by Betty Neels
"Some day, Sarah, someone will come along and give you the moon, and the stars too."
She shook her head, managing to smile, and said lightly, "I'll believe that when it happens."
"If I were to tell you-' began the Professor, but was interrupted by the phone ringing and Brindle going to answer it.
"Miss Lisse, sir," he announced, "wishful to speak to you."
The Professor got up. "Excuse me a moment, Sarah," he said and went into the hall, leaving the door wide open, so that Sarah, even if she hadn't wanted to, couldn't help but hear every word he uttered.
Who was Lisse? she wondered, and strained her ears to hear better.
The Professor sounded pleased and his voice was warm, quite unlike his usual detached calm. "Darling," she heard him say, "this is a lovely surprise, where are you?" There was a pause, then, "No, I'll come and fetch you and bring you here. We must have time to talk about the wedding." There was another pause, a long one which gave Sarah time to pull herself together. After all, why should she feel all at once brokenhearted? The Professor had never even looked at her, and anyone with any sense would know that a man such as he wouldn't remain a bachelor forever. She had known that loving him was hopeless-more, ludicrous, and she had got what she deserved. Listeners never heard any good of themselves.
He came back to the table presently and began to talk about the garden at Minster Lovell while they drank their coffee, and when they had finished and gone back to the drawing-room, Sarah observed in her calm voice that she still had some shopping to do and felt that she should be going. "Knott is picking me up," she explained, "and I don't want to keep him waiting."
The Professor made no effort to keep her. "I've a visit to make before my afternoon patients," he told her. "I'll drop you off." And when she thanked him without fuss, he said, "I have enjoyed our lunch. Thank you for keeping me company, Sarah."
"Lunch was delightful," she told him gravely. "Thank you for inviting me."
She wished Brindle goodbye, followed the Professor out to his car and got in beside him. She sat silent while he drove through the pleasant streets in the direction of Oxford Street.
"Anywhere in particular?" he asked, and wondered why she was so pale and silent; and, when she said, "Anywhere in Oxford Street or Regent Street, thank you," dismissed the thought.
He stopped in a narrow road running into Regent Street and got out. He opened her door and said, "I'm sorry I can't stop in Regent Street, but will this do, it's only a step-?"
"It will do very well, and thank you again, Professor."
He put a hand on her arm as she stood beside him. "Tell me, Sarah, do you always think of me as Professor?"
She met his eye and smiled a little. "Not always. Thank you again and goodbye, Professor."
He got back into the car and watched her small person until it disappeared round the corner into Regent Street, then he drove on.
Sarah filled in the remaining hours of the afternoon with lengthy inspections of Marks and Spencer and British Home Stores. She would far rather have looked in the boutiques in Bond Street and the Burlington Arcade, but there was no point in drooling over clothes she couldn't have. She bought a bottle of wine, and after a cup of tea made her way through the crowds to Picadilly Tube Station.
She had judged the time nicely, and she hadn't been waiting for more than five minutes when Knott drew up. He leaned over to open the door and she jumped in, fastened her seatbelt and answered him cheerfully when he enquired about her day. And when she said that yes, she had enjoyed it, he said gloomily that that was more than he had done. "Hanging around waiting for people to give me letters and delivering parcels. Can't think why her ladyship doesn't use the post."
"Well," said Sarah reasonably, "they could all have been important, and she needed someone trustworthy to collect and deliver them."
Knott looked smugly pleased with himself. "Well, perhaps you're right," he conceded. "Been with the family most of my life."
"Well, there, that's it then, Mr. Knott."
They talked comfortably as he drove back to Lady Wesley's house, set her down at the side door and drove on to the garage. Sarah went to her cottage, made much of Charles, fed him and let him out, and tidied herself before going along to the kitchen for her supper. Mr. Cork was there, reading the paper, and she gave him the bottle of wine. "You have all been so kind and helped me so much," she told him diffidently. "I hope you won't think it presumptuous of me, I don't mean to be, I just want to say thank you…"
Cork looked surprised; housemaids, in his experience, didn't buy bottles of wine-and very superior wine too, he noticed as he took the bottle-and offer them to the butler. But Fletcher wasn't quite a normal housemaid-she was always polite, quick to do as she was asked by her domestic betters, but on the other hand not in the least in awe of them.
He said, rather pompously, "Why, Fletcher, this is most kind of you. I'm sure we shall all enjoy a glass with our supper. A nice thought, and much appreciated."
As he said to Mrs. Legge later that evening, he hadn't the heart to snub Sarah. "She does a housemaid's work as well as any girl I've had under me, but she's not the type, if you see what I mean." And Mrs. Legge saw.
It was several days later, as they sat round the kitchen table drinking their mid-morning cup of tea, that Miss Mudd joined them. Normally she considered herself above elevenses, but now she sat down, accepted a cup of tea and looked around her, obviously full of news.
It was Mrs. Legge who asked her if anything untoward had happened.
Miss Mudd sipped her tea daintily and looked around the table. "I was in her ladyship's dressing-room, and when the phone rang I answered it as I always do. It was Professor Nauta, so I took her the phone and went back to the dressing-room. The door was open and her ladyship has a very clear voice. Not," she added primly, "that I would stoop to eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear. Splendid news, she says, all excited like, and when is the wedding to be, Radolf? And she listens a bit and says, such a sweet girl, you must be very happy, and then she says, it will be a big affair, I suppose, and she listened a bit more. Well, it is the bride's day, you'll have to put up with that, she says, and listens a bit more…' Miss Mudd hesitated. "She told me to shut the door then, but not before I heard her say, your mother will be over the moon."
She sat back, satisfied with the interest she had stirred in her listeners. There were murmurs of "A wedding, eh?" "And such a handsome man he is, too," and Mr. Cork's considered observation that he had always said that the Professor had it in mind to marry. In the general flurry of conversation Sarah's pale face went unnoticed, as did her silence. Only later that day Mrs. Legge observed to Cook that Fletcher looked a bit peaky. "And I can't say I'm surprised," she added, "for she did more than her share of work today didn't stop once, and offered to polish the silver for Parsons when she said she had a headache."
The day to Sarah seemed endless. When she at last got to her cottage, she fed Charles and went into the yard with him. There was no one about and the evening was fine and warm, and so she sat there while he pottered about and when, at length, she was in bed, with him curled up at her feet, she allowed herself to think. It wasn't a surprise, after all, she reminded herself; she had known about Lisse, and she had no reason to feel as though the bottom of her world had fallen out. Just the same, she told an unresponsive Charles, she hoped that she would never see the Professor again.
He came to lunch the next day, and instead of ringing the bell beside the front door, as any caller should, he chose to strolll round the house to the garage. He had someone with him and they both came to a halt at the sight of Sarah, armed with the impedimenta for the cleaning of windows, tying a sacking apron over her cotton dress.
They were close enough for her to hear the Professor's testy, "What in the name of the Almighty do you think you're doing, Sarah?"
She turned smartly, but before she could say a word, he said, "And hold your tongue about my language."
> It was his companion who broke a silence pregnant with ill temper. "Good Lord, Sarah fancy seeing you here." He examined her appearance in a puzzled way. "Are you doing something for a bet, or is it one of those charity things? I heard you were in London."
Sarah eyed him without pleasure. He was all she needed to spoil a day already made wretched by the Professor's appearance. She said crossly, "Oh, hello, Wilfred. Well, I was in London, but now I'm here and don't you dare tell a soul."
"You know each other?" asked the Professor blandly. "So nice to meet old friends."
The young man turned a pleasant, eager face to him. "Yes, sir. We've known each other for years. Lived in the same village. Bit of a shock meeting Sarah here, especially dressed like a kitchen maid."
"I am the housemaid," said Sarah tartly, "and what are you doing here, anyway?"
"Still snappy, Sarah," he remarked cheerfully. "Always ready to take a chap down a peg or two. Didn't know I'd managed to pass my exams, did you? I'm Professor Nauta's houseman."
"Congratulations," said Sarah.
The Professor gave a small cough. "Er- Fitzgibbon, I believe we should leave Sarah to finish her work."
Wilfred said hastily, "Oh, of course, sir." He darted another puzzled look at Sarah. "I'll give you a ring," he suggested.
"Don't you dare, Wilf. You can write, but don't expect an answer."
The two men strolled away, and nothing in the Professor's appearance of detached amusement betrayed his overpowering wish to hurl Sarah's bucket and brushes into the bushes, tear off that deplorable sacking apron and carry her off to some remote spot, where, he reflected savagely, he would have the greatest pleasure in wringing her small neck-but first of all he would elicit fromm her the exact nature of her friendship with young Fitzgibbon. They had known each other all their lives, and there was an easy familiarity between them. He frowned so ferociously that young Fitzgibbon, about to embark on some harmless observation, thought it prudent to remain silent.
Sarah finished her windows, emptied the bucket and went back to the house. Mr. Cork was waiting for her. "Fletcher, leave those things, Molly will see to them. Go to your room and change into your afternoon uniform. Parsons has cut her hand and will be unable to serve lunch, so you must do it for her. Now hurry, you have no more than ten minutes or so."
Sarah so far forgot herself as to ask, "Must I, Mr. Cork? I don't..."
He stopped her with a majestic movement of a hand and an outraged look from his prominent eyes. "You will do as you are told, my girl, and look smart about it."
So Sarah tore over to her cottage, gave Charles his dinner, flung off her cotton dress and got into the black one, tied a clean white afternoon apron about her person, washed her face and hands rather sketchily, combed her hair into a semblance of tidiness, pinned on her cap and tore back again just in time to take up her station by the sideboard. She had the greatest difficulty in not giggling when Lady Wesley came in with her two guests-the Professor looked furious and Wilfred completely bewildered.
Under Cork's critical eye she handed out soup, offered sole, spinach and new potatoes, removed plates and, when she wasn't doing that, stood like a black and white statue, looking into the middle distance. Rather difficult, since the Professor was sitting exactly opposite to where she was standing.
In order to take her mind off him, she concentrated on the conversation. From it she gleaned the information that Wilfred's mother had been a schoolfriend of Lady Wesley, and through her had met Mevrouw Nauta, who naturally enough had told her son, hence his invitation to take his houseman to meet Lady Wesley. She would have to get hold of Wilf before they left and get him to promise not to say a word about her to anyone… She nipped smartly to the table once more, took plates away and offered cream for the trifle Lady Wesley was dispensing, while Cork solemnly poured wine.
Coffee was to be served in the drawing-room, a task which Cork undertook leaving Sarah to clear the table and go back to the kitchen, where she sat down beside the injured Parsons and ate a splendid meal of steak and kidney pie with spotted dick to follow. Mrs. Legge, a stern taskmistress, was nevertheless generous when it came to feeding the staff. And she was fair, too-when the meal was finished she told Sarah that she might go at once to her cottage since she had taken over Parsons' work at a moment's notice. "But please be back at half-past four, Fletcher. Parsons can get the tea laid up, but you had better take it in. Lady Wesley will object to Parsons' bandaged hand."
There were more than two hours before halfpast four. Sarah got into a cotton dress, brushed her hair and tied it back, opened her door and went into the yard with Charles. It was warm and quiet. She sat doing nothing for quite some time and then, remembering that she must try and see Wilfred if possible, she took Charles indoors and went out again. As long as they kept in the background, Lady Wesley had no objection to the staff walking in the grounds. Sarah began a circuit of the house, keeping well away from it, hoping that Wilfred might possibly be wandering about on his own while Lady Wesley and the Professor talked. Not that it was likely, she reflected bitterly; Wilf had never been noted for tact. There was no sign of anyone, and she made her way to the garage in the forlorn hope that he might be there. And he was, standing beside the Rolls deep in admiration.
"There you are," said Sarah crossly. "I must talk to you for a moment. You're to promise not to breathe a word to anyone about me, and I mean anyone-you know how people talk." She smiled suddenly at him. "Wilf, dear, do please promise. I know you think I'm out of my mind, but I'm really quite happy here. It's so nice after London, almost like home…' She paused a moment and then went on steadily, "Promise?"
He looked worried. "Well, I suppose I must, but isn't there something else you could do, Sarah? I know you don't want to go home, we all know how your stepmother treated you after your father died, but couldn't you be in an office or something more-more suitable?"
"I was in an office and I lived in a beastly little room in a dreary street and I had no friends at all. But here I have a tiny cottage all to myself and the staff are so kind and they are my friends and on my day off there's country all around. Oh, Wilf, you must understand."
He said reluctantly, "Oh, well, all right, I promise."
She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him, and the Professor, chatting with Knott and an interested spectator had, for the second time that day, a violent urge to wring Sarah's neck. A good thing that Knott was standing with his back to them and hadn't seen any of it, he thought, listening with apparent deep interest to Knott's opinion of lead-free petrol.
Promptly at half-past four, Sarah followed Mr. Cork into the drawing-room carrying the cake stand, a lace tablecloth and tea plates. Lady Wesley was old-fashioned; tea, for her, was an elegant little meal with paper-thin sandwiches, tiny cakes and, when her guests were men, one of Cook's Madeira cakes. Sarah arranged everything just so, and, while Cork stood at the door, handed out the teacups as Lady Wesley poured the tea. That done to her satisfaction, Lady Wesley sat back comfortably. "Thank you, Cork," she said, "and you can go, Fletcher. I'll ring if I need more hot water."
"Very good, La-my lady," said Sarah, remembering just in time, and she slid away, taking a look at the Professor as she went. The coldness of his eyes fastened on her sent a nasty shiver down her back.
She went down to the kitchen and had her tea, and began to collect the silver and glass ready for Parsons to set the table under Mr. Cork's eagle eye. Lady Wesley would be dining alone. "So you can have half an hour to yourself, Sarah," said Mrs. Legge. "Be here at six o'clock to lay our supper."
Sarah escaped thankfully, but she didn't get far. Cork's voice stopped her as she was crossing to her cottage. "Professor Nauta wishes to speak to you, Fletcher. He has messages from Mevrouw Nauta. He is in the hall-don't keep him waiting."
So Sarah went reluctantly back again and found the Professor standing by the door, his hand on the latch. He opened it whenn he saw her and waved her through into the garden beyond, and, whe
n she would have stood there in the porch, said impatiently, "Not here, we'll go through the shrubbery."
"What was the message?" asked Sarah, trotting to keep up. "I'm free for half an hour and I want to feed Charles. I mean, we don't have to walk miles, do we? Is it important?"
He stopped and stood looking down at her. "I have no idea, for I have no message. But I wished to speak to you, and I needed a reason which wouldn't raise eyebrows and at the same time make it impossible for you to ignore my request."
She stared at his tie, trying to gather the right words. "I am not sure why I annoy you so much," she said at length, "but you don't have to feel responsible for me just because I lost my job at St Cyprian's, and I'm quite content here, really I am."
"Tell me, Sarah, young Fitzgibbon, are you fond of each other?"
Here was the opening she had been looking for. If she said yes, then the Professor would feel free to go and forget her. "Oh, very," she said. She went on chattily, "I thought I'd never see him again, but now everything will be all right. Once he gets started with a practice of his own…' She left the rest of the sentence hanging speculatively in mid-air.
"You will marry?" The Professor's voice was nicely casual.
In for a penny, in for a pound, reflected Sarah, and she said, "Oh, yes, of course. So you see, you don't have to bother…you can forget me with a clear conscience."
When he didn't say anything, she said, "What was it you wanted to say to me, Professor?"
"Nothing of any importance." He sounded detached, almost bored. "As you say, I need no longer concern myself with you."
They turned and began to walk back towards the house with nothing further to say, which was a good thing, for Sarah's voice was drowned in tears which she would die rather than shed. At the door he said briskly, "Young Fitzgibbon will be wondering where I have got to. Goodbye, Sarah."
If she said anything, she would burst into tears. She nodded in his general direction and fled indoors.