Love Can Wait
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‘Provided there is no emergency to keep me here, I’ll accept with pleasure,’ he told her. ‘I may need to leave directly after dinner, though.’
‘Splendid. I’m sure it will be a delightful evening.’
He thought it unlikely. His aunt’s friends weren’t his, and the evening would be taken up with time-wasting chat, but the drive back to London in the evening would compensate for that.
Lady Cowder talked for another five minutes and he put down the phone with an air of relief. A few minutes later he let himself out of his house with Prince and set off on his evening walk, Wednesday’s dinner party already dismissed from his mind. He had several cases for operation lined up for the week and he wanted to mull them over at his leisure. Much later he went to his bed to sleep the sleep of a man whose day had gone well.
Kate, going to her bed, reflected that her day hadn’t gone well at all. After she had given Lady Cowder her lunch and eaten a hasty snack herself, she’d got into the car and driven to Thame, where she’d spent an hour or more shopping for the elaborate food decided upon for the dinner party. When she got home she had been summoned once more—dear Claudia, she was told, would arrive before lunch on the following day, so that meal must be something special, and Kate was to make sure that there was a variety of cakes for tea. Moreover, dinner must be something extra special too.
Unlike Mr Tait-Bouverie’s, Kate’s day had not gone well.
Claudia arrived mid-morning, driving her scarlet Mini. She was small and slender and pretty—a chocolate-box prettiness—with china-blue eyes, a pert nose, pouting mouth and an abundance of fair curls. She looked helpless but Kate, carrying in her luggage, reflected that she seemed as hard as nails under that smiling face. She had wasted no time on Kate, but had pushed past her to embrace Lady Cowder with little cries of joy which made Kate feel quite sick.
Kate took the bags up to the guest room, fetched the coffee tray and retired to the kitchen where Mrs Pickett was cleaning vegetables.
‘Pretty as a picture,’ she observed. ‘Like a fairy. And such lovely clothes, too. She won’t stay single long, I’ll warrant you.’
Kate said, ‘Probably not,’ adding silently that Claudia would stay single just as long as it took her to find a man with a great deal of money who was prepared to let her have her own way, and indulge every whim. And if I can see that in five minutes, she thought, why can’t a man?
Her feelings, she decided, mustn’t get in the way of her culinary art. She presented a delicious lunch and forbore from uttering a word when she handed Claudia the new potato salad and had it thrust back into her hands.
‘I couldn’t possibly eat those,’ cried Claudia. ‘Vegetables which have been smothered in some sauce or other; it’s a sure sign that they’ve been poorly cooked and need disguising.’
Lady Cowder, who had taken a large helping, looked taken aback. ‘Oh, dear, you don’t care for devilled potatoes? Kate, fetch some plain boiled ones for Miss Travers.’
‘There aren’t any,’ said Kate. ‘I can boil some, but they will take at least twenty minutes…’
‘Well, really… You should have thought of it, Kate.’
‘If Miss Travers will give me a list of what she dislikes and likes I can cook accordingly.’
Kate sounded so polite that Lady Cowder hesitated to do more than murmur, ‘Perhaps that would be best.’
When Kate had left the room Claudia said, ‘What an impertinent young woman. Why don’t you dismiss her?’
‘My dear, if you knew how difficult it is to get anyone to work for one these days… All the good cooks work in town, where they can earn twice as much. Kate is a good cook, and I must say she runs the house very well. Besides, she lives locally with a widowed mother and needs to stay close to her home.’
Claudia sniggered. ‘Oh, well, I suppose she’s better than nothing. She looks like a prim old maid.’
Kate, coming in with home-made meringue nests well-filled with strawberries, heard that. It would be nice, she thought, serving the meringues with an impassive face, to put a dead rat in the girl’s bed…
Claudia Travers wasn’t the easiest of guests. She needed a warm drink when she went to her room at night, a special herb tea upon waking, a variety of yoghurts for breakfast, and coddled eggs and whole-meal bread—all of which Kate provided, receiving no word of thanks for doing so. Claudia, treating her hostess with girlish charm, wasted none of it on Kate.
Lady Cowder took her god-daughter out to lunch the next day, which meant that Kate had the time to start preparing for the dinner party that evening. She was still smarting from her disappointment over her half-day off. No mention had been made of another one in its place, and over breakfast she had heard Claudia observing that she might stay over the weekend—so that would mean no day off on Sunday, either.
Kate, thoroughly put out, started to trim watercress for the soup. There was to be roast duck with sauce Bigarade, and Lady Cowder wanted raspberry sorbets served after the duck. For vegetables she had chosen braised chicory with orange, petits pois and a purée of carrots; furthermore, Kate had been told to make chocolate orange creams, caramel creams and a strawberry cheesecake.
She had more than enough to get on with. The menu was too elaborate, she considered, and there was far too much orange…but her mild suggestion that something else be substituted for the chocolate orange creams had been ignored.
After lunch she started on the cakes for tea. Claudia had refused the chocolate sponge and the small scones Kate had offered on the previous day, so today she made a madeira cake and a jam sponge and, while they were baking, made herself a pot of tea and sat down to drink it.
As soon as Claudia left, she would ask for her day and a half off and go home and do nothing. She enjoyed cooking, but not when everything she cooked was either criticised or rejected. Claudia, she reflected crossly, was a thoroughly nasty young woman.
The cold salmon and salad that she had served for dinner the previous evening had been pecked at, and when Lady Cowder had urged her guest to try and eat something, Claudia had smiled wistfully and said that she had always been very delicate.
Kate had said nothing—but in the kitchen, with no one but the kitchen cat to hear her, she’d allowed her feelings to erupt.
Sally, Mrs Pickett’s niece, arrived later in the afternoon. She was a strapping young girl with a cheerful face and, to Kate’s relief, a happy disposition. She served tea while Kate got on with her cooking, and then joined her in the kitchen. Mrs Pickett was there too, clearing away bowls and cooking utensils, making endless pots of tea, laying out the tableware and the silver and glass.
Kate, with the duck safely dealt with and dinner almost ready, went to the dining room and found that Sally had set the table very correctly. There was a low bowl of roses at its centre, with candelabra on either side of it, and the silver glass gleamed.
‘That’s a marvellous job,’ said Kate. ‘You’ve made it look splendid. Now, when they have all sat down I’ll serve the soup from the sideboard and you take it round. I’ll have to go back to the kitchen to see to the duck while you clear the dishes and fetch the hot plates and the vegetables. I’ll serve the duck and you hand it round, and we’ll both go round with the potatoes and the veg.’
The guests were arriving. Kate poked at her hair, tugged her skirt straight and went to open the door. It was the local doctor and his wife, both of whom greeted her like old friends before crossing the hall to their hostess and Claudia who was a vision in pale blue. Following hard on their heels came Major Keane and his wife, and an elderly couple from Thame who were old friends of Lady Cowder. They brought a young man with them, their nephew. He was good-looking and full of self-confidence. And then, five minutes later, as Kate was crossing the hall with the basket of warm rolls ready for the soup, Mr Tait-Bouverie arrived.
He wished her good evening and smiled at her as she opened the drawing room door. Her own good evening was uttered in a voice devoid of expression.
Mindful of her orders, Kate waited ten minutes then announced dinner and went to stand by the soup tureen. Claudia, she noticed, was seated between the nephew and Mr Tait-Bouverie and was in her element, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes in what Kate considered to be a sickening manner. A pity Sally hadn’t spilt the watercress soup down the front of the blue dress, thought Kate waspishly.
Dinner went off very well, and an hour later Kate helped clear the table after taking coffee into the drawing room. Then she went to the kitchen, where the three of them sat down at the kitchen table and polished off the rest of the duck.
‘You’re tired out; been on your feet all day,’ said Mrs Pickett. ‘Just you nip outside for a breath of air, Kate. Me and Sally’ll fill the dishwasher and tidy up a bit. Go on, now.’
‘You don’t mind? Ten minutes, then. You’ve both been such a help—I could never have managed…’
It was lovely out in the garden, still light enough to see around her, and warm from the day’s sunshine. Kate wandered round the side of the house and onto the sweep in front of it, and paused to look at the cars parked there: an elderly Daimler—that would be the doctor’s—Major Keane’s Rover, a rakish sports car—the nephew’s no doubt—and, a little apart, the Bentley.
She went nearer and peered in, and met the eyes of the dog sitting behind the wheel. The window was a little open and he lifted his head and breathed gently over her.
‘You poor dear, shut up all by yourself while everyone is inside guzzling themselves ill. I hope your master takes good care of you.’
Mr Tait-Bouverie, coming soft-footed across the grass, stopped to listen.
‘He does his best,’ he observed mildly. ‘He is about to take his dog for a short stroll before returning home.’ He looked at Kate’s face, pale in the deepening twilight. ‘And I promise you, I didn’t guzzle. The dinner was superb.’
He opened the door and Prince got out and offered his head for a scratch.
‘Thank you,’ said Kate haughtily. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘A most pleasant evening,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie.
Kate heaved a deep breath. ‘Probably it was, for you. But this was supposedly my half-day off, and on Sunday, when I should have a full day, I am not to have it because Miss Travers is staying on.’ Her voice shook very slightly. ‘We—I and my mother—were going to spend the day at Thame, looking at the shops. And my feet ache!’
She turned on her heel and walked away, back to the kitchen, leaving Mr Tait-Bouverie looking thoughtful.
CHAPTER TWO
MR TAIT-BOUVERIE strolled around the garden while Prince blundered around seeking rabbits, his amusement at Kate’s outburst slowly giving way to concern. She had sounded upset—indeed, he suspected that most girls would have given way to floods of tears. Knowing his aunt, he had no doubt that Kate was shown little consideration at the best of times and none at all when Lady Cowder’s wishes were likely to be frustrated. He had been touched by her idea of a day’s outing to Thame to look at the shops. The ladies of his acquaintance didn’t look at shop windows, they went inside and bought whatever they wanted.
He frowned as he remembered that she had said her feet ached…
Back in the house, Claudia fluttered across the room to him. ‘Where have you been?’ she wanted to know, and gave him a wide smile. ‘Are you bored?’ She pouted prettily. ‘Everyone here, except for Roland, is a bit elderly. ‘I’d love to walk in the garden…’
He had beautiful manners and she had no idea how tiresome he found her.
‘I’m afraid I must leave, I’m already late for an appointment.’
Claudia looked put out. ‘You’ve got a girlfriend…?’
He answered her in a bland voice which gave no hint of his irritation. ‘No, nothing as romantic, I’m afraid. A patient to check at the hospital.’
‘At this time of night? It will be twelve o’clock before you get back to town.’
‘Oh, yes. But, you see, people who are ill don’t observe conventional hours of sleep.’ He smiled down at her pretty, discontented face. ‘I must say goodbye to my aunt…’
Lady Cowder drew him a little apart. ‘You enjoyed your evening?’ she wanted to know. ‘Isn’t Claudia charming? Such a dear girl and so pretty, is she not?’
‘Oh, indeed. A delightful evening, Aunt. The dinner was superb. You have a treasure in your housekeeper, if she did indeed cook it. A big task for her, I should imagine—but doubtless she has ample help.’
‘Oh, Kate can do the work of two,’ said Lady Cowder airily. ‘Of course, I allowed her to have a daily woman to help, and a young girl—she waited at table. Some kind of a niece, I believe. The best we could do at such short notice.’
‘You plan more entertainments while Claudia is here?’
‘Oh, yes—tennis tomorrow, with tea in the garden and perhaps a buffet supper. And on Friday there will be people coming for drinks, and I dare say several of them will stay on and take pot luck. Claudia thinks she may stay until early next week. I must think up something special for Sunday. A barbecue, perhaps. Kate could manage that easily.’
She would manage, thought Mr Tait-Bouverie, but her feet would be aching fit to kill her by then, and her longed-for day off would be out of the question.
‘If Claudia is staying until Monday or Tuesday, why don’t you bring her up to town on Friday evening? I’m free for the weekend. We might go to a play on Friday evening, and perhaps go somewhere to dine on Saturday. And she might enjoy a drive down to Henley on Sunday?’
‘My dear, James, what a delightful idea. We shall both adore to come. I can leave Kate to look after the house—such a good chance for her to do a little extra work…’
‘Oh, you’re far too generous for that,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie suavely. ‘Let the girl go home for a couple of days; your gardener could keep an eye on the house. I’m sure you will want to reward Kate for such a splendid dinner. Besides, why keep the house open when you can lock up and save on your gas and electricity bills?’
Lady Cowder, who was mean with her money, said thoughtfully, ‘You know, James, that is a good idea. You have no idea how much this place costs to run and, of course, if I’m not here to keep an eye on Kate she might give way to extravagance.’
‘I’ll expect you around six o’clock,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie. ‘And, if by chance I’m held up, Mudd will take care of you both. You’ll come in Claudia’s car?’
‘Yes. She’s a splendid driver. She does everything so well. She will make a splendid wife.’
If she expected an answer to this she was to be disappointed. Her nephew remarked pleasantly that he must leave without delay and embarked on his farewells, saying all the right things and leaving the house by a side door.
He was letting Prince out of the car for a few moments when he heard voices, and saw Mrs Pickett and her niece leaving the house from the kitchen door. They wished him goodnight as they reached him, and then paused as he asked, ‘You’re going to the village? I’m just leaving, I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Well, now, that would be a treat for we’re that tired, sir.’
‘I imagine so.’ He opened the car door and they got in carefully.
‘You will have to tell me where you live, Mrs Pickett.’ He started the car and said over his shoulder, ‘What a splendid dinner party. You must have worked very hard.’
‘That we did—and that poor Kate, so tired she couldn’t eat her supper. Had a busy time of it, with all the shopping and the house to see to as well as concocting all them fancy dishes. Now I hears it’s to be a tennis party tomorrow—that means she’ll have to be up early, making cakes. Missed her half-day off, too, though she didn’t say a word about it.’
Mrs Pickett, a gossip by nature, was in full flood. ‘It’s not as though she’s used to service. She’s a lady, born and bred, but she’s got no airs or graces, just gets on with it.’ She paused for breath. ‘It’s just along here, sir, the third cottage on the left. And I’m sure Sally and me are that grateful,’ she chuckled. ‘Don’t often get the chance of a ride in such a posh car.’
Mr Tait-Bouverie, brought up to mind his manners by a fierce nanny, got out of the car to assist his passengers to alight—an action which, from Mrs Pickett’s view, made her day. As for Sally, she thought she would never forget him.
‘I cannot think what possessed me,’ Mr Tait-Bouverie told Prince as he drove back to London. ‘I have deliberately ruined my weekend in order to allow a girl I hardly know to go and look at shop windows…’
Prince leaned against him and rumbled soothingly, and his master said, ‘Oh, it’s all very well for you to approve—you liked her, didn’t you? Well, I’m sure she is a very worthy person, but I rather regret being so magnanimous.’
Lady Cowder told Kate the following morning, making it sound as if she was bestowing a gracious favour. She sat up in bed while Kate drew the curtains and put the tea tray beside her.
‘There are some employers who would expect their staff to remain at the house during their absence, but, as I am told so often, I am generous to a fault. You may go home as soon as you have made sure that your work is done, and I expect you back on Sunday evening. Harvey, the gardener, will keep an eye on things, but I shall hold you responsible for anything which is amiss.’
‘Yes, Lady Cowder,’ said Kate, showing what her employer found to be a sorry lack of gratitude. Kate went down to the kitchen to start breakfast for the two ladies, who liked it in bed. More extra work for her.
It would be lovely to have two whole days at home; the pleasure of that got her through another trying day, with unexpected guests for lunch and a great many people coming to play tennis and have tea in the garden.
Mrs Pickett’s feet didn’t allow her to walk too much, so Kate went to and fro with pots of tea, more sandwiches, more cakes, lemonade and ice cream.
‘It’s a crying shame,’ declared Mrs Pickett, ‘expecting you to do everything on your own. Too mean to get help, she is. I suppose she thinks that having Sally last night was more than enough.’ Mrs Pickett sniffed. ‘It’s the likes of her should try doing a bit of cooking and housework for themselves.’
Kate agreed silently.
That evening there was a barbecue, the preparations for which were much hindered by Claudia rearranging everything and then demanding that it should all be returned to its normal place—which meant that by the time the guests began to arrive nothing was quite ready, a circumstance which Claudia, naturally enough, blamed on Kate. With Kate still within earshot, she observed in her rather loud voice, ‘Of course, one can’t expect the servants to know about these things…’
Kate, stifling an urge to go back and strangle the girl, went to the kitchen to fetch the sausages and steaks.
‘Now you can get the charcoal burning,’ ordered Claudia.
Kate set the sausages and steaks beside each other on one of the tables.
‘I’m wanted in the house,’ she said, and whisked herself away.
She made herself a pot of tea in the kitchen, emptied the dishwasher and tidied the room. It was a fine, warm evening, and the party would probably go on for some time, which would give her the chance to press a dress of Claudia’s and go upstairs and turn down the beds. First, though, she fed Horace, scrubbed two potatoes and popped them into the Aga for her supper. When they were baked she would top them with cheese and put them under the grill.
One more day, she told herself as she tidied Claudia’s room. The drinks party the next day would be child’s play after the last few days. She wished Mr Tait-Bouverie joy of his weekend guests, and hoped he was thoughtful of his housekeeper. She wasn’t sure if she liked him, but she thought he might be a man who considered his servants…
The barbecue went on for a long time. Kate did her chores, ate her potatoes and much later, when everyone had left and Lady Cowder and Claudia had gone to their rooms, she went to hers, stood half-asleep under the shower and tumbled into bed, to sleep the sleep of a very tired girl.
Since Lady Cowder and her goddaughter were to go to London in the early evening, the drinks party the next day was held just before noon, and because the guests had tended to linger, lunch was a hurried affair. Kate whisked the plates in and out without waste of time, found Lady Cowder’s spectacles, her handbag, her pills, and went upstairs twice to make sure that Claudia had packed everything.
‘Though I can’t think why I should have to pack for myself,’ said that young lady pettishly, and snatched a Gucci scarf from Kate’s hand without thanking her.
Kate watched them go, heaved an enormous sigh of relief and began to clear lunch away and leave the house tidy. Horace had been fed, and Harvey promised he would be up to see to him and make sure that everything was all right later that evening. He was a nice old man, and Kate gave him cups of tea and plenty of her scones whenever he came up to the house with the vegetables. He would take a look at the house, he assured her, and see to Horace.
‘You can go home, Missy,’ he told her, ‘and have a couple of days to yourself. All that rumpus—makes a heap of work for the likes of us.’
It was lovely to sleep in her own bed again, to wake in the morning and smell the bacon frying for her breakfast and not for someone else’s. She went down to the small kitchen intent on finishing the cooking, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it.
‘You’ve had a horrid week, love, and it’s marvellous to have you home for two whole days. What shall we do?’
‘We’re going to Thame,’ said Kate firmly. ‘We’ll have a good look at the shops and have tea at that patisserie.’
‘It’s expensive…’
‘We owe ourselves a treat.’
They sat over breakfast while Kate told her mother about her week.
‘Wasn’t there anyone nice there?’ asked Mrs Crosby.
‘No, not a soul. Well, there was one—Lady Cowder’s nephew. He’s very reserved, I should think he has a nasty temper, too. He complimented me on dinner, but that doesn’t mean to say that he’s nice.’
‘But he talked to you?’
‘No, only to remark that it had been a pleasant evening.’
‘And?’
‘I told him that it might have been pleasant for some, and that my feet ached.’
Her mother laughed. ‘I wonder what he thought of that?’
‘I’ve no idea, and I really don’t care. We’ll have a lovely day today.’
A sentiment not echoed by Mr Tait-Bouverie, who had welcomed his guests on Friday evening, much regretting his impulsive action. After suitable greetings he had handed them over to Mudd and, with Prince hard on his heels, had gone to his room to dress. He had got tickets for a popular musical, and Mudd had thought up a special dinner.
Tomorrow, he had reflected, shrugging himself into his jacket, he would escort them to a picture gallery which was all the fashion and then take them to lunch. Dinner and dancing at the Savoy in the evening would take care of Saturday. Then a drive out into the country on Sunday and one of Mudd’s superb dinners, and early Monday morning they would drive back.
A waste of a perfectly good weekend, he had thought regretfully, and hoped that Kate was enjoying hers more than he expected to enjoy his. ‘Although, the girl is no concern of mine,’ he had pointed out to Prince.
Presently he had forgotten about her, listening to Claudia’s ceaseless chatter and his aunt’s gentle complaining voice. A delicious dinner, she had told him, but such a pity that she wasn’t able to appreciate it now that she suffered with those vague pains. ‘One so hopes that it isn’t cancer,’ she had observed with a wistful little laugh.
Mr Tait-Bouverie, having watched her eat a splen did meal with something very like greed, had assured her that that was most unlikely. ‘A touch of indigestion?’ he had suggested—a remark dismissed with a frown from Lady Cowder. Indigestion was vulgar, something suitable for the lower classes…