by Susan Barrie
“A good hot bath, something light and nourishing to eat, and then—bed, is what I prescribe,” Martin Guelder said, smiling down at the girl. “And it might be a good idea,” he added, “if she has her breakfast in bed in the morning.”
“Leave it to me, sir,” Mrs. Elbe answered him quickly, her searching glance roving over Stacey. “I’ve known what it is to feel worn out in London myself before today, and it’s an experience you don’t forget easily. But she’ll be all right by tomorrow.”
“I’m so sorry to give you so much trouble,” Stacey apologized, smiling up at them wanly.
Dr. Guelder put his hand upon her shoulder, and his grip, though light, was oddly sustaining and comforting just then.
“You’re no trouble at all,” he assured her. And then he turned to his housekeeper. “My bag is packed, I suppose? I’ll change before I leave, however, and you can give Miss Brent a cup of tea, which will go a long way to putting new life into her.” Stacey was lying back in a comfortable chair in his combined sitting-room-living-room, with a tray of tea on an occasional table beside her, when he came out of his bedroom a little later on, dressed for the evening before him. She did not know it, but her heavy eyes reflected an unmistakable look of admiration as she glanced up at him, standing tall and spare and impeccably groomed in front of her, his white tie and tails giving her the clue to the sort of entertainment he was expecting. That this was to be a rather special evening was obvious, and with his well-held dark head and his grave, dark face he was, she realized, quite unlike any man she had ever met before. Her father, going out to dine at the Manor and spend the evening with the squire, had never looked remotely like that. The squire himself—his nephew, who was a rising young architect, could never look like that. No man she had ever been permitted a glimpse of could look like that—only Dr. Martin Guelder!
And he was regarding her a little quizzically, with that one dark eyebrow of his lifted a little, while he wound a white scarf about his neck.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Loads better,” she answered.
“You’ll feel better still in the morning.”
As he was leaving the room she called after him: "Dr. Guelder!”
He paused and smiled at her over his shoulder.
“Now, don’t start thanking me—” he began.
“But I must!” she insisted. She half rose in her chair, and her eyes looked enormous, like great, shadowy purple violets, luminous with gratitude, and her mouth quivered a little. “I’m turning you out of your home—”
“Forget it,” he advised her softly, from the doorway. “And a flat is never a home, you know!” he added unexpectedly.
In the morning Mrs. Elbe stole in quietly with her morning tea and drew the curtains. Stacey slumbered without even flickering an eyelid on the pillow, her dark curls tumbled wildly, the tip of her small, freckled nose upturned to the ceiling. A lovely color overspread her face, like a young child sleeping.
Mrs. Elbe tiptoed out again, carrying the tray of tea. It was ten o’clock when she returned, and this time Stacey was lying dreamily listening to the noises of traffic far down in the street outside the window, and watching the sunlight gilding the edges of the curtains. They were severe biscuit-colored curtains lined with cool green, and the dressing table which stood beneath them was a severe type of dressing table also, without any of the trimmings which would have proclaimed it feminine. And it was suddenly borne in upon Stacey that the bedroom she was occupying was most decidedly a masculine bedroom, and she started up on her elbow and looked in almost a startled fashion at Mrs. Elbe, who this time had provided herself with a breakfast tray.
“So you are awake!” Mrs. Elbe exclaimed, smiling at her comfortably as she set down the tray on the bedside table, and then drew back the curtains. “And much better you look for that long sleep!”
Stacey watched her as she poured her out a cup of tea, and she thought guiltily of the master of the place lacking the ministrations of such an excellent housekeeper. Then Mrs. Elbe informed her that Dr. Guelder had already telephoned that morning, and that he suggested that she should take things easily for a day or so. He would be quite all right occupying the room above his consulting rooms, so she was not to concern herself on his account. He had also suggested that she should make herself familiar with London by going out and exploring it a little, and as soon as he could find time he would get along and see her and they would have another talk about her future. In the meantime she was to be sure that Mrs. Elbe would make herself responsible for her creature comforts.
“But I can’t possibly go on keeping him out of his flat,” Stacey objected, getting out of bed and donning her old blue ripple-cloth dressing gown, which permitted several inches of home-made nightdress to show beneath it. “That would be taking the basest advantage of his kindness—”
“My dear child,” Mrs. Elbe reassured her—for to her she was little more—“when Dr. Guelder says a thing he means it, so there’s no reason at all for you to go worrying your head. And now, as it’s such a nice day, I’d hurry over your bath and get out, and if you’d like to have your lunch out it’s all the same to me. But if you’d like to come back for it, it will be here for you.”
Stacey smiled at her gratefully—the smile she reserved for people she liked and wanted to please, and which brought into play the dimples lurking unsuspected at the corners of her rather grave mouth. “Then if you’ll tell me how to get to the British Museum—? And I’d like to see Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament and St. Paul’s, if I can manage them all in a day.”
But when she set off, the shops fascinated her so much that she spent a long time gazing into them, wishing that she had enough money in her purse to buy some of the delightful things the windows displayed. Such tempting items as nylon underwear and gossamer hose, trim little suits and absurd little hats. If only she could afford them! ... But she couldn’t, and she moved on and boarded a bus and spent some time before lunch in Westminster Abbey, and after lunch she visited the United Services Museum in Whitehall and was thrilled by the wonderful collection of equestrian armour and the Banqueting Hall where Charles the First once dined. And after that she had tea in a little tea shop, and then went back to Dr. Guelder’s flat, which was temporarily empty as Mrs. Elbe had gone out shopping.
She removed her hat and her light summer coat and sat down in the pleasant living room to look through a pile of magazines, and was chuckling over an illustration in Punch when the doorbell shrilled. Hesitating at first, she suddenly made up her mind that her right course was to open the door, and went along the red-carpeted passage and did so. Her breath was rather taken away by the sight of an exquisitely attired young woman who stood there on the mat outside the white-painted door and stared at her without any astonishment, but with a good deal of cool criticism and interest.
“May I come in?” asked this glamorous vision. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Why, of course,” Stacey answered, but looked her surprise.
The young woman stepped past her into the narrow hallway. She was tall, and as slender as a willow wand, and she wore a suit of black grosgrain relieved by a froth of organdie frilling in almost startling white at the opening of the lapels. Her hair had a Nordic flaxenness which was as startling as the white frilling, and was wound in a severe coronet of plaits about her shapely head, and resting upon it was a tiny cap of white feathers. She carried an enormous white handbag and white doeskin gloves, and the heels of her black patent leather shoes were the highest Stacey had yet encountered.
“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” she said, in her slightly husky voice, “but I suppose Mrs. Elbe is out? My name, by the way, is Hunt—Vera Hunt, and I’m quite a close friend of Dr. Guelder’s.”
“Oh, yes?” Stacey murmured, and ushered her into the sitting room. Miss Hunt swept the magazines off the settee and sat down in a reclining attitude upon it, and then looked deliberately across the room at Stacey, stud
ying her with clear, cold blue eyes that were very thickly and darkly lashed to contrast strikingly with her exceptionally pale hair. Her mouth also was exotically made up, and there was an aura of expensive perfume about her which filled the little sitting room, and was, Stacey thought, somehow exciting.
“Yes; Martin was quite right,” the husky voice proclaimed after a moment or two, and she nodded her head in a strangely satisfied way. “You have got quite a good figure—a little immature as yet, of course, but time will remedy that; and you’re almost as tall as I am, though rather colt-like about the limbs. But you’d be absolutely ideal for some of my younger dresses—my ‘springtime’ models, as I call them. That look of youth and innocence—”
But Stacey was staring at her in so much amazement that she broke off and laughed apologetically.
“But, of course, you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? How silly of me!” She produced a cigarette case from her handbag, and selected a cigarette, offering the case as an afterthought to the young woman facing her. Stacey, however, declined, and the other continued with a smile which did not reach those cold blue eyes of hers: “Martin told me last night that you are looking for a job. Is that right? He also told me all about your coming to London, and having nowhere to stay, and about his permitting you to remain here until you can find somewhere else—which was sweet but quixotic of him, and entirely like him! As I told him, the world might look a little askance at a man of his years and position taking pity on a young and inexperienced girl! ... Although, of course, as your father was an old friend of his it does make it all rather different...”—sending clouds of Egyptian cigarette smoke into the air and watching Stacey through the fog.
Stacey looked almost horrified by her words, and a sudden, vivid color mounted in her cheeks.
“Oh, if you think I did the wrong thing in coming here...?”
“Not at all,” Miss Hunt reassured her soothingly, actually smiling this time with her eyes; “but I think you would be making a grave mistake if you remained here very long, to say nothing of inconveniencing Dr. Guelder, who, as I say, is quixotic. And that’s why, although I’m really terribly busy, I’ve come haring off here this afternoon to put a proposition to you which will not only solve your immediate problem but, if you accept it, will probably lead to better things for you in the future—much better things than banging a typewriter and answering a telephone could ever possibly lead you to!”
Stacey’s eyes were large with curiosity, although she was still rather hot about the neck as a result of that direct accusation of having thoughtlessly placed the reputation of a man of Martin Guelder’s eminence in jeopardy. It had never occurred to her that his offer of bringing her to his flat was a trifle unconventional, and it had apparently not even occurred to Mrs. Elbe—although it had obviously rather shocked Miss Hunt! But doubtless Miss Hunt was a rather close and particular friend of Dr. Guelder’s!
“I have a little gown shop in Bond Street,” Miss Hunt explained, “and although I wasn’t thinking of taking on anyone new to help at the moment, I’m perfectly willing to give you a trial job if it will help Dr. Guelder—and you, of course! As you’re quite inexperienced you would have a great deal to learn, and at first you might be more useful to me merely serving in the shop and perhaps lending a hand with the accounts and so forth, but in time you would be permitted to model clothes—and I expect you’re interested in clothes, aren’t you?” with a doubtful glance at the rather faded summer cotton dress Dr. Guelder’s protégée was wearing, and the distinctly shabby white sandals. “And you could live with me in my flat—at least for a time—and I’d pay you a sort of pocket money...”
Stacey drew a long breath.
“It sounds as if it might be—very nice,” she said, because she was quite sure that that was what was expected of her.
Vera Hunt rewarded her with a slightly superior smile, and lighted another cigarette, this time placing it in a very long and unusual turquoise and silver holder.
“Of course, my dear, it’s up to you! But there are heaps of girls of your age who would simply jump at such a chance, and since you want to live in London—”
“I came to London to get a job,” Stacey admitted.
“What sort of job?”
“Oh, nothing in particular—I know I’m not trained for anything—”
“And most girls do train for something nowadays! You’re a little behind the times, my dear.”
“I’m afraid I’ve lived in a rather behind-the-times country village,” Stacey told her, as if it was something to feel slightly ashamed of. “And my father needed a housekeeper, so I had to remain at home.”
“Well, I’ve no doubt you were quite a good little housekeeper,” Vera answered with that mirthless smile. “But what do you say to my offer? At the risk of seeming repetitive I do want you to understand that it is not quite the right thing for you to stay on here in this flat, and I promised Dr. Guelder to do my best to help you, and—Well, what do you say? I don’t suppose you’ve very much luggage, so if we call a taxi we can remove you straight away without difficulty, and Dr. Guelder can come back here tonight with a clear conscience. I’m quite sure we shall get along very well together”—trying to infuse a friendly note into her voice.
“Then you want me to come with you immediately?” Stacey asked, looking almost perturbed.
“Of course, my dear. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come hurrying here like this.”
“I see. No; of course, I suppose you wouldn’t.”
“And Dr. Guelder does know about my visit”— with emphasis.
Once again Stacey’s ready color rose.
“Don’t think I like keeping him out of his flat!— of course I shall be only too happy for him to be able to come back, but I’d like to be able to thank him.”
“You can thank him on the telephone—from my flat!”
“Yes—yes; I suppose so”—doubtfully.
“And I expect you’ll see him some time—sometimes he looks in at the shop, when he’s taking me out to lunch or dinner. And in any case I can thank him for you.”
Stacey realized that there was no way of escape. “Very well, then,” she said. “I’d better get my things packed.” She paused. “And thank you very much, Miss Hunt,” she added, hoping she sounded sufficiently grateful. “It’s good of you—very good of you to offer me a job when you know practically nothing about me.”
“That’s quite all right, my child,” Miss Hunt assured her, with her smile which was quite brilliant when it was not merely confined to her lips. And she added: “And don’t forget that I am also offering you a home!”
Stacey went away to pack her things and take her last look at Martin Guelder’s slightly monastic bedroom with the feeling that somehow she had been caught up in a web, and although Vera Hunt was a very elegant spider she was a very insignificant fly.
CHAPTER THREE
She felt more insignificant than ever when they arrived at Miss Hunt’s flat. The furnishings were nothing short of exquisite, and somehow they reflected the coolness and the composure of Miss Hunt’s personality.
Ice blue walls in the dining room, and unstained oak furniture, a black carpet in the lounge, silvery net curtains cascading on to the floor like miniature waterfalls, and exquisitely painted panels representing birds and flowers let into the walls. Miss Hunt’s own bedroom was all white, even to the bedside lampshade and the quilted bed-head, and there was a little room which was really no more than a slip room which contained a divan covered in pale lime chintz, a bookcase, a dressing table and an armchair, which was handed over to Stacey, and wherein her unpretentious suitcase was deposited.
Stacey felt utterly strange as she stood looking round this room and wondering whether for her it would ever have any feelings of warmth or welcome. As a bedroom it had advantages over one which might have been offered her in a hostel, but in some ways she thought she would have preferred the hostel.
Miss Hunt was dining out tha
t night, and Stacey was invited to concoct herself a meal out of the contents of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and when it was over she sat in a kind of solitary state in the black and silver lounge and wondered how she would like it when she began work in the shop the following day. Her new employer had made no further reference to her ringing Martin Guelder to thank him for placing his flat at her disposal as he had done, and explain why she had left without waiting to thank him personally, but she had promised that a message would be conveyed to him, as a result of which he would be reoccupying the flat that night. However, suddenly Stacey caught sight of the telephone on its rest and decided to put through a call herself, for she was not quite easy in her mind over the abrupt method of her departure.
But Mrs. Elbe, when she answered, told her that Dr. Guelder was also dining out, and she also sounded a little surprised because Stacey had not waited to say goodbye.
“It was nice having you,” she said unexpectedly. “I was hoping you were going to stay for a few days.”
“But Dr. Guelder—” Stacey began.
“Oh, the doctor often spends a few nights at his consulting rooms,” Mrs. Elbe informed her cheerfully, “and you were not really putting him out. But if Miss Hunt is going to employ you I expect it will be nice for you to live with her.”
But Stacey, as she replaced the receiver, was not sure—she was very far from sure.
The next morning, shortly before eight o’clock, her breakfast was brought in to her on a tray by the elderly woman who came in daily to keep the flat in order for Vera Hunt. It was merely a pot of tea and a few thin pieces of toast, but Miss Hunt, she discovered later, began her working day on even less than that. In her case it was merely a cup of black coffee and a cigarette, or sometimes simply orange juice. But as her main preoccupation was the preservation of her slender figure this was not surprising.