by Betty Neels
He was walking briskly through the town, not going anywhere special, thinking about the afternoon and Kate. His aunt had been vexed at the news that she would have to manage without Kate that evening, declaring plaintively that the news of the accident had been a great shock to her, that she felt poorly and would probably have a migraine.
To all of which Mr Tait-Bouverie had listened with his usual courtesy, before suggesting that an early night might be the answer.
‘I’ll say goodbye now, Aunt,’ he had told her. ‘For I’m leaving early in the morning. I shall be back in England shortly, and will come and see you as soon as you return.’
‘I shall look forward to that, James. I believe that I shall invite Claudia to stay for a while—she is such a splendid companion, and so amusing.’ When this had elicited no response, she had added, ‘How delightful it will be to see your dear mother again. She wrote to say that she will be returning soon. There is so much for us to talk about.’
Mr Tait-Bouverie considered his future with the same thorough care with which he did his work. Complicated operations—the kind he excelled in—needed careful thought, and there would be plenty of complications before he could marry his Kate. At least, he reflected, he would know where she was…
Kate hadn’t expected sympathy from Lady Cowder and she received none. ‘So very inconvenient,’ said that lady as Kate presented herself the following morning. ‘You have no idea of the severity of my headache, and all the excitement about the accident… It was most generous of my nephew to give up his room for your use, though really quite unnecessary. However, he has always done as he wishes.’
Kate, perceiving that she was expected to answer this, said quietly, ‘Mr Tait-Bouverie was very kind and considerate. I’m very grateful. I hope I shall have the opportunity of thanking him.’
‘He wouldn’t expect thanks from you,’ said Lady Cowder rudely. ‘Besides, he left early this morning for Tromsö. He will be back in England before us.’
Kate felt a pang of disappointment. Perhaps she would see him in England but on rather a different footing—the accident in the tunnel would have faded into the past, obliterated by a busy present. Thanking him would sound silly. She wondered if she should write him a polite note—but where would she send it? Lady Cowder could tell her, but she was the last person to ask. It was an unsatisfactory ending to what had been, for her, a very pleasant interlude, despite the fright and horror of the accident in the tunnel.
At least, Kate reflected, she had behaved sensibly even while her insides had heaved and she had been terrified that fire would break out or, worse, that the tunnel would fall apart above their heads and they would all be drowned. A flight of imagination, she knew. The tunnel was safe, and help had been prompt and more than efficient. It had been an experience—not a nice one, she had to admit—and despite her fright she had felt quite safe because Mr Tait-Bouverie had been there.
Waiting for Lady Cowder that afternoon, she wrote a long letter to her mother, making light of Lady Cowder’s ill humour, describing the hotel and the town, the food and the people she had spoken to, enlarging on the beautiful scenery but saying little about Mr Tait-Bouverie’s company. She wrote about the tunnel accident too, not dwelling on the horror of it, merely observing that it had been most fortunate that Mr Tait-Bouverie had been there to help.
She wrote nothing about her own part in the affair, hoping that her mother would picture her sitting safely in the car out of harm’s way.
Her circumspection was wasted. Mrs Crosby, reading bits of the letter to Mr Tait-Bouverie, observed in a puzzled voice, ‘But where was Kate? She doesn’t say…’
They were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee with Moggerty on Mr Tait-Bouverie’s knee. He had arrived that afternoon, having driven down from London after a brief stop at his home. He’d been tired by the time his plane got in, and had hesitated as to whether it wouldn’t be a better idea to go and see Kate’s mother the following morning. But if Kate had written, the letter would have arrived by now and Mrs Crosby might be worried. He had eaten the meal Mudd had had ready for him and driven himself out of town, despite Mudd’s disapproving look.
He was glad that he had come; Mrs Crosby had had the letter that morning and had been worrying about it ever since. He had been able to reassure her and tell her exactly what had happened. ‘Kate behaved splendidly,’ he told her. ‘She’s not easily rattled, is she?’ He smiled a little. ‘She didn’t like the tunnel, though—too dark.’
Mrs Crosby offered Prince a biscuit. ‘I’m glad she was able to help. Did Lady Cowder mind? I mean, Kate had to miss some of her duties, I expect.’
Mr Tait-Bouverie said soothingly, ‘My aunt quite understood. Kate had her bath and her cuts and bruises were attended to, and she had an early night.’
‘Oh, good. I shall be so glad to see her again, though it was most kind of Lady Cowder to take Kate with her. It’s years since she had a holiday, and she does have to work hard.’ She paused. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
Mr Tait-Bouverie offered Moggerty a finger to chew. ‘Why not? Being a housekeeper to my aunt must be extremely hard work. You see, people who have never had to work themselves don’t realise the amount of work other people do for them.’
‘Well, yes, I dare say you’re right. Are you not tired? It was very kind of you to come all this way… When do you start work again?’
‘Tomorrow, and I knew that once I got started it would be some days before I could come and see you.’
‘I’m very grateful. Kate’s all right, isn’t she? I mean, happy…?’
He said evenly, ‘We had a very happy afternoon together. We went dancing one evening…she is a delightful dancer…’
‘She was never without a partner at the parties she went to—that was before her father became ill. What was she wearing? She didn’t take much with her—she didn’t expect… Was it a brown dress?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie gravely. ‘She is far too beautiful to wear brown crêpe, Mrs Crosby.’
‘She hadn’t much choice,’ said Mrs Crosby rather tartly.
‘It made no difference,’ he assured her. ‘Kate would turn heads draped in a potato sack.’
Mrs Crosby met his unsmiling gaze and smiled. Not an idle remark calculated to please her, she decided. He really meant it.
He went away presently, with Prince at his heels eager to get into the car beside his master.
Mrs Crosby offered a hand. ‘Don’t work too hard,’ she begged him. ‘Though I suppose that in a job like yours you can’t very well say no…’
He laughed then. ‘That’s true, but I do get the odd free day or weekend. I hope I may be allowed to come and see you from time to time?’
‘That would be delightful.’
She watched him drive away, wondering if his visit had been made out of concern for her worry about Kate or because he really wanted to see her—and Kate—in the future. ‘We shall have to wait and see,’ she told Moggerty.
Kate quickly discovered that she was to pay for the few hours of pleasure she had had with Mr Tait-Bouverie. Lady Cowder declared that she was tired of bridge, and on fine afternoons a car was hired and she and Kate were driven around the countryside—Kate sitting with the driver since Lady Cowder declared that Kate’s chatter gave her a headache.
Kate ignored this silly remark, and was thankful to sit beside the driver, who pointed out anything interesting and, before long, told her about his wife and children.
After several days of this the weather changed and, instead of going out in the afternoons, Lady Cowder stayed in one of the hotel lounges, playing patience or working away at a jigsaw puzzle while Kate sat quietly by, ready to help with the patience when it wouldn’t come out, or grovel around the floor looking for lost bits of the puzzle.
Now she had only a brief hour each morning to herself, so the days stretched endlessly in long, wasted hours.
It was only during the last few days
of their stay that this dull routine was altered, when Lady Cowder decided to shop for presents. She hadn’t many friends—bridge-playing acquaintances for the most part—and for those she bought carved woodwork. But Claudia was a different matter.
‘Something special for the dear girl,’ she told Kate. ‘She is so pretty; one must choose something to enhance that. Earrings, I think—those rather charming gold and silver filigree drops I saw yesterday. Of course, they are of no value; James will see that she has some good jewellery when they marry…’
She shot a look at Kate as she spoke, but was answered with a noncommittal, ‘They would be charming. I’m sure Claudia will be delighted to have them.’
‘Such a grateful girl. You might do better to copy her gratitude, Kate.’
Kate, with a tremendous effort, held her tongue!
The journey back to England went smoothly—largely because Kate had planned it to be so. All the same, it was tiring work getting Lady Cowder out of cars, into the plane and out of it again and then into her own car. She had complained gently the whole way home so that Kate had a headache by the time they stopped in front of Lady Cowder’s house.
That was when her long day’s work really started. Safely home again, Lady Cowder declared that she was exhausted and must go to bed at once.
‘You may bring in the luggage and unpack, Kate, but before you do that bring a tray of tea up to my room. I’ll take a warm bath and go to bed, I think, and later you may bring me up a light supper.’ She sighed. ‘How I envy you your youth and strength—when one is old…’
Seventy wasn’t all that old, reflected Kate, receiving an armful of handbags, scarves and rugs. And Lady Cowder lived the kind of life which was conducive to looking and feeling a lot younger than one’s years. She saw Lady Cowder to her room, got her bath ready and went downstairs to unload the boot.
Lady Cowder was in bed by the time Kate had put the car away and brought the luggage indoors.
‘You might as well unpack my things now,’ said Lady Cowder, sitting up against her pillows as fresh as a daisy.
‘If I do,’ said Kate in her quiet voice, ‘I won’t have time to get your supper.’ She added woodenly, ‘I could cut you a few sandwiches…’
Lady Cowder closed her eyes. ‘After my very tiring day I need a nourishing meal. Leave the unpacking, since you don’t seem capable of doing it this evening. A little soup, I think, and a lamb chop with a few peas—if there are none in the freezer, I dare say you can get them from the garden. Just one or two potatoes, plainly boiled. I don’t suppose you will have time to make a compote of fruit; I had better make do with an egg custard.’ She opened her eyes. ‘In about an hour, Kate.’
Only the thought of the extra wages she had earned, enough—just—to make up the hundred pounds to show the bank manager, kept Kate from picking up her unopened bags and going home.
She went to the kitchen, put on the kettle and made tea, then a little refreshed but still angry, she phoned her mother.
‘I can’t stop,’ she told her. ‘There’s rather a lot to do, but I’ll see you on Wednesday. I’m to go to Thame for some groceries on Thursday; I’ll go to the bank then.’
Her mother’s happy voice did much to cheer her up—after all, it had been worth it; the rather grey future held a tinge of pink. In a few months she would be embarking on a venture which she felt sure would be successful.
Later she carried a beautifully cooked meal up to Lady Cowder’s room.
‘You may fetch the tray when I ring,’ said that lady. ‘Then I shan’t need anything more. I’ll have breakfast as usual up here. Poached eggs on toast, and some of that marmalade from the Women’s Institute. In the New Year you can make sufficient for the whole year; I cannot enjoy any of these marmalades from the shops.’
Kate said, ‘Goodnight, Lady Cowder,’ and received no answer. She hadn’t expected one. She hadn’t expected to be asked if she were at all tired or hungry, nor had she expected to be thanked for her services during their stay in Norway. But it would have been nice to have been treated like a person and not like a robot.
She ate her supper, unpacked her things, had a very long, too hot bath and then went to bed. She was tired, but not too tired to wonder what Mr Tait-Bouverie was doing. She told herself sleepily not to waste time thinking about him and went to sleep.
She was kept busy the next day; after a month’s emptiness the house was clean, but it needed dusting and airing. Stores had to be checked, tradesmen phoned, the gardener had to be seen about vegetables, and Horace to be made much of. He had been well looked after but he was glad of her company again, and followed her round the house, anxious to please.
Lady Cowder, catching sight of him following Kate up the stairs, said irritably, ‘What is that cat doing here? I thought he had been got rid of. I’m sure I told Mrs Beckett to have him put down before she left…’
‘It’s most fortunate that she didn’t, Lady Cowder,’ said Kate in the polite voice which so annoyed her employer. ‘For he is splendid at catching mice. All those small rooms behind the kitchen which are never used…he never allows one to get away.’
She uttered the fib with her fingers crossed behind her back. It was a fib in a good cause—Horace was a sympathetic companion and someone to talk to. That he had never caught a mouse in his life had nothing to do with it…
‘Mice?’ said Lady Cowder in horror. ‘You mean to tell me…?’
‘No, no. There are no mice, but there might be without Horace. A cat,’ she went on in her sensible way, ‘is of much more use than a mousetrap.’
Lady Cowder agreed grudgingly, annoyed to feel that Kate had got the better of her without uttering a single word which could be described as impertinent or rude.
Kate went home on her half-day, taking her extra wages with her, and she and her mother spent a blissful afternoon making plans for the future.
‘I’ll need a thousand pounds to start,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll start in a small way, and then get the money paid off to the bank and get better equipment as we expand. I’ll stay with Lady Cowder until I’ve drummed up one or two customers—the pub, perhaps, and that bed and breakfast place at the other end of the village. Once I can get regular customers I can branch out—birthday parties and even weddings…’
‘It’s something you can go on doing if you marry,’ observed her mother.
‘Yes, but I don’t know anyone who wants to marry me, do I?’ For some reason Mr Tait-Bouverie’s face rose, unbidden, beneath her eyelids and she added, ‘And I’m not likely to.’
She took care to laugh as she said it and her mother smiled in return—but her eyes were thoughtful. Mr Tait-Bouverie would make a delightful son-in-law, and he might fall in love with Kate. It didn’t seem likely, but Mrs Crosby was an optimist by nature.
Before Kate went back that evening she arranged to call in the next day on her way to Thame. She wasn’t to use the car—Lady Cowder considered that Kate could cycle there and back quite easily with the few dainties which she had set her heart on.
‘I quite envy you,’ she’d told Kate in the wistful voice which made Kate clench her teeth. ‘Young and strong with the whole morning for a pleasant little outing.’
Kate said nothing. The bike ride was one thing, but shopping around for the special mushrooms, the oysters, the lamb’s sweetbreads, the special sauce which could only be found at a delicatessen some distance from the shopping centre was quite another. But she didn’t mind; she was going to find time to go to the bank…
Kate got up earlier than usual, for Lady Cowder expected the morning’s chores to be done before she left, but still Kate left the house later than she had hoped for. It would be a bit of a rush to get back in time to get Lady Cowder’s lunch. She stayed at her home only long enough to collect the hundred pounds, which she stowed in her shoulderbag and slung over her shoulder. It would never do to get it mixed up with the housekeeping money in the bike’s basket, every penny of which she would have to account for.
It was a dull day, but she didn’t mind that—this was the day she had been working and waiting for. Now she could plan her future, a successful career… It was a pity that Mr Tait-Bouverie’s handsome features kept getting in the way.
‘Forget him,’ said Kate loudly. ‘Just because he was kind and nice to be with. Remember, you’re a housekeeper!’
She bowled along, deciding what to do first—the bank or the shopping. Would she be a long time at the bank? Would she be able to see the manager at once? Perhaps she should have made an appointment. Another mile or so and she would be on the outskirts of Thame. She would go to the bank first…
She parked her bike and had turned round to take her shopping bag and the housekeeping money from the basket when she was jostled by several youths. They did it quite roughly, treading on her feet, pushing her against the wall, but before she could do anything they chorused loud apologies—presumably for the benefit of the few pedestrians in the street—and ran away.
They took her shoulderbag with them, neatly sliced from its straps.
It had all happened so quickly that she had no chance to look at them properly. There had been four or five of them, she thought, and she ran across the street to ask if anyone passing had seen what had happened. No one had, although they admitted that they had thought the boys had bumped into her accidentally.
So she went into the bank, calm with despair, and explained that her money had been stolen. Here she was listened to with sympathy, given an offer to phone the police, and told with polite regret that an interview with the manager would be pointless until the money was recovered. When a police officer arrived there was little he could do, although he assured her that they would certainly be on the lookout for the youths.