SIR JAMES stood in the doorway of the hotel’s bar and watched Deborah polishing glasses. She was standing on a chair, since the heavy shelf was too high for her to reach, and showing a great deal of leg. He admired her for a few moments before he spoke, his voice carefully casual.
‘What a tiresome girl you are, disappearing without trace, not telling a soul where you were going.’
Deborah, taken by surprise, teetered on the chair and he strode forward and lifted her down, took the glass from her hand and put it on the bar.
‘I might have smashed that glass,’ she said crossly. “They take breakages out of our wages.’ She wasn’t going to allow the pure joy at seeing him again to show. ‘Why should I tell anyone where I was going?’
She backed away a little, for standing close to him was doing things to her breath, and, since he had remained silent, she added, ‘Did you want to stay here? The receptionist has gone to tea. I’ll fetch her.’
‘I haven’t come to stay.’ He smiled at her, a warm friendly smile which did her heart good. ‘I have been asked to find you and offer you a job—a friend of my sister’s. I must say,’ he went on testily, ‘that I have spent the better part of two days looking for you.’
‘I am working here,’ said Deborah with dignity.
‘Scullerymaid? Daily help?’ He was mocking her and that hurt.
‘I’m a chambermaid and I—I help out when anyone’s off duty…’
He eyed her silently for a moment. She looked rather bedraggled in a serviceable apron, much too large for her, with a face devoid of make-up and a hairdo like a crow’s nest. He thought with impatience that he had no reason to bother with her, she had found work; she looked forlorn but that would be remedied if she combed her hair and did something to her face. No doubt she would work her way up to whatever job was top of the pile in hotels. He had been concerned for her unnecessarily.
She put up a hand and pushed a carroty curl behind one ear and he realised that he was still concerned.
“This job—if you can spare a minute? A friend of my sister’s—she has a great-uncle living with her—in his eighties and a little eccentric. She has two small children and a large house and needs help badly. I might add that she is not in the least like Mrs Vernon. Her name is Lottie Soames, in her early thirties, these small children and a good-natured husband. There’s plenty of help in the house, you wouldn’t be expected to—er—polish glasses.’
To Deborah, already tired and with the rather daunting prospect of a long evening’s work ahead of her, it sounded like heaven. ‘But I can’t just leave…’
‘Temporary, are you?’ And when she nodded, he said, ‘Will you leave that to me and go to Lottie? She really is beside herself, she’s a darling but not very well organised.’
‘He’ll never let me go…’
Sir James smiled. ‘Where is this man? The manager, is he?’
‘He’ll be in his office. It’s down that passage by the reception desk.’
Deborah had finished the glasses and was polishing the bar counter when Sir James returned. ‘That’s settled,’ he said blandly. ‘How long will it take you to pack your things?’
Pack my things?’ She stared at him, her mouth half open.
He looked at his watch. ‘Half an hour? I’ll wait here.’
‘Yes, but I’m only halfway through the week—I’m supposed to give a week’s notice, I can’t just go…’
‘Indeed you can; the manager was most understanding.’
‘What did you say to him?’
He gave a small smile. ‘Run along and pack and do take off that terrible pinny.’
She went, for there seemed that there was nothing else that she could do, and half an hour later, neat and tidy once more in the denim skirt and the jacket, she went back to the bar. Sir James and the manager were sitting together on the best of terms. They both turned to look at her as she crossed the bar and Sir James got up.
‘I am most grateful for your understanding,’ he told the manager. ‘You have been most kind.’
The men shook hands and the manager bade Deborah goodbye in quite a different kind of voice from the one he usually used. He sounded sympathetic and slightly deferential too, which puzzled her, but Sir James whisked her out of the hotel so fast that she had no time to ponder upon that.
He opened the door of the car and told her briskly to get in while he saw to her cases, and Bellum, delighted to have company again, stood up on his hind legs and breathed all over her before Sir James got him out of the car and walked him briskly up and down for a few minutes. It gave her a moment in which to think and she was ready with her questions as he got back into the car.
‘Where are we going and where does this Mrs Soames live and how do you know I’ll suit?’
He started the car before he replied. ‘We are going to my sister’s home, that is near Bradford-on-Avon; you will spend the night there and in the morning she will drive you over to Lottie who lives just outside Chippenham.’
‘Supposing I decide not to go? I’ve been hustled and bustled.’ She drew an exasperated breath.
He had driven out of the town and was already on the road to Totnes.
‘Is it not a little late to change your mind?’ he asked mildly.
‘Change my mind? I wasn’t given a chance to— to…’
‘Now, now.’ His voice was very soothing. ‘What would you have done in a few weeks’ time when the job at the hotel was finished? Found more temporary work? Answered endless advertisements, gone on the dole? You must admit that it was providential that my sister should ask me if I knew of anyone who might go to Lottie and that reminded me of old Mrs Vernon and you. I dare say Lottie’s uncle is rather more difficult to handle.’
She reflected with a touch of melancholy that she seemed fated to look after old people in their beds. But at least she would have a roof over her head and she had been secretly worrying about what she should do when the hotel no longer needed her services; it was indeed providential that Sir Jamess sister should have mentioned this old uncle…
Sir James, watching her out of the corner of his eye, was satisfied that his slight deviation from the truth had settled the matter. He began to tell her the latest news of old Mrs Vernon—doing very nicely and when he had seen her recently she had asked after Deborah. ‘She is apparently quite fond of the girl who is with her now, but she remembers you with real affection.’
‘I’m glad she’s better—they’re kind to her?’ She sounded anxious.
‘Oh, yes.’ His voice was dry. ‘When she dies her nephew and niece will inherit the house and the estate. I hear that when she returned to them she indicated that unless she was allowed to deal with her own affairs she might consider leaving everything to some charity or other.’
‘Oh, good. They were unkind to her, but you see they didn’t expect her to recover.’
‘Common error, that. It is largely due to you that she made a good recovery. Let us hope that you will work wonders with this great-uncle of Lottie’s.’
They were racing towards Exeter and Deborah longed for her tea. The staff lunch, although adequate, had to be eaten quickly and if one were interrupted for any reason there was no chance of finishing the meal. She had been interrupted at lunch—twice.
She saw a Happy Eater as they approached the city but Sir James didn’t stop; they were on the other side of Exeter, halfway to Honiton when he stopped outside a hotel by the side of the road.
Tea? He sounded friendly. Go on in while I see to Bellum.’
He opened the door for her and then bent to put a lead on Bellum and she went inside. It was pleasantly warm with a bright fire and comfortable chairs round small tables. First, though, the Ladies’—plenty of hot water and large mirrors and time to see her face. Her hair looked awful too. She did the best she could and went back to find him already at a table with Bellum sitting on his feet. He got up and pulled out a chair, offering it to her, and Bellum arranged himself between them.
‘Oh, I ordered—you don’t mind? Tea, toasted teacakes and a dish of pastries.’
They didn’t linger over the meal and Deborah, her head full of questions, forbore from asking them because she sensed that he had no time to waste. He drove on, keeping to the A303 until he came to the fork, when he turned on to the A37, going north now to Midsomer Norton and then, by a series of country roads, to Bradford-on-Avon. Just short of the town he turned into a lane leading into a wooded valley and a half-hidden village. It had one street, a large church and at its end a rambling old house set in a splendid garden.
Sir James drove through the open gateway. ‘Well, here we are.’ And as he spoke the door was flung wide and a young woman came running out.
She stuck her head through the window and kissed his cheek. ‘James—come inside…’ She leaned across him and offered a hand. ‘Hello, Miss Everett—you’ve no idea what an angel you’re being. You don’t mind spending the night here? It’s a bit too late to take you over to Lottie’s. We can go after breakfast.’
She was very like her brother, thought Deborah; the same fair hair and blue eyes and same commanding nose, softened into feminine lines. She took the hand and murmured and Sir James got out of the car and came round to her door and opened it for her.
‘You’ll stay for dinner?’ asked his sister as she ushered them into the house. ‘The children are in bed but they’ve vowed they’d stay awake until you came.’
‘I can’t stay, my dear, I’ve a date. But I’ll go and see the children—will I?—while you take Deborah to her room. Is Roger home?’
‘He went down to the paddock to see Queenie; he’ll be back.’ She paused to look at him. ‘Your date’s a bit late in the evening, isn’t it? It’ll take you two hours and you’ll have to change, I suppose.’
‘Supper—I should also have gone to the opera too but I cried off.’
‘Is she beautiful and charming?’ Pat laughed up at him.
All he said was, ‘Don’t fish, my dear.’
Deborah, who had been feeling pleased with herself for ignoring her feelings and pretending that she didn’t love him—it had been a flash in the pan, she had repeated over and over to herself—knew that it was no such thing; she felt quite sick at the idea of him sharing his evening with some lovely, elegant creature. A kind of cold despair filled her chest and just for a moment life just wasn’t worth living. It only lasted for a moment; Sir James whistled to Bellum and took the stairs two at a time and his sister took Deborah’s arm.
‘I don’t know your name,’ said Deborah.
‘Pat—and my husband is Roger—Cresswell. Come on upstairs and see your room. You must be tired. James said there would be no trouble arranging for you to leave your job…’
Deborah let that pass. He hadn’t known where she was in the first place and, now she came to think of it, what had he said to the hotel manager? She would have to ask him…but she wouldn’t be seeing him again.
Her room was at the end of a passage leading from the gallery which circled the staircase. It was charming and she heaved a sigh of pure content at the sight of its pretty furnishings and the small bathroom leading from it.
‘Don’t bother to change,’ said Mrs Cresswell. ‘We aren’t going to—come down as soon as you’re ready. Dinner will be in about fifteen minutes.’
When she got downstairs Sir James, his sister and another man were standing in the hall with Bellum pressed close to his master’s trouser leg. As Deborah reached them Sir James said, ‘I’m sorry I have to go again but I know you will be happy with Lottie, despite her great-uncle. I have rushed you around rather, haven’t I?’ He smiled down at her as he offered her a hand.
‘A bit,’ she said composedly, ‘but I’m most grateful to you and I’ll do my best.’ She met his searching look with an effort. ‘Thank you for the lift here; I enjoyed it.’
Driving away presently, Sir James was rather surprised to find that he had enjoyed it too. ‘That should see her settled,’ he observed to Bellum, sitting beside him. ‘Probably she will meet some young man and marry.’
The thought of a secure future for the tiresome girl should have left him satisfied but it didn’t.
The Cresswells were kindness itself to Deborah, taking care not to ask questions, discussing the delights of Devonshire and their horror of living in a city, the naughtiness of their two children, their garden…and sitting her down to a meal the like of which she hadn’t enjoyed for a long time. ‘And since we are celebrating Lottie’s relief at getting you—rather like manna from heaven, you know—we’ll have a bottle of champagne.’
Deborah went to bed in a state of slightly muzzy contentment. All the same she wasn’t so muzzy that she was unable to go over the hours she had spent with Sir James. It really was the last time, she decided. She wasn’t sure why he had bothered to go to so much trouble to find her and get her another job but she suspected that she had nagged at him like a sore tooth. He wasn’t a man to leave a stray animal out in the rain and probably that was what he thought of her. It did nothing for her ego—if she thought about it too much she would start wallowing in self-pity. She sensibly went to sleep.
Breakfast was a cheerful meal with the children, a boy and a girl, full of curiosity and questions while being urged to eat their breakfast. ‘Roger drops them off on his way to the office,’ explained Pat. ‘They both go to the same little prep school at present. Paul is down for Winchester of course because Roger went there but Molly will be a day pupil—there’s a good school in Bath.’
After the children and their father had gone they sat over their coffee until Pat said, ‘Well, if you’re ready, Deborah, we’ll go over to Lottie’s.’
Half an hour took them to Chippenham. Pat drove through the town and took a small side-road. ‘Lottie lives right in the country but it’s not as bad as it sounds—it’s easy to get on to the Marlborough road or go north and pick up the M4. James shoots up to town from us in no time at all.’
She took an even narrower road at the crossroads and drove between high hedges until there was a sharp curve revealing a village ahead of them. There was one very small shop and a cluster of cottages and then they were between hedges again, but not for long. Pat turned into an open driveway leading to a solid house with an elaborate porch and rows of windows set in its plain face. The grounds around it were beautiful and well kept.
‘Come along,’ said Pat and slipped an arm through Deborah’s. ‘Don’t be nervous; everyone loves Lottie.’
Deborah wasn’t surprised about that as she was introduced to that lady who had come tearing out of the door, talking as she came.
Pat, darling—you angel—and dear James taking all this trouble—’
She turned to Deborah and held out a hand. ‘You have no idea just how thankful I am to see you, Miss…no, may I call you Deborah? Probably you’ll not want to stay once you’ve met Uncle Oscar, but do please give us a try. I hope I’ve done the right thing—I thought we’d surprise him with you…’ She urged them both into the house. “There’s coffee in the sitting-room. I’ll tell you all about it, Deborah, before you meet him.’
‘He sounds like an ogre.’
‘He’s an old tyrant. It’s his best hobby to find fault with everything and everyone but actually I suspect that he’s rather a nice old thing underneath. I’d not seen him for years, you know, but my cousin simply had to have a holiday and now the doctor says she must have three months or so doing nothing and he’s been here less than three weeks and I’m half dead…’
She smiled brilliantly at Deborah. She was a pretty young woman and obviously, despite her awkward relative, a happy one. She was dressed carelessly but her clothes were expensive and she wore them with an air. Deborah hoped—cautiously—that she would like her.
‘Have another cup of coffee while I tell you your duties—you’ll have a day off each week, of course, and you can, if you prevail on Uncle Oscar, have several hours off each day. There’s no nursing—he’s as fit as a fiddle—but he likes to play two-handed patience and bezique and talk—he reminisces by the hour. You’ll need an awful lot of patience…’
She eyed Deborah doubtfully. ‘It sounds awful, doesn’t it? But we’ll do all we can to keep you happy. I almost forgot,’ she added, ‘we thought about your salary.’ She named a sum which made Deborah blink.
‘That’s far too much, Mrs Soames…’
‘Well, you’ll have to argue with Peter about that but I assure you that he won’t listen and you’ll earn every penny of it. If you hadn’t come he’d have had to pay hundreds of pounds to some discreet home where I could go mad in comfort.’
They all laughed then and Pat got up to go. Mrs Soames went out to the door with her and when she was in the car poked her head through the window.
‘She’s sweet—no looks but lovely eyes. She looks sad…where did James find her?’
Pat told her. ‘I rather gather that he felt responsible for her…’
They exchanged a look. ‘I’ll have him over to dinner one evening,’ said Lottie. ‘I’ll give you a ring in the morning.’
‘You shall see your room now,’ she told Deborah when she went back into the large, comfortable and untidy sitting-room, ‘then you can unpack and come back here and we’ll go and surprise Uncle Oscar.’
The staircase was oak and uncarpeted and beautifully polished and upstairs there were passages in all directions. Deborah’s room was at the side of the house with a glorious view of the countryside. It was well furnished and there was an easy-chair by the little table under the window. There were books too and a bowl of flowers. Deborah felt tears in her eyes at so much kindness. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she told Mrs Soames. ‘I’m sure I shall be happy here and I’ll do my best to keep your uncle happy.’
‘I’m sure you will. Here’s the bathroom and if you need anything do ask. We’ve a housekeeper and a splendid housemaid and daily help and they’ll do all they can to make you comfortable. I’ll leave you while you unpack, shall I?’
She went away and Deborah sat down for a moment in the easy-chair. Even if Great-Uncle Oscar was a troublesome tyrant, she would still have time to herself before she went to bed, to sit here and browse through some of the books. She allowed herself to think of the money she would earn too—about three months, Mrs Soames had said. She would save at least half of it so that if she had difficulty in finding work she could rent a room somewhere.
She got up and unpacked, laying undies in the big chest of drawers against one wall and hanging her few clothes in the wall cupboard. She would have to get another dress…
Hair brushed, and nicely made-up, she went downstairs and found Mrs Soames waiting for her.
‘He’s along here.’ She led the way along a wide corridor. ‘A bedroom and sitting-room—there’s a door into the garden; he likes gardens—my mother lived with us until she died and we furnished the rooms for her. Of course he uses the other rooms; has his meals with us unless he decides he doesn’t want to, often spends the evening watching television and talking loudly all the time. He won’t have it in his room but he has got the radio. He comes with us to church but he doesn’t like the children much and he loves his solitude.’ Mrs Soames paused with her hand on a door-handle and knocked.
A voice thundered, ‘Come in,’ and she opened the door and encouraged Deborah with a hand on the small of her back.
‘Morning, Uncle,’ she said cheerfully, and started to cross the floor of the room. It was a large apartment, very well furnished, its windows overlooking a rose garden, its doors open on to a patio. The old gentleman was sitting by the door, and facing away from them—all Deborah could see was a shock of white hair and an upraised newspaper.
He spoke testily without looking round. ‘Can I not be left in peace for more than ten minutes at a time? Now what is it?’
His niece went to stand in front of him, taking Deborah with her.
‘This is Deborah; she’s going to stay with us and be your companion.’
A cross old face emerged from behind the newspaper. ‘Companion? Did I ever say I wanted one? Send her away—you’re here to give me a game of cards when I want a change.’
‘Well, I’m not—not any more,’ said Lottie with spirit. ‘I’ve the house to run and the children and Roger to look after. Now you’ll have Deborah to help you with the crossword puzzles and play cards with you.’
He put down the paper slowly and took a good look. ‘Good lord, she’s a child—no use to me at all.’
‘Well, supposing you give me a try for a while before you decide,’ said Deborah quite unimpressed by this show of rudeness. She had after all, had a good deal of experience of that. ‘How do you do, Mr…? I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’ She held out a hand and he took it reluctantly.
‘God. bless my soul,’ he observed, ‘you’ve a tongue in your head. My name is Trent.’
‘Appearances are deceptive,’ said Deborah matter-of-factly. ‘Never mind what I look like, I’m good at crossword puzzles and I can play most card games. I can play chess, too, Mr Trent.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
She gave him a smiling look. ‘Try me. This afternoon, perhaps?’
‘You’re a plain girl but you seem to have your wits about you. We’ll start a game after lunch. You’ll be at lunch?’
‘Of course she will,’ said Mrs Soames. ‘One o’clock, sharp. Come along, Deborah, you’d better see the house and meet the staff.’
It was a delightful house and the housekeeper and Edith the housemaid were softly spoken countrywomen who smiled at her kindly. There was an elderly woman washing up at the sink too, wearing an old and rather grand hat and a floral pinny, Mrs Hewish by name, who peered at Deborah and said, ‘Ullo, love,’ in a gruff friendly voice.
As they went back to the sitting-room the phone rang and Mrs Soames went to answer it. ‘Take a quick look round the garden,’ she told Deborah and, when she had gone, lifted the receiver.
‘I knew it was you, James. You don’t have to worry about your lame dog—not that that’s right but you know what I mean. You should have seen her with Uncle Oscar—challenged him to a game of chess after lunch and when he was rude to her merely said that appearances were deceptive and told him not to mind what she looked like. She’s a treasure. You won’t need to bother about her any more, I’ll see that she gets a good job when she goes from here; better still I’ll see that she meets as many young men as I can lay hands on…’
A light-hearted remark which made Sir James frown thoughtfully. All he said was, ‘I’m glad that she’s settling in; she hasn’t had much fun for the last few years.’
‘Well, we’ll try and alter that; Uncle Oscar’s going to take up a good deal of her day but there’ll be time over for some fun.’
Sir James frowned again and then reminded himself that he had no reason to feel annoyance at Lottie’s remarks. Deborah had as much right to fun, whatever that was, as any other girl who had to work for her living.
Sitting at his desk presently, he decided that he might take a weekend off and go down and see Pat and call on Lottie at the same time. His nurse came in to say that his first patient was there and he dismissed Deborah from his mind. On his way to the hospital later that morning he paused by Mrs Fogg’s desk.
‘Alice, I’m going to take a weekend off within the next week or so. How am I fixed?’
She had the appointments book open. ‘Let’s see. It’s Thursday today. This weekend’s no good—the conference—you’re speaking too. The weekend after that—let me see—you’ve accepted an invitation to spend Sunday with Dr Frobisher and his wife. The following weekend is free…’
‘Good. Remind me, Alice; I’ll go to the cottage first so try and keep Friday late afternoon free and first thing Monday morning if you can. I’ll be at the hospital if you want me. I’ll be back for the afternoon patients.’
‘Please don’t forget your evening clinic, Sir James.’
She watched him go through the door. It was high time he had a wife to look after him; Dobbs and Mrs Dobbs were splendid servants but what he needed was a loving woman to nag him into a less busy life.
Deborah was very much on her mettle. She got out the chessboard and set it on the table by the window, convenient to Uncle Oscar’s chair. Lunch had been a delicious meal, spoilt by his grumblings and criticism of the food put before him. No wonder Mrs Soames had threatened to go into a quiet home and go mad, but, as Deborah told herself, she was made of sterner stuff; moreover she had no other responsibilities and she was being paid handsomely. She set out the pieces and sat down opposite the old gentleman.
He might be crotchety and rude but he certainly had retained his sharp brain. She wasn’t bad herself; endless games with a fault-finding stepfather had perfected her game and Uncle Oscar was good enough to tell her that for a chit of a girl she seemed to have a modicum of sense. ‘More than Lottie has,’ he declared. ‘More hair than wit is my opinion of her.’
‘Mr Trent, I won’t sit here and listen to you saying nasty things about Mrs Soames; she’s kind and sweet to you and you know you don’t mean a word of it.’
‘Hoity-toity, miss, that’s no way to talk to your betters. I am ready for tea.’
‘So am I,’ said Deborah equably. ‘Shall I go and look for it or do you have it with Mrs Soames?’
Uncle Oscar blew his nose furiously with a very large handkerchief. ‘If we’re speaking we have it together but go and tell her I want my tea here; we’ll have another game before dinner.’
Deborah found Mrs Soames lolling on a sofa, reading a book. The room was pleasantly untidy and a small dog shared the sofa with her. She looked up guiltily as Deborah knocked and went in. ‘Oh, dear— I feel guilty sitting here and doing nothing. Can’t you bear him any longer?’
Deborah chuckled. ‘We’ve had a very pleasant afternoon and I’m sure you deserve every minute of peace, Mrs Soames. Mr Trent wants his tea and I wondered if I could get it? He’d like another game of chess afterwards so he’d like it in his room.’
Mrs Soames let out a sigh of relief, ‘You have no idea—well, you must have by now—but if he has tea in his room it means the children can rush about and shout and let off steam; I’m going to fetch them in ten minutes or so. I’m sure he’s fond of them but they are tiring…Would you go to the kitchen and ask for tea to be taken to Uncle’s room? You don’t mind having it with him? He goes to bed quite early…’ Mrs Soames looked so anxious that Deborah hastened to assure her that she would like to have tea with the old gentleman and went off to the kitchen where Faith offered to bring the tray in five minutes.
Uncle Oscar beat Deborah soundly in the second game and then stumped away to his bedroom to get ready for dinner. ‘And you come back here in half an hour,’ he told her.
She supposed that she had better wear the new dress. She showered and got into the dress and sandals and brushed her hair into a glossy knot pinned high on her neck and then went back to his room. He was there in his shirt-sleeves, a velvet jacket over his arm.
‘Why is there never anyone to help me when I need to be helped?’ he greeted her. She saw that it was a routine grumble and meant nothing much. She eased him into the plum-coloured velvet, told him he looked very handsome, and as the gong sounded just then, went with him through the house to the dining-room, a magnificent opulent room with a long table capable of seating twenty persons, ringed by Georgian chairs and set with lace-edged mats and a great deal of glass and silver. She was glad she was wearing the new dress, for Mrs Soames was in a white chiffon blouse and a black taffeta skirt…
The meal went off very well. Uncle Oscar objected to almost everything, the food was badly cooked, the conversation dull and the children had been making a lot of noise.
‘They’re children, Uncle,’ his nephew pointed out mildly, ‘and anyway, there is no need to upset yourself, they are in bed now. I’ve just been up to say goodnight.’
‘Bah,’ said Uncle Oscar. ‘I was brought up to be seen and not heard.’
A remark which was received in silence, the obvious unspoken answer hanging heavy in the air above them.
Over dessert he said suddenly. ‘Can you play the piano, miss?’
‘Yes,’ said Deborah, ‘but not very well.’
‘There is a piano in my room, you can play for me for half an hour.’
Deborah took a mouthful of peach melba; she said serenely, ‘Very well, Mr Trent.’
‘Deborah has had a long day,’ Mrs Soames pointed out. ‘Perhaps she would like to go to bed early.’
‘Go to bed?’ rumbled her uncle. ‘At her age? Good lord, when I was young I was never in bed before two o’clock.’
To her surprise he turned to Deborah. ‘Tired, are you?’
‘A little, but I shall enjoy playing for a while, Mr Trent.’
They went back to his sitting-room presently and she sat down at the piano at one end of the room and asked him what he would like.
‘Anything, anything,’ he told her testily, so she rambled from Schubert to Chopin and Elgar and Grieg and then, since he hadn’t complained so far, started on some of the old ballads, ending with ‘Come into the garden, Maud’.
‘Upon my soul,’ said Uncle Oscar, ‘that was the best half-hour of the day.’ He sounded quite mild. ‘Go to bed, girl, and send that woman—what’s her name? Edith—to run my bath. I’m going to bed too.’
She bade him goodnight and went in search of the housemaid to give her the message and then went to her room. She didn’t suppose that the Soameses would expect her to say goodnight.
She was tired but the warm room was wonderfully welcoming with the curtains drawn and the bed turned tidily down. There was a bowl of fruit on the table too. She lay a long time in the bath, eating an apple, recalling the day. It had been a busy one but she liked Uncle Oscar; his bark, she decided, was worse than his bite. In bed, however, the last person she thought of was Sir James. Strangely enough, he was thinking of her too, but whereas she was thinking of him with love and longing his thoughts were impatient of his inability to forget her. It was the hair, he supposed irritably; it had been the first thing he had seen when he had been called to see old Mrs Vernon. It had lighted that bleak room, taking its colour from the daffodils there. ‘Tiresome girl,’ observed Sir James to the faithful Bellum. ‘Let us forget her and concentrate on the dinner party tomorrow evening.’