“Am I boring you?

“Wanda dislikes hearing about illness, but I think that you are interested.”

She had told him fervently that she was and, being a sensible girl, never hesitated to stop him so that he might explain something she hadn’t understood.

She could have stayed there all night listening to him talking, but remembered in time that she was the cook, however pleasant he was being. So she made rather a muddled retreat in a flurry of good-nights and amusement. He had made the muddle worse by bending to kiss her as she reached the door, so that just for a moment she forgot that she was the cook.

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.

A Gentle Awakening
Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE hot June sunshine of a late afternoon bathed the narrow country road in warmth, and the only traveller on it dawdled along, pedalling slowly, partly from tiredness after a day’s work, and partly from a reluctance to arrive at her home.

The village came in sight round the next curve: the bridge over the river, leading to the road which would eventually join the high road to Salisbury, and then the cottages on either side of the lane. They were charming, tiled or thatched, their red bricks glowing in the sunshine, their porches wreathed with clematis and roses. The cyclist came to a halt before one of these, and at the same time a silver-grey Bentley swam to a soundless halt beside her.

The girl got off her bike. She was small and thin, with gingery hair plaited into a thick rope over one shoulder, green eyes transforming an ordinary face into something which, while not pretty, certainly lifted it from the ordinary.

The car driver got out: a very large man, towering over her. Not so young, she decided, studying him calmly, but very good-looking, with dark hair sprinkled with grey, a formidable nose and heavy-lidded blue eyes. He smiled down at her, studying her in his turn, and then dismissing her from his thoughts. None the less, he smiled at her and his deep voice was pleasant.

‘I wonder if you could help us? We wanted to stay the night in the village, but the Trout and Feathers can’t put us up and we would rather not drive back to Wilton or Salisbury.’ He glanced over his shoulder to where a small girl’s face was thrust through the open window of the car. ‘Just bed and breakfast—we can get a meal at the pub.’

He held out a hand. ‘The name is Sedley—William Sedley.’

The girl offered a small brown hand and had it engulfed. ‘Florina Payne, and yes, if you go on as far as the bridge, there is a farmhouse facing it; they haven’t got a board up, but I’m sure they would put you up.’ She wrinkled her ginger brows. ‘There isn’t anybody else in the village, I’m afraid. You would have to go back to Burford St Martin on the main road.’

She was thanked politely, and the child in the front seat waved to her as they drove off. She wheeled her bike along the brick path at the side of the cottage and went in through the kitchen door, thinking about the driver of the car, to have her thoughts rudely shattered by her father’s voice.

‘So there you are—took your time coming home, didn’t you? And then wasted more of it talking to that fellow. What did he want, anyway?’

The speaker came into the kitchen, a middle-aged man with an ill-tempered face. ‘You might at least get home punctually; you know I can’t do anything much for myself, and here I am, alone all day and you crawling back when it suits you…’

He paused for breath and Florina said gently, ‘Father, I came just as soon as I could get off. The hotel is very busy with the tourist season, you know, and that man only wanted to know where he could get a room for the night.’

Her father snorted. ‘Pah, he could afford a hotel in Wilton, driving a Bentley!’ He added spitefully, ‘Wasting your time and his for that matter—who’d want to look twice at a ginger-headed plain Jane like you?’

Florina was laying the table and, although colour stole into her cheeks, she answered in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Well, it won’t be a waste of time if he gets a room at the farm. Sit down, Father, tea won’t be long.’

She would very much have liked to have sat down herself and had a cup of tea; it had been a busy day at the hotel. During the summer season, tourists expected meals at odd hours, and she and the other two cooks there had worked all day, whisking up omelettes, steaks, fish dishes, egg dishes and salads, just as fast as they could. They had taken it in turn to eat a sandwich and drink a mug of tea, but it had been a long day. She had worked there for three years now, hating the long cycle ride in the winter to and from her home, as well as the long hours and the lack of free time. But the pay, while not over-generous, was good; it supplemented her father’s pension and brought him all the extra comforts he took as his right. That it might have given her the chance to buy pretty clothes had never entered his head; she was his daughter, twenty-seven years old, on the plain side, and it was her duty to look after him while he lived. Once or twice she had done her best to break free, and each time, when she had confronted him with a possible job away from home, he had clutched at his chest, gasped that he was dying and taken to his bed. A dutiful, but not loving daughter—for what was there to love?—she had accepted that after the one heart attack he had had several years ago, he could have another if he became upset or angry; so she had given in.

She was a sensible girl and didn’t allow self-pity to overwhelm her. She was aware that she had no looks to speak of, and those that she had were hardly enhanced by the cheap clothes, bought with an eye to their hard-wearing quality rather than fashion.

Her father refused to cook for himself during the day. She left cold food ready for him before she left each morning, and tea was a substantial meal, which meant that she had to cook once more. Haddock and poached eggs, a plate of bread and butter, stewed fruit and custard, and tea afterwards. She had no appetite for it, but the suggestion that they might have salads and cold meat met with a stream of grumbles, and anything was better than that after a day’s work.

They ate in silence. Her father had no interest in her day and, since he had done nothing himself, there was nothing to tell her. He got up from the table presently and went into the sitting-room to sit down before the TV. Florina started to clear the table, wash up and put everything ready for breakfast. By the time she had finished the evening was well advanced but still light; half an hour’s walk would be pleasant, she decided. She cheerfully countered her father’s objections to this and set off through the village, past the cottages, past the Trout and Feathers, past the lovely old house next the pub where old Admiral Riley lived, and along the tree-lined lane. It was still warm and very quiet, and if she stood still she could hear the river beyond the trees.

When she came to a gate she stopped to lean on it, well aware of the beauty of her surroundings, but too busy with her own thoughts to heed it. The need to escape was very strong; her mother had died five years previously and since then Florina had kept house for her father, pandering to his whims, because the doctor had warned her that a fit of temper or any major disturbance might bring on another heart attack. She had resigned herself to what was her plain duty, made the more irksome since her father had no affection for her. But things could be different now; her father had been for a check-up in Salisbury a week or so previously and, although he had told her that there was no improvement in his condition, she had quite by chance encountered the doctor, who had told her that her father was fit enough to resume a normal life.

‘A part-time job, perhaps?’ He smiled at Florina, whom he thought privately had had a raw deal. ‘He was in a bank, wasn’t he? Well, I dare say he could get taken on again. He’s only in his mid-fifties, isn’t he? And if he can’t find something to do, I’ve suggested to him that he might take over the housework; a little activity would do him good. Give you a chance to have a holiday.’

She mulled over his news. Her father had flown into a rage when she had suggested that he might like to do a few chores around the house. He had clutched his chest and declared that she would be the death of him, and that she was the worst possible daughter that any man could have.

Florina, having heard it all before, received his remarks with equanimity and said no more, but now she turned over several schemes in her mind. A different job, if she could find one and, since her father no longer was in danger, preferably away from home. Something not too far away, so that she could return for the weekends… She was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear anyone in the lane until they were almost level with her. The man and the little girl from the car, walking along hand in hand. When she turned to see who it was, the man inclined his head gravely and the little girl grinned and waved. Florina watched them walk on, back to the village. Presumably they had found their bed and breakfast, and tomorrow they would drive away in their lovely car and she would never see them again.

She waited until they were out of sight, and then started back to the house. She had to leave home just after seven each morning, and tomorrow it would be even earlier, for there was a wedding reception at the hotel.

She went back without haste, made their evening drinks, wished her father goodnight and went to her room, where she wasted five minutes examining her features in the looking-glass. There was, she considered, very little to be done about them: sandy hair, even though it gleamed and shone, was by no means considered beautiful, and a slightly tip-tilted nose and too wide a mouth held no charm. She got into bed and lay wondering about the man in the car. He had been very polite in a disinterested way; she could quite see that there was nothing in her person to attract a man, especially a man such as he, used, no doubt, to enchanting girls with golden hair and beautiful faces, wearing the latest fashions. Florina smiled at her silly thoughts and went off to sleep.

It was the beginning of the most gorgeous day when she left early the next morning. Sir William Sedley, standing at his bedroom window and drinking his early morning tea, watched her pedalling briskly along the lane. The sun shone on her sandy head, turning it to gold, and she was whistling. He wondered where she was going at that early hour. Then he forgot her, almost immediately.

It was a splendid morning and there was almost no traffic. Florina, going at a great rate on her elderly bike, wished that she could have been free to spend the day out of doors. The hotel kitchens, admirable though they were, were going to be uncomfortably warm. She slowed a little as she went through the small town, still quiet, and passed the nice old houses with the high walls of Wilton House behind them. The hotel was on the other side of the road, a pleasant building, surrounded by trees and with the river close by. She paused to take a look at the green peacefulness around her, then parked her bike and went in through the kitchen entrance.

She was punctual, as always, but the place was already a hive of activity; first breakfasts being cooked, waiters loading trays. Florina called ‘good morning’ and went over to her particular corner, intent on icing petits fours, filling vol-au-vents and decorating the salmon in aspic designed for the wedding reception.

She was a splendid cook, a talent she had inherited from her Dutch mother, together with a multitude of housewifely perfections which, sadly, her father had never appreciated. Florina sometimes wondered if her mother had been happy; she had been a quiet little woman, sensible and practical and cheerful, absorbing her father’s ill-temper with apparent ease. Florina missed her still. Whether her father did so too, she didn’t know, for he never talked of her. When, from time to time, she had tried to suggest a holiday with her mother’s family, he had been so incensed that he had become alarmingly red in the face, and she had feared that he would have another heart attack.

Her thoughts, as busy as her fingers, darted to and fro, seeking an escape from a home which was no longer a home. Interlarded with them was the man in the car, although what business of his it was eluded her.

He wasn’t thinking of her; he was strolling down the village street, his daughter beside him. His appointment was for ten o’clock and it wanted five minutes to the hour. The church clock struck the hour as they turned in through the open gates leading to the house where Admiral Riley lived.

It was a delightful place, L-shaped, its heavy wooden door half-way down one side. It stood open, and there was no need to thump the great knocker, for the old man came to meet them.

‘Mrs Birch from the village, who looks after me while my wife is away, has gone to Wilton. So I’m alone, which is perhaps a good thing, for we can go round undisturbed.’

He led the way through the hall and into a very large room with a window at its end. There were more windows and an open door along one side. It was furnished with some handsome mahogany pieces, and a number of easy chairs, and there was a massive marble fireplace facing the windows. The admiral went across the room and bent down to roll back the carpet before the hearth.

‘I don’t know if the agent told you about this?’ He chuckled and stood back so that his visitors could see what he had laid bare. A thick glass panel in the floor, and under it a steady flow of water. ‘There used to be a mill wheel, but that’s gone. The water runs under this room…’ He led the way through the doors on to a wide patio and leaned over a stone balustrade. ‘It comes out here and runs through the garden into the fields beyond.’

The little girl caught her father’s hand. ‘Swans, Daddy!’ Her voice was a delighted squeak. ‘Do they live here, in this garden?’

‘Not quite in the garden,’ said the Admiral. ‘But they come for bread each day. You shall feed them presently, if you like.’

The kitchen wing was in the other side of the L-shape, a delightful mixture of old-fashioned pantries, with everything that any housewife could wish for. There were other rooms, too: a dining-room, a small sitting-room, a study lined with bookshelves. Upstairs, the rooms were light and airy; there were five of them and three bathrooms, as well as a great attic reached by a narrow little stair. ‘My playroom,’ whispered the little girl.

They went back to the drawing-room presently, and the Admiral fetched the coffee tray and bread for the swans. ‘I’ve been here for more than twenty years,’ he observed, ‘and we hate to leave it, but my wife has to live in a warm climate. She’s been in Italy for a couple of months and already she is greatly improved. May I ask where you come from, Sir William?’

‘London—Knightsbridge. I’m a paediatrician, consultant at several hospitals. I want Pauline to grow up in the country and, provided I can get help to run the house, I can drive up and down to town and stay overnight when I must. There’s a good school, I hear; Pauline can go by the day.’

‘Too far for her to cycle.’

‘Yes, whoever comes here to look after us will have to drive her in and fetch her each day. A problem I’ll deal with later.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I should like to buy your house, Admiral. May our solicitors get to work on it?’

He sat back in his chair, very relaxed, a calm man who had made up his mind without fuss. ‘They’ll take three weeks if we bully them,’ he said. ‘May I come again with someone to advise me about cooking stoves and so on?’ He added, ‘I’m a widower, but I have plans to re-marry.’

‘Of course. I shall probably be ready to move out before the solicitors fix a date. Feel free to arrange for carpets and curtains and so forth. Wilton is small, but there are a couple of excellent furnishing firms.’

They finished their coffee in companionable silence; two men who arranged their lives without fuss.

Walking back through the village, presently, Sir William asked, ‘You’re pleased, darling? You’ll be happy here? I’ll get Nanny to come and live with us for a time…’

‘Until you marry Miss Fortesque?’ said Pauline in a sad voice, so that her father stopped to look down at her.

‘Look, darling, I know it’s a bit difficult for you to understand, but Wanda is very fond of you, and it’ll be nice for you to have someone to come home to and talk to…’

‘There’s you, Daddy…’

‘I shall be in town for several days in the week. Once Wanda’s here she will be able to get to know everyone about, and you’ll have lots of friends.’

Pauline’s small, firm mouth closed into an obstinate line. ‘I’d be quite happy with Nanny.’

‘Yes, love, but Nanny retired last year, she won’t want to start working all over again. If she comes for a few months…’

‘Until you get married?’

‘Until I get married,’ repeated her father gently, and then, ‘I thought you liked Wanda?’

Pauline shrugged her small shoulders. ‘She’s all right, but she’s not like a mother, is she? She fusses about her clothes!’

‘I imagine you’ll fuss about yours when you’re older. Now, what shall we do with the rest of our day?’

He drove her to Stourhead and they had lunch at the Spread Eagle pub. Then they wandered right round the lake, and on the way back in the afternoon they stopped in Shaftesbury and had a cream tea. It was well past six o’clock before they got back to the farm. It was a warm evening and the country was very beautiful; they wandered over the road to the bridge and leaned over to watch the river, waiting until their evening meal would be ready. The church clock struck seven as they left the bridge and strolled to the road. They had to wait a moment while a cyclist went by.

‘That’s the nice girl we saw yesterday,’ said Pauline.

‘Was she nice?’ asked Sir William in an uninterested manner.

Pauline nodded her head vigorously. ‘Oh, yes. When we live here I shall ask if I may be her friend.’

‘A bit old for you, darling?’ He had no idea of the girl’s age, and he wasn’t interested. ‘You must go to bed directly after supper. We’re going to make an early start in the morning.’

They were driving through Wilton when Pauline saw the small, ginger-haired figure getting off her bike as they passed the hotel. ‘Oh, there she is!’ she cried excitedly. ‘Daddy, do you suppose she works there?’

Sir William glanced sideways without slackening speed. ‘Very likely. I dare say you’ll see more of her when we come to live here.’

It was July when Admiral Riley left, and after that there was a constant coming and going of delivery vans, carpet layers, plumbers and painters. The village, via the Trout and Feathers, knew all that was going on and, naturally enough, Florina knew too. The new owner would move in in two weeks’ time, his small daughter was going to school in Wilton, and there was a housekeeper coming. Also, Mrs Datchett from Rose Cottage, and Mrs Deakin, whose husband was a farm worker, were to go to work there four times a week.

‘Disgraceful,’ grumbled Florina’s father. ‘That great house, with just a man and child in it…’

‘But there’s work for Mrs Datchett and Mrs Deakin, close to their own homes, as well as for old Mr Meek, who is seeing to the garden. And the tradespeople—it’s much better than leaving the house empty, Father.’

‘Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,’ snapped Mr Payne. ‘It’s bad enough that you go gallivanting off to work each day, leaving me to manage as best I can…’

Florina, laying the table for their meal, wasn’t listening. She had heard it all before. It was wicked, she supposed, not to love her father, but she had tried very hard and been rebuffed so often that she had given up. Once or twice she had questioned the amount of her wages which he told her were necessary to supplement his income, only to be told to mind her own business. And she had done so, under the impression that his health would suffer if she thwarted him. Now according to the doctor, there was no longer any fear of that.

She went into the kitchen to cook the liver and bacon. Moments later her father poked his head round the door and demanded to know if he was to get anything to eat. ‘I dare say you’d like to see me dead,’ he grumbled.

‘No, Father, just a bit more cheerful,’ said Florina. At the same time, she resolved to start looking for another job on the very next day.

As it happened, she had no need. She was getting on her bike the next morning when Mrs Datchett came out of Rose Cottage, just across the street, and accosted her.

‘Eh, love, can you spare a minute? You’ve heard I’m to go up to the Wheel House to work? Well, the housekeeper who took me on asked me if I knew of a good cook, and I thought of you. Lovely kitchen it is, too, and a cushy job as you might say, with that Sir William away most of the time and only the little girl and that housekeeper there. I don’t know what he’ll pay, but you’d not have that bike ride every day. Why don’t you have a go?’

Florina cycled to work, thinking hard. By the time she got there she had made her mind up to apply for the job; it could do no harm and it seemed to her that it was a direct sign from heaven that she should look for other work… To strengthen this argument, it was her half-day; usually spent in cleaning the house.

She got home about two o’clock and, instead of getting into an apron and getting out the vacuum cleaner, she went to her room, put on a clean blouse, brushed her blue skirt, did her hair in a severe style which did nothing for her looks, and went downstairs.

‘Why are you going out?’ enquired her father suspiciously.

‘Don’t worry, Father, I’ll be back to get you your tea.’ She skipped through the door before he could answer.

It was barely five minutes’ walk to the Wheel House and Florina didn’t give herself time to get nervous. She thumped the knocker, firmly, and then took several deep breaths. She had read somewhere that deep breathing helped if one felt nervous.

The door was opened and there was a tall, bony woman with grey hair and faded blue eyes. She looked stern and rather unwelcoming, so that Florina was glad of the deep breaths.

‘Good afternoon. Mrs Datchett told me this morning that you were wanting a cook…’

‘Sir William is wanting a cook. I’m the housekeeper. Do come in.’

She was led into a small sitting-room in the kitchen wing. ‘Why do you want to come?’

‘I work at a hotel in Wilton—I’ve been there for several years. I cycle there and back each day. I’d like to work on my own.’ Florina added, anxiously, ‘I’m a good cook, I can get references.’

‘You live here?’

‘Yes, just this side of the bridge.’

‘You’d have to be here by eight o’clock each morning, make out the menus, keep the kitchen clean, cook lunch if Sir William is here, and dinner as well. You’d be free in the afternoons. You’d have help with the washing up and so on, but you might have to stay late some evenings. Do you want to live in?’

‘I live very close by and I have to look after my father…’

The housekeeper nodded. ‘Well, you’re not quite what I had in mind, but I dare say you’ll suit. You can come on a month’s trial. There’s Sir William at weekends, his daughter, Pauline, living here with me, and you must be prepared to cook for guests at the weekends. You do know that Sir William intends to marry?’

Florina shook her head. She hadn’t realised until that moment that Sir William loomed so large in her life. The idea of him marrying left her with a feeling of disquiet, but she had no time to wonder about it, for the housekeeper said, ‘Sir William will be moving in at the end of next week. Can you start then? A month’s trial and, mind, he expects the best.’

She had to give a week’s notice. She would go and see the hotel manager in the morning, for that would give him ten days in which to find someone to take her place.

‘You haven’t asked what your wages will be,’ said the housekeeper, and mentioned a sum which sent Florina’s ginger eyebrows up.

‘That’s a good deal more than I’m getting now,’ she pointed out.

‘Probably, but you’ll have to work for it.’

‘I’d like to work here,’ said Florina. She would see Sir William sometimes, even if he never spoke to her.

‘Very well, you’ll get a letter in a day or two. My name is Frobisher, Miss Martha Frobisher. If you have any problems you’ll bring them to me. Sir William is a busy man, he hasn’t the time to bother with household matters.’ She eyed Florina’s small, neat person. ‘What is your name?’

‘Payne—Florina Payne.’

They wished each other goodbye with guarded politeness.

Mr Payne, apprised of his daughter’s astonishing behaviour, called upon heaven to defend him from ungrateful daughters, painted a pathetic picture of his early death from neglect and starvation, since there would be no one to look after him. Finally he declared that he might as well be dead.

‘Nonsense, Father,’ said Florina kindly. ‘You know that’s not true. I’m likely to be at home more than I am now. You’ve had to boil your kettle for breakfast for years now, and I’ll leave your lunch ready just as usual…’

‘The housework—the whole place will go to rack and ruin.’

‘I shall be home each afternoon, I can do the chores then. Besides, the doctor said it would do you good to be more active now you’re better.’

‘I shall never be better…’

Florina said cheerfully, ‘I’ll make a cup of tea. You’ll feel better then.’

The manager was sorry that she wished to leave, but he understood that the chance of a job so close to her home wasn’t to be missed. He wrote out a splendid reference which she slid through the letterbox at Wheel House, together with her letter accepting the job. If she didn’t suit, of course, it would mean that she would be out of work at the end of a month; but she refused to entertain that idea, for she knew she was a good cook.

She went to the Wheel House the day before she was to start work, so that she might have a good look round her kitchen. It had everything, and the pantry and cupboards and fridge were bulging with food. She spent a satisfying afternoon arranging everything to her liking, and then went home to get her father’s tea, a meal she sat through while he grumbled and complained at her lack of filial devotion. It was a relief, once she had tidied their meal away, to walk back to Wheel House and put the finishing touches to the kitchen. Miss Frobisher was upstairs somewhere, and the old house was quiet but for the gentle sound of running water from the mill. She had left the kitchen door open so the setting sun poured in, lighting the whole place as she made the last of her preparations for the morning. Sir William and Pauline would be arriving after lunch; she would bake a cake and scones in the morning and prepare everything for dinner that evening. She would have all day, so she wouldn’t need to hurry.

She crossed to the door to close it and, with a final look round, went down the passage to the front hall. Sir William was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his head on one side, contemplating a large oil painting of a prissy-looking young lady in rose-coloured taffeta and ringlets, leaning over a gilded chair.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Hello. She doesn’t seem quite right there, does she? One of my more strait-laced forebears.’ He smiled. ‘I expect you’re here for some reason?’

At the sight of him, Florina was experiencing a variety of sensations: a sudden rush of delight, peevishness at the thought of her untidy appearance, a deep sadness that he hadn’t a clue as to who she was, which of course was ridiculous of her. And woven through this a variety of thoughts…suitable food which could be cooked quickly if he needed a meal.

He was watching her with faint amusement. ‘Have we met?’ He snapped a finger. ‘Of course! You were so good as to tell us where we might stay when we first came here.’

‘Yes,’ said Florina breathlessly, ‘that’s me. I’m the cook. Miss Frobisher engaged me, but only if you approve.’ She added to make it quite clear, ‘I’m on a month’s trial.’

‘You don’t look much like a cook.’ He stared rather hard at the ginger plait hanging over one shoulder. ‘But the proof of the pudding…as they say.’

He turned round as Miss Frobisher bustled in. ‘Nanny, how nice to see you. I’m here a day too soon, aren’t I? I’ve left Pauline with her aunt, but I’ll drive back tomorrow and fetch her after lunch. I had a consultation in Salisbury and it seemed a good idea to come on here instead of driving back to town. Is everything just as it should be?’

‘Aye, Sir William, it is. You’ll be tired, no doubt. Cook will get you a light meal…’

‘No need. I’ll go to the Trout and Feathers. And I can’t call you “cook”, not with that pigtail. What is your name?’

‘Florina Payne.’ She caught Mrs Frobisher’s stern eye, and added, ‘Sir William.’

‘Not an English name, but a pretty one.’

‘My mother was Dutch, sir.’

‘Indeed! I go to Holland from time to time.’ He added kindly, ‘Well, Florina, we’ll see you in the morning—or do you live in?’

‘In the village.’

‘I’ll need to leave early,’ he observed, and strolled away towards the drawing-room.

Mrs Frobisher said, in a warning voice, ‘So you had best be here at half-past seven, Florina, for he will want his breakfast at eight o’clock. You can have your own breakfast with me after he has gone.’

Florina glanced at the broad back disappearing through the open door of the drawing-room. She found the idea of cooking his breakfast positively exciting; an idea, she told herself sternly, which was both pointless and silly.

All the same, the thought of it sustained her through her father’s diatribe when she got back home.

She made tea before she left in the morning, and took a cup up to her father, bade him a cheerful good morning, reminded him that everything was ready for his breakfast, just as usual, and walked quickly through the still quiet village. Wheel House was quiet, too. She went in through the kitchen door, using the key Mrs Frobisher had given her, and set to work. The kettle was boiling and the teapot warming when Sir William wandered in, wrapped in a rather splendid dressing-gown. She turned from cutting bread for toast and wished him a polite good morning. ‘Where would you like your tea, sir?’ she asked him. ‘Breakfast will be in half an hour, sooner, if you wish.’

‘Half an hour is fine. And I’ll have my tea here.’ He fetched a mug from the dresser, poured his tea and went to stand in the open doorway. ‘What’s for breakfast?’

‘Bacon and eggs, with mushrooms, fried bread and tomato. Then, toast and marmalade, tea or coffee, sir.’

‘Where did you learn to cook?’ he asked idly.

‘My mother taught me and I took a cookery course in Salisbury. I worked at the hotel in Wilton for several years.’

He nodded. ‘I shall have guests sometimes. You could cope with that?’

She said seriously, ‘Oh, yes.’ She put a frying pan on the Aga. ‘Would you like more tea, sir?’

He shook his head. ‘Why not have a cup yourself?’ He wandered to the door. ‘Pauline will be glad to see you—she’ll be here this afternoon.’

She set the table in the dining-room, and was making the toast when Miss Frobisher came into the kitchen. She eyed the laden tray with approval and her greeting held more warmth than usual. ‘Sir William always likes a good breakfast; he’s a big man and needs his strength for his work.’ She shot a look at Florina. ‘He’s a doctor, did you know that? A very well known one. He was a dear little boy, I always knew he’d be successful. You’d better take that tray in, I can hear him coming downstairs.’

Florina laid the food on the table before him, casting a motherly glance at him hidden behind the morning paper. She had liked him on sight, she remembered, and that liking was growing by the minute. She would very much like to know all about him, of course, though she had the good sense to know that she never would.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was plenty to keep Florina busy that morning. After breakfast, shared with Mrs Frobisher, there was the menu to put together, the cake and scones to make and everything to prepare for the evening. That done, there was coffee to make for Mrs Frobisher, Mrs Deakin and Mrs Datchett, who came to sit around the kitchen table for a short break from their polishing and dusting. The latter two ladies were inclined to gossip, but received short shrift from the housekeeper, who didn’t answer their questions about the new owner and silenced them with an intimidating eye.

‘But he is going to marry?’ persisted Mrs Deakin, not easily put off.

‘It seems very likely,’ conceded Mrs Frobisher, and Florina thought that there was a trace of disquiet in the housekeeper’s voice.

Florina left an excellent light lunch ready for the housekeeper, and took herself off home to get a meal for her father and herself. The breakfast dishes were still on the table and he was sitting in a chair, reading the paper.

He greeted her with a disgruntled, ‘So there you are, and high time too!’ Then he picked up his paper again, leaving her to clear the table, wash up and get a snack meal.

They ate in silence and Florina made short work of tidying everything away. Cleaning the house, dusting and carpet-sweeping took her another half an hour; there was an hour of leisure before she needed to return to Wheel House. She spent it in the big garden behind the cottage, weeding and tying back the clumps of old-fashioned flowers her mother had planted years ago, and which Florina tended still. She made tea for her father before she went, drank a cup herself, tidied her already neat person and returned to Wheel House. She had left everything ready for tea, and as she went round the back of the house to the kitchen wing she could hear the little girl’s excited voice from the drawing-room, the door of which was open as she passed. Her hand was on the kitchen door when she was stopped.

The girl rushed at her from the room. ‘I’m Pauline—oh, isn’t this fun? Have you seen my room? It’s pink and white! We’ve eaten almost all the scones and half the cake. Daddy says you must be a treasure in the kitchen.’

‘Hello,’ said Florina, and beamed at the pretty little face grinning at her. ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed the cake. I’m going to get dinner ready now.’

‘I’ll help you.’

Pauline danced into the kitchen, examining the pots and saucepans, opening the cupboards and peering inside, peeping into the fridge. Florina, changing out of her dress into the striped cotton frock and large white apron which was her uniform while she was working, called from the little cloakroom leading from the kitchen, ‘Put everything back where you found it, won’t you, Pauline?’

She reappeared to collect the ingredients for the watercress soup, boeuf en croûte, and the chocolate sauce to go with the profiteroles.

Florina worked steadily, undeterred by Pauline’s stream of excited chatter. She was chopping mint and Pauline was sitting on the table, running a finger round the remnants of the chocolate sauce in the pan, when Sir William wandered in.

‘Something smells delightful. Is it a secret?’

‘Watercress soup, boeuf en croûte, potatoes with mint, courgettes, new carrots, spinach purée, profiteroles with chocolate sauce, cheese and biscuits and coffee,’ recited Florina, finishing the last of the sauce.

‘It sounds good. Are you cordon bleu trained, Florina?’

‘Yes, but I think I learnt almost everything from my mother—the cordon bleu just—just put the polish on.’

She had washed her hands, and was piling profiteroles into a pyramid on a china dish. It crossed her mind that she felt completely at ease with Sir William, as though she had known him for years… She really must remember to call him Sir William. ‘Dinner will be at half-past seven unless you would like to change that, Sir William?’

He said carelessly, ‘Oh, no, why should I change it? I’ll take Pauline off your hands—we’ll go for a stroll.’

Without Pauline’s pleasant chatter and her father’s large presence, the kitchen seemed empty and quiet. Florina went to and fro, putting the finishing touches to the food. She was a little warm by now, but still very neat. Mrs Frobisher, coming into the kitchen, nodded approvingly.

‘You certainly know your work,’ she allowed. ‘Sir William is a very punctual man, so have the soup ready on the dot. I’ll carry in the food.’

The meal over and the last of the dishes back in the kitchen, Florina put the coffee tray ready to be carried in, and started on the clearing up.

The china, glass and silver Mrs Deakin would see to in the morning, but she did her saucepans and cooking utensils. It had been a strict rule at the hotel and one she intended to continue. She had just finished burnishing the last pan when Mrs Frobisher came back with the coffee tray. ‘Sir William is very satisfied with your cooking,’ she told Florina, ‘I’m to pass on his compliments. He wants to know if you can cook for a dinner party next weekend. Eight sitting down to table, and Miss Fortesque, his fiancée, will be staying for the weekend.’

‘No problem. If there is anything special Sir William wants, I’ll do my best.’

‘I’ll ask him. You’re finished? Did you put everything to keep warm in the Aga? Good. I’ll lay the table and you dish up. It’s been a busy evening, but you’ve done very well. I’ve suggested to Sir William that we get a girl from the village to come in in the evenings and help you clear up and see to the vegetables and so on. Do you know of one?’

Florina thought. ‘Yes, there is Jean Smith at Keeper’s Cottage—she’s left school, but she’s got to wait a month or two before she can start work training as a nurse. She will be glad of the money.’

‘I’ll leave you to ask her to come along and see me. Now, let’s have dinner. I’ve seen Pauline safely up to bed, and Sir William has got all he wants. Your father knows you won’t be home until later?’

‘Oh, yes. I left his supper ready for him.’

‘You’re kept busy,’ observed Mrs Frobisher. ‘Mind you, during the week it will be midday dinner and a light supper at seven o’clock. You’ll have most of the evening free. It is a pity that you can’t live in.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind working late or coming early in the morning,’ said Florina, and tried not to sound anxious.

She did not quite succeed, though, for Mrs Frobisher said quickly, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that dinner, Sir William won’t want to lose you on any account. I was only thinking that it would be much easier for you; there’s a nice little room at the top of the back stairs with its own bathroom, and nicely furnished, too. Still, I dare say your father would miss you.’

Florina, serving them with the last of the profiteroles, agreed quietly.

She faced a long-drawn-out lecture when she got home. She listened with half an ear while she washed up his supper things and put everything ready for the morning. When her father paused at last, she surprised him and herself by saying, without heat, ‘Father, the doctor said that it would be good for you to do a few things for yourself. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t clear away your meals and wash up. You could make your bed, too, and get your own tea. I’m really working hard for most of the day, and I give you almost all my money. You could even get a part-time job! Then you would have more money and I could have some money of my own.’

She waited patiently while he gobbled and snorted, and told her several times that she was a wicked and ungrateful girl.

‘Why?’ asked Florina. ‘It’s not wicked to get you to help a little, especially when the doctor says it would be good for you. And what do I have to be grateful for, Father?’

‘A roof over your head, and food and a bed!’ he shouted very angrily.

She could get those if she lived in at Wheel House… ‘I’m thinking of leaving home,’ she told him. ‘I’ll stay until you can get someone to come in and keep the house tidy and do the washing. You said a few days ago that a cousin of yours—Aunt Meg, was it? I don’t remember her very well—had been widowed. She might be glad to come and live here with you…’

‘You would leave your home? But you were born here, your mother lived here.’

‘Yes, I know, Father, but now she isn’t here any more it isn’t home, not to me.’ She added gently, ‘You’ll be happier if I’m not here, won’t you?’

Her father’s face turned alarmingly red. ‘To think that a daughter of mine should say such a thing…’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it, Father? And if Aunt Meg were here, she would be at home all day and be company for you. You wouldn’t miss my money because she would pay her share, wouldn’t she?’

He agreed in a grumbling voice. ‘And, since you are determined to leave home and leave me to shift for myself, I’ll write to her, I suppose. But don’t you think you can come sneaking back here if you’re ever out of a job.’

‘There is always work for a good cook,’ observed Florina.

Sunday was very much like Saturday, except that there was hot lunch and cold supper, which gave Florina a good deal more leisure. She left everything ready for tea and, intent on striking while the iron was hot, asked Mrs Frobisher if she had been serious when she had suggested that for her to live in would be more convenient for everyone.

‘Yes, of course I was,’ declared that lady. ‘Why do you ask?’

Florina explained, leaving out the bits about her father’s bad temper.

‘A good idea. Come and see the room.’

It was a very nice room, its windows overlooking the river running through the garden. It was well furnished, too, with a small writing desk and an easy chair with a table beside it, and a divan bed along one wall with a fitted cover. There were pictures on the walls and a window-box cascading geraniums. There was a cupboard in one wall and a small bathroom, cunningly built into the roof. A minuscule kitchen contained a sink and a minature gas cooker, capable of turning out a meal for one, as well as an electric kettle.

‘Why, it’s perfect! Whoever thought of it?’

‘Sir William. He enjoys comfort, and wants everyone around him to be comfortable, too. I believe that he will be pleased if you were to live here, Florina, but of course I’ll say nothing until you’ve decided.’

She had a good deal more leisure for the rest of the week. Sir William left early on the Monday morning, but that leisure was very much encroached on by Pauline, who attached herself to Florina at every possible moment. Though Florina, who had perforce led a somewhat solitary life, enjoyed her company; it was fun to show the child where she could find mushrooms and wild strawberries, sit by the river and watch for water voles, and feed the swans. Pauline, who had spent almost all her life in London, loved every minute of it. But, if life was pleasant while she was at the Wheel House, it was uncomfortable at home. Her father had indeed written to her aunt, and received a reply, full of enthusiasm for his scheme and suggesting that she would be ready to join him in a couple of weeks’ time, news which apparently gave him no pleasure at all. Not that he wanted Florina to change her plans. Indeed, she had told him Mrs Frobisher knew that she was willing to live in, providing Sir William agreed. Cutting sandwiches for Pauline’s tea, she had never felt so happy.

It had to be too good to last. On Friday morning she began her preparations for the weekend. She and Mrs Frobisher had decided on a menu, and the housekeeper had gone to Wilton and bought everything for Florina on her list, so it had only remained for her to assemble them ready for Saturday evening. Mrs Frobisher, who seemed to like her, in a guarded manner, had taken her upstairs in the afternoon to show her the guest room.

‘Miss Fortesque is used to town ways,’ she explained. ‘She’ll expect her breakfast in bed…’ She sniffed. ‘She’ll not want me here when they’re married.’

‘But were you not Pauline’s Nanny?’

‘And Sir William’s before her.’ Miss Fortesque forgotten momentarily, Mrs Frobisher threw open the two doors close to the room they were viewing. ‘Guest rooms,’ she pointed out. ‘Pauline’s room is on the other side of the landing, as is Sir William’s. You’ve noticed that there are more rooms above the kitchen. The housekeeper’s—I sleep on this landing at present because otherwise Pauline would be alone… There is another bathroom and a third bedroom. I dare say Miss Fortesque will want someone else to live in. It’s a large house and I doubt if she knows what a duster looks like.’

Certainly, dusters were the last things one would think of at the sight of Miss Fortesque, thought Florina, watching from the kitchen window as she stepped from Sir William’s car on Saturday morning. She was the picture of elegance, the sort of elegance never seen in the village: a sleeveless dress of what Florina was sure was pure silk in palest blue, Italian sandals and enormous hoop earrings matching the gold bracelets on her arms. Florina sighed without knowing it, twitched her apron so that it covered her small person correctly, and went back to the preparation of crêpes de volaille Florentine. She was making the cheese sauce when Sir William wandered into the kitchen.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Every time I see you, you’re slaving over a hot stove.’

She couldn’t prevent her delight at seeing him showing on her face, although she didn’t know that. ‘I’m the cook, sir,’ she reminded him.

‘Yes—I seem to have difficulty in remembering that.’ He smiled at her and called over his shoulder, ‘Wanda, come and meet Florina.’

Miss Fortesque strolled in and linked an arm in his. ‘Oh, hello. You’re the cook?’

The air positively hummed with their mutual dislike, instantly recognized, even if silent. Sir William watched them from half-shut lids.

‘Florina is our treasure—she cooks like a dream, and Pauline considers her to be her best friend.’

Wanda opened large blue eyes. ‘Oh, the poor child, has she no friends of her own sort?’ She made a small gesture. ‘Is it wise to let her live here, William? At a good boarding-school she would make friends with all the right children.’

‘Who are the right children?’ he asked carelessly. ‘Don’t be a snob, Wanda. Pauline is happy; she’ll be going to day school in Wilton in September, and there’s plenty to occupy her here meantime.’ He glanced at Florina. ‘Does she bother you, Florina?’

‘Not in the least, Sir William. She is learning to cook and she spends a great deal of time gardening. She and Mrs Frobisher go for long walks.’

Miss Fortesque turned on her heel. ‘Oh, well, if you’re quite content to leave her with the servants…’ She smiled bewitchingly, ‘I shall alter all that, of course. When are the others arriving?’

Florina was left to seethe over the Aga. The horrible girl was quite unsuitable to be Sir William’s wife, and she would be a disastrous stepmother. If Sir William was as easy-going as he appeared to be, then Pauline would find herself at a boarding-school, and she and Nanny would be out of jobs. Not too bad for Nanny, for she had already officially retired, but it would mean finding work for herself, and away from home, too.

Despite her rage, she served up a lunch which was perfection itself, and shared a quick meal with Nanny. When Sir William, with his fiancée and Pauline, had driven off for a brief tour of the surrounding country, Florina arranged the tea tray and then got down to preparing dinner. The house was quiet: Mrs Frobisher had gone to put her feet up before tea, Mrs Deakin was doing the last of the washing up and Florina concentrated on her cooking. By the time she heard the car stop by the house, she was satisfied that there was nothing more to do for an hour or so.

Two other cars arrived then, and Mrs Frobisher, much refreshed by the nap, carried in the tea tray and the assortment of cakes and sandwiches Florina had got ready, before she came back to share a pot of tea with Florina.

The kitchen was warm; she opened the windows wide and sat down gratefully, listening to Mrs Frobisher describing Sir William’s guests. Rather nice, she was told, and had known him for years—doctors and their wives, rather older than he was.

‘And, of course, Miss Fortesque,’ added Nanny, and she sounded as though she had inadvertently sucked on a lemon. ‘A well preserved woman, one might say, but of course she spends a great deal of time and money upon herself.’

Obviously Nanny didn’t approve of Sir William’s Wanda, but Florina didn’t dare to say so; she murmured vaguely and her companion went on, ‘Had her claws into him for months. I’m surprised at him—she’ll be a bad wife for him and a worse stepmother for my little Pauline.’ She passed her cup for more tea. ‘He’s so busy with all those sick children, he only sees her when she’s dressed up and all charm and prettiness. Of course, that’s very nice for the gentlemen when they’ve had a hard day’s work, but when all’s said and done they want a wife as well, someone who’ll sit on the opposite side of the fireplace and knit while he reads the papers, listen when he wants to talk, and love his children.’ Nanny snorted. ‘All she likes to do is dance and play bridge.’

‘Perhaps she’ll change,’ suggested Florina gently, not quite sure if she should voice an opinion. Nanny was obviously labouring under strong feelings, and possibly she would regret her outburst later on.

‘You’re a good girl,’ said Nanny, ‘I’ve wanted to say all that to someone for weeks, and you’re the only person I’ve felt I could talk to.’

To Florina’s distress, Mrs Frobisher’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I had him as a baby,’ she said.

‘They’re not married yet,’ ventured Florina. She added, very thoughtfully, ‘It just needs someone to give fate a push and change things…’

Mrs Frobisher blew her nose, an awesome sound. ‘You’re a sensible girl as well as a good one, Florina.’

Florina dished up a splendid dinner: artichoke hearts with a sharp dressing of her own invention, lobster cardinal, medallions of beef with a wine sauce and truffles, and tiny pancakes filled with strawberries and smothered in thick cream.

When the coffee tray had gone in, she and Nanny sat down to eat what was left, before Nanny went away to see Pauline into bed. Mrs Deakin had come back to help with the clearing up, but all the same the evening was far gone, and Sir William seeing his guests on their way, by the time they were finished in the kitchen. Florina set everything ready for the morning, changed into her dress and, with Mrs Deakin for company, locked the kitchen door after her and started for home.

They were at the gate when Sir William loomed out from the shrubs alongside the short drive. ‘A delightful meal, Florina! My compliments, and thank you, and Mrs Deakin, for working late.’

Mrs Deakin muttered happily; she was being paid overtime, and generously, for any work she did over and above her normal hours. Florina said quietly, ‘Thank you, Sir William. Goodnight.’

He would go into his lovely house presently, she supposed, and Wanda would be waiting for him. Florina had caught a glimpse of her during the evening—a vision in scarlet chiffon. Enough to turn any man’s head, even that of the placid, good-natured Sir William.

She was making a salad the next day when Miss Fortesque, in a startling blue jersey dress and a great many gold bangles, strolled into the kitchen.

‘Hello, Cook, busy among your saucepans again? It’s really surprising that even in the depths of the country it’s possible to find someone who can turn out a decent meal.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘After town standards, you know, one hardly expects it.’

Florina shredded lettuce with hands which shook very slightly with temper, and said nothing.

‘That sauce last night,’ continued her visitor, ‘I fancied that there was a touch too much garlic in it. Sir William didn’t complain—he’s really too easy-going…’

‘When Sir William complains to me, Miss Fortesque, I shall listen to him,’ said Florina very evenly.

Wanda’s eyes opened wide. ‘Don’t you dare to speak to me like that, Cook! I’ll have you dismissed…’ She advanced, rather unwisely, too close to Florina, who had started to whip up a dressing for the salad. She increased her beating with a vigour which sent oily drops in all directions. The blue dress would never be the same again; a shower of little blobs had made a graceful pattern down its front.

Wanda’s breath was a hiss of fury. ‘You clumsy fool—look what you’ve done! It’s ruined—I’ll have to have a new dress, and I’ll see that it’s stopped out of your wages! I’ll…’

Sir William’s voice, very placid, cut her short. ‘My dear Wanda, if you hadn’t been standing so close, it wouldn’t have happened. You can’t blame Florina, you’ve only yourself to thank. Surely you know that cooks must be left in peace in their kitchens when they are cooking?’

Wanda shot him a furious glance. She said pettishly, ‘I’ll have to go and change. I hope you’ll give the girl a good telling-off.’

She flounced out of the kitchen and Florina began to slice tomatoes very thinly. Sir William spoke from the door. ‘I found the sauce exactly right,’ he said gently, and wandered away.

He took his fiancée back to town that evening, leaving behind a rather unhappy Pauline. He sought out Florina before he left, to tell her that for the next few weeks, while the child was on holiday, he would come down each weekend on Friday afternoons, and drive back early on Monday morning.

‘Nanny tells me that you may decide to move in with us. Your father doesn’t object to being alone?’

Her aunt had written to say that she would be arriving at the end of the week. She told him this, leaving out the details. He nodded pleasantly. ‘I’m sure it will give you more leisure. I hope you’ll be happy here. Pauline will be over the moon when you tell her.’

She thought wistfully that it would have been nice if he had expressed the same satisfaction, even if in a more modified form. She bade him a quiet good-night, more or less drowned by Miss Fortesque’s voice, pitched high, demanding that they should leave at once.

The week unfolded at a leisurely pace; Florina packed her things, got her room ready for her aunt and moved to the Wheel House. Her father bade her goodbye with no sign of regret, merely warning her again that she need not expect to go crying back to him when she found herself out of a job. She received this remark without rancour, aware that if he should fall ill again the first thing that he would do would be to demand that she should return home to look after him.

She enjoyed arranging her few possessions in her room at Wheel House, helped by a delighted Pauline. Once settled in, she found that she had a good deal more leisure. Cooking for the three of them took up only a part of her day; she helped Nanny with the ironing and the cleaning of the silver, took Pauline mushrooming in the early mornings, and, with Mrs Frobisher’s consent, started to give her cooking lessons. By the time Sir William arrived on Friday afternoon, there was a dish of jam tarts and a fruit cake, a little soggy in the middle but still edible, both of which Pauline bore to the tea table with pride. Sir William, a kind and loving parent, ate quantities of both.

The weekend was one of the happiest Florina had spent for a long time. For one thing, there was a peaceful content over the old home. Sir William insisted that they all breakfast together in the kitchen, a meal which Florina cooked with an almost painful wish to serve up something to perfection, just to please him. She succeeded very well; he ate everything put before him, carrying on a cheerful conversation meanwhile, even making Nanny laugh, something she seldom did. They were at the toast and marmalade stage on Saturday morning, when Pauline said, ‘I wish it could be like this always—just us, Daddy—you and me and Nanny and Florina. Must you marry Wanda? She wouldn’t sit at the kitchen table, and she’s always fussing about eating in case she gets fat.’

Florina saw the look on Sir William’s face. There was a nasty temper hidden away behind that calm exterior, and to avert it she got to her feet, exclaiming loudly, ‘Shall I make another pot of coffee? And how about more toast?’ At the same time she cast a warning glance at Pauline.

The child had gone very red and tears weren’t far off. She sighed and said, ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’

His face was placid again. ‘That’s all right, darling. What are we going to do today?’

The pair of them went off presently, and Florina prepared lunch, decided what to have for dinner, made the coffee and went to help Nanny with the beds. The rest of the weekend was peaceful, and Florina, taking along the coffee tray to the patio where Sir William had settled with the Sunday papers after church, while Pauline fed the swans, thought how delightful life was.

She gave him breakfast the next morning, happily aware that he would be back on Friday afternoon. Wanda Fortesque had gone to stay with friends in the south of France, and Florina allowed herself the childish hope that something, anything, would prevent her from ever coming back from there!

The weather changed suddenly during the day, by the evening it was chilly and grey, and Pauline seemed to have the beginnings of a cold.

Nanny came down to the kitchen after she had seen Pauline to bed. ‘The child’s feverish,’ she declared. ‘I think I’d better keep her in bed tomorrow; these summer colds can be heavy.’

But when morning came, Pauline was feeling worse; moreover, she had a pinky, blotchy rash.

‘Measles,’ said Nanny, and phoned for the doctor.

He came from Wilton that morning, confirmed Nanny’s diagnosis, and observed that there was a lot of it about and that Pauline, having had an anti-measles injection when she was a little girl, would soon be on her feet again. ‘Plenty to drink,’ he advised, ‘and keep her in bed until her temperature is down.’ He patted Nanny reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

All the same, Nanny telephoned Sir William in London, only to be told that he was at the hospital and would be there all day. She put the phone down, undecided as to what to do, when it rang again.

Florina, making iced lemonade for the invalid, heard her talking at some length, and presently she came back to the kitchen.

‘Sir William’s not at home and won’t be until the evening, but Miss Fortesque was there. She rang back when I told her I wanted him urgently, said she would tell him when he got back. I would rather have phoned the hospital, but that would be no use if he is in the theatre or the out-patients.’

By the time they were ready for bed, more than ready, for Florina had suggested that neither Mrs Deakin nor Mrs Datchett came to work until Pauline was better, for they both had children, there had been no word from Sir William. Nanny telephoned once more, only to be told by Miss Fortesque that he was still out.

Pauline was much better in the morning and Nanny, while still a tiny bit puzzled as to why Sir William hadn’t telephoned, decided that there was no need to bother him, not until the evening at any rate. She and Florina spent another busy day, for the house was large and there was a certain amount of work to get through, as well as pandering to Pauline’s increasing whims. Nanny had a headache by teatime, and Florina persuaded her to go to bed early.

‘Only if you telephone Sir William,’ declared Nanny.

Florina waited until she had taken up two supper trays, eaten a scratch meal of beans on toast herself, before dialling the number she had been given. Miss Fortesque answered. No, Sir William wasn’t at home and wasn’t likely to be for some time and was it urgent? He had had a busy day and needed his rest. She slammed down the receiver before Florina had got her mouth open.

Nanny had a rash in the morning, a high temperature, a terrible headache and a firmly rooted opinion that she was going to die.

‘Nonsense, Mrs Frobisher,’ said Florina robustly. ‘You’ve got the measles. I’m going to get the doctor.’

He wasn’t quite as cheerful about Nanny. It transpired that she had never had measles as a child, an illness, which he pointed out to Florina, that could be quite serious in anyone as elderly as Nanny. ‘Keep her in bed,’ he advised. ‘Plenty of fluids, and don’t let her read or use her eyes. Keep the blinds drawn and take her temperature every four hours. I’ll be out to see her again tomorrow.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘Can you manage?’

Sir William would be home on the next day, so Florina assured the doctor that, of course, she could manage.

It was hard work. Pauline had made a quick recovery, although she still needed looking after and had to stay in bed for another day or so, but Nanny, suddenly an old, ill Nanny, needed constant attention. Not that she was a difficult patient, but she was feverish, her head ached and she fretted at lying in bed.

Florina, trotting up and down stairs with trays and cool drinks, was tempted to telephone Sir William again, but it hardly seemed worth it since he would be home in less than twenty-four hours. She settled her two patients for the night at last, and went to the kitchen to make out a menu for Sir William’s dinner for the following evening. It would have to be something quick, and which could be left in the Aga to look after itself. She made a chocolate mousse and put it in the freezer, made a vegetable soup, and then decided that she would make a cheese soufflé—something which could be done at the last minute. She had picked some peas and beans earlier in the day, and there was plenty of fruit and cheese and biscuits. She went to take a last look at her two patients and then went to bed herself, to sleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

Doctor Stone came again the next morning, cautioned her that Pauline should stay in bed for another day or so, declared that Nanny was holding her own nicely, but that she would need careful nursing, accepted a cup of coffee and remarked that Florina was managing very well.

‘No need to send you a nurse,’ he told her, ‘and, since there isn’t one available at the moment, that’s a good thing. Is Sir William coming down for the weekend?’

Florina said that, yes, he was, and thought tiredly of all the extra cooking there would be. She was, after all, the cook, and he had every right to expect well prepared meals to be set before him. Doctor Stone went, and she made a large quantity of lemonade, then made herself a sandwich and started to get a light lunch for Pauline. Nanny didn’t want anything, but Florina made an egg nog and spent some precious time persuading her to drink it.

She spent more time settling Pauline for the afternoon. There was the radio, of course, and her cassette player, and since reading wasn’t to be encouraged, a sketch-book had to be found with coloured crayons. Florina, finally free to go to the kitchen, put on a clean apron, tossed her plait over her shoulder and started to shell the peas.

She was very tired; she let the sound of the stream, racing under the house and on into the garden, soothe her. She was disturbed five minutes later by a leisurely tread in the hall, and a moment later Sir William said from the kitchen door, ‘Hello! The house is very quiet.’

When she turned to look at him he saw her white, tired face.

‘What’s wrong, Florina?’

She heard the sudden briskness of his usually placid voice. ‘Measles,’ she said. ‘Pauline started on Monday and now Nanny has it… Yesterday—I’ve had the doctor. Doctor Stone, from Wilton.’

‘Why wasn’t I told?’

‘Nanny telephoned you on Monday night, and then again on Tuesday. I rang again on Thursday evening…’

Sir William didn’t answer. He went to the telephone on the wall by the Aga, and dialled a number. Florina went back to shelling her peas and listened.

‘Jolly? Get hold of our Shirley and bribe her to sleep in for a few nights with Mrs Jolly. Then pack a bag and drive down here as soon as you can. Take the Rover and make all speed. We have a problem on our hands. Measles, no less!’

‘On your own?’ he asked, as he put back the receiver.

‘Well, yes. You see, Mrs Deakin and Mrs Datchett have children.’

‘Very wise. I’m going to take a look. Is Pauline on the mend? She had her jab when she was small.’

‘Yes, she’s over the worst. Mrs Frobisher is really quite ill, though…’

She heard him going upstairs two at a time.

By the time he returned she had finished the peas, had the kettle boiling for tea and had laid a tray with the tea things and a plate of scones.

He sat down at the kitchen table and told her to get another cup. ‘Very spotty, the pair of them. Nanny’s going to take a little while to get over it, but Pauline’s well out of the wood.’ He shot the next question at her so fast that she answered it without once pausing to think. ‘Who answered the telephone when you and Nanny telephoned?’

‘Miss Fortesque…’ She went red because he would think her sneaky. ‘I’m sure it was a misunderstanding…’

He didn’t answer that. ‘You’ve had your hands full—up for a good deal of the night, too?’

‘Well, yes. Nanny felt so hot and ill, but Pauline slept well.’

His rather sleepy gaze swept round the kitchen. ‘You’ve been running the place, and cooking, as well as looking after Pauline and Nanny?’

She misunderstood him completely. ‘Oh, but I had all day. Dinner will be ready at half-past seven, but I can put it forward half an hour if you wish. I don’t settle them for the night until about nine o’clock. Pauline likes her supper about eight o’clock and Nanny doesn’t want to eat at present—I’ve been giving her egg and milk and tea and lemonade.’

He smiled at her suddenly. ‘My poor dear, you are tired to the bone, aren’t you? You’ve got dinner fixed already?’ When she nodded, he continued, ‘We’ll eat here together, then you can get supper for Pauline and I’ll take it up; I’ll see that Nanny takes her fluids, too, and then I’ll wash up while you get Pauline ready for bed.’

She opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted a large hand to stop her. ‘I’m going back to take another look at Nanny and then to phone Doctor Stone. Which room should Jolly have when he comes?’

‘There is the small guest room at the end of the passage where Nanny is—I’ll make up the bed…’

‘Put the bed linen out; I’ll see to the bed, you stay here and get on with dinner.’

Florina, whose father had always considered the making of a bed to be a woman’s work, was surprised, but Sir William had spoken in a voice which, while quiet, obviously expected to be obeyed. She cleared away the tea tray and set the kitchen table for the two of them before getting the ingredients for the soufflé.

Sir William was as good as his word; she was ready soon after seven o’clock, and he fetched the sherry decanter from the dining-room and poured each of them a glass, and then sat down opposite her and ate dinner with a splendid appetite, talking about nothing much. When they had finished, he sent her upstairs to Pauline. ‘I’ll fetch the tray down; you tidy her up for the night and then come back here.’

It was pleasant to have someone there to arrange things; Florina did as she was told and half an hour later went back downstairs to find Sir William, one of Nanny’s aprons strained around his person, making the coffee.

‘Sit down and drink it,’ he ordered her, ‘then, if you’ll see to Nanny, I’ll finish up down here and say goodnight to Pauline.’

Nanny was quite willing to be settled for the night. Everything, she told Florina, would be quite all right now that Sir William was home. ‘You cooked him a good dinner?’ she demanded.

Florina said that yes, she had, but she didn’t mention that she had shared it with him at the kitchen table. There was no sense in sending Nanny’s temperature up! She wished her goodnight and went yawning down the staircase; bed would be delightful, but first she must make sure that the kitchen was ready for the morning. Sir William would want his breakfast, and there was early-morning tea, and what about Jolly—who was Jolly, anyway?

The kitchen door to the garden was still open and Sir William was out on the patio, leaning over the balustrade, watching the stream below him.

‘Come and have five minutes’ peace,’ he advised and she went to stand beside him, hot and dishevelled and very tired. He glanced sideways at her smiling faintly, surprised that it worried him to see her looking so weary. He didn’t say anything and she was glad just to lean there, doing nothing until a car turning into the gates roused her.

‘That will be Jolly,’ said Sir William, and went round the side of the house to meet him.

CHAPTER THREE

FLORINA was still standing on the patio when Sir William returned, with Jolly beside him. Jolly was the antithesis of his name. He had a long, narrow face, very solemn and pale, dark eyes, and hair greying at the temples, smoothed to a satin finish. He was dressed soberly in a black jacket and striped trousers, and wore an old-fashioned wing-collar and a black bow-tie.

Sir William halted in front of Florina. ‘This is Jolly, who runs my home. Jolly, this is Florina, who cooks for me and has been coping on her own for the last couple of days. I think we’ll send her to bed and we’ll discuss what’s best to be done. Off you go, Florina, sleep the clock round if you want to.’

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