“Annis, did I ever tell you what a nice girl you were?” Jake asked.

“And I shall mind very much if you don’t take some interest in me. I’m sorry for behaving like a tyrant because you were lunching with someone. You see, I thought that you might be lonely and I came back prepared to…well, never mind that now.” He tapped her nose very gently with a finger. “And the dark-haired lady, she’s the wife of an old friend of mine. He couldn’t attend the board meeting because he was under the weather, so she brought down some important papers to be signed. He had to sign them, too, so I went back with her to get it done.”

“Thank you for telling me.” She smiled up at him. “Father always says I jump to conclusions. It must be my red hair.”

He let her go and dropped a careless kiss on her bright head. “Then I must take care to remember that, mustn’t I? Shall we have tea?”

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

All Else Confusion
Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE FOTHERGILLS were out in force; it wasn’t often that they were all home together at the same time. Annis was always there, of course, being the eldest and such a help in running the parish and helping her mother around the house, and contrary to would-be sympathisers, perfectly content with her lot. Mary who came next was in her first year at college and Edward, at seventeen, was in his last term at the public school whose fees had been the cause of much sacrifice on his parents part. James was at the grammar school in a neighbouring town and Emma and Audrey were still at the local church school. So they didn’t see much of each other, because holidays weren’t always exactly the same and they all possessed so many friends that one or other of them was mostly away visiting one or other of them. But just for once the half term holiday had fallen on the same days for all of them, and since the February afternoon was masquerading as spring, they had all elected to go for a walk together.

Annis led the way, a tall, well built girl with glorious red hair and a lovely face. She looked a good deal younger than her twenty-two years and although she was moderately clever, she had an endearing dreaminess, a generous nature and a complete lack of sophistication. She also, on occasion, made no bones about speaking her mind if her feelings had been strongly stirred.

Mary, walking with Audrey a few paces behind her, was slighter and smaller in build and just as pretty in a dark way, while little Audrey, still plump and youthfully awkward, had her elder sister’s red hair and cornflower blue eyes.

Emma and James were together, quarrelling cheerfully about something or other, and Edward brought up the rear, a dark, serious boy who intended to follow in his father’s footsteps.

The church and the Rectory lay at one end of Millbury, the village to which their father had brought his young wife and where they still lived in the early Victorian house which had been considered suitable for the rector in those days, and was still suitable for the Reverend Mr Fothergill, considering the size of his family. Certainly it had a great many rooms, some of them far too large and lofty for comfort, but there was only one bathroom with an old-fashioned bath on clawed feet in its centre, and the hot water system needed a good deal of forbearance, while the kitchen, although cosy and plentifully supplied with cupboards, lacked the amenities considered by most people to be quite necessary nowadays. Mrs Fothergill, a gently placid woman, didn’t complain, for the simple reason that it would have been of no use; with six children to bring up, clothe and feed, there had never been enough money to spare on the house. Her one consolation was that since she had married young, there was the strong possibility that all the children would be nicely settled in time for her to turn her attention to refurbishing it.

Reaching the top of the hill behind the village, Annis turned to look down at her home. From a distance its red brick walls, surrounded by the shrubbery no one had the time to do much about, looked pleasant in the watery sunshine, and beyond it the church’s squat tower stood out against the Wiltshire downs stretching away to more wooded country.

She turned her fine eyes on to her brothers and sisters gathered around her. ‘There’s plenty of wood in the park,’ she suggested, ‘Matthew told me that they’d cut down several elms along the back drive. Let’s get as much as we can—a pity we didn’t bring some sacks, but I forgot.’

‘Well, with six of us carrying a load each, we ought to manage quite a lot,’ offered James. ‘I could go back for some sacks, Annis…?’

She shook her head. ‘It’ll be getting dark in another hour or so—it’s not worth it.’

They followed the path running along the edge of the field at the top of the hill and climbed a gate at the end into a narrow lane, and it was another five minutes’ walk before they reached the entrance to the back drive to Mellbury Park where Colonel Avery lived. The lodge beside the open gate had fallen into a near ruin and the drive had degenerated into a deeply rutted track, but they all knew their way around and with Annis still leading, started to walk along it. They came upon the cut down trees within a very short time, and just as Annis had said, there was an abundance of wood.

They worked methodically; almost everyone went wooding in the village, and the Fothergills had become experts at knowing what best to take and what best to leave and just how much they could carry. Presently, suitably burdened according to size, they turned for home. The bright afternoon was yielding to a grey dusk; by the time they reached it it would be almost dark. Annis marshalled her little band into a single line with Edward leading the way and herself bringing up the rear. Little Audrey, who was frightened of the dark, was directly in front of her, carrying the few light bits of wood considered sufficient for her strength.

They made a good deal of noise as they went, calling to each other, singing a bit from time to time, laughing a lot. They were almost at the lodge when Annis heard the thud of hooves behind her and stopped to turn the way they had come and shout at the top of her powerful lungs:

‘Slow down, Matthew, we’re just ahead of you!’ And as a young man on a big black horse pulled up within yards: ‘Honestly, Matt, you must be out of your mind! You could have bowled the lot of us over like ninepins!’

‘No chance of that with you bawling your head off like that—you’re in our park anyway!’

‘So what? We come here almost every day.’ She smiled dazzlingly at him. ‘You use our barn for target practice.’

He laughed then, a pleasant-faced young man of about her own age, and shouted greetings to the rest of the Fothergills, scattered along the path ahead of her, then called over his shoulder, ‘Jake, come and meet our neighbours!’

The second rider had been waiting quietly, screened by the overgrowth, and Annis hadn’t seen him. He was astride a strawberry roan, a big man with powerful shoulders and a handsome arrogant face; it was dusk now and she couldn’t be sure of the colour of his eyes or his hair, but of one thing she was instantly sure—she didn’t like him, and she didn’t like the smile on his face as Matthew introduced him, nor the unhurried study of her person and the still more leisurely survey of the rest of the Fothergills who, seeing that Matthew had someone with him, had come closer to see who it was. Jake Royle, Matthew had called him, a friend of the family who had been in New Zealand on business. ‘You must come up and have a drink one evening,’ said Matthew, and sidled his horse over to Mary. ‘You too, Mary—and Edward, of course.’

‘Well, it’ll have to be soon,’ said Annis briskly. ‘Mary is going back at the end of the week, and so is Edward.’

‘And you?’ queried Jake Royle softly.

She gave him a quick glance. ‘Me? I live at home.’ He didn’t answer, only smiled again, and her dislike deepened. How had Matt got to know him? she wondered; he was much older for a start, at least in his early thirties, and as unlike Matt’s usual friends as chalk from cheese. She caught Edward’s eye. ‘We’d better be on our way; tea’s early—it’s the Mothers’ Union whist drive this evening.’

‘Good lord, you don’t all play whist, do you?’

‘Is there any reason why we shouldn’t? Don’t be an ass, Matt, you know quite well that only Edward and Mary and I go.’ Annis turned to go and then stopped. ‘Could you come over when you’ve got a minute and take a look at Nancy?’

‘Yes, of course—we’ll come now…’

She said hastily: ‘Oh, there’s no need for that—besides, you have Mr Royle with you. Tomorrow morning would be better.’

‘Well, all right, if you say so.’

She said rather pointedly: ‘I’ll expect you about ten o’clock if that’s OK for you?’ She gave him a wide smile, nodded distantly to Jake Royle, and hurried to join the others, already on their way.

‘Lifelong friends?’ queried Jake Royle as the Fothergills disappeared round a bend in the track.

‘Grew up with them,’ said Matthew. ‘Annis and I are the same age; knew each other in our prams.’

‘A striking-looking girl,’ observed Mr Royle, ‘and interesting…’

An opinion not shared by Annis; on the way back they all discussed Matt’s companion. ‘He’s very good-looking,’ said Mary, ‘didn’t you think so, Annis?’

Annis had been brought up to be honest. ‘Yes, if you like that kind of face,’ she conceded, ‘but I daresay he’s the dullest creature, and conceited too.’ She added rather unnecessarily: ‘I didn’t like him.’

‘Do you suppose he’s married?’ asked Emma.

Annis gave the question her considered thought. ‘Very likely, I should think. He’s not a young man, not like Matt. Whose turn is it to see to Nancy?’

Nancy was an elderly donkey, rescued some years ago from a party of tinkers who were ill-using her. No one knew quite how old she was, but now she lived in retirement, a well fed, well cared for and dearly loved friend to all the family. It was Audrey’s turn, and by common consent James went with her to the small paddock behind the house; she was only eight after all, and a small nervous child, and although no one mentioned this fact, her brothers and sisters took good care of her. The rest of them went into the house through the back door, kicking off boots and hanging up coats in the roomy lobby which gave on to the wide stone-flagged passage which ran from front to back of the Rectory. They piled the wood here too, ready for James or Edward to carry out to one of the numerous outbuildings which bordered the yard behind the house. They went next to a cold cupboard of a room used once, long ago, as a pantry, washed their hands at the old stone sink there and tidied their hair at the Woolworth’s looking-glass on the wall, only then did they troop along to the front of the house to the sitting room.

Their parents were already there, their father sitting by the fire, his nose buried in a book, their mother at the round table under the window where tea had been laid out. She was still a pretty woman who had never lost her sense of humour or her optimistic belief that one day something wonderful would happen, by which she meant having enough money to do all the things she wanted to do for them all. She looked up as they went in and smiled at them impartially; she loved them all equally, although perhaps little Audrey had the edge of her brothers and sisters, but then she was still only a little girl.

She addressed herself to her eldest child: ‘You enjoyed your walk, Annis?’

‘Yes, Mother.’

Before she could say anything more Mary chimed in: ‘We met Matt—he had someone with him, Jake Royle, he’s staying with the Avery’s. He’s quite old but rather super…’

‘Old?’ queried her mother.

‘About thirty-five,’ observed Annis, slicing cake. ‘I thought he looked a bit cocky, myself.’

Her father lowered his book. ‘And he has every reason to be,’ he told her with mild reproof. ‘He’s a very clever young man—well, I consider him young—he’s chairman of several highly successful companies and commercial undertakings, owns a factory in New Zealand, and is much sought after as a financial adviser.’

Annis carried tea to her father. ‘Do you know him, Father?’

‘Oh, yes, I’ve met him on several occasions at Colonel Avery’s.’

‘You never told us,’ said Mary.

‘You said yourself that he was quite old, my dear.’ His voice was dry. ‘Far too old for you—perhaps he and Annis might have more in common.’

‘Me?’ Annis paused with her cup half way to her mouth. ‘I don’t know a thing about factories or finances—besides, I didn’t like him.’

‘Well, we’re not likely to see him here, dear,’ said Mrs Fothergill calmly, hoping that they would. ‘Here’s Audrey and James, perhaps you’d fill the teapot, dear…’

It was later that evening, after the younger ones had gone to bed and the rest of them were sitting round the comfortably shabby room, that Mrs Fothergill said apropos nothing at all: ‘I wonder if Mr Royle is married?’

Neither Edward or James was interested enough to answer and Mary had gone to the kitchen for something. Annis said thoughtfully: ‘I should think so; you say he’s successful and clever and probably comfortably off. Besides, he’s getting on for forty…’

‘You said thirty-five, dear,’ observed her mother. ‘I should imagine that a man who has achieved so much has had little time to look for a suitable wife.’ She didn’t say any more, and Annis, glancing up from her embroidery, saw that her mother was daydreaming—marrying off her daughters, or one daughter at least to Jake Royle. He would have given her loads of money, a huge house, several cars and a generous nature not above helping out with the younger children’s education. Well, harmless enough, thought Annis fondly, just as long as Mary was to be the bride. Mr Royle, married or unmarried, held no attraction for her at all.

So it was a pity that he rode over with Matt the next morning, blandly ignoring her cold reception, contriving with all the ease in the world to get introduced to her mother, and her father as well, before going off with Matt to look at Nancy. What was more, she was quite unable to refuse Matt’s cheerful: ‘Come on, old girl—if it’s Nancy’s hooves we’ll need your help.’

So the three of them crossed the cobbled yard to where Nancy lived in a boxed-off corner of the enormous barn. Once the days were longer and it was warmer she would go out in the small field behind this building, sharing it with a neighbouring farmer’s two horses and a couple of goats, but today she was standing in her snug shelter very neat and tidy after little Audrey’s grooming.

She knew Matt as well as her owners and obediently lifted first one hoof and then the other, munching the carrots Annis had thoughtfully brought with her and responding, much to Annis’s surprise, with every sign of pleasure to Jake Royle’s gentle scratching of her ears.

‘Must like you,’ observed Matt, looking up. ‘She’s a crotchety old lady with strangers. Still got some serviceable teeth, too.’

‘Yes, you said she was off her feed.’ He slid a large, well manicured hand from an ear to the little beast’s lip and lifted it gently. ‘Could there be an abscess, I wonder?’ He uttered the question in such a friendly, almost meek voice, that Annis, prepared to snub him at every turn, found herself saying: ‘I hadn’t thought of that—she’s always having trouble with her feet and I expected it to be that this time.’ She tickled Nancy’s other ear. ‘Open your mouth, love.’

It took the remaining carrots and the three of them to persuade Nancy to allow them to take a look at her teeth. Annis, with her fiery head almost in Nancy’s jaws and quite forgetting that she didn’t like Jake Royle, exclaimed: ‘You’re quite right, how clever of you! It’s at the back on the right.’ She withdrew her hand. ‘I’ll get the vet.’

Matt said: ‘Oh, hard luck—he’s just put up his fees, too.’

‘I’ve got some birthday money left,’ said Annis matter-of-factly. She had forgotten that Jake Royle was still there; he had a stillness which made him invisible, a knack of melting into his surroundings. He didn’t move now, only stared hard at her. She made a striking picture too, despite the old coat and wellingtons, and her hair in a wavy tangled mass. She tossed it impatiently out of her eyes and invited them into the Rectory for coffee. ‘You’ll have to have it in the kitchen,’ she warned them, ‘we’re getting the sitting room ready for the Mothers’ Union tea-party.’

She gave Nancy a final pat and led them back and through the kitchen door where they kicked off their boots and laid them neatly beside hers. Even in his socks Jake Royle was a very large man indeed.

The kitchen was large, stone-flagged and old-fashioned. There were no built-in cupboards, concealed ironing boards bread bins or vegetable racks and the sink was an enormous one of well scrubbed Victorian stone. But it was a pleasant room, much used by the whole family, its plain wooden table encircled by an assortment of chairs and two down-at-heel armchairs on either side of the elderly Aga, put in by the rector the winter before last in an effort to modernise the place. Both chairs were occupied, a seal point Siamese was sitting erect in one of them, the other was occupied by a rather tatty dog with quantities of long hair and a sweeping tail. Neither of them took any notice of the newcomers although Matt said: ‘Hullo, Sapphro, hullo Hairy,’ as he took his seat at the table.

‘Sit down, Jake,’ said Mrs Fothergill invitingly. ‘You don’t mind if I call you that?—Mr Royle’s so stiff, isn’t it? Coffee’s just ready—everyone will be here in a minute.’

Annis had gone to phone the vet and came back with little Audrey, the rest of them following. Only the Rector didn’t arrive. ‘His sermon,’ explained Mrs Fothergill. ‘He likes to beat it into shape before lunch.’

She poured coffee into an assortment of mugs and Annis bore one away for her father. She would have liked to have taken hers too, but that might have looked rude and her mother was a great one for manners—besides, being the eldest she had to set a good example to the others.

Over coffee, Jake Royle maintained an easy flow of talk without pushing himself forward; he merely introduced topics of conversation from time to time and then left it to everyone else to talk. And the Fothergills were great talkers; being such a large family they held different opinions about almost everything—besides, it was a way of passing the evenings. There wasn’t much to do in the village and Millbury was off the main road which ran between Shaftesbury and Yeovil; too far to walk to the bus, although Annis did a good deal of cycling round the village and the two smaller parishes her father served. There was a car, of course, an essential for her father with such a far-flung flock, but it had seen better days and it was heavy on petrol too. Only the Rector, Annis and Edward drove it, nursing it along the narrow lanes and up and down the steep hills. Mrs Fothergill, a born optimist, went in for every competition which offered a car as prize, but as yet she had had no luck. One day the car was going to conk out and would have to be replaced, but no one dwelt on that. When tackled the Rector was apt to intone ‘Sufficient unto the day…’ which put a stop to further speculation.

They were talking about cars now, at least the men and three boys were. Anyone would think, thought Annis gloomily, that there was nothing else upon this earth but cars. She listened to the more interesting bits, but in between she allowed her mind to wander. She still didn’t like Jake Royle, but she had to admit that he had more than his share of good looks, and the very size of him made him someone to look at twice. Not that she had the least interest in him… She picked up the big enamel coffee pot from its place on the Aga and offered second cups, caught his eye and blushed because it was only too apparent that he had read her thoughts.

He and Matt went presently and Mrs Fothergill said a little wistfully: ‘What a very nice man. I suppose he’ll be going back to New Zealand soon—such a pity.’

‘He doesn’t live there,’ Edward observed, ‘only goes there once in a while—he had intended going back in a couple of weeks, but he said that something had come up to make him change his mind.’

Mrs Fothergill couldn’t help taking a quick peep at her two elder daughters. Mary looked pleased and surprised, Annis’s lovely face wore no expression upon it at all. Nor did she show any elation when later that day Mrs Avery telephoned to ask them, with the exception of James, Emma and little Audrey, to go to dinner in two days’ time. Mrs Fothergill and Mary immediately fell to discussing what they should wear, but when they tried to draw Annis into the discussion, she proved singularly uninterested.

‘It’ll have to be the blue velvet,’ she told them. ‘I know I’ve had it years, but this isn’t London and fashion hasn’t changed all that much.’

A statement with which Mr Royle couldn’t agree. He dated it unerringly as being five years old and on the dowdy side, bought with an eye to its being useful rather than becoming. But the dark blue set off the hair very well, he conceded that, and the dress, however badly cut, couldn’t disguise her splendid figure. She was a young woman who would look magnificent if she were properly dressed.

He greeted her with casual politeness and engaged her mother in conversation, while Matt made his way across the drawing-room to ask her how Nancy did. They became engrossed in the donkey’s treatment and exactly what had been done, but presently they were joined by Mrs Avery, and with a hurried promise to come over on the following morning, Matt wandered off to talk to Mary.

The dinner party was small, the Fothergills being augmented by the doctor and his wife and daughter, and since they had all lived in the village for years, they were on the best of terms. Presently they all went across the gloomy raftered hall to the dining room, an equally gloomy room, its walls oak-panelled and the great table ringed by antique and uncomfortable chairs. Colonel Avery never ceased grumbling about them, but since the idea of replacing family heirlooms with something more modern wasn’t to be entertained, everyone put up with them in silence.

But even though the room was gloomy, the people in it weren’t: the talk became quite animated as they ate their way through chilled melon, roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and sprouts and rounded off this very English meal with Charlotte Russe. There was Stilton after that, and since Mrs Avery was too old-fashioned to change her ways, the ladies, very animated after the excellent claret the Colonel had given them, left the men round the table and went back to the drawing-room.

Here Mrs Avery, a mouselike woman whose appearance belied her forceful personality, set about arranging her guests to her satisfaction. The doctor’s wife and Mrs Fothergill were seated side by side on one of the sofas, Mary and the doctor’s daughter were marshalled on to a smaller piece of furniture and Mrs Avery herself engaged Annis in conversation, sitting so that she could see the door when the men came in. For years now she had decided that Annis would make a very good wife for Matt. They had grown up together and liked each other, and Annis would do very nicely as mistress of the Manor House in which the Avery family had lived for a very long time. She lost no time, once she had decided upon this, in throwing them together on every possible occasion. It was a pity that neither Annis nor Matt had any inkling of this, and continued to see each other several times a week without feeling any desire to be more than good friends.

The men joined them quite soon and Mrs Avery signalled with her eyebrows to Matt that he should join them, only to be frustrated by Jake Royle, who somehow contrived to get there first and stayed inextricably with them until she was forced to circulate amongst her other guests.

Which left Annis on the sofa, rather apart from the others, and Jake Royle sitting beside her, half turned towards her so that he could watch her face.

‘Was the vet able to do anything for Nancy?’ he enquired in such a friendly voice that she found herself replying readily enough. They discussed the donkey at some length, and then, almost imperceptibly, he led the conversation round to her family and eventually to herself. He had discovered quite a lot about her before she realised what was happening and closed her pretty mouth with a suddenness which made him chuckle silently. She shot him a look as fiery as her hair and asked with something of a snap: ‘And when do you return to New Zealand, Mr Royle?’

‘I’m called Jake,’ he reminded her gently, ‘and I don’t really know when I shall go there again. I live in England, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t. Do you like New Zealand?’

‘Very much. Have you travelled at all, Annis?’

She had to admit that beyond a week in Brittany some years previously, and a long weekend in Brussels with a school friend, she hadn’t.

‘You would like to travel?’ he persisted.

‘Well, of course. I should think everyone would, some places more than others, of course.’

‘And those places?’

She knitted her strong brows. There was no end to the tiresome man’s questions, and why couldn’t someone come and take him away? ‘Oh, Canada and Norway and Sweden and Malta and the Greek Isles and Madeira.’

He said lightly: ‘Let’s hope you have the opportunity to visit some or all of them at some time or another.’

‘Yes—well, I hope so too. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must have a word with Colonel Avery about…’ She had no idea what; he helped her out with a casual ‘Yes, of course—time passes so quickly when one is enjoying a pleasant talk.’

She got up and he got up too, and she edged away, relieved to see that Miriam, Doctor Bennett’s daughter, was poised to take her place. From the safety of the other end of the room, she saw the pair of them obviously enjoying each other’s company. The sight quite annoyed her.

Half-term finished the next day and Annis was alone once more then with her mother and father and old Mrs Wells who did for them twice a week. She had come to the Rectory, year in, year out, for a long time and her work—doing the rough, she called it—had by tacit consent been honed down to jobs like polishing the brass, sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, or peeling the potatoes for lunch. But no one thought of telling her that she might retire if she wanted to. For one thing she didn’t want to; she lived alone in the village and the Rectory supplied an interest in her life; besides, she would have been missed by all the family, who cheerfully cleared up after her, found her specs, gave her cups of tea and took the eyes out of the potatoes when she wasn’t looking. She was devoted to all of them and went regularly to church, besides attending all the jumble sales, where she purchased her wardrobe, dirt cheap, three times a year.

She sat at the kitchen table now, mending a great rent in the sheet James had put his feet through, while Annis juggled with the washing machine. It was behaving temperamentally this morning, making a terrible din, oozing water from somewhere underneath, and having long bouts of doing nothing at all. Mrs Fothergill, coming into the kitchen to make the coffee, gave it a harassed look. ‘Is it going to break down?’ she shouted to Annis above the din.

‘Shouldn’t think so. I’ll give it a rest before I put the next load in.’

Mrs Fothergill nodded. ‘Yes, dear. Coffee will be ready in five minutes. We’re in the drawing room.’

They almost never used the drawing room; it was a handsome apartment, so large and lofty that it was impossible to keep it really warm. Annis supposed her mother was turning out the sitting room. She made Mrs Wells the pot of strong tea she always fancied mid-morning, emptied the washing machine and went along to the drawing room.

She opened the door and went in, and only then realised that there were visitors—Matt, who didn’t really count, Mr Royle and a small, elderly lady, almost completely round as to figure and with a pair of black eyes sparkling in a round face.

Matt and Jake Royle got up and Matt said cheerfully: ‘Hullo, Annis. You look as though you’re doing a hard day’s work. We’ve brought one of my aunts over—it was Jake’s idea. She arrived quite late yesterday evening and went to bed, too tired for the dinner party. Aunt Dora, this is Annis—a pity you’ve missed the others.’

Annis put a hand up to her hair, realised that it was in a hopeless mess anyway, and offered the hand instead to Matt’s aunt.

‘You could have told me,’ she complained mildly to Matt. She smiled at the little lady. ‘I would have tidied myself up.’

‘You’ll do very well as you are. Matt didn’t tell you my name. It’s Duvant—I’m the Colonel’s sister and a widow.’ She accepted a cup of coffee from Mrs Fothergill and patted the sagging sofa she was sitting on. ‘Come and sit by me. Your mother’s an angel to receive us so kindly, too. You must wish us all to kingdom come, but men never think about getting the housework done or cooking lunch, do they? And somehow I had the impression from Jake that you roamed out of doors a good deal…’

Annis gave Jake a look of dislike, which became thunderous when he smiled at her. How like him; never done a hand’s turn in his life probably, and had no idea what it was like to run an unwieldy old house like the Rectory. She said politely: ‘I like being out of doors. Do you know this part of the country well, Mrs Duvant?’

‘I did in my youth, but things have changed even here. I’ve been living abroad for some years, but I fancied coming back here again. There is a house in Bath, which belonged to my husband’s family. I think I shall go there for a while.’ She paused to smile at Annis. ‘This coffee’s delicious—I think I’ll have another cup if I may?’ She beamed across at Mrs Fothergill. ‘I expect you grind your own beans?’ she asked.

The two ladies embarked on an animated discussion and Jake, refusing more coffee, suggested that they might take a look at Nancy. And since Matt agreed at once there was nothing for it but for Annis to get her coat and boots and go with them. ‘Though I can’t really spare the time,’ she told them rather crossly.

‘We’ll hang out the washing for you,’ offered Jake.

‘Thank you,’ said Annis haughtily, ‘but I can manage very well for myself.’

They spent a little time with Nancy, pronounced her very much better and started back across the yard. At the back door Annis paused. ‘I expect you’ll want to join Mrs Duvant—I’m going back to the kitchen.’

They neither of them took any notice of her but went along to the kitchen too, collected the old-fashioned basket loaded with damp sheets and towels and bore it off to the washing line at the back of the house. It hadn’t been any use protesting; Matt had told her not to be so bossy and Jake Royle had merely smiled. She hadn’t liked the smile much, there had been a hint of mockery about it.

She put another load into the machine, tidied herself perfunctorily and went back to the drawing room. Her father had gone, but the two ladies were having a nice gossip; from the way they both turned to look at her and their sudden silence, she suspected that they had been talking about her. Not that that worried her.

Mrs Duvant spoke first. ‘I was just telling your mother that I want to go over to Bath and look round that house. She tells me that you drive; I wondered if you would take me one day soon, Annis? Matt says he can’t be spared from the estate; they’re doing the yearly inventory or some such thing, and Jake will be going to London tomorrow. We could have the Rover.’

Annis glanced at her mother and found that lady looking pleased. ‘A nice change for you, darling,’ said Mrs Fothergill. ‘Just for a couple of days, and there’s almost nothing to do now the others are away.’

‘Well, yes—then I’d be glad to drive you,’ said Annis. It was true she could be spared easily enough, and she liked Mrs Duvant.

The men came in then and Mrs Duvant told them, and Matt said: ‘Oh, good, that’s settled then,’ while Jake Royle said nothing at all. It seemed to be a habit of his.

CHAPTER TWO

THE TRIP TO Bath was planned for two days ahead, midweek, so that Annis would be back for the weekend to drive her father round the three parishes on Sunday and keep an eye on Emma, Audrey and James.

It was a pity that she hadn’t anything really smart to wear, she decided as she packed an overnight bag; she could wear her tweed suit, a good one although no longer new, and there was a blouse she had had for Christmas which would do, as well as a sweater, and just in case Mrs Duvant changed in the evening, she could take the green wool jersey dress and wear her gold chain with it. She reflected uneasily upon Mrs Duvant’s undoubtedly expensive clothes. She might be a dumpy little woman, but she had been wearing a beautifully cut outfit and doubtless the rest of her wardrobe was as elegant.

Matt drove the Rover, with his aunt in it, over to the Rectory soon after breakfast, declaring that he would walk back through the park. He added a careless: ‘Jake went yesterday, gone to keep an eye on his millions—wish I had half his brains. Father’s quite peevish this morning; no one to discuss the Financial Times with. I bet Jake enjoys himself in town!’

His aunt smiled at him. ‘And why not? I should think he could have any girl he wanted with that handsome face of his. Are we ready to go, Annis my dear? I’m quite looking forward to this next day or two. I hope you are too.’

They drove via Frome and Radstock and Midsummer Norton, through a soft grey morning with a hint of frost in the air, and Bath, as they approached it, looked delightful, its grey stone houses clinging to the hills. Annis made her way through the town and then at Mrs Duvant’s direction turned into a crescent of Regency houses facing a small park. Half way down she was told to stop and pulled up before a narrow tall house with elegant bow windows just like all its neighbours. She had expected to find an unlived-in house, but this one was freshly painted and bore all the signs of careful tenancy. As she opened the car door she saw the house door open and an elderly man cross the pavement to them.

‘Ah, there’s Bates,’ declared Mrs Duvant happily. ‘He and Mrs Bates caretake for me, you know.’ She got out of the car and went to shake him by the hand. ‘And this is Miss Annis Fothergill,’ she told him, ‘come to spend a day or two while I look round the place. I’ve a mind to come back here and live, Bates.’

The elderly man looked pleased. ‘And I’m sure we hope that you do, madam. If you will go in, Mrs Bates will see to you. I’ll bring the cases.’

The door was narrow with a handsome fanlight above it, and opened into a roomy hall with a pretty curved staircase at its back. Annis had time to see that before Mrs Bates bore down upon them; a large, stately woman with twinkling eyes and several chins. She received Mrs Duvant with every sign of delight, made Annis welcome, and ushered them into a small sitting-room, most comfortably furnished and with a bright fire blazing in the hearth.

‘You’ll like a cup of coffee, madam,’ she said comfortably. ‘When you’ve had a rest I’ll take you up to your rooms.’

She sailed away and Mrs Duvant observed: ‘Such a good creature, and a splendid cook.’ She looked around her. ‘Everything looks very nice after all this time. I’d quite forgotten…’

The coffee came and presently Mrs Bates to lead them upstairs and show first Mrs Duvant to a room at the front of the house and then Annis to hers; a charming apartment overlooking the surprisingly large garden at the back. Annis, used to the rather spartan simplicity at the Rectory, poked her head into the adjoining bathroom, smoothed the silken quilt and opened a drawer or two, lined with tissue paper and smelling of lavender. There was a builtin wardrobe too and a couple of small inviting easy chairs. Definitely a room to enjoy, she decided as she tidied herself at the little walnut dressing table, brushed her hair into a glossy curtain, and went downstairs.

Mrs Duvant was in the hall, talking to Bates. ‘There’s an hour or more before lunch, let’s go over the house.’ She was as excited as a small child with a new toy.

So with Mrs Bates sailing ahead of them, and Mrs Duvant trotting behind with Annis beside her, they set off. It was to be no lightning tour—that was obvious from the start. Mrs Duvant stopped every few steps to examine curtains, stooped to inspect carpets and insinuate her round person into cupboards. They started with the dining room, an elegantly furnished room with an oval mahogany table and six charming Adam chairs around it; there were half a dozen more chairs against the walls and a handsome sideboard, on which was displayed a selection of silver gilt. The walls were hung with sea green brocade and almost covered with what Annis took to be family portraits. A delightful room; she could find no fault with it, nor for that matter could its owner.

The drawing-room took a good deal longer; it was a large room with white panelling and a China blue ceiling, ornamented with a good deal of plasterwork, and the furniture was plentiful and elaborate; moreover there were innumerable ornaments scattered about its small tables. Annis found it a little too grand for her taste and uttered a sigh of pleasure at the morning room on the other side of the hall, a simple little room which Mrs Duvant dismissed quickly enough. The sitting room they had already seen and by then it was time for lunch, anyway.

Refreshed by oyster soup, omelette with a side salad and a rich creamy dessert, taken with a glass of white wine, Mrs Duvant declared herself ready to inspect the upper floors. And that took most of the afternoon, what with a long discussion about new curtains for one of the bedrooms, and a meticulous inspection of the linen closet on the top floor, but presently they were sitting by the fire having tea and with the prospect of the evening before them.

‘I’ve got tickets for the concert in the Assembly Rooms, dear,’ observed Mrs Duvant. ‘If we have dinner a little early, we shall be in good time for it. It doesn’t start before half past eight.’

Going to bed much later, Annis decided that there was a lot to be said for such a pleasant way of life—not that she would want to change it for her life at the Rectory, but like any other girl, she sometimes hankered after the fleshpots.

They spent almost all the next day shopping: Mrs Duvant, it seemed, was a great shopper and since money didn’t seem to be any problem to her, she bought several things at prices which made Annis lift her eyebrows, but her companion’s enjoyment was so genuine that she could find no objection, and after all, it was her money, and besides, Annis liked her.

They went to a cinema that evening and the following morning drove back with a firm promise to Bates that Mrs Duvant intended to take up residence in the near future.

They reached the Rectory at teatime and while Annis rang Matt to come over and collect the Rover and his aunt, Mrs Fothergill sat Mrs Duvant down before the fire and plied her with tea and hot buttered toast.

It was when Annis joined them that Mrs Duvant, between bites, announced that she would like Annis to accompany her to Bath. ‘Just for a few weeks,’ she said persuasively. ‘I shall be a little lonely at first—if you could spare her? And if she would like to come?’ She glanced a little anxiously at Annis. ‘It would be a job, of course, I forget things and leave things lying around, and paying bills and so on, so you’d be quite busy, dear. Would forty pounds a week suit you? For about six weeks?’

Two hundred and forty pounds; Mrs Duvant had paid exactly that for a suit in Jaegar’s the day before. A list, expanding every second in Annis’s head, of things which that sum would buy for them all, slowly unrolled itself before Annis’s inward eyes. A washing machine, a new coat for her mother, shoes for the boys, all the tobacco her father could smoke, the dancing slippers little Audrey had set her heart upon… She glanced at her mother and saw that she was doing exactly the same thing. She said promptly: ‘Well, if Mother could manage, I’d love to come, if you think I’d be of any use.’

‘Of course you will. That’s settled, then. You’ve no idea how grateful I am, Annis.’ She paused as the door opened and Matt came in. It wasn’t until the hubbub of small talk had died down that she said: ‘Shall we say on Saturday? That gives you four days. Is that time enough?’

Annis nodded. ‘Plenty. Do I drive you again?’

‘Yes, I think so. I can have the Rover for the time being. We must see about getting a car later on.’ She bustled out on a tide of goodbyes, explaining to Matt as they went.

When the last sounds of the car had died away Mrs Fothergill said: ‘You do want to go, darling? I shall miss you, and so will your father, but it will make a nice change and you’ll have some money.’

‘We’ll have some money,’ Annis corrected her. ‘I’ve already made a list, have you?’

Her mother nodded happily. ‘But it’s your money, Annis. Now tell me, what sort of a house is it?’

Annis began to tell her, and it took quite a time; she hadn’t quite finished when her father came in from a parish council meeting, and she went to get the supper and make sure that the younger ones were doing their homework properly.

Back at the Manor House, Mrs Duvant was writing a letter. She wrote as she did most things, with enthusiasm and a great many flourishes of the pen and she smiled a good deal as she wrote. It was a long letter. She read it through, put it in an envelope and addressed it to Jake Royle, whose godmother she was.

The house at Bath looked very welcoming as Annis drew up before it on Saturday afternoon. It had been a bright, cold day and now that the sun was almost gone there was already a sparkle of frost, but the house blazed with lights, and as they went in Annis noticed the great bowl of daffodils on the hall table and in the little sitting room where they at once went, the window held hyacinths of every colour. There was a vase of roses too, long-stemmed and perfect. Mrs Duvant picked up the card with them and chuckled as she read it, although she didn’t say why.

‘We’d like tea, Bates,’ she said briskly, ‘I know it’s rather late, but perhaps Mrs Bates could put dinner back half an hour?’

So the two of them had tea together round the fire before going upstairs to unpack and get ready for dinner. ‘I always like to change my dress,’ observed Mrs Duvant. ‘Nothing fancy, you know, unless I’m going out, but it somehow makes the evening more of an occasion, if you see what I mean?’

So Annis took the hint and put on the green jersey, wondering as she did so if she might get herself another dress when she was paid. She and her mother had pored over their lists, scratching out and adding until they had spent her wages, on paper at least, to the greatest advantage. Even after everyone had had something there was a little over for herself—enough for a dress—something plain and dateless to take the place of the outworn blue velvet. Doubtless she would have some time to herself in which to browse among the shops. Annis tugged her green jersey into shape with an impatient hand and went downstairs.

She discovered after the first few days that her duties were light in the extreme and consisted mainly in finding Mrs Duvant’s spectacles, handbag, library book and knitting whenever she mislaid them, which was often, reminding her of the various things she wished to do each day, and unpicking her knitting when she got it in a muddle; that was pretty often too. The pair of them got on excellently together and since Annis got on equally well with the Bates’, the household was a happy one.

She had been there a week when the even tenor of her days was unexpectedly shaken. Mrs Duvant had the habit of retiring for an afternoon nap after lunch each day, leaving Annis to do as she wished. Previously she had gone for a brisk walk, done some window shopping and taken herself round the Roman Baths, but this afternoon it was raining, not a soft rain to be ignored, but a steady, icy downpour. Annis decided on a book by the fire as she came downstairs after seeing Mrs Duvant safely tucked up. There were plenty of books in the sitting room and an hour or so with one of them would be very pleasant.

Bates met her on the stairs. ‘Mr Royle has arrived, miss—he’s in the drawing room.’

Annis stood staring at him, her mouth a little open. ‘Mr Royle? What on earth…I didn’t know Mrs Duvant was expecting him.’ She suppressed the little spurt of excitement at the idea of meeting him again and reminded herself that she didn’t like him, which made her voice sound reluctant.

‘I suppose I’d better go…’ her voice trailed off and Bates coughed gently. ‘It would be a pity to disturb Mrs Duvant,’ he reminded her.

Annis took a step down. ‘Yes, of course, Bates.’

She went past him, crossed the hall, opened the drawing room door reluctantly and went unwillingly inside.

Jake Royle was standing, very much at home, before the fire. She said idiotically: ‘Oh, hullo, Bates told me you were here. I’m afraid Mrs Duvant’s having a nap, she always does after lunch.’

‘Yes, I know that.’ He smiled at her, and since it was obvious after a moment that he wasn’t going to say anything else, she plunged into speech.

‘Aren’t you going back to New Zealand?’ she asked.

His firm mouth twitched. ‘Is that where you would consign me, Annis?’

‘Of course not, Mr Royle. Why should I consign you anywhere?’

‘My name is Jake.’ He went on standing there, watching her and she sought feverishly for a topic of conversation. ‘I’m staying with Mrs Duvant,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know that too.’

She frowned. At least he could give a hand with the conversation, the wretch! ‘I expect you’ll be staying for tea? I’m sure Mrs Duvant will want to see you.’

He grinned at her. ‘I’m here for a few days—I visit Aunt Dora from time to time—we’ve known each other since I was a small boy,’ and at the look of surprise on her face: ‘Oh, she’s not a genuine aunt, just an adopted one.’

‘Oh, yes, I see. Perhaps you’d like to see your room?’

He answered her gravely enough, although his eyes danced with amusement.

‘I expect Bates has taken my things upstairs for me. I’d love some tea—we can always have it again when Aunt Dora comes down.’

Annis, intent on being coolly impersonal, only succeeded in looking delightfully flustered as she rang the bell and rather belatedly asked if he would sit down, rather pink now at her lack of manners and a little cross because Jake seemed to have the power to make her feel shy and awkward, something which she, a parson’s daughter, had learned not to be at an early age. And when tea came she was furious to find that her hands shook as she poured it. Jake, observing this, smiled to himself and embarked on a steady flow of small talk which was only interrupted by the arrival of Mrs Duvant, who came trotting in, her round face wreathed in smiles.

‘Now isn’t this nice?’ she aked them. ‘Annis, ring for more tea, will you? And I’ve left my spectacles somewhere… Jake, I hope you can stay for a few days—you’ve got your car with you, I suppose? you can drive us… Ah, thank you, dear, I knew I’d put them down somewhere.’ She paused to pour tea. ‘There’s a concert at the Assembly Rooms this evening, will you come with us?’

Jake agreed lazily. ‘Anything you say, Aunt Dora. I hope it’s not Bach?’

‘Strauss and Schubert and someone singing, but I can’t remember the name.’

‘As long as she’s nice to look at.’

Annis, drinking her unwanted tea, wondered what on earth she should wear; the green or the blue velvet? She had nothing else, and if only she’d known she would have bought that blue crêpe dress, the one she had seen in Milsom Street; after all, she had her first week’s money in her purse. Now it was too late. She knitted her brows; there was no earthly reason why she should fuss over what she should wear. What was good enough for her and Mrs Duvant was good enough for Jake Royle, it couldn’t matter in the least to him what she wore. There would be dozens of pretty girls there, wearing gorgeous outfits. She became aware that they were both looking at her, Mrs Duvant smiling, Jake with his brows lifted in amusement. They must have said something.

‘I’m sorry, did you ask me something?’

‘No, love—I was just telling Jake what a delightful week we’ve had together.’

So why was Jake looking amused? Annis gave him a frosty look and offered him more cake.

She wore the green with the gold chain, and when she went downstairs it was a relief to find that Mrs Duvant was wearing a plain wool dress, and although Jake had changed, the suit he had on was a conservative grey. She had to admit that it fitted him very well. So it should, considering what it had cost to have it made.

Dinner had a slightly festive air, partly due to the champagne Jake had brought with him, and partly owing to Mrs Duvant’s high spirits. She was such a happy person it was impossible to be ill-tempered or miserable in her company.

They set off for the Assembly Rooms presently, in the best of spirits, driving through the rain-swept streets in Jake’s Bentley, Mrs Duvant beside him wrapped in mink, and Annis behind, in her elderly winter coat. She was enjoying herself so much that she had quite forgotten that.

They sat with Mrs Duvant in between them and listened to the excellent orchestra, and later when the singer appeared, and turned out to be not only a very pretty woman but with a glorious voice, Annis couldn’t stop herself from turning a little and peeping at Jake. He wasn’t looking at the singer at all, but at her. He smiled before he looked away, leaving her with the feeling that although she didn’t like him, she was becoming very aware of his charm.

When the concert was over they had a drink before going back to the house and she was nonplussed to find his manner towards her casual to the point of coolness; she must have imagined the warmth of that smile, and anyway, she told herself peevishly, why was she getting all worked up about it? She couldn’t care less what he thought of her.

When they got back she waited merely to ask Mrs Duvant if she needed her for anything before saying goodnight and going to her room. It had been a lovely evening, she told Mrs Duvant, and she had enjoyed herself very much. Her goodnight to Jake was brisk and delivered to his chin, since she wanted to avoid looking at him.

It would be a pity, she thought as she undressed, if he were to upset the gentle pattern of their days, but since he was to stay only a short time, that didn’t really matter. She dismissed him from her thoughts and went to sleep, to dream, most infuriatingly, of him all night.

Mrs Duvant wasn’t at breakfast the next morning, but Jake was. He was at table, reading the paper and making great inroads into eggs and bacon when Annis went down at her usual time. He got to his feet, wished her a friendly good morning, hoped that she had slept well, passed her the coffee pot and resumed his breakfast. Only good manners, she felt, prevented him from picking up his newspaper again.

Instead he carried on a desultory conversation, just sufficient to put her at her ease. Indeed, by the time their meal was finished, she found herself talking to him with something which amounted to pleasure.

‘Aunt Dora wants to visit the American Museum this morning,’ he told her as they left the room together. ‘There’s some embroidery exhibited there she intends to study. You’ll be coming?’ His voice was nicely casual.

‘I expect so, Mrs Duvant likes someone with her, but perhaps if you’re going there…’

He gave her a glance full of amused mockery. ‘My dear Annis, I know absolutely nothing about embroidery.’

She left him in the hall, wishing as she went upstairs that he was as nice as he had been at breakfast all the time, and not just when he felt like it. The way he looked at her with that horrid half-smile… She bounced into her room, dragged a comb ruthlessly through her hair, which didn’t need it anyway, and went along to see how Mrs Duvant did. If it were possible, she would see if she could get out of going out that morning.

It wasn’t possible. Mrs Duvant was so enthusiastic about the outing, pointing out how useful Annis was going to be, although Annis couldn’t quite see why, that she didn’t even suggest it. And as it turned out, Jake was charming, and once they got to the embroidery exhibition, wandered off on his own, leaving Mrs Duvant to exclaim over feather-stitching, smocking and the like while she made Annis write down a variety of notes which she thought might be useful to her later on.

It was during lunch that Jake observed that he would have to go back to London in two days’ time. Annis was shocked at the keen disappointment she felt when he said it; she couldn’t stand the sight of him—well, for most of the time anyway, but she would miss him. Which made it all the stranger that she hesitated about going downstairs again after she had tucked Mrs Duvant up for her post-prandial nap. But as she left Mrs Duvant’s room she saw Jake disappearing out of the front door. She would be able to go downstairs and read by the fire in the small sitting room; she didn’t want him to think that she was avoiding his company—that was if he thought about it at all, nor did she wish to bore him with her own company if he had a mind to be on his own. She found her book and curled up in one of the deep arm chairs drawn up to the cheerful fire.

She had read two pages when the door opened and Jake came in. ‘Ah,’ he said blandly, ‘I had an idea you might have gone into hiding for the afternoon.’

A remark which instantly set her on edge. ‘And why should you think that?’ she wanted to know tartly. ‘I have no reason to hide.’

‘Oh, good, I can’t help feeling that if we see more of each other we may eventually become friends. How about coming to dinner tomorrow evening? We’ll go to Popjoy’s and then go on somewhere to dance.’

A distressing vision of the blue velvet and the green jersey floated before Annis’s eyes. She’d heard of Popjoy’s, it was smart and expensive, and nothing would induce her to go there in either of these garments. With real regret she knew she would have to refuse, and the awful thing was that she actually had the money in her purse to buy that pretty blue crêpe she’d seen, only there was no time in which to buy it.

‘That’s awfully kind of you,’ she said carefully, ‘but I—I’m afraid I can’t accept.’

‘Why not?’

She sought for a good reason in a frenzy and couldn’t think of one. Being a parson’s daughter and the eldest, with a good example to set the others, she had been taught to speak the truth; only if it was going to hurt the hearer was it permissible to prevaricate. Well, she couldn’t see that Jake was going to be hurt. If anyone was, it would be herself, having to admit that she had nothing to wear. She gave him a very direct look and explained: ‘I haven’t got a dress.’ She had pinkened slightly in anticipation of his amusement, but she didn’t look away.

Jake didn’t smile, he said in a calm voice: ‘That’s a problem, but surely we can get round it? Have you got enough money to buy one?’

Strangely she didn’t feel offended at the question. ‘Well, yes—Mrs Duvant paid me, but you see I wouldn’t have time to get to the shops.’

‘Any particular shop?’

‘Jolly’s in Milsom Street.’

‘I take it that if you did have a dress you’d come to dinner with me?’ He wanted to know.

‘I’d like to, that’s if we could…that is, if we wouldn’t get on each other’s nerves.’

He did smile then, but in such a friendly fashion that she smiled back. ‘You never got on my nerves,’ he assured her. ‘Tell me, are you one of those women who take hours to buy something or could you find what you wanted in half an hour or so? Because if you could, we’ll go now: I’ll run you there in the car.’

Annis was out of her chair and making for the door. ‘Give me five minutes!’

The dress was still there. She left Jake browsing in a book shop and went to try it on. The colour was becoming, a shade darker than her eyes, and the dress, although inexpensive, was quite well cut, made of some thick silky material with a chiffon ruffle outlining the neck and the cuffs. Examining herself in the fitting room, Annis decided that it would do very well; it could take the place of the blue velvet and that garment she could consign to the jumble sale. She didn’t think it was quite the sort of dress Jake’s girl-friends would wear, but since she wasn’t one of them that didn’t matter. She paid for it and on the way out spent most of the change on a pair of bronze sandals going cheap but nonetheless elegant.

Jake was still in the bookshop, but he picked up the armful of books he had bought when he saw her and took the dress box from her. ‘Twenty minutes,’ he remarked. ‘Not bad. Did you find what you wanted?’

‘Yes. I hope it’ll do. We don’t go out much at home and I don’t often buy that kind of dress.’

Jake gave her a quick look. If the deplorable blue velvet had been anything to go by, he could not but agree with her. ‘I’m sure it will be very charming,’ he said comfortably. ‘If you’ve got all you want, we’ll go back. Aunt Dora will be wanting her tea.’

She was waiting for them, sitting in the small straightbacked chair she favoured, leafing through a pile of fashion magazines.

‘Such a pity I’m all the wrong shape,’ she greeted them. Her eyes fell on the dress box. ‘You’ve been shopping—how delightful! Do let me see.’

‘Since you’re playing bridge tomorrow evening, Aunt Dora, I’ve asked Annis out to dinner.’ Jake had strolled over to the fire with his back to Annis, busy undoing her purchase.

‘Now that is a good idea,’ enthused Mrs Duvant. ‘Hold it up, dear.’

Annis did so, suddenly doubtful because in the splendidly furnished room with Mrs Duvant’s wildly expensive outfit it looked what it was; a pretty inexpensive dress off the peg. But she was reassured at once by Mrs Duvant’s warm admiration. ‘Oh, very nice,’ she declared, ‘and such a lovely colour. Shoes?’ She had glanced down at Annis’s sensible low heels.

‘Well, just as I was leaving the shop I saw these.’ Annis produced the sandals and the two ladies examined them. ‘They were going cheap and they’ll be useful, because if I ever buy another dress, they’ll go with almost anything.’

This ingenuous remark brought a smile to Jake’s mouth; it was a very gentle smile and amused too. He had thought, when he first met Annis, that she was a bossy elder sister, prone to good works and with far too good an opinion of herself. That she was quite beautiful too, he had admitted without hesitation, but he hadn’t quite believed her occasional dreaminess and her apparent contentment at the Rectory. Now he admitted that he had been quite wrong; she had made no effort to impress him—indeed, she had avoided him, she dealt with Mrs Duvant’s endless small wants without as much as a frown, and he had been touched by her frank admission that she couldn’t go out with him because she hadn’t got a dress. He reflected ruefully that any of the girls he knew who had said that to him would have expected him to have taken them out and bought them one—and nothing off the peg either. He rather thought that if he had suggested to Annis that he would pay she would have thrown something at him. For all her sensible calmness he fancied that at times that red hair of hers might exert itself.

That evening after dinner they played poker, a game Annis had to be taught and which she picked up with ease, rather to Jake’s surprise, until Mrs Duvant remarked that it was only to be expected from a girl who had five A-levels to her credit, and one of these pure Maths. He just stopped himself asking her why she hadn’t gone on to university, because of course, even with a grant, that would have cost money, and there were Edward and James to educate.

They played for high stakes, using the haricot beans Bates brought from the kitchen, and although Jake made a fortune in no time at all, Annis wasn’t far behind him. Mrs Duvant, her black eyes snapping with pleasure, lost over and over again and when they at last called a halt, thanked heaven that she had been playing with beans and not money. But it had been good fun. Annis carefully gathered up the beans and returned them to Bates before going upstairs to bed with Mrs Duvant, leaving Jake by the fire, a briefcase of papers on the floor beside him, and a glass of whisky on the table.

The next morning Mrs Duvant announced that she had a wedding present to buy for a friend’s daughter, and since Jake said that he had some work to do, she and Annis went to the shops together. It took almost all the morning, trying to decide between table linen and silver tea knives. In the end Mrs Duvant, never one to cavil over money, bought both.

And after lunch Jake went back to his work and since Mrs Duvant had retired for her usual nap, Annis got into her outdoor things and went for a walk in the park. It was a chilly, blustery day and somehow it suited her mood; she was feeling vaguely restless, but she couldn’t think why. Everything was all right at home; she had a letter that morning, in another day or two there would be forty pounds in her pocket and she had no worries. She came to the conclusion that Jake’s visit had unsettled her. She had never met anyone like him before; Matt she had grown up with and treated much as she treated her brothers, but Jake made her feel selfconscious and shy, although she had to admit that she was beginning to enjoy his company. She marched briskly into the teeth of the wind and went back presently, her face rosy with fresh air and with a splendid appetite for her tea.

Seen under the soft lighting of her bedroom the blue crêpe looked nice; so did the sandals. It was a pity that she had to wear her winter coat, but she didn’t suppose that would matter overmuch; no one would see it. She went downstairs with it over her arm, admiring the sandals as she went.

‘Very nice,’ declared Jake from the hall. ‘Stunning, in fact. What’s more, you’re beautifully prompt.’

He was in the clerical grey again, looking older and very assured. Looking at him, Annis felt sure that the evening would go without a hitch; he would be a man able to get the best table in the restaurant and instant attention. She said thank you rather shyly and went to say goodnight to Mrs Duvant.

She had been quite right, she told herself as she got ready for bed in the early hours of the next morning; the evening had been one to remember, for her at any rate—although it seemed likely that Jake had spent so many similar evenings with other, more interesting companions, that he would probably forget it at once.

Popjoys was the kind of place she had read about in the Harpers Mrs Avery occasionally lent her. In a Beau Nash house where its guests drank their aperitifs in the elegant drawing-room before going to the equally elegant dining room, it was a world she had never expected to enter. They had eaten mousseline of salmon, spiced chicken with apricots and finished with chocolate soufflé, and just as she had guessed, they had a well placed table for two and the proprietor had welcomed them warmly, conjuring up wine waiter and waiter and recommending the best dishes. Her mouth watered at the thought of the salmon. The wine had been nice too; she had almost no knowledge of wines and beyond Jake’s careless: ‘I think we’ll drink hock, shall we?’ he didn’t bother her about it. She drank what was in her glass and found it delicious. By the time dinner was finished she felt very happy about everything, and when Jake suggested that they might dance somewhere for an hour or two she had agreed very readily. Her sleepy head on the pillow, she couldn’t quite remember where they had gone; an hotel in the town, although she hadn’t noticed its name. They had had a table there too and Jake had ordered some wine, but they had got up to dance before it was brought and since the floor wasn’t crowded and the band was good they went on dancing for quite some time.

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