by Betty Neels
‘I wasn’t aware that I had to inform my aunt’s companion of my whereabouts.’ His voice was silky, and her gentle temper was stirred to wrath.
‘What a perfectly beastly thing to say, and very rude besides. My old nanny would have washed out your mouth with soap and water…’
‘So would mine! But I am no longer a small boy; I can say and do what I like. But I’ll apologise if that will make you happy, Jemima. I can only say that you have the unfortunate effect of bringing out the very worst in me.’ He looked at her with the faintest of smiles. ‘You would do better to avoid me.’
She was retreating slowly backwards, intent on getting out of the room. ‘Me avoid you! I’ve never gone looking for you, you know, but I’ll do my very best in future.’
‘Do that. You drive very well for a woman, by the way.’
She had been on the point of a dignified exit, but she came to a halt. ‘Why do you say that? You’ve never seen me drive.’
‘My dear girl, I followed you for a good deal of the way this morning.’
She said indignantly: ‘You didn’t believe me when I said I could drive the Daimler.’
‘Oh, yes, I did—I always believe you, Jemima. Only most women have a different approach to driving a car. You, I am glad to see, drive like a man. I would even trust you with the Rolls.’
She let that pass. ‘I didn’t see you.’
He lifted his brows. ‘Of course not, you don’t suppose I travelled on your heels, do you? And for the last mile or so I took a different road.’ He examined the nail of one hand. ‘You really are a treasure, you know. We must keep you in the family.’
‘No,’ said Jemima. ‘I daresay in your nasty arrogant way, Professor Cator, you mean that kindly. Nothing on earth would induce me to stay with Lady Manderly once we go back to London.’
‘We are, of course, talking at cross purposes,’ he observed blandly, ‘but no matter. Why not sit down?’
She stood her ground. ‘I’ll let Lady Manderly know you’re here.’
‘Don’t bother. She expects me to lunch.’ He smiled at the relief on her face. ‘No, you won’t be having a little something on a tray in your room, Jemima, you’re lunching with us.’
‘Lady Manderly said that when she had guests she wouldn’t expect me to have my meals with them.’
‘Did she now? But I’m not a guest, am I? I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me, detestable though I am…’
Jemima opened her mouth to answer him back, quite heedless of the fact that she really had no business to talk to him as she was doing, but the door behind her was opened and Lady Manderly joined them.
‘Ah, Alexander, how nice, dear. Lunch will be about ten minutes—just time for a drink. I’ll have a sherry—a dry one.’ She glanced at Jemima. ‘You’d better have one too,’ she said. ‘I must admit that you drive quite well, Jemima.’
‘Thank you, Lady Manderly.’ Jemima accepted her glass without looking at the Professor and sat herself down in a composed manner at a little distance from the others, prepared to be civil but with no intention of joining in the conversation unless she was addressed. It was a pity, she mused, that there was no book on how companions should behave. She tended at times to forget that she was one—she had done just now, and heaven only knew what the Professor thought of her now. Not that it mattered one scrap what he thought, he was a thoroughly unpleasant man and she wished Gloria well of him. He’d be a ghastly husband—but then Gloria wouldn’t make a very good wife. They deserved each other, thought Jemima, and looked up to find the Professor’s eyes on her face, so that she went very pink indeed, imagining that he had known what she had been thinking.
They were served their lunch by a cheerful young girl who smiled in a friendly way at Jemima, and afterwards, when they had had coffee, Jemima was told that she might have an hour to herself. ‘Come back here at three o’clock,’ said Lady Manderly. ‘Coco will need her walk.’
An hour wasn’t long, but the house was within a few minutes’ walk of the centre of the town, despite its seclusion. Jemima put on her jacket and let herself out of the house door. It was pleasant to have a little time to herself. She strolled down Sheep Street, looking in the shop windows, pretending to herself that she could buy anything she wanted. She walked as far as the post office and bought stamps; at least she would have something to write about to Dick. The clock was striking the hour as she went back into the sitting-room, and she was surprised at the pang of disappointment she felt when she saw that Lady Manderly was alone.
‘There you are,’ observed Lady Manderly in an admonishing tone, just as though she were late. ‘Coco is quite ready for her walk. Take her along the river path, you can go past the Theatre and cross the bridge to the other bank.’
‘Yes, I know, Lady Manderly,’ said Jemima patiently. ‘How long do you want me to walk her?’
‘An hour will do. Be back here by four o’clock.’
How nice if Lady Manderly were to say please or thank you just once! It was surprising that she had so many friends, she was so ungracious. Jemima walked briskly down the lane to the Riverside, turned down by the theatre, crossed the bridge and set off along the river. It was quite chilly now and the days were getting short. Christmas wasn’t all that far away now; she wondered where she would be by then. Certainly not with Lady Manderly. Even if she had wanted to stay, the Professor’s remarks had changed her mind for her. She would start looking for another job in good time before they returned to London. There was always the chance that one or other of their friends in Oxford would invite her for Christmas. They all knew by now that Dick was in America, and might think she would be on her own. In which case she could get a job directly after Christmas; she would have a little money saved by then, enough to pay for a bedsitter somewhere. The prospect was hardly exciting, so she didn’t dwell on it but thought about Dick instead; he was happy and busy and content with his life in Boston. He had made friends too, so at least things were going well for him.
She turned round, the obedient Coco trotting beside her, and started back the way she had come. The river was delightful and now that it was getting towards dusk, the lights on the opposite bank looked inviting. Perhaps they would get a chance to go to the theatre, though she supposed Lady Manderly would go with her friends. All the same, she herself could go when she had a free afternoon—there were some matinees. She stopped to look at the theatre looming across the water; they were doing The Winter’s Tale that week and A Midsummer Night’s Dream the following week. She had seen the former and never liked the second, all those people milling round a wood, pretending not to see each other…Richard the Second would be nice, or Othello.
It was a loud whistling which disturbed her thoughts. The Professor’s voice, over-hearty and loud, and still some yards away: ‘You see how I am careful not to alarm you?’ He had reached her as he was speaking, and she looked up at him in surprise. ‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said.
‘Wishful thinking?’ he queried blandly. ‘I shall stay for dinner and drive back this evening. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I don’t work then unless it’s something urgent.’
‘But don’t you want to go back to…’ Jemima paused and bit her lip. She had developed this bad habit of talking to this tiresome man as though she had known him for years.
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, nothing.’ She saw the mockery in his eyes. ‘Well, what I was going to say was, wouldn’t you rather be with Gloria?’ She added: ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘No, it isn’t. Isn’t that beast ever allowed off her lead?’
‘Lady Manderly said not…’
He took the lead from her and unhooked it, and Coco, after one surprised look, flew off, racing like a mad thing along the footpath.
‘Look what you’ve done!’ exclaimed Jemima. ‘She’ll never come back!’
He let out a piercing whistle and Coco checked in her headlong run and came trotting back.
Jemima said coldly: ‘Pure luck
—she could have been the other side of the bridge by now.’
He flapped a large hand at Coco, who danced off again, and Jemima said with exasperation: ‘There now, she’s off again, and I’ve got to be back in a quarter of an hour.’
‘Plenty of time—I’ll walk with you, it’s time we became acquainted. Tell me about your brother. I understand he is in the States?’
‘Yes, he’s in Boston—he’s a scientist, not fully qualified yet, but he’s done so well, he landed this job there. He can study further, of course, and get another degree in Natural Science. He’s clever.’
He shot her a sidelong glance. ‘And you?’
‘Me? I’m not clever. Besides, when Mother was ill I took over the house.’
‘So you are unqualified for a career of any sort? You won’t, I presume, wish to stay as a companion for the rest of your life…’
She said snappishly: ‘I could marry.’
‘Ah, yes, you could.’ His voice implied that he thought it highly unlikely. ‘Of course, a job such as this one hardly allows you to save.’
‘I manage—and I’m quite able to take care of myself, Professor Cator.’
‘Er—no doubt. But you are quite unsuited to the post of companion, you know.’
Jemima felt a chilly hand on her spine. He was going to give her the sack; Lady Manderly was safely at Stratford where she had any number of friends…
‘You are wasted, Jemima. It is foolish of me to tell you this, for if you go I shall have the task of once more finding another woman to take your place. But it would be unfair to persuade you to stay—you could be earning three times as much if you trained for something worth while. All the same, now that I have said that, I hope that you will stay with my aunt until she returns to London.’
‘I’ve already said I would.’ Jemima, much astonished at this interest in her future, was staring at him, her mouth slightly open.
‘Good.’ He whistled again and waited while Coco came frolicking back to them. ‘It’s time we returned.’
He began to talk about the town as they walked back and then somehow she found herself telling him about her home in Oxford; she didn’t realise just how much until they were crossing the bridge. She stopped in mid-sentence, her ordinary face pink and glowing with the pleasure of remembering. She said quite sharply: ‘I’m talking too much, Professor. I’m so sorry, I quite forgot.’
‘What did you forget, Jemima?’ His voice was so soft that she answered without thinking.
‘Why, that it’s you I’m chattering to, and you’re the last person…’ She stopped again and went on guiltily: ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but we—we have nothing in common, have we? You’re a learned Professor and I’m your aunt’s companion and you don’t like me.’
‘Don’t I?’ His voice held surprise. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘Oh, it’s quite all right, I’m not offended or anything like that,’ she told him matter-of-factly. ‘I saw that you didn’t like me the very first time we met, only I just happened to suit, didn’t I?’
‘Indeed you do, Jemima. Do you think you’ll be happy here? Mrs Spencer is rather a tartar, but it’s all show and a sharp tongue.’ They had reached the small gate leading up to the house from the lane and he opened it for her. ‘We shall be dining a little earlier than usual, by the way; I’ve promised Gloria I’ll take her to a party later on this evening.’
There was really nothing to say to that. Jemima murmured something and went ahead of him into the house where she took Coco along to the downstairs cloakroom to dry her paws. It was ridiculous that the thought of the Professor and Gloria going out on the town could depress her so much.
Once back in the house she was kept busy, not only attending to Lady Manderly’s endless wants, but smoothing down Pooley’s ruffled feelings. It seemed that she couldn’t abide Mrs Spencer and since she had gone ahead of Jemima and Lady Manderly by train, she had had an hour or so in which to cross swords with that lady. Jemima, coming upon the two of them in a downstairs corridor, had contrived to settle their dispute at least for the time being, but she wondered, as she raced back upstairs with Lady Manderly’s writing case, just how long the truce would last. She had been looking forward to her stay at Stratford; now she wasn’t so sure. Besides, it was almost a hundred miles from London, and that was where Professor Cator would be. She pulled up short, horrified at her thoughts. Why on earth should she have allowed him to creep into her head? He would be well out of the way, and a good thing too.
Only first there was dinner to get through, with him sitting opposite her, casting what she imagined to be mocking glances at the brown jersey. But he took care to include her in the conversation and as they got up from the table she had to admit that he had delightful manners when he chose to put himself out.
Dismissed for once quite pleasantly by Lady Manderly, she bade them both goodnight and went to her room. The Professor had got up and opened the door for her, an old-fashioned courtesy she hadn’t expected, but he hadn’t said anything. Not that there was anything to say, she decided irritably as she undressed. She got into bed thinking about their walk by the river. In retrospect it had been very pleasant, which was surprising seeing that she disliked him so much. She went to sleep frowning about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
JEMIMA FOUND HERSELF fully occupied during the next few days. Lady Manderly, fired with a desire to see all her friends again, made endless lists of people to be invited to lunch or tea or to play bridge and then left Jemima to telephone them, present her with the results and then write more lists of the food she wished to be served. But to her employer’s demand that she should see Mrs Spencer and tell her what she was to cook, Jemima drew a firm polite line. ‘It really wouldn’t do, Lady Manderly,’ she told her pleasantly. ‘Mrs Spencer has been your housekeeper for a very long time, and she expects to take her orders from you. If I ask her to come and see you and write down all the suggestions you’ve been making’—and they were legion—‘I’m sure you won’t find it too tiring.’
Lady Manderly had given her a sharp look. ‘Are you and Spencer having trouble?’ She wanted to know.
‘Certainly not, Lady Manderly, but I have no wish to encroach upon her work.’
‘H’m—you’re the first companion I’ve had who didn’t upset her to the point of giving notice.’ She added grudgingly: ‘Even Pooley likes you.’
‘And I like Pooley—and Mrs Spencer. You’re very fortunate to have such devoted people around you, Lady Manderly.’
Lady Manderly’s face became suffused with dark colour. ‘I am aware of their worth, and it’s none of your business to remind me of it.’
Jemima had picked up the neat lists she had been making. ‘Shall I fetch Mrs Spencer?’ she asked. Her voice held the coaxing tones of someone humouring an ill-tempered child.
‘Yes, you may do so.’
She was stopped at the door by Lady Manderly’s voice, quiet for once: ‘I hope…’ She stopped and began again. ‘You are really quite good at your job,’ she allowed graciously.
And Jemima, going down to the kitchen to look for the housekeeper, found herself wishing she might stay with Lady Manderly indefinitely. But of course she wasn’t going to, not after Professor Cator’s remarks—besides, she had told him that she would leave when they went back to London and she had no patience with people who said one thing and did another.
Visitors started calling quickly enough. Jemima found herself having her lunch on a tray while Mrs Spencer, Pooley and the daily help coped with lunch for half a dozen ladies. On the second occasion of this happening she took her tray down to the kitchen and found that despite Mrs Spencer’s stern rule, the place was in chaos.
‘You need more help, don’t you?’ she asked the housekeeper. ‘Tell me what I can do—Lady Manderly won’t need me until her friends have gone.’
Mrs Spencer’s eyes strayed to the dishwasher and before she could speak, Jemima said cheerfully: ‘That’s something
I could manage…’
Mrs Spencer’s severe face actually smiled. ‘Well, it would be a great help. There’s two extra for lunch we didn’t know about.’
Jemima wondered who they were; there had been a Colonel and Mrs someone or other and a Mr and Mrs Plum—she remembered them because of the funny name, but since they were here they would have to be fed. She took an apron off the hook behind the kitchen door, swathed herself in it, and started to stack plates and bowls. The machine filled and doing its work, she turned to the glass and silver piled up by one of the sinks. Mrs Spencer was arranging coffee cups on a tray and Pooley was about to carry it upstairs while the daily help was taking off her overall and getting into her coat and jamming a forbidding hat on her head. She was a middle-aged body, hardworking, invariably silent and punctual, but nothing would induce her to stay one moment after her rightful working hours. She nodded briefly in the general direction of Mrs Spencer and Jemima and went out of the kitchen.
‘Why don’t you snatch something to eat?’ asked Jemima, ‘you must be famished. And another thing, Mrs Spencer, don’t give me a tray again—why can’t I come down here and have something with you? Then I’d be here to give a hand and you’d get a moment to yourself.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’re very kind, miss.’ Mrs Spencer was pouring soup into a bowl. ‘It’s not always like this—it’s just them two coming at the last minute. And I’m sure you’ve been ever so helpful with them lists—the other companions weren’t no help at all, grumbled something awful if they didn’t get their meals sent up on the dot and never set foot inside the kitchen.’ She stirred her soup and looked thunderous. ‘Not that I’d ’ave ’ad ’em here.’ She saw the uncertain look on Jemima’s face. ‘Not meaning no offence, miss, you being so helpful. Of course you can ’ave something with us in the kitchen, though only when we’re busy, mind you. Lady Manderly wouldn’t like it.’
‘She doesn’t have to know, Mrs Spencer.’