by Betty Neels
Sir William looked up briefly from Bobby’s grooming. ‘Hello, Wanda, Pauline and I are going to her school to see her headmistress—like to come with us?’
Wanda shuddered delicately. ‘Certainly not. I can’t sleep in this house. I’ll rest on the patio, if someone takes that dog away. Cook, you can bring me some coffee once I’m settled.’
Sir William said quietly ‘Jolly will do that. Come on, Pauline, we’ll be off.’ He whistled to Bobby, remarked that they would be back for lunch, and disappeared in the direction of the garage.
Wanda needed a lot of settling: fresh coffee, more cushions, a light rug, the novel she had left in her bedroom. Nanny, looking more and more po-faced, handed these over wordlessly and then disappeared, and so presently did Jolly, leaving Florina to take the rolls from the oven and then start on lunch.
She was arranging cold salmon artistically on a bed of cress and cucumber, when Wanda called her. It would have given Florina great satisfaction to have ignored her, but Wanda was a guest and, what was more, a cherished one. And Florina, in a mixed-up, miserable way, would have done anything to make Sir William happy, even if it meant being nice to Wanda. She washed her hands well and went on to the patio, prepared to offer cool drinks, more cushions or anything else the girl demanded.
She was completely taken aback when Wanda said, ‘Don’t think I haven’t eyes in my head. I’ve watched you toadying to Sir William—God knows what crazy ideas you’ve got in that silly head. I dare say you fancy you are in love with him. Well, you can forget it. The day we marry, and that shall not be too far away, you’ll get your notice, so you had better start looking for another job.’
Florina, usually so mild, seethed with a splendid rage. She said in a very quiet voice, ‘You have no right to talk to me like this. When Sir William tells me to leave, then I shall go, but not one minute before. I think that you are a rude, spoiled young woman, who has no love or thought for anyone. You don’t deserve to be happy, but then, you never will be…’ She put her neat head on one side and studied the other girl, who was staring speechlessly at her. ‘You may report all that I’ve said to Sir William, but I wish to be there just in case you forget what you said to me, too.’
‘If it’s the last thing I do,’ breathed Wanda, ‘I’ll see you pay for this.’ She sat up and caught Florina a smart slap.
‘Cool off, Miss Fortesque.’ Florina, who hadn’t realised that she could feel so royally angry, picked up the jug of lemonade on the table by Wanda’s chair, and poured it slowly over the top of her head. The rather syrupy stuff caused havoc to Wanda’s artlessly arranged hair, and did even more damage to her complexion. She jumped to her feet, shrieking threats as she raced away to her room, and Florina put down the jug and went back to the salmon. She had cooked her goose, but just for a moment she didn’t care.
Jolly was in the kitchen. He eyed her with a benign smile and a good deal of respect. ‘I saw and heard everything, Miss Florina. If necessary I will substantiate anything you may need to say to Sir William. I was prepared to come to your assistance, but it proved unnecessary.’
The enormity of what she had done was permeating through her like an unexpected heavy fall of rain. ‘Oh, Mr Jolly, thank you. You’re very kind. It was very wrong of me and I forgot that I was just the cook. She’ll have me sacked.’
‘I believe that you may set your mind at rest on that score,’ observed Jolly, who had had several interesting chats with Nanny and was totally in agreement with her. Florina would be a splendid wife for Sir William—and she was in love with him—although she was unaware of how much that showed. As for Sir William, he was old enough and wise enough to get himself out of the mess he had so carelessly let himself get into. Jolly had no doubt that he would do it in his own good time, and when it suited him, and with such skill that Miss Fortesque would believe that she had been the one to call their marriage off. In the meantime, Jolly made a mental note to call Florina ‘Miss Florina’—it would be a step in the right direction.
There was no sign of Wanda until lunch time, a meal she ate in a haughty silence which Sir William didn’t appear to notice. When they had finished she said in an unnaturally quiet voice, ‘William, I must talk to you—now.’
Jolly conveyed this news to the kitchen and Florina, hearing it, lost her appetite completely. Indeed, she was feeling quite sick by the time they had finished, and when Sir William strolled in, she went so white that the freckles sprinkling her nose stood out darkly.
He crossed to the Aga, stooped so as to stroke Mother and Child curled together in a neat ball, and said in his placid way, ‘I’d like a word with Florina, if you wouldn’t mind…’
Florina watched Jolly and Nanny go through the door, put her hands on the back of the chair she was standing behind and met Sir William’s gaze.
‘Miss Fortesque has told me a most extraordinary tale—have you anything to add, Florina?’ His voice was kind.
‘No.’
‘There are always two sides to a disagreement. I should like to hear yours.’
‘No.’
He smiled a little. He studied the nails of one hand. ‘Pauline was listening at the study door, and indeed Miss Fortesque was speaking so loudly, I was forced to send her to her room so that she could indulge her mirth.’
‘Please don’t ask me to apologise. I’m not the least sorry for what I did. I expect you’re going to give me notice.’
He looked surprised. ‘Why should I do that? I had hoped that you knew me well enough to tell me your version, but it seems that it is not so.’
Florina burst out, ‘How can I tell you? You are going to marry Miss Fortesque.’
He smiled again. ‘That is your reason?’ And, when she nodded, ‘I think that it might be better to say no more about the matter.’ He started for the door and paused to look back at her. ‘It seems that lemonade plays havoc with tinted hair.’
Jolly was in the hall, so obviously waiting for him that Sir William said, ‘Come into the study, Jolly. I take it that you wish to speak to me?’
Jolly closed the door behind him. ‘I was in the kitchen, Sir William, and, begging your pardon, Miss Fortesque was that nasty—Miss Florina was so polite too, in the face of all the nasty rubbish…’
‘Rubbish, Jolly?’
Jolly, who had an excellent memory, repeated what had been said. He noticed with satisfaction that Sir William’s face had no expression upon it, which meant that he was concealing strong feelings. He wisely added nothing more.
Sir William was silent for several moments. ‘Thank you, Jolly. You did right to tell me. I have told Florina that the matter is to be forgotten.’
‘Very good, Sir William. Miss Florina is a nice young lady and easily hurt.’
‘Quite so.’ He smiled suddenly, and looked young and faintly wicked. ‘Will you go to Pauline’s room and ask her if she wants to take Bobby and me for a walk? Miss Fortesque is resting in her room, but I dare say she’ll be down for tea.’
The rest of the weekend passed off peacefully. Florina kept to her kitchen and tried to expunge her bad behaviour by cooking mouth-watering meals and keeping out of the way of Sir William and Wanda. Pauline, when she wasn’t with her father, spent her time in the kitchen, with Bobby in close attendance, curled up before the Aga with the cats.
‘Wanda is so cross, I’d rather be here with you,’ she explained. ‘Daddy said I wasn’t to talk about it, but I laughed and laughed. But she is horrid—I shall run away…’
‘Now, love, don’t talk like that. It would break your father’s heart if you were to leave him. He loves you so much.’
‘So why is he going to marry Wanda? He doesn’t love her.’
‘You mustn’t say that, she is a a very lovely lady.’
‘With a black heart,’ declared Pauline, so fiercely that they both laughed.
The house seemed very empty when the Bentley had gone the next day. Sir William had bade Florina a casual goodbye, kissed Pauline and Nanny, swept Wanda
into the front seat before there was time for her to say anything, ushered Jolly into the back of the car and driven off. He hadn’t said anything about the following weekend. Perhaps he would stay in town to placate Wanda, take her dining and dancing, so that she could wear her lovely clothes and show off the enormous ring she wore on her engagement finger.
Florina retired to the kitchen and got supper, with a good deal of unnecessary clashing of saucepans.
There was plenty to keep her busy during the next few days: tomato chutney to make, vegetables from the garden to blanch and pack into the freezer, and she had Pauline to keep her company when she wasn’t having her sewing and knitting lessons with Nanny, something the old lady insisted upon. It was quite late on Thursday evening when Florina heard a car turn into the drive and a moment later the front door shutting. She went down the passage into the hall and Sir William was there. He was standing in the centre of the lovely old Persian carpet, staring at the wall, but he turned to look at her. He was tired; his face had lines in it she hadn’t seen before.
She said at once, ‘You’d like something to eat— I’ll have it ready in ten minutes. Shall I pour you a drink?’ She shook her head in a motherly fashion. ‘You’ve had a very busy day.’
He gave a short sigh and then smiled at her. ‘Pour me a whisky, will you? Will Pauline be awake?’
She glanced at the clock. ‘Probably not, but she would love you to wake her up.’
She watched him going upstairs two at a time, and then went into the drawing-room to switch on a lamp or two and pour out his whisky. The room looked lovely in the soft light, and the gentle flow of the mill stream under the floor was soothing. She hurried back to the kitchen, to warm up soup. An omelette would be quick, and there were mushrooms she could use. She was laying a tray when he came in, the glass in his hand. ‘I’ll have it here—anything will do…’ He sat down at the table and watched her whisking the eggs. ‘I should have telephoned you. I’m examining students at Bristol tomorrow, and on Monday and Tuesday. I’ll drive up each day—I don’t need to be there until ten o’clock and I can be back here in the early evening.’
Florina poured the soup into a pitkin and set it before him. Her heart sang with delight at the prospect of him being at Wheel House. She said happily, ‘Oh, now nice—to have you here…’ She paused and then went on quickly, ‘Nice for all of us.
Since he was staring at her rather hard, the spoon in his hand, she added, ‘Do eat your soup, Sir William, and I’ll make your omelette. There’s bread and butter on the table. Would you like coffee now or later?’
‘Now, if you will have it with me.’
She got two mugs and filled them from the pot on the Aga, put one before him and then went back to the frying-pan, where the mushrooms were sizzling gently. He began to talk, going over his week and, although for half the time she had very little idea of what he was talking about, she listened with interest, dishing up the omelette and then watching him eat it while she drank her coffee. This was how it should be, she reflected: someone waiting for him each evening to share his day’s work with him and see that he ate a proper meal and could talk without interruption…
‘Of course, you won’t understand half of what I’m saying,’ observed Sir William and passed his mug for more coffee.
‘Well, no—I wish I did! I can understand why you love your work. I think that I would have liked to have been a nurse and to have known a bit more about all the things that you have been talking about. I’m too old to start training now, though.’
‘Old?’
‘I’m twenty-seven, Sir William.’
‘I’m thirty-nine, Florina.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Is there any of that jam you made last week?’
She fetched it, put the loaf and a dish of butter on the table and watched him demolish a slice. When he had finished, she said matter-of-factly, ‘You should go to bed, Sir William. When will you be leaving in the morning?’
‘Eight o’clock.’
‘Will breakfast at half-past seven suit you, or would you like it earlier?’
‘That will do very well. I’ll help you with these things. You should be in bed yourself.’
He ignored her refusal of help, but found a tea-cloth and dried the dishes as she washed them. He waited as she saw to the animals and climbed the stairs to her room, and then went back to the hall. But he didn’t go at once to his bed, he went into the drawing-room and sat down in his great chair, deep in thought. Presently he got to his feet, stretched hugely, turned off the lights and went upstairs. His thoughts must have been pleasant ones, for he was chuckling as he went.
Florina was dishing up the breakfast when he came into the kitchen with Pauline, dressing-gowned and bare-footed, so she did a second lot of bacon and eggs and, much as she would have liked to have stayed, took herself off on the plea of giving Bobby a quick run in the garden. She didn’t go back until she judged Sir William would be ready to leave, but he was still sitting at the table. There was a faint frown on his face, and Pauline’s lower lip was thrust out in an ominous fashion. He got up as Florina came in, kissed his daughter, whispered in her ear—something which made her small face brighten—observed that he would be back around six o’clock and went to the patio door, fending off Bobby’s efforts to go with him, and passing Florina as he went. His swift kiss took her by surprise, and he had gone before she could do more than gasp.
‘Why did Daddy kiss you?’ Pauline wanted to know. ‘Perhaps it was because Wanda wasn’t here—though she doesn’t like being kissed. She says it spoils her make-up.’
The child stared at Florina. ‘You haven’t got anything on your face, have you, Florina? You are awfully red…’
The days went too quickly. The brief glimpses she had of Sir William in the morning coloured her whole day, and in the evenings once he was home, even though he saw little of her, she could hear him talking to Pauline, calling the dog, chattering with Nanny. Once dinner was over and the house was quiet, she listened to his quiet footfall crossing the hall to the study and gently closing the door. She pictured him sitting at his desk, making notes or correcting papers. He might just as easily be writing to Wanda or talking to her on the telephone, but she tried not to think of that.
Tuesday came too soon. He left after breakfast and didn’t intend to come back until the weekend, for he would drive straight back to London from Bristol. He mentioned casually, as he went, that probably he would be bringing Miss Fortesque with him at the weekend.
Pauline cried when he had gone, climbing on to Florina’s lap and sobbing into her shoulder. ‘Do you suppose they’ll be married?’ she asked.
‘Most unlikely,’ said Florina bracingly. ‘Your father would never do that without telling you, love. So cheer up and wash your face. We’ll take Bobby for a nice walk, and when we get back you can go into the garden for a bit and keep an eye on Mother and Child, in case they stray off.’
She had reassured the child, but not herself. She had long ago discovered that Sir William was not a man to display his feelings, or, for that matter, disclose his plans. He was quite capable of doing exactly what he wished, without disclosing either the one or the other, and Wanda was a very attractive girl. Florina went and had a look at herself in the small looking-glass in the downstairs cloakroom and derived no comfort from that. The quicker she erased Sir William from her thoughts, the better. It would help, of course, if she could find a substitute for him, but she had known all the young men in the village since she was a small girl, and they had either got engaged or married or had left home. She didn’t know anyone… She did, though. Felix, the only young man to show any interest in her, and one she had no wish ever to meet again.
She went to get Nanny’s breakfast tray ready, reflecting that the chances of seeing Felix again were so remote that she need not give him another thought.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FLORINA took Pauline and Bobby for short trips in the car during the next few days, and even Nanny consent
ed to be driven into Wilton for an afternoon’s shopping. Summer was giving way slowly to the first breath of autumn, and there weren’t many days left before Pauline would be going to school. The three of them made the most of it, and it wasn’t until Friday morning, when Sir William telephoned, that they remembered that Wanda would be with him that weekend. Reluctantly, Nanny prepared the rooms while Florina bent her mind to the menus for the next few days. She was rolling pastry for the vol-au-vents when she heard a car stop in the drive. Her heart gave a great leap—perhaps Sir William had come early, and, better still, Wanda might not be with him. She heard Nanny go to the door and the murmur of voices, and then Nanny came into the kitchen.
‘Someone for you—a young man—says he is an old friend.’ She looked at Florina’s floury hands. ‘I’ll put him in the small sitting-room.’
Florina frowned. ‘But I haven’t any old friends—not young men…’ She remembered Felix, then raised a worried face to Nanny. ‘Oh, if it’s Felix—I don’t want to see him, Nanny.’ She added by way of explanation, ‘He’s from Holland. I met him when I went over there for the wedding.’
‘Well, if he’s come all this way, you can’t refuse to see him. It’s only good manners,’ declared Nanny, a stickler for doing the right thing.
She went away before Florina could think of any more excuses. Florina finished rolling her pastry, put it in the fridge to keep cool and washed her hands. She didn’t bother to look in the looking-glass; her face was flushed from her cooking and her hair, still in its plait, could have done with a comb. But if it was Felix, and something told her that it was, then she had no wish to improve her looks for him. She would give him short shrift, she decided crossly as she opened the sitting-room door.
It was Felix, debonair and very sure of himself. He came across the room to meet her, just as though they were good friends with a fondness for each other. But she ignored his outstretched hands and said crisply, ‘Hello, Felix. I’m afraid I have no time to talk, I’ve too much to do. Are you on your way somewhere? Tante Minna didn’t mention you in her letter.’