by Betty Neels
They walked back presently and this time he didn't come up to the house, but wished her a cheerful, careless goodbye at the gate with no mention of a further meeting. She hadn't expected that anyway.
The house was quiet as she let herself in with the key she had been allowed to borrow. She turned off the lamp in the hall and went softly upstairs. Lady Manderly's bedroom door was ajar with light streaming on to the landing. Jemima was almost past it, walking on tiptoe, when she heard the old lady's voice which bade her enter.
`Come in, Jemima. There's no need to creep about the house in that fashion.'
Jemima did as she was bid. She might have pointed out that she was being considerate in a sleeping household, but she held her tongue. Getting the better of the old lady was very nearly impossible. She closed the door behind her and waited.
Lady Manderly looked just as formidable in her bed as she did out of it. Her taste ran to satin and lace and plenty of both-she was festooned in them, so was the bed. Jemima, whose heart was soft, found it rather pathetic, although there was nothing in the old lady's manner to warrant sympathy.
`Well,' said Lady Manderly, peering at Jemima through her lorgnette, `did you enjoy your evening?'
`Yes, thank you. The play was quite splendid, and I liked the way they did it-with no real scenery...'
She was interrupted. `And the young man? Did he enjoy it?'
`Well, up to a point. I think he prefers something a bit more lively.'
Her companion snorted. `And when is he taking you out again?"
'He isn't. He's going to London for a visit.'
`But he'll return?' went on Lady Manderly, remorselessly questioning.
`Well, yes, I expect so.'
`But you don't expect to see him again?'
Jemima shook her head and the old lady nodded hers in a satisfied fashion. 'I'm not in the least surprised. He's not for a girl such as you.' She threw a penetrating glance at Jemima. `You're not upset, I hope?"
'Not in the least, Lady Manderly,' said Jemima placidly, and meant it.
'I'm counting upon you not getting involved with a man during the next few weeks,' observed Lady Manderly. The way she said it, it sounded like an order.
'I'm not very likely to do that.' Jemima felt as though she were stating the obvious. `Can I get you anything before I go to bed?"
'Nothing, thank you. Tomorrow I wish you to drive me into the town. I have several purchases to make. Goodnight, Jemima.'
Dismissed with a wave of the lorgnette, Jemima said goodnight and went out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. In her own room she undressed slowly, sat for a long time before her dressing table mirror studying her reflection, and then got into bed. The evening had hardly been a sparkling success: Andrew had found her dull, she suspected, and she was quite prepared to admit that probably she was. Certainly she hadn't been at ease with him; hearty types were fine taken in small doses, but she preferred someone a little quieter. And with that thought a very clear picture of Professor Cator presented itself behind her closed lids.
`Go away,' said Jemima crossly. `I don't like you in the least!'
She thumped her pillows and buried her head in them to shut him out. By concentrating on Dick's success in Boston and planning ~i visit there, she managed to ignore him, and presently went to sleep.
Lady Manderly made no further reference to Jemima's visit to the theatre. The morning way spent driving her from one shop to the next, helping her out of the car and then in again. and on several occasions being commanded to
accompany her into whichever shop she happened to be visiting. The last shop they visited was a boutique, a very superior one, all grey velvet, long mirrors and svelte sales ladies. Lady Manderly spent a long time there, looking at evening stoles, gossamer things made of sequined tulle and lace, guaranteed to make any female feel attractive, even if she wasn't. Lady Manderly bought two finally and Jemima, making out the cheque for her to sign, thought of all the clothes she could have bought with the cost of them. It was a lovely shop, spilling over with the kind of clothes she could love to wear. She didn't allow the thought to sour her but took possession of the elegant package, settled Lady Manderly in the car, and got in herself. She hoped they would go back to the house now; she was hungry and a little tired; her employer was no light weight when it came to getting her out and into the car a dozen times or more. Besides, they hadn't had coffee. She sat behind the wheel and waited to be told where to go next.
`Home, Jemima-I have a guest for lunch.'
Something on a tray, reflected Jemima. Perhaps I could slip down to the kitchen, though...
`You will lunch with us.'
`Very well, Lady Manderly.' It would be another of her old friends, supposed Jemima. They would talk about their childhood and their families and now and again, when they remembered, they would say something to her. It was only a little less lonely than having lunch off a tray with a book propped up in front of her.
She was to be in the sitting-room at a quarter to one; she did her face and her hair, took a quick look at her appearance, adequate enough in a good tweed skirt and a silk shirt blouse, and took herself downstairs. There was a busy afternoon ahead of her-letters to answer, several phone calls to make, cheques to make out for Lady Manderly to sign, Coco to take out for a walk, and as there were no guests for dinner that evening, she would be playing cribbage or bezique after dinner. Perhaps she would have time to write some letters while Lady Manderly rested before dinner. Dick of course, and the Gibbons, with some excuse as to why she wouldn't be going to Oxford again, and Shirley... Shirley wrote each week, full of questions all of which had to be answered. At least this week there was the theatre to write about.
Jemima went into the sitting-room exactly on time and found Professor Cator standing in front of the fire. His long thoughtful look wasn't particularly friendly, nor was his, `Good afternoon, Jemima,' and she stood looking back at him wordlessly so that after a moment or two he asked coldly: `Why do you stare so?'
She couldn't answer that. Perhaps Gloria or one of her type would have known what to say, but she didn't. She wondered how he would react if she told him that she had just discovered that she had fallen in love with him; that she didn't dislike him in the least; that his arrogance, his mocking manner, his cold civility-even harder to bear-were quite swallowed up by her love. She imagined his reply to that and went bright pink, which made matters much worse, for he lifted his eyebrows in a hateful manner and smiled faintly.
She hoped the thudding of her heart couldn't be heard in the quiet room. `You surprised me.'
The eyebrows went up again. `Indeed? And yet I'm no stranger to my aunt's house.' He added silkily: `And shouldn't the perfect companion be beyond surprise?'
A splendid rage fought with her love. `You're being rude again,' she told him severely.
'Naturally-you expect it of me.' He turned to greet his aunt as she came into the room and Lady Manderly offered a cheek for his kiss.
'I'm glad you could come, Alexander. I need your advice about some shares.' She accepted a sherry and when he had handed a glass to Jemima he said:
`Well, I can't stay long, Aunt. I've a lot of work on hand for the next few days. I must leave in a couple of hours.'
`Then we'll have a little chat directly after lunch. Jemima, go and fetch the papers on my desk in my bedroom and put them here on the table.'
Jemima put down her drink and went away. She was quite glad to go, for it gave her a minute or two to pull herself together. She felt bemused and quite bewildered and, contrary to what she had expected, not in the least happy. To get away from the Professor as soon as possible was the obvious answer, and when she got back to the sitting-room she suggested in her calm way that since Lady Manderly wanted to discuss private matters with her nephew, would it not be a good idea if they were to lunch alone?
Aunt and nephew both looked at her. `Certainly not! I never discuss money matters at table-besides, I'm sure Alexander wo
uld like to hear your opinion of the play you went to.'
A look at his face convinced her that it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Wild horses, let alone Lady Manderly, wouldn't make her tell him anything. She sat sedately at the small table in the dining-room and beyond answering when spoken to, had nothing to say for herself.
Directly the meal was over, she excused herself on the plea of phone calls to make on behalf of her employer, who reminded her that when that had been done, she should take Coco for her walk. `And be back by half past three, Jemima,' ordered Lady Manderly. `There are several household bills for you to deal with.'
Jemima didn't look at the Professor when he got up and opened the door for her; she said, `Thank you,' in his general direction and jumped smartly across the hall to the sittingroom, where she closed the door, dealt with the phone calls in a businesslike manner, and then opened the door again and peered round it, not wishing to meet Professor Cator again. There was no one about, so she went to her room, put on her coat and went in search of Coco. The little dog was in the kitchen, lying by the Aga, but she came prancing across to Jemima and allowed her lead to be fastened and since the household staff were all in their sitting-room, having a short rest before tackling the post-lunch chores, Jemima slipped out of the kitchen door, round the side of the house, and down the path into the lanewatched, if she did but know it, by the Professor, standing at the drawing-room window, listening with half an ear to his aunt's diatribe against stockbrokers.
It was a blustery autumn day and Jemima walked quickly along the well known path. The river looked cold and sluggish and there weren't many people about, although on the other side of the water she could see people going in and out of the shops in High Street and Sheep Street. She didn't look after a while; it made her feel lonely, and she was quite glad when it was time to return to the house.
She got to the door with a few minutes in hand. Lady Manderly might have said be back by half past three, but Jemima knew from previous occasions that what she really meant was be back in the sitting-room, Coco disposed of, and ready to work, at that hour. She put a hand on the door handle, but someone from the other side opened the door first-the Professor, ready to leave. She had expected that he would be gone. There was no sign of his car, but perhaps he had left it at the end of the drive and she hadn't thought of looking there.
He stood back to let her pass and then put out a hand to catch her by the arm so that she was forced to stand still. He said without preamble: `Gloria and I will be coming for the weekend,' and then: `How very alive you look, Jemima.' He bent and kissed her on her astonished mouth and went past her without a backward glance. She stood watching his vast back disappearing down the drive, and only when he was out of sight did she shut the door. `What an extraordinary man,' she confided to Coco, and then as the grandfather clock in the hall struck the half hour, ran down to the kitchen with Coco under one arm.
`I'm late,' said Jemima to Mrs Spencer. `Be a darling and wipe her paws.' And she fled back up the stairs to her room, flung off her coat, ran a comb through her hair and presented herself, a little out of breath still and not altogether because she was hurried, at the sitting-room door.
`Late,' declared Lady Manderly, and sounded pleased that she could find fault. 'Why .."
`I don't really know, Lady Manderly, and I can't think of an excuse.'
Lady Manderly blinked. `Are you being impertinent?"
'Certainly not, Lady Manderly. What would you like me to do first?'
Her employer snorted. `These accounts. Get them added up, will you, and fill in the cheques. I have two friends coming to tea, so you may have yours here, Jemima.'
A state of affairs which suited Jemima very well. She wanted time to think about the Professor, and just why he had kissed her. All in the same breath, as it were, as the mention of Gloria. Left to get on with her reckoning, Je
mima started to plot as to the chances of getting a half day on Saturday-she would be free on Sunday anyway and then she wouldn't need to see either Gloria or Professor Cator. It would mean having her meals out, but that couldn't be helped.
The new daily help came in with her tea presently, Coco at her heels, and Jemima took the tray to the fire and shared Mrs Spencer's delicious scones with the little dog, and because Lady Manderly liked to talk politics, carefully conned Today in Parliament. It was as well that she did, for dinner was entirely taken up with her employer's forceful opinion about politicians. She didn't need much in the way of replies, but it helped if one could keep track of what she was talking about. Jemima was rewarded by a: `You are an intelligent girl, Jemima, and you seem to have a grasp of present-day politics.' Lady Manderly rose from the table. `Do you play the piano? I have neglected to ask you this, but so few modern young women do.'
`Well, I do-not very well, though.'
`I should enjoy a little music. When we have had our coffee you shall play to me.'
The piano, an excellent instrument, stood at one end of the drawing-room; Jemima, in her dull brown dress, sat down and ran her hands lightly over its keys. She hadn't had a chance to play for months and it would be a heavenly change from cribbage. `What would you like, Lady Manderly?' she asked.
'Delius, Debussy, Schubert... Can you manage any of those?' The old lady's tone implied that she very much doubted it.
Jemima didn't answer; she was by no means a brilliant pianist, but she played with a good deal of feeling. `The Walk to the Paradise Garden', while by no means technically perfect, was a delight to listen to. She scarcely heard Lady Manderly's `Very nice,' uttered in rather surprised tones, before going on to `A Song of Summer', and then 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.' Here she did pause, sitting with her hands quietly in her lap waiting to hear what Lady Manderly wanted next.
`Upon my soul,' declared that lady, `you play very well, Jemima, let me see-do you know the Cornish Rhapsody?'
Jemima played that too and then at her listener's request, the Vienna Dances, and, that finished: `Quite delightful,' observed Lady Manderly. `Who taught you to play so well?"
'My mother.' Jemima got up and closed the piano. 'I'm out of practice.'
`In that case, I have no objection to you playing each day for an hour or so. Before dinner, while I'm dressing, would be a good time.'
`Thank you, Lady Manderly. Would you like to play bezique?'
`No, perhaps you would unpick my embroidery? I believe I've got the pattern wrong.'
Which was indeed true; Jemima had never seen such a muddle in all her life. It took her the rest of the evening while Lady Manderly, having a captive audience, reminisced about her youth. She required very little reply, which gave Jemima the leisure to think about Professor Cator-which she did, to the exclusion of everything else.
The next morning she asked if she might have her half day on Saturday, and since Lady Manderly was in a good frame of mind, she had little doubt that she would get it. To her surprise she was refused.
`Certainly not!' declared Lady Manderly. `I will not play gooseberry to Alexander and Gloria, and I wish you to take your day off on some other day than Sunday. You may, of course, go to church if you like, but I want you to be available for the rest of the day.' She eyed Jemima's impassive face. `I suggest you have a free day tomorrow instead, your half day can be fitted in at some other time.'
She really was an old tyrant, but there was nothing much she could do about it, decided Jemima. Probably Professor Cator and his Gloria would be so taken up with each other, they wouldn't bother if she were there or not.
She spent her free day in the town. She had several weeks' pay in her purse and the desire to buy a new dress was very great, but if she did, it would look very much as though she had done that because of the Professor and Gloria coming for the weekend and wanting to cut a dash. Which, of course, was quite true. Besides, she reminded herself, she was saving as much money as she could-an argument quickly dispelled when she saw exactly what she wanted in a tiny boutique off High Street: a chestnut bro
wn jersey, very simple, with short sleeves and a little jacket. The skirt was pleated and calf-length; exactly suitable for her evenings with Lady Manderly. And the price was right too. After all, she hadn't had to pay for her room for three weeks now. She went inside, tried it on and bought it.
But she couldn't roam the town all day. She went to the films after a sketchy lunch and then had tea, making it last as long as possible. By the time she was outside again it was growing dark and she was tired. She retraced her steps to Church Lane and made her way round to the kitchen door. Only Mrs Spencer was in the kitchen and looked at her in surprise.
`Thought you had the day off, miss?' she exclaimed.
`Well, I have, but I've done my shopping and been to the cinema, now I want to write letters. Please don't tell Lady Manderly I'm back just yet-are there guests for dinner?'