plot misfired the two brothers, Catesby and other conspirators went back to Huddington to have a rest, then later left, since they were searched for, as you can guess. Catesby was killed about twenty-five miles away from the Court and Thomas was shot and taken prisoner.'

  'I suppose I shall get to learn all the details as the book proceeds,' Bobbie said, grinning sideways at him.