by Betty Neels
They settled on scrambled eggs and, as Florina skimmed to the door, intent on dealing with Nanny, Pauline called after her, ‘You are nice, Florina—the nicest friend I’ve ever had. Daddy likes you, too.’
A remark which sent a pleasant glow through Florina’s person. It was delightful to be liked and needed. She beamed at Nanny’s cross face, coaxed her to have her face and hands washed, smoothed her bed and suggested a pot of tea and some thin bread and butter.
‘If you insist,’ said Nanny peevishly, ‘though I don’t say I’ll eat it.’
Jolly was in the kitchen, laying the table. He bade her a dignified good morning, expressed the hope that she had slept well, and started to cut bread for toast. Florina busied herself with the frying-pan, bacon, mushrooms and a bowl of eggs. ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Jolly…’
‘Jolly, miss. I am Sir William’s manservant.’
She turned to look at him. ‘Well, I’m his cook. I think that’s what you should call me…’
His severe expression broke into a brief smile. ‘If you don’t object, I prefer to call you miss.’
‘Well, if you want to, as long as Sir William doesn’t mind.’
‘What am I objecting to?’ He was a large, rather heavily built man, but he moved with speed and silence.
‘Mr—that is, Jolly wishes to call me miss, and I’m the cook…’ She looked up briefly from scrambling eggs.
Sir William took a slice of bread and buttered it and began to eat.
‘You’re not Missus, are you?’ he asked with interest.
‘Certainly not!’
‘Engaged or walking out, or whatever?’
‘No, Sir William. Would you both like bacon and eggs and mushrooms and tomatoes?’
‘Speaking for myself, yes, please, and I’m pretty sure Jolly would, too. Mrs Jolly always gives me fried bread and I dare say she gives it to Jolly, too.’
‘Very well, Sir William. I’ll just run up with Pauline’s tray.’
‘Give it to Jolly—what is Nanny having? Is this her tray? I’ll take it up when you’re ready.’ He made the tea, whistling cheerfully, and presently they sat down to breakfast, a pleasant meal, with Sir William carrying on an easy conversation and Jolly, rather surprisingly, contributing his share of the talk. As for Florina, she had little to say. She was shy, for a start, and for another thing, meals with her father had been strictly for eating; no attempt had been made to enliven them with conversation.
Sir William got out the vacuum cleaner after breakfast and, while Jolly cleared the table and washed the dishes, he strode around his house, taking no notice of Florina’s attempts to stop him, hoovering like a whirlwind.
‘You have a poor opinion of my capabilities,’ he observed. ‘I think you should go away and shake up pillows and make beds. You can tell Pauline that if she stays quietly in bed, she may come down for tea this afternoon.’
She was half-way up the stairs when he asked, ‘What are we eating for our lunch?’ He switched off for a moment so that she could hear him. ‘Ploughman’s lunch? Then you won’t need to cook. Is there any Stilton in the house?’
‘Of course,’ She spoke coldly, affronted that he should doubt her housekeeping.
He didn’t notice. ‘Good. Do you want any shopping done? I can run into Wilton with the car…’ He was at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at her. ‘Let me know when you come down.’
While she made the beds and attended to Pauline and Nanny, she reviewed the contents of the fridge and freezer. She would need eggs from the farm and a chicken as well as cream. There was a nice piece of beef in the freezer and vegetables in the garden. When she went back to the kitchen later, it was to find Jolly setting out mugs for coffee and bending in a dignified manner over the coffee-pot on the Aga. Smiling widely at him, despite his forbidding appearance, she felt sure he was a very reliable man and, in his reserved way, she felt also that he was disposed to like her. As for Sir William, she didn’t allow herself to think too much about him; he resembled a little too closely for her peace of mind the rather vague dreams she had of the man who would sweep her off her feet and marry her and live with her happily ever after. She reminded herself once again that daydreaming got you nowhere. Indeed, it was downright silly when you had your living to earn. She accepted a mug from Jolly, frowned fiercely when Sir William joined them, then she blushed, remembering how she had let her thoughts stray.
He gave her a quick glance and began to talk to Jolly. Presently, when he made some remark to her, she had regained her usual composed manner. The rest of the morning passed busily, and somehow the sight of Sir William standing at the sink scraping potatoes put her quite at her ease with him. The invalids attended to, the three of them sat down at the kitchen table again. She had made a bowl of salad, and Jolly had cut great hunks of bread and arranged the Stilton cheese on a dish flanked by pickles and chutney. Sir William had a tankard of beer beside him, Jolly had made himself a pot of tea and Florina had poured herself a glass of lemonade. Not at all the kind of meal Sir William was used to, reflected Florina, but he seemed happy enough, spreading his bread lavishly with butter and carving up the Stilton. They talked comfortably of small everyday matters and then fell to discussing how she should cook the chicken. ‘Poulet au citron?’ suggested Florina, and caught Jolly’s approving look.
‘Nice,’ observed Sir William, ‘Mrs Jolly does a very nice Poulet Normand.’
This remark instantly put her on her mettle. ‘If you prefer that, Sir William, I think I could manage it.’
He laughed. ‘Don’t be so modest, Florina. You could turn a stale loaf into a splendid meal with one hand tied behind your back!’ He watched the colour wash over her cheeks; for a moment she looked quite pretty.
They were sitting at the table drinking their coffee, deciding which vegetables to have, when the front door was banged shut and high heels tapped across the hall’s wooden floor. Wanda Fortesque pushed the kitchen door wide open and came to a halt just inside it, looking at them. It was evident that she was in a splendid rage and had no intention of hiding it, but Sir William didn’t appear to have noticed that; he got up without haste.
‘Wanda, my dear girl, what a delightful surprise!’
‘Surprise?’ she almost spat at him. ‘I’d say it was a surprise! What’s this? A ménage à trois?’
He said easily, ‘Hardly, since there are five of us here. Come and sit down—have you lunched? Or would you like coffee?’
She stared at the table. ‘I don’t eat in the kitchen, William.’ Her very beautiful lip curled. ‘I thought you employed a cook.’ Her peevish eye settled on Florina, sitting like a mouse, hardly daring to breathe. ‘She can make me an omelette and salad and bring it to the dining-room. Oh, and some fruit. Why on earth is Jolly sitting here, doing nothing?’
Sir William put his hands in his pockets; he spoke pleasantly, but there was no expression on his face. ‘Jolly is here because I asked him to come and, since you enquire, he has been working flat out since he arrived. You see, my dear, Nanny and Pauline have the measles—Nanny is quite ill. Florina had been managing on her own, deciding, quite rightly, that it was hardly fair to our usual help to expect them to come in from the village—measles is so very infectious…’
‘Measles,’ repeated Wanda, in a voice that had become a little shrill. She backed away. ‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I’ve not had them—the place must be full of germs.’ She added wildly, ‘It’s spots, isn’t it? Great red blotches, and puffy eyes and headaches.’
She turned on her heel and hurried back through the hall. Sir William went after her.
She turned to face him when they reached the door. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You could have telephoned…’ It was an accusation.
‘I did,’ he told her mildly. ‘You weren’t at home and you had left a message to say that I wasn’t to ring you, you would ring me.’ He added gently, ‘I’m sorry you’re upset, Wanda. Why not stay now you are here? You won’t have to
go near Pauline and Nanny.’
‘You must be mad—supposing I caught them? There’s the Springfields’ party next week, and Mother is giving a dinner—and there is that dress show I simply mustn’t miss…’
‘Why not?’ He was smiling now, but she didn’t smile back.
‘Don’t be an idiot, William—I have to have clothes. I’ve hardly a rag to my back. I intend to be a wife you can be proud of. Besides, I know so many influential people; it’s important to mix with the right people, especially when you’re a doctor.’
He was still smiling but his eyes were chilly. ‘I already mix with the right people, my dear. My patients.’
‘You’re impossible. I’ll not listen to another word! You can come and apologise when you get back to town on Monday.’
He walked with her to her car. ‘It doesn’t seem likely that I’ll be back on Monday,’ he told her patiently, ‘but I’ll be in touch.’
Back in the kitchen he said calmly, ‘Sorry about that—Miss Fortesque is rather—highly strung is the popular phrase, I believe. Some people are inordinately nervous of catching things.’ He took the tea-towel from Florina and began to dry the dishes Jolly was washing.
‘Will there be scones for tea?’ he asked her. Then, as an afterthought, ‘You’ve had measles?’
Florina said primly. ‘No, but I don’t in the least mind having them, though I’d rather not, as it would make things so awkward for everyone.’
He shouted with laughter and Jolly allowed himself a dry chuckle.
‘Well, that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we come to it. What a boring job washing up is! Jolly, you should have told me…’
‘It was mentioned a year or so ago, Sir William, if you remember, and a dishwasher was installed. A boon to Shirley, if I might say so.’
‘Well, we’d better have one here, too. See to it, will you, Jolly?’
Florina, assembling the ingredients for the scones, marvelled at the way some people lived. Shouldn’t he have consulted Miss Fortesque first? On second thoughts, no.
She put the scones in the Aga and went to see how the invalids were getting on. Pauline was happy enough, as good as gold in bed, knowing that presently she would be going downstairs for her tea. Nanny, however, badly needed a great deal of attention. She was hot, she was thirsty, she wanted her bed remade, and who had banged the front door and wakened her from a refreshing nap?
Florina soothed her, sped downstairs to take the scones from the oven, refill the jug of lemonade, and skip back again. Half an hour later, Nanny washed and in a fresh nightie, her bed remade, her hair combed, and sitting up against her pillows sipping lemonade, felt well enough to tell Florina that she was a good girl with a kind heart and she, for her part, was delighted to hear that Miss Fortesque had taken herself off again.
‘I cannot think what Sir William sees in the creature,’ she declared, and Florina silently agreed. Although perhaps a lovely face, and clothes in the height of fashion and an air of knowing that one was never wrong, could be irresistible to a man. She went down to the kitchen and got tea ready before starting on the chicken.
They played Monopoly after tea, still at the kitchen table, and Florina and Sir William took it in turns to visit Nanny. In between times she saw to dinner. There was a pause while everyone watched her pour the brandy into a skillet and hold a lighted match over it. The flames soared as she tipped the pan from side to side and, when they had died down, she poured the delicious liquid into the bowl of cream and covered the chicken before popping it into a pan and putting a lid on it. There was time for her to make her fortune at Monopoly, which she did while it simmered. Jolly laid the table, and Sir William went down to the cellar to fetch the wine while she made the sauce, cooked the rice and fried the triangles of bread to arrange around the chicken. Pauline had coaxed her father to let her stay up for dinner, and she sat watching Florina as she trotted to and fro between the table and the Aga, peering into the pans holding the baby carrots, the garden peas and the courgettes. Sir William, strolling in with the bottles under his arms, paused to watch her, her hair a little shaken loose from its plait, her small nose shining, intent on her work. A pleasant enough nonentity, he had decided when he had first seen her, but he had been wrong; small, unassuming and nothing much to look at, she still merited a second look. She would make a good nurse, too. He toyed with the idea and then discarded it. She was far too good a cook; besides, Pauline had developed a great liking for her.
‘It smells delicious,’ he observed, and put the bottles in the fridge. ‘If I pour you a glass of sherry, will it upset the cooking?’
Everything was eaten, and Jolly pronounced the chicken every bit as good as that his wife could cook, adding rather severely, ‘Although, of course, miss, it wouldn’t do to go and tell her so.’
‘It shall remain a secret, Jolly,’ Sir William had promised. He smiled across the table at Florina. ‘Did you conjure the crème caramel out of the air?’
She answered him quite seriously. ‘No, Sir William. I baked them in the oven, with the milk pudding for Mrs Frobisher.’
‘All of which she ate. Now take yourself off for an hour, while Jolly and I clear up.’ When she would have protested he added, ‘You need some fresh air, and heaven knows, you’ve earned some leisure.’
‘I’ll take a little walk then. Thank you both for washing up. First, I’ll make sure that they are all right upstairs.’
She whisked herself out of the kitchen before he could say anything.
It was a light, warm evening for it was full summer. She strolled away from the village, past the outlying cottages, sniffing at the air, fragrant with meadow-sweet, dog roses and valerian. She was tired, but she had enjoyed her day, all except the bit when Wanda Fortesque had walked in. Sir William, she reflected, must love her very much to put up with such peevishness. Florina sat on a gate and debated with herself as to whether she would like to go on working as the cook at Wheel House once Sir William had married. Or if, indeed, Wanda would want her to stay. It seemed unlikely; they shared a mutual dislike. On the other hand, if she stayed, Pauline would have someone to talk to. She was a nice child, and Sir William loved her, but she didn’t think Wanda would make a good stepmother. From what Pauline had told her, her father had taken her with him whenever he could, and made sure that she had had all the usual treats a child of her age might expect: the circus, the pantomime, museums, sailing, swimming. Florina couldn’t see Wanda taking part in any of them.
She wandered back presently, and stopped just inside the gates to look at the house. It was beautiful in the twilight, and the sound of the stream was soothing. The drawing-room curtains hadn’t been drawn, and she could see Sir William sitting in an easy chair, smoking his pipe and reading. Jolly came in while she stood there and said something to him, then went away again, and a moment later the kitchen light was switched on. She thought guiltily that she had been away long enough, and went round the side of the house through the patio, past the open drawing-room doors.
‘Had a pleasant walk?’ asked Sir William from his chair.
‘Yes, thank you. Is there anything else you would like, Sir William?’ When he said no, nothing, she said, ‘Then I’ll say goodnight.’
Jolly was in the kitchen, laying the table for breakfast, and she thanked him for his help and added, ‘I’ll take a look at Pauline and Mrs Frobisher. Can I do anything for you before I go to bed?’ She added shyly, ‘You’ve done so much since you came, I’m so grateful…’
Jolly smiled. ‘It’s been a pleasure, miss. Goodnight.’
Sir William and Jolly didn’t leave until Monday evening. Watching the car turn out of the drive, Florina felt a pang of loneliness. Sunday had been a lovely day, with Pauline allowed up for a good deal of it, Nanny feeling better at last, and Sir William and Jolly dealing with the mundane jobs around the house, with a good deal of light-hearted talk on the part of Sir William and an indulgent chuckle or two from Jolly. She had expected them to leave on Sunday
evening, but Sir William had gone into the study and spent a long time on the telephone; when he had come out, it was to announce that his registrar would deal with his cases at the hospital. So she had had another lovely day, with Pauline dressed and up, and Nanny sitting out of her bed for a short while, well enough to want to know what everyone was doing and scattering advice like confetti whenever she had the chance.
She was to telephone Sir William immediately if things should go wrong, or if she felt that everything was getting on top of her. Sir William had kissed Nanny’s elderly cheek, hugged his daughter and dropped a casual kiss on Florina’s cheek as she stood in the doorway to wave them goodbye. When the car had gone, she put a hand up to her cheek and touched it lightly. She was sure that kissing was quite usual among his kind of people and meant nothing other than a social custom; all the same, it had disturbed her.
The house seemed too large and very empty. Sir William and Jolly had left it in apple-pie order, and on Wednesday Mrs Deakin and Mrs Datchett were to return. So, since Pauline was up for most of the day, there would be very little to do. The week slipped by; Sir William telephoned each evening, talking at length to Pauline, after he had had a brief report from Florina. He would be down on Friday evening, he told her, and he would be coming alone.
With Nanny sitting comfortably beside the Aga and Pauline making a cake for tea, Florina bent her mind to food for the weekend. By the time the car came to a quiet halt before the house, she had a vegetable soup simmering on the Aga, Boeuf flamand, rich with beer and onions, in the oven and a strawberry pavlova in the fridge. Moreover, she had put on a clean apron, replaited her hair and done her face with the modest make-up at her disposal.
It was, therefore, disappointing when Sir William, his arm round Pauline’s shoulders, wandered into the kitchen, and greeted Nanny warmly before glancing briefly at her with a casual, ‘Hello, Florina. I hear that Pauline’s made a cake for tea.’