Fletchers End (Bel Lamington Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  When she had done all that was necessary she bathed and changed and sat down to wait.

  “How nice this is!” were the first words uttered by Ellis as he came in at the door.

  “It’s very small,” said Bel. “It seems smaller after that big room in the hotel——”

  “That’s what I mean. It’s like a cosy little nest, high up in the tree-tops. We’ll be happy here, you and I together. I can’t think why we went to that noisy overcrowded hotel when we could have come here and been alone. Why did we?”

  Bel giggled feebly. She said, “Louise seemed to think Paris was the right place for a honeymoon, so——”

  “She was wrong,” said Ellis firmly. “What you need on your honeymoon is privacy so that you can kiss your wife whenever you feel inclined . . .”

  When Bel had managed to disentangle herself she said, “Supper will be ready in ten minutes.”

  Ellis laughed. “And I’ll be ready for supper. It will just give me time to wash. Look at that!” he added holding out his hands. “Absolutely filthy! That’s London.”

  “You can have a bath if you like. There’s plenty of hot water,” Bel told him.

  “I thought you said this flat was uncomfortable? Yes, of course I’d like a bath—give me a quarter of an hour, and you’ll have a nice clean husband to sup with you.”

  “And just put on your dressing-gown,” added Bel.

  He looked back from the door and grinned. “I see I’m going to be spoilt,” he declared.

  There had been no time to prepare an elaborate meal; there was grilled steak and mushrooms and fried potatoes, followed by biscuits and Orkney Farm-House cheese; there was a plate of Cox’s orange pippins and coffee in a brown jug, standing near the fire.

  Ellis was completely satisfied with the meal. He said he had enjoyed it more than all the long expensive dinners in Paris.

  “Good plain food is what I like,” he declared. “Let’s go on having good plain food and lots of fruit. These apples are delicious.”

  “How did they get on at the office without you?” asked Bel.

  “Very badly indeed,” replied Ellis. “There were several serious muddles while I was away—Nelson is hopping mad. Of course it will be better when Jim has got into the way of things. At present he isn’t much help; his father is very annoyed with him to tell you the truth.”

  “That’s a pity!”

  “Yes. I’m beginning to think we made a mistake. Jim is much too young and inexperienced. He should have been sent to Oxford to read law before coming into the firm as a partner. It would have calmed him down and broadened his outlook—and the degree would have been very useful indeed. As a matter of fact I suggested it to Mr. Copping some time ago but he didn’t agree.”

  “He wanted his son in the firm,” Bel pointed out.

  “I know. That was his idea. Of course I would never have consented to have Jim in the firm—so young—if Mr. Copping hadn’t been keen about it. Well, there you are,” added Ellis with a sigh. “It’s too late now. We’ve done it and we’ve got to make the best of it.”

  Bel was looking very thoughtful. She said, “You found an experienced secretary for him, didn’t you?”

  “She’s absolutely useless—no good at all.”

  Bel was silent.

  “I suppose——” began Ellis and paused.

  “What do you suppose?” asked Bel, hiding a little smile.

  “Well—I was just wondering whether you could possibly take the job. I mean just temporarily until Jim finds his feet.”

  “Yes,” said Bel nodding.

  “Really?” asked Ellis eagerly. “Could you bear it? If you could come back—even for part-time—it would be splendid. You know the way things are run and you get on so well with Nelson. It would be a tremendous help if you could come back.”

  “Shall I be paid a salary?”

  Ellis roared with laughter. “Certainly you will be paid. Do you think I would ask you to work for nothing?”

  “I thought you might be asking me to work for love,” said Bel smiling. “Yes, Ellis, I’ll take the job. I’m very fond of Mr. James and I shall enjoy being his secretary. Of course nothing would have induced me to do it if Miss Goudge were still there, but now that she has gone—and Mr. Wills as well—I should like to go back to the office. I’ll come every morning but not in the afternoon.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this!” exclaimed Ellis gazing at her in surprise.

  It was true. She had been thinking about it. She knew that the office was understaffed and Ellis had far too much to do, and she had been wondering how she could fill in the time while Ellis was at his work. The answer to these two problems was obvious. Bel had hoped to get some sort of job in the office; she had never thought of getting the job of secretary to the junior partner. That was a plum which had fallen into her lap and she was suitably grateful—it would be fun to be secretary to Mr. James. As regards the salary, she did not really need it, because Ellis was giving her a generous allowance, but all the same it would be pleasant to have money of her very own—money which she had earned herself—and she was aware that she could earn it creditably. When she was secretary to Ellis she had learnt a great deal about the business and had taken a tremendous interest in all that went on. She had felt that she belonged to the firm. Now she belonged to the firm again, not as an employee but as the wife of one of the partners. It was an honourable position but she was delighted at the idea of being both.

  “I’ll come every morning,” repeated Bel, “but not in the afternoon. I want to be free in the afternoon to clean the flat and prepare your supper. How much am I to be paid?”

  Ellis laughed again and named a salary which his wife was pleased to accept.

  *

  2

  The newly married couple had not told their friends and relations that they were returning so soon from their honeymoon so they had a spell of perfect peace to settle down to their routine. Bel was surprised and touched at the welcome she received on her return to the office. Everyone seemed pleased to see her—everyone from Mr. Copping, the senior partner, down to the page-boy who ran errands and stoked the fires. Bel wondered whether there would have been as warm a reception if she had returned as Miss Lamington, but that was an unworthy thought. Now that Miss Goudge had gone there was a very different atmosphere in the place and everyone was happier. Miss Snow, who reigned in her stead, was cool and calm and pleasant to deal with, best of all she was absolutely just. Bel wondered where Miss Goudge had gone and whether she was creating trouble in some other place of business with her moody temperament and her bitter tongue. It seemed sad to think of it—all the more sad because she was an exceedingly capable woman and but for her unfortunate disposition could have been a valuable employee.

  Mr. James was delighted to see Bel and welcomed her warmly. He looked just the same as ever; his rugged bony face seemed not a day older, his long legs and arms were still awkward and clumsy. Perhaps his straw-coloured hair was a little more orderly, for now that he had become a partner in his father’s firm he brushed it more carefully and sleeked it down with oil.

  “I say, Miss Lam— I mean Mrs. Brownlee!” exclaimed Mr. James shaking her hand with painful cordiality. “It’s simply grand having you as my secretary—I jumped for joy when Mr. Brownlee told me. All my troubles are over now.”

  “All your troubles?”

  “You know all about everything,” he explained. “You’ll be able to hold my hand and prevent me from making any more ghastly mistakes. Mr. Brownlee has been frightfully decent, but the Guv’nor is beginning to get a bit ratty.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes sometimes,” said Bel in soothing tones.

  “Yes, I daresay, but I’ve been making too many—and that woman didn’t help. She was supposed to be an experienced secretary but she knew nothing and cared less. She just sat and goggled at me and wrote down everything I said in shorthand and typed it all out very neatly.”

  “Wasn’t tha
t what she was here for?”

  “I suppose so—in a way—but she didn’t use her brains. It came to a head one day when I was translating a letter; I said, ‘Dash it, this old b-boy doesn’t know his own language!’ Well, believe it or not, she typed that too and dumped it with the other letters on the Guv’nor’s table . . . and it wasn’t ‘dash’ and it wasn’t ‘old boy’,” added Mr. James ruefully. “Lordy, what a ticking off I got! My boyish pranks were more suited to a Prep School was one of the least offensive remarks.”

  Bel was horrified; too horrified to speak.

  “I can see you think she did it on purpose,” said Mr. James, who certainly was no fool. “But honestly, I don’t think so. She was just a machine—you put a penny in the slot and out came a box of matches, see?”

  Bel saw—but was still unconvinced. “Anyhow it won’t happen again,” she said.

  “Not while you’re here,” he agreed smiling at her affectionately. “You’ll keep me out of trouble. I got ticked off for my ‘slovenly appearance’ too. I do try to be neat and tidy but it’s frightfully difficult. I don’t seem to be made like other people. My suits get baggy and my collars go limp and my tie keeps on working round my neck until the knot is under my left ear. I daresay you’ve noticed that?”

  Yes, she had noticed this peculiarity before and had often wondered about it.

  “Other fellows’ ties don’t do that, so why does mine? I suppose my neck must be crooked or something,” said Mr. James sadly. “It’s a most awful nuisance, you know. Sometimes when I’m talking to people I suddenly see them gazing at me—and I never know whether it’s better to haul it round into the proper position or leave it and pretend not to notice.”

  The problem was too difficult for Bel. She said, “I could tell you, couldn’t I?”

  “Yes, that’s the idea,” he agreed. “Just say ‘tie’ and then I’ll know. Be sure to say it when I’m going into the Guv’nor’s room or anything important like that.

  “You know what’s been happening in the office, don’t you?” he continued. “Old Wills went off his nut and had to retire, so I’m the junior partner. Copping, Brownlee and Copping sounds good doesn’t it? I wish I was a success.”

  “You need a little experience, that’s all.”

  “I need a lot of experience,” said Mr. James gloomily. Then his face brightened and he added, “I’ve got old Wills’s room for my very own. Come and see it.”

  *

  3

  Mr. Wills’s room held very unpleasant memories for Bel. Long before he had been forced to retire Mr. Wills had been very peculiar indeed and for some reason or other had taken a violent dislike to Miss Lamington . . . but there was no time to think of that now. Bel was to be here only in the morning so it behoved her to get to work with all speed. There was a large pile of letters on the table, most of them with foreign stamps, Bel began opening them and sorting them out.

  “Are you doing all the translations, Mr. James?” she inquired.

  “Yes, nobody else seems able to cope—and it’s no bother to me. But look here, Miss Lam— Mrs. Brownlee, I mean—you needn’t go on calling me that.”

  Bel hesitated. He had suggested before that she should call him ‘Jim’ and it would have been easy, for although he was such an immense size he was very young and boyish. She remembered the day they had gone to the Zoo together and he had fed the bears with buns—how he had enjoyed himself that day! Bel had enjoyed it too; she had told herself that she was his nursemaid and he was her ‘great big enormous child’. Now she was to be his nursemaid again; she was to direct his faltering steps and train him in the way he should go . . . but, in spite of this, the relationship between them should be correct.

  “You can call me Jim, can’t you?” he said wheedlingly.

  Bel smiled—he really was a dear. She said, “You’re a partner in Copping, Brownlee and Copping and I’m your secretary. You see that, don’t you?”

  “Oh well . . .” said Mr. James with a sigh.

  “We mustn’t waste time,” she reminded him.

  “No—all right—I’ll do the translations first. You can take them straight down on the typewriter if you like.”

  Bel did like; her shorthand had always been her weak point and she had not practised it for months. She sat down at the typewriter and waited for him to begin.

  “It’s a new typewriter,” said Mr. James, coming over to the table and bending over her. “Look, it’s absolutely brand new! I thought you’d like it, so I bagged it out of the Guv’nor’s room.”

  “What!” exclaimed Bel in horrified tones.

  “It’s all right. His typewriter is hardly ever used, you know. He spends most of his time interviewing people—and all that. I put the old one in its place so he won’t notice, and if Miss Wellworth notices she won’t dare to say so. The old machine is frightfully stiff and clumsy; I wasn’t going to have you hurting your fingers on the beastly thing.”

  “It was very kind of you, but all the same——”

  “It’s all right,” repeated Mr. James. “Not to worry. Look at this lovely new machine! This is the very latest, it’s a slap-up job. See how nice and easy it runs—smooth as velvet! It’s a pleasure to work with a machine like this.”

  Bel agreed that it would be a pleasure and repeated her suggestion that they should start at once.

  Some time later when Ellis looked in to see how they were getting on he beheld a scene of concentrated industry; the junior partner and his new secretary seemed to be getting on very well indeed.

  Chapter Ten

  The week passed quickly and on Saturday afternoon the Brownlees motored down to Fletchers End to see how things were progressing. Reggie had been notified of their intention and was waiting for them at the gate. The new gate—made by Mrs. Warmer’s friend—was already in position and had been painted a deep shade of blue; the path up to the door had been treated with chemicals and was now clean and dry; the new front-door had been painted blue to match the gate. Some of the windows had been taken out and the rotten woodwork renewed.

  All this looked like good progress and the owners of the house were pleased. They were not so pleased when they went inside the house for here the changes were all to the bad—or at least they appeared so to the uninstructed eye. Before the alterations had begun the inside of the house had been clean—now it was extremely dirty. There were holes in the floors where the central heating was being put in and holes in the walls where the faulty pipes had been taken out. There were heaps of wood and rubble everywhere and dirty footmarks on the stairs. A piercing wind was blowing in through some of the gaping windows and rustling amongst piles of dirty newspaper. The old bath had been torn from its moorings and heaved out on to the landing where it lay on its side amongst pieces of sacking and rusty pipes and pails half-full of scummy water.

  It was all quite dreadful but the drawing-room was much the worst for here the masons had been at work. One end, where the bow-window was in process of construction, was a mass of rubble, everything was thickly coated with yellow dust . . .

  “Oh dear!” exclaimed Bel looking round in dismay.

  “We’re getting on splendidly,” declared Reggie. “Our Mr. Baker is pretty good value—he knows his job. Just at the moment the place looks a bit messy but that can’t be helped. Think how lovely it will be when it’s finished.”

  “Will it ever be finished?”

  Reggie chuckled. “Yes, and in good time, too. I’m staying at Shepherdsford and coming over nearly every day to keep Mr. Baker and his myrmidons up to the mark.”

  “That’s very good of you!” exclaimed Ellis. “But what about your own business?”

  “I’ve two partners,” Reggie replied. “They’re managing all right.” He paused and then added, “As a matter of fact I’m on sick leave. I’ve got some new-fangled bug in my inside and the doctor said I was to have a holiday. ‘A complete rest’, that was what he said.”

  “But you aren’t resting!”


  “I’m doing what I like. I’m having a complete rest from designing modern bungalows for ignorant idiots—people who want everything as cheap as they can get it. Sometimes it makes me wild. They don’t realise that if it’s all got to be ‘on the cheap’ you must make their wretched doors of unseasoned wood which will warp in a few years’ time. All that sort of thing,” explained Reggie, waving his hand vaguely.

  “I wish I could come down more often,” said Ellis, “but the fact is I simply can’t get away—neither can Bel. We’re both working like niggers. This winter is going to be particularly difficult with Mr. Copping laid up and young Jim so inexperienced. The business has to come first.”

  “Yes, I see that,” agreed Reggie. “But there isn’t any need for you to worry. I’ll look after all this.”

  “You must put in a bill for all your time and trouble.”

  “Oh yes, I’ll bill you,” said Reggie smiling. “But it won’t be a very big bill because I’m just doing it for fun. I’ve lost my heart to the dear old house—that’s the truth of the matter.”

  *

  2

  Bel did not see how it could be much fun pottering about in this scene of desolation, but she discovered that Mrs. Warmer had the same curious taste.

  “It’s fun, Mrs. Brownlee,” said Mrs. Warmer. “There’s such a lot going on—never a dull moment—and it’s going to be so nice when it’s all finished and we can get cleaned up. Of course it’s a bit troublesome when they turns off the water—I grant you that—but that can’t be helped. They’ve left me my kitchen in the meantime and I’ve brought my bed down from the upstairs room. It wasn’t very comfortable up there when they started making holes in the floors. Dear me no, Mrs. Brownlee, I don’t want to move. I’d miss all the excitement if I wasn’t here.

  “That Mr. Stephenson is a very nice young gentleman,” she continued. “So free and easy, he is. Not proud at all. He usually brings his dinner with him and I makes a pot of tea and we has it together in the kitchen as friendly as you like. That Mister Baker—as he calls himself——” said Mrs. Warmer scornfully. “He’s a very different pair of shoes. Proud, that’s what he is! And what’s he got to be proud of I should like to know? His father was a day labourer, but he never did an honest day’s work in his life. I knew Tim Baker. Just a lounger and a scrounger, he was. Drink was his trouble. So what’s Mister Baker got to be proud of?”