Edward could have been a problem, but he made things easy by going to Ireland on business. Mr. Mansel frequented the town house on occasions and she received a smile and a courteous question as to her health when he did. Eve Mansel divided her time between town and country, leaving a heady trail of perfume, asking questions but not really listening to the answers.
Two weeks after first walking into Luigi’s, Eleanor felt as though she had been doing the job all her life. As she travelled home one Wednesday afternoon she gave a grin of amusement as she negotiated the journey. It hardly seemed possible that a short time ago she had never been on her own in London before. The day had been a particularly busy one and she was due in again that evening. She staggered into the house and flopped on one of the armchairs, accepting a cup of tea from Hickman with a grateful smile.
The next thing she knew was that she had a crick in her neck and the stabbing pain brought her reluctantly out of an exhausted sleep. Sitting up with a groan, she rubbed her neck, stretching cramped legs, and a few seconds later became aware of a still form in the chair opposite, watching her thoughtfully. She sat equally still, all movement suspended.
She had not seen Edward since that traumatic night of Kate’s visit.
‘Oh! Hullo, Edward ... so you’re back. I didn’t hear you come in,’ she said brightly, settling herself upright. ‘Have you been here long?’
‘About ten minutes. You were so far gone that you didn’t even wake when Hickman brought in the trolley. You’d better have another cup of tea ... this seems to be cold,’ and he indicated the cup by her side. ‘You must have been tired. Having some late nights?’ He raised a brow as he passed another cup.
‘One or two,’ agreed Eleanor, smoothing her skirt. ‘I hope I didn’t disgrace myself? You know—snore or anything?’
‘No, you didn’t disgrace yourself.’ Edward lighted a cigarette and leaned back comfortably in the armchair, eyes flicking over her lazily.
Eleanor, to her annoyance, felt the colour rise in her cheeks as the blue eyes surveyed her, remembering vividly their last meeting. She made a great business of stirring her tea. So, she thought, Edward is back ... to complicate things, and in more ways than one. She could still feel his kisses and the hardness of his body against hers. He had made her aware of herself as no other man had before, and that was difficult to come to terms with—she didn’t even like him. Raising her eyes above the rim of her cup, she caught a fleeting expression on his face that surprised her—an almost brooding resentment, as if his thoughts reiterated her own, a fancy which she discredited as quickly as it came as being ridiculous.
‘You look very fit and well, Edward,’ she said lightly. Tanned and brimming over with good health and vitality, he was dressed with misleading casualness in a cool blue cashmere sweater and navy cords.
‘I wish I could return the compliment,’ Edward replied evenly. ‘Admittedly you were not on top form when I left for Ireland, but I hoped you’d recover the roses in your cheeks when your sister and Slade went back.’
‘Perhaps black doesn’t suit me?’ began Eleanor lamely, beginning to feel uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, knowing that the black jumper and skirt, dark stockings and comfortable flat shoes which constituted her uniform were not flattering.
‘It matches the smudges under your eyes—and you’ve lost weight.’
‘It must be all the walking round London that I’m doing,’ she joked quickly. ‘How was Ireland?’
‘Green and beautiful.’ Edward reached for an ashtray. ‘You must have been neglected shamefully these past two weeks, Eleanor. Where are you off to tomorrow?’ He crossed an elegant trousered leg and eyed the polished tan calf of his shoe as though he suspected a speck of mud had had the temerity to land there.
Luigi’s with any luck, thought Eleanor grimly. ‘The Tate and National, throwing in the Royal Academy, if there’s time,’ she said aloud, congratulating herself on her improvisation. Satisfaction was short-lived.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’
‘Oh! Er ... how nice of you, Edward, but you must be terribly busy, just getting back. There’s no need for you to worry about me, I’m quite used to going around on my own. Perhaps another day, when it may be easier for you?’ She waited anxiously for his reply, hoping her smile was not as uncertain as it felt.
‘Very well.’ If he was relieved, he didn’t show it, merely opened up his briefcase and began to study some papers, and Eleanor breathed easily again.
‘May I pour you out another cup of tea, Edward?’ she asked. He looked up and nodded absently, returning to his papers.
Eleanor collected his cup and took it to the trolley. She glanced down at her watch—she would have to be on her way in half an hour. On her return, Edward murmured:
‘Will you come out with me this evening?’
So much for relaxing and dropping her guard.
‘Oh, lord!’ she exclaimed in dismay as her hand jumped with the shock and the tea slopped, the spoon dropping to the carpet.
‘Was that maidenly delight, or horror, at my suggestion?’ came the dry response.
‘Neither,’ said Eleanor, going to her knees and mopping up a spot of moisture from the carpet. ‘The cup wasn’t on straight.’
‘Well... do I get an answer?’
‘Er ... tonight? Sorry, Edward, but I’m already going out.’
His hand grasped her by the wrist gently, staying the rather fevered mopping up process. ‘Not scared of me, Eleanor, are you?’
‘No ... of course not,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I... I have a date, truly.’
‘I see. Who’s the lucky fellow? One of Van’s friends?’
‘No. His name’s Joe,’ replied Eleanor, collecting her scattered wits, her tone conveying an end to the catechism. Removing herself from his grasp, she rose to her feet. ‘Let me wipe the saucer for you, Edward, or else you’ll drip tea over yourself.’ She returned to the trolley, purposefully keeping her back to him. The silence behind her seemed to be shrieking.
‘Some other evening, perhaps? If ... Joe doesn’t mind?’ said Edward equably.
‘Mmm ... that would be lovely. Here you are, I’ve managed better this time,’ and smiling, but not meeting his eyes, Eleanor said briskly: ‘Goodbye, Edward, thanks for the tea,’ and walking as casually as she could to the door, she made her escape.
Edward and the traffic delayed her and she was a few minutes late. Eleanor rushed into the staff cloakroom and threw off her coat, quickly donning cap and apron. Behind her the door opened and Maisie’s head popped round.
‘Oh, you’ve arrived,’ she exclaimed thankfully. ‘Thought you weren’t coming,’ and Maisie came in, shutting the door behind her.
I got held up,’ explained Eleanor, fixing her hair with another grip to make it more secure.
‘You all right?’ Maisie asked anxiously, and receiving a nod shot her new friend a sharp glance. ‘You don’t say much about yourself and I don’t want to pry, but you’re not in any trouble, are you? Man-trouble, I mean,’ she added darkly.
Eleanor smiled, touched by her concern. ‘No, Maisie.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ carried on Maisie. ‘I mean, it’s obvious you’re only filling in with this job, but if you’re in a mess, and I can help, then I’d like to. Most messes we women get into are man-made.’
Eleanor said thoughtfully: ‘One of these days I might come to you for advice on somewhere to stay. I’m with friends of my family at the moment and they haven’t said anything regarding the length of my visit, but I can’t impose on them for very much longer—although I think it’s going to be difficult to make them see that. So I might need digs later on.’ She dived into her basket and brought out a paper bag. ‘Here ... I saw these and couldn’t resist them. They’re for Joe ... oranges.’
‘Nell, you shouldn’t! You’re always buying him something.’
‘He’s my favourite boy-friend.’
‘Go on! I can’t believe that!’ resp
onded Maisie with a grin, and following Eleanor out, reflected sagely that whatever her friend said, there was a man lurking somewhere about!
The next day Hugh’s Porsche was parked outside the house on Eleanor’s return and she found him in the study, writing a letter. He looked up on her entrance and smiled a greeting. Eleanor, glad to see him, said cheerfully:
‘Hullo, Hugh, can you stay to tea? I’ve put in the order.’ She threw herself into a chair and kicked off her shoes. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she appealed, indicating her stockinged feet. ‘They’re killing me!’
‘Sightseeing is hard on the feet, but worth the agony,’ Hugh observed. ‘I’m writing a note for Edward, will you see he gets it? Van can deliver it to the shop when she goes in tomorrow if he doesn’t drop in here tonight. I tried to reach him by phone this afternoon, but had no success.’ Eleanor wriggled her toes in ecstasy and murmured: ‘He’s in Holland, I think, chasing some missing freight. Anyway, leave it with me, Hugh, I’ll make sure he gets it, one way or another. And talking of letters, this was waiting for me, do you mind if I read it?’ and she pulled an envelope from her pocket. Hugh shook his head, continuing his writing, and Eleanor opened up her letter from home.
‘Still homesick for Yorkshire?’ he asked after a moment. Eleanor gave the question due consideration. ‘Now and again. It’s done me good to get away—I know that now.’ She leaned forward, warming to her theme. ‘I’ve done things I wouldn’t have dreamed I’d be doing a few months ago, and I’m meeting people and seeing different ways of life—and how can you choose your own unless you do that?’
‘How indeed?’ agreed Hugh, folding his letter and placing it in an envelope. ‘It seems that you transplant easier than you at first thought. I’m glad, for your sake. The hot-house plant leads a rather narrow life.’
Hickman entered with the tea trolley and Eleanor sprang to her feet and took over, saying fervently:
‘Thank you, Hickman, this looks lovely.’ When he left the room Eleanor began to pour out, saying with amusement: ‘Just look at all this food—sandwiches, scones and cakes!’
Hugh crossed to the mantel and placed the letter in a prominent position.
‘My dear Eleanor, why do you think I planned my arrival so opportunely?’
Half an hour later, Vanessa burst into the room to find them sitting chatting companionably—Hugh in the armchair, Eleanor on the rug by the fire.
‘Well! What a cosy scene! I hope there’s some left for the workers of the world?’ She ran a hand through her curls and threw herself into the other armchair. ‘What a menace the traffic is. How are you, Hugh? We haven’t seen you lately.’ She picked up a sandwich and began to nibble it. ‘Awfully busy, are you?’
Fairly.’ Hugh smiled and added mildly: ‘The way you burst into a room, Vanessa, makes me shudder for the safety of Edward’s precious treasures.’
Vanessa swung a slender leg. ‘Oh, I can be ladylike when required. Thanks, Eleanor,’ she said, as a cup of tea came her way. ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘Mmm ... rather. Do have the left-over eats,’ offered Eleanor, before she was made to provide some necessary.
‘I haven’t been too busy to remember my promise to take you to the Festival Hall, Vanessa,’ broke in Hugh, answering Vanessa’s earlier question more thoroughly. ‘There’s an interesting programme offered next week. Can you make the Friday?’
‘Friday?’ Vanessa stirred her tea, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I’m free.’
‘Eleanor?’ Hugh turned to her.
‘Sorry—I’m already booked for that night.’ To her relief, neither questioned her further.
‘I’ll ring you later to make arrangements, Vanessa.’ Hugh took off his glasses and began to polish them, adding casually: ‘Don’t you want to know what they’re playing?’
For once Vanessa appeared disconcerted. ‘Oh ... well, you know I leave my musical education to you.’
‘Dvorak’s New World is being offered, plus some Prokofiev and Berlioz.’ Hugh replaced his glasses and flicked the handkerchief into his top pocket. Vanessa watched him and grinned at Eleanor.
‘Have you noticed,’ she said, ‘how defenceless Hugh looks without those specs of his? I don’t think he really needs them, you know, Eleanor. He uses them as a camouflage. He hides behind them and considers they give him dignity and authority as he deals with the country’s weighty problems!’
He walked slowly to the door, tweaking a curl as he passed behind her chair. ‘There are those who never show due respect to their elders,’ he said, voice full of resignation.
Vanessa said darkly: ‘I shall be twenty-one next month, and come into my independence—then I’ll show you how respectful I can be, I’ll astound you! By the way, what did you think of Archie Lord’s exhibition the other day? I caught a glimpse of you there. You didn’t stay long.’
‘No, I didn’t, did I?’ Hugh replied dryly. ‘I saw one or two worthwhile things, but for the most part it was way above my head.’
Vanessa grinned. ‘Yes, it was weird, wasn’t it? How come you were there?’
‘I know his elder brother and felt obliged to give my support.’
‘Poor old Hugh,’ teased Vanessa, taking another sandwich.
‘And you?’
‘Oh, I went with Phil Nolan. He knows the family quite well.’
‘I see.’ Hugh regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, and she met his gaze wide-eyed.
While their conversation had been going on, Eleanor had been re-reading her letter, but now she glanced up at them both, having caught the tail end. For a few seconds it seemed as though Hugh was going to answer the unspoken challenge but he merely made his goodbyes and left. They heard the front door bang. Vanessa stared into the fire, leg still swinging, humming a fragment of a tune.
‘Do you like Hugh, Nell?’ she asked suddenly, and Eleanor looked up.
‘Why, yes, of course,’ she replied, somewhat surprised.
‘You might not have done,’ argued Vanessa indifferently, ‘although thinking about it, you’re the sort I could imagine him marrying, if ever he gets around to it.’
Eleanor found herself colouring, but ignored the remark and asked a question of her own. ‘What exactly does Hugh do?’
‘Mmm ...? Oh, sits behind some dreary desk, in a dreary Ministry somewhere.’
‘You’re quite awful to him, you know,’ commented Eleanor, returning to her letter.
‘Yes,’ agreed Vanessa, unrepentant. ‘He thrives on it, actually. We’re the nearest to family he has and it gives him a sense of security to come and be teased. Of course, both he and Edward still see me as a grubby schoolgirl with a ponytail.’ She grinned. ‘I was awful to Hugh then, too, I used to plague the life out of him, he was a safer bet than Edward.’ She rose restlessly to her feet and walked to the window. ‘It’s my lifelong ambition to make Hugh lose his temper, but I’m beginning to think it’s not possible.’ She turned and added carelessly: ‘I say, Eleanor, are you really not available on that Friday?’
‘Why?’
‘Well, I could easily get a foursome together.’
‘Thank you, but I won’t be free—and if one of the foursome is to be Philip Nolan, then I don’t think Hugh would be very pleased, do you? I don’t believe Hugh cares for your Mr. Nolan.’
‘Do you know, I get that impression too.’
‘Why is that, do you think?’
Vanessa strolled leisurely to the door. ‘Oh, Phil’s been a bit wild in his youth, but he’s steady enough now. I suspect Hugh considers him rather old for me ... I know Edward thinks so.’ She paused, head on one side. ‘Phil’s thirty—and he’s not too old. What do you think, Nell?’
Eleanor said reflectively: ‘I don’t think it matters—if the man is right.’
‘Exactly,’ said Vanessa coolly. ‘It’s the man that counts, not the years.’
November was trying to become the wettest on record, and succeeding. On the Friday that Hugh was taking Vanessa to the
Festival Hall, Eleanor was working her evening shift. It was a particularly blustery and wet evening and customers were coming in with raincoats glistening with water, shaking themselves like wet dogs and steaming gently in the warm atmosphere.
Maisie was also on duty and as there were only half a dozen people in, the two girls had the chance to chat in the occasional lull.
‘I don’t think you ought to be in tonight, Nell. You haven’t really recovered from the ’flu,’ said Maisie, looking at her friend critically.
Eleanor grimaced. ‘I’m all right. I shall have the weekend to rest up and...’ Her voice trailed as she gazed blankly at some new arrivals.
‘You’d think folk would eat at home on a night like this,’ Maisie grumbled good-naturedly as they watched the customers settling themselves at the tables. ‘You take number four, Nell, and I’ll do number ten,’ she added, as she moved away.
Eleanor didn’t argue. As she gave a glance in the mirror her heart sank at the wan face that looked back at her. She pulled half-heartedly at her cap, picked up her pencil and pad, and looked across at number four, who was waiting with studied patience. Stiffening her back, she made her way over, standing quietly at his side as he studied the menu.
Maisie swept past, giving her a wink and raising her eyebrows appreciatively at number four. Eleanor eased her weight fractionally from one foot to the other, and then back again.
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