At Odds With Love

Betty Neels

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CHAPTER ONE

THE October afternoon was drawing to a misty close and the last rays of the sun, shining through the latticed window, highlighted the russet hair of the young woman sitting by it. It shone upon her lovely face too and gave her green eyes an added sparkle as she stared out at the garden beyond, the knitting in her lap forgotten for the moment.

It was quiet in the room save for the faint ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the sighing breaths of the old lady in the bed as she dozed. It was a pleasant room, low-ceilinged, its walls papered in an old-fashioned pattern of flowers, the furniture for the most part ponderous Victorian; the small person in the bed was dwarfed by her surroundings, perched up against her pillows. She stirred presently and the girl got up and went to the bedside.

‘You’ve had a nice nap, Granny. If you’re quite comfortable I’ll go and get the tea-tray.’ She had a charming voice and she spoke cheerfully. ‘I’ll light a lamp, shall I?’ And when the old lady nodded, she added, ‘It’s a beautiful evening—I do love this time of year.’

The old lady smiled and nodded again and the girl went away, down to the kitchen of the rambling old house where Bessy the housekeeper was making the tea. She looked up as the girl went in.

“Ad a nap, ‘as she? The dear soul—wore out, she must be.’ She put a plate of wafer-thin bread and butter on the tray. ‘And time you ‘as a bit of fresh air, Miss Jane. I’ll sit with ‘er while you take a turn round the garden when you’ve had your tea.’

Jane leaned across the table and cut a slice of bread, buttered it lavishly and said thickly through a mouthful, ‘Thank you, Bessy. I’ll take Bruno and Percy and Simpkin with me—just for ten minutes or so.’

She gobbled up the rest of her bread and butter and picked up the tray. She was a tall girl with a splendid shape, dressed rather carelessly in a cotton blouse, a well-worn cardigan and a long wide skirt.

The housekeeper eyed her as she went to the door. ‘You didn’t ought ter look so shabby.’ She spoke with the freedom of an old and faithful servant. ‘Suppose some nice young man should call?’

Jane gave a gurgle of laughter and Bessy said severely, ‘Well, you may laugh, Miss Jane, but there’s Dr Willoughby coming regular to see your granny.’

‘He is an engaged man, Bessy, and several inches shorter than I am.’

She went back upstairs to heave the old lady gently up against her pillows and give her her tea. She would eat nothing, though, and Jane thought that she looked paler than usual.

‘Feel all right, Granny?’ she asked casually.

‘A little tired, dear. Have you seen to Bruno and the cats?’

‘I’m going to take them into the garden presently and give them their supper. They’re all splendid.’ She added in what she hoped sounded like an afterthought, ‘Dr Willoughby might be coming this evening instead of tomorrow …’

‘A nice young man. A pity he’s going to marry. He would have done very well for you, Jane. You’re twenty-seven and you’ve given up a good nursing career to look after me here, buried in the country.’

‘I like being here,’ protested her granddaughter. ‘I like the country and I haven’t met a man I want to marry yet.’

‘Though you’ve had your chances …?’

‘Well, yes, I dare say I’m fussy.’ She rearranged the pillows as Bessy came into the room. ‘There now—I’m off to see to the animals.’

Only when she got downstairs she went to the phone first and dialled Dr Willoughby and asked him to come and see her grandmother. ‘I don’t think she’s any worse, but I’m uneasy …’

She saw to the cats and Bruno next. Bruno was a corgi and the cats were both ginger, one middle-aged and dignified and the other much younger, with eyes as green as Jane’s and a thick ruff of fur under his chin. They all paced round the large garden in the gloom and presently went indoors to settle before the fire in the small sitting-room Jane used now that her grandmother was no longer able to come downstairs and use the big drawing-room. She had just settled them, piled companionably into one basket, when the doctor arrived and she took him upstairs.

He was a youngish man with a large country practice and he had been looking after Mrs Wesley since she first became ill. He greeted her easily and, previously prompted by Jane, observed that he had a busy day on the morrow, and, since he was passing, he had decided to pay her a visit.

He didn’t stay long but checked her pulse and examined her chest as he always did, bade her a cheerful goodnight and asked Jane to go down with him. ‘I have some pills which will help your breathing,’ he explained.

‘You were quite right,’ he told Jane as she ushered him into the sitting-room. ‘Mrs Wesley isn’t so well and I suspect a small pulmonary embolism. Will you allow me to call in a specialist? Nowadays it is possible to operate and remove the clot—I know it’s a grave risk because of your grandmother’s age, but at least we shall have taken the best advice possible.’

‘Oh, please—do whatever you think is best. Can he come quickly, this specialist?’

‘He’s a busy man but I have met him—he was already making a name for himself when I was a houseman. He’s not always in this country, though. I’ll try and get hold of him this evening and let you know. Meanwhile, you know what to do for your grandmother and please don’t hesitate to phone if you’re worried.’

He went away, leaving Jane standing in the charming room with its slightly shabby brocade curtains and graceful Regency furniture. After a moment or two she went back upstairs, remarking as she went into Mrs Wesley’s room, ‘Shall I read to you? What do you feel like? Something soothing or one of your whodunnits?’

Her grandmother chuckled, a whisper of sound hardly to be heard. ‘Shall we have Trollope? I suspect Dr Willoughby wouldn’t want me to get too excited.’

‘Phineas Finn …’

It was after Mrs Wesley had been settled for the night and the house was quiet that Dr Willoughby phoned. ‘We shall be with you tomorrow around midday. He’s a good man, the best—rest assured, if there’s anything that can be done he’ll do it.’

They came the next morning and Jane, as a slight concession to the consultant’s visit—for she was sure that he was a worthy man and no doubt aware of that worth—put on a blue cotton sweater over a darker blue denim skirt. She would have put her abundant hair up, only her grandmother needed more attention than usual and there wasn’t time, so she brushed it hard and tied it back.

‘At least you’re tidy,’ grumbled Bessy, ‘not but what you look half your age.’

‘Oh, Bessy, what does it matter how I look, if only they can do something for Granny?’

She heard Dr Willoughby’s rather elderly Ford coming along the drive to the house as she was putting the finishing touches to Mrs Wesley’s hair; ill she might be, but the old lady still had her small vanities.

They came up the old uncarpeted staircase unhurriedly with Bessy ahead of them to open the door and usher them in, and Jane looked up expectantly. She hadn’t been sure what to expect but her expectations had been coloured by the various consultants at the hospital where she had been a ward sister: older men, dignified and a little remote, made so by the knowledge that they had crammed into their heads over the years. This man, towering beside Dr Willoughby, didn’t tally with her guess; he was still young, not yet forty, she judged, a giant of a man and heavily built. He was good-looking, too, with a high arched nose and a thin mouth above a determined chin, and when he was introduced as Professor van der Vollenhove he offered a large cool hand, and looked at her briefly from eyes the colour of a winter sea, pale and cold, and indifferent to her.

With her grandmother, however, it was an entirely different matter. He sat down beside her bed and talked to her in a slow, slightly accented voice and presently he set about examining her. Dr Willoughby had gone to stand by the window, and Jane, by the bed, ready to do whatever was asked of her, had ample opportunity to study the professor at close quarters.

His suit was superbly tailored, she noticed, his linen pristine, the gold cufflinks plain. She was pleased that there was no sign of baldness in his thick grizzled hair; it must have been very pale brown when he was younger. It pleased her when he said something to make her grandmother chuckle weakly and he laughed himself. He was probably quite nice when one got to know him.

She eased Mrs Wesley into a more comfortable position and stepped back from the bed. The professor was talking in a quiet voice and she couldn’t hear all that he was saying, but he sounded reassuring without being hearty and her grandmother looked cheerful.

They shook hands presently, his large one engulfing her small bony one very gently, and then he got up. ‘You are in very capable hands,’ he observed. ‘Dr Willoughby and I will have a talk and probably try out some further treatment. I will come and see you again if I may?’

Jane saw the hope in her grandmother’s pale little face. ‘Please do. Jane will get you coffee downstairs.’ She turned to look at her. ‘Run along, dear, and look after the gentlemen. I should like to rest for a little while.’

Jane led the way downstairs, ushered the two men into the drawing-room where Bessy had lighted a fire and went along to the kitchen. In answer to the housekeeper’s look she said, ‘They haven’t told me anything yet, Bessy. I’ll tell you when they do. I’ll take the tray in—you pop up and make sure Granny’s all right, will you?’

She poured the coffee from the silver coffee-pot into the delicate china cups and handed the shortbread she had made the previous evening. It was only when she had seated herself without fuss that anyone spoke.

The professor put down his cup. ‘As Dr Willoughby rightly suspected, Mrs Wesley has a small pulmonary embolism. In a young person I would advise operation, a serious matter as you no doubt know, but your grandmother is an old lady and very weak and I cannot advise that. I am sorry to tell you that there is nothing much to be done other than to see that she is free from pain. She is likely to die suddenly and soon.’ He added gravely, ‘I am so sorry to have to tell you this.’

Jane’s cup rattled in its saucer but her voice was steady. ‘Thank you for being frank, Professor van der Vollenhove. I’m sure if there was a chance you would take it.’ She looked at them both. ‘You will make sure that Granny is as comfortable as possible?’ She stopped to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘She is a very brave person.’

‘Rest assured of that.’ The professor sounded kind and she had no doubt that he was to be trusted. She wondered fleetingly what he was like—the man behind the perfection of his professional manner. She remembered the coldness of his eyes when they had met, not so much dislike as indifference. Not that it mattered; held firmly at the back of her mind was the knowledge that her grandmother was going to die, to be held at bay until she would be free to give way to her grief. Meanwhile, life would go on as usual and she would do everything she could to keep the old lady happy.

She listened carefully to the two men debating what was best to be done and presently the professor wrote out a prescription. ‘This won’t make your grandmother drowsy or prevent her from enjoying her daily routine, but it will keep her calm and unworried. Discontinue everything else.’

‘Will you come again?’

‘I am at your disposal should I be needed.’ She got up and he shook her hand. Looking up into his face, she saw that his eyes were a clear light blue and his glance serious. She thanked him gravely and saw them both to the door.

‘I’ll be round this evening,’ Dr Willoughby promised. ‘You know you can phone me at any time.’

She watched the car go down the drive and turn into the lane beyond and then she went in search of Bessy.

The housekeeper was washing up the coffee-cups. ‘Bad news, Miss Jane?’

Jane told her. Bessy had been with her grandmother for a very long time; Jane remembered her from when she had been sent as a child to stay with her grandmother while her parents were abroad, and she was as much a family friend as a housekeeper. ‘And I must phone Basil …’

Basil was Jane’s only other relation, a cousin, an orphan like herself, but that was all they had in common. They had never liked each other as children and now they were adults they saw very little of each other. He was older than she was by a year or two and would eventually inherit his grandmother’s house and possessions. He was making his career in banking and hadn’t been to see Mrs Wesley for a long time. When she rang him presently it was apparent that he had no intention of doing so now.

‘Let me know how the old lady is,’ he told her. ‘I can’t possibly get away, and I doubt if she knows who I am anyway.’ He rang off before she could say anything else.

It was three days later, as Jane was reading the last few pages of Phineas Finn, that her grandmother said softly, ‘Basil will look after you, my dear,’ and died as gently and quietly as she had lived.

There was a great deal to do; Jane got on with it, holding her grief in check, time enough for that when everything which had to be done was done. Basil, when told, said that he would come for the funeral and made no offer of help, not that she had expected him to. Dr Willoughby was a tower of strength and Bessy, tight-lipped and red-eyed, saw to it that some sort of a normal routine was maintained.

Mrs Wesley had had many friends—the village church was full and after the service those who knew her well went back to the house. Jane, circulating with plates of sandwiches and offers of coffee or tea, saw that Basil had already assumed the air of master of the house. Presently, when everyone had gone and Mr Chepstow, their solicitor, had taken a seat in the sitting-room, he followed her into the kitchen where she had gone with a tray of plates. ‘You’d better come, I suppose,’ he told her. ‘Old Chepstow seems to think you should be there.’ He turned to Bessy. ‘And you—whatever your name is—you are to come too.’

‘This is Bessy, grandmother’s housekeeper,’ said Jane coldly. ‘She has looked after her for years.’

He shrugged and turned away and they followed him back to the sitting-room where Mr Chepstow was toasting himself before the small bright fire.

‘Well, shall we get started? I must get back to town this evening—I’ve an important meeting …’

Mr Chepstow wasn’t to be hurried. He read the will slowly and Jane was pleased to hear that Bessy was to have a small pension for the rest of her life; she herself was to receive five hundred pounds with the wish that her cousin Basil would take upon himself the duty of giving her a home for as long as she wanted it, and making such financial provision for her as he deemed fitting. The estate was left entirely to him.

Mr Chepstow folded the will carefully and stood up. ‘You will wish to make financial arrangements, no doubt,’ he told Basil. ‘If you care to make an appointment when it is convenient to you, I will be pleased to deal with anything you may have in mind.’

Basil wasn’t listening; he nodded impatiently and bustled the solicitor out to his waiting taxi and then came back into the house.

‘I’ve no time now,’ he told Jane. ‘I’ll be back in a day or two.’

His goodbye was perfunctory and he was gone, driving away in his flashy car.

‘’E didn’t ask if we ‘ad any money,’ observed Bessy tartly. “E may be yer cousin, Miss Jane, but I don’t like ‘im.’ She picked up the poker and bashed the logs in the grate. ‘And ‘e don’t need ter think I’ll be staying—not for ‘im—there’s me sister in Stepney, got a nice little ‘ouse now she’s widdered—me and me pension will be more than welcome …’

She glanced at Jane sitting composedly by the fire. ‘And you, Miss Jane, what about you?’

‘I’ll go back to nursing, Bessy. It may take a few weeks to get a job but I can stay here. There are Bruno and Percy and Simpkin to think of too. I must try and find homes for them, although Basil might take them over.’

‘’E might, and then again ’e might not. You can ask ’im when ’e comes again.’

Jane was kept busy for the next few days; there were letters to write and answer, friends calling, small household bills to be paid and their own modest needs to be dealt with. She kept a careful account of the money she spent and wondered what she was to do once the housekeeping purse was empty. She had a little money of her own but she hadn’t earned any for the last few months and it might be a month or more before she would get a pay packet. While she pondered her future she did her best to keep her sorrow at bay. She would go as soon as possible, she reflected; there were plenty of large provincial hospitals and she knew that she would get an excellent reference from the London hospital she had left when she’d come to look after her grandmother. She knew that Basil didn’t like her over-much but it was unlikely that he would want to come and live in the house immediately. She was never quite sure what he did in the city; if it was a high-powered job then he might commute at weekends as so many of her grandmother’s neighbours did and the will had stipulated that he should give her a home as long as she needed one and financial help too. The latter she had no intention of accepting if it were offered; she was quite capable of supporting herself, but it would be nice if he allowed her to stay sometimes …

She and Bessy cleaned and polished the house and tidied the flowerbeds, already touched with the first autumn frosts, and waited for Basil to return.

He came at the end of a week, and not alone this time. Jane, watching from the drawing-room window where she had been arranging a bowl of chrysanthemums on the rent table, saw him help a girl out of the car; a small slim creature with a cloud of dark hair and dressed unsuitably for the country, although the black and white striped suit she was wearing was the last word in fashion. Even at that distance Jane felt a surge of dislike. I am becoming a spiteful old maid, she reflected as she went to open the door.

‘Hello,’ said Basil. ‘This is Myra, my fiancée. Darling, this is Jane, my cousin, remember?’

Myra wasn’t a girl, she was a woman, older than Jane, exquisitely turned out and very sure of herself. She said, ‘Oh, hello, Jane, Basil’s brought me to see the house. I dare say it needs a good deal of refurbishing—old, isn’t it?’

‘Two hundred years or so,’ said Jane drily. ‘Do come in.’

Basil threw her a dagger glance which she ignored; it was still her home until he asked her to leave. ‘I’m sure you would like coffee. I’ll make some—there’s a fire in the drawing-room. We light it once or twice a week to keep the room aired.’

‘We’ll start looking round,’ said Basil, ‘we haven’t got all day. Let us know when the coffee is ready.’

He swept Myra out of the room and across the hall into the dining-room and Jane, speechless at his rudeness, flounced along to the kitchen where she vented her ill humour on the cups and saucers.

‘What’s bitten you?’ asked Bessy, coming in with a pile of washing. ‘Smashing round like a bull in a china shop.’

‘Basil’s here,’ said Jane between her teeth. ‘He’s brought his fiancée; they’re touring the house. They can have instant coffee and those biscuits I made yesterday.’

She bore the tray away presently and went in search of Basil and Myra. They were in her grandmother’s bedroom. ‘We’ll throw this stuff out for a start,’ Myra was saying, and looked over her shoulder as Jane went in.

‘It’s large enough,’ she conceded, ‘but some of the furniture is pretty out of date …’

‘Most of it is antique.’ She looked at Basil and added, ‘And quite valuable, I understand.’

‘Well, that’s for me to decide now. Is that coffee ready?’

‘In the drawing-room, if you’d like to come downstairs.’

Seething with rage though she was, Jane didn’t allow it to show; she handed the coffee and biscuits with perfect civility and made polite conversation.

‘Aren’t you bored here?’ asked Myra. ‘It must have been dull living here with an old lady.’

‘She was my grandmother,’ Jane replied tartly. ‘She was Basil’s too, you know. I like the country.’

‘Don’t you like living in London?’ asked Myra curiously.

‘I had friends there and a good job but I came here when I had weekends or holidays.’

Basil said suddenly, ‘Well, you’ll miss that. You’ve had your fair share of living in comfort here; you won’t be able to get round us the way you got round Grandmother. Myra and I are to be married within the next week or so, and we shall be living here. I suppose you’ll have to stay a few days longer to pack up your things—you can go and stay with some of those friends of yours,’ he added with a sneer. ‘And that woman in the kitchen, she can go too.’ His eye lighted on the basket under the rent table. ‘That dog and the cats—two of them? I’ll get the vet to collect them, they can be put down.’

Jane stared at him, willing herself not to speak until she could control her tongue. ‘In Grandmother’s will,’ she reminded him as soon as she could trust her voice, ‘she asked if I might regard this as home; I see now that that isn’t possible and I’m sure that if she had known that you intended marrying she wouldn’t have wanted that—I certainly don’t. Nor do I want any financial help from you, not that you’re likely to offer it, are you? She did, however, ask that the animals should be cared for. At least give me time to find homes for them.’

He laughed. ‘Well, I am taking care of them, aren’t I? And you’re right, Jane, I have no intention of doing anything for you; you can earn your own living any way you like. Find yourself a husband if you can, though with that sharp tongue of yours I doubt if you’ll succeed. I’ll be back in two days’ time. That woman who looks after the place can stay until I get new staff but you will go, you and the dog and cats.’ He got up. ‘Come along, darling, we’ll go back to town and get hold of a good interior decorator. He can get started by the end of the week and we can live in part of the house until he’s finished.’

They went to the door and Myra lingered for a moment. ‘You shouldn’t have much trouble finding a man,’ she observed kindly. ‘Doctors mostly marry nurses, don’t they? Nice meeting you.’

Jane stood on the steps outside the door for a long time making a great effort to get calm so that she could explain it all to Bessy. Presently she went along to the kitchen. The postman was there, drinking the mug of tea the housekeeper had poured for him and Jane said, ‘No, don’t get up, Jimmy, I’ll have a mug too, if I may, Bessy. Any letters?’

A handful for her and one for Bessy which she was reading.

‘Well, I never—that Mr Chepstow wants ter see me as soon as possible. Well, it’ll have ter be tomorror—the bus went ‘alf an ‘our ago.’

‘Give you a lift?’ offered Jimmy.

‘Well, I dunno—’as Mr Basil gone?’

‘Yes, Bessy, you go—you’ll be able to catch the afternoon bus back. You look fine—get your coat and hat while Jimmy finishes his tea.’

The house was very quiet when they had gone away in Jimmy’s van; Blandford wasn’t far and although Mr Chepstow hadn’t given any day or time in his letter surely he would see Bessy. To make sure, Jane picked up the telephone and explained to the solicitor.

‘Just a little matter of her signature,’ he explained, ‘I don’t know if she will stay on at the house; if not she will be glad to have the money.’

‘She will be leaving,’ said Jane. ‘Basil is getting married and coming to live here within the next week or so.’

‘And you?’

‘I shall be going too.’

‘Dear, dear, that isn’t at all what your dear grandmother intended. Have you somewhere to go, Jane? And what about a job—can you get your post at the hospital back?’

‘Well, no, it’s been filled for months, but I shall be quite all right. I’ll let you know my address once I’m settled.’

She sounded so confident that he put the phone down with a sigh of relief. It upset him that Basil should disregard his grandmother’s wishes but there was nothing much he could do about it and, as it had turned out, there would be no need. Jane, he remembered, had had a ward sister’s post for a year or two before she had gone to live with her grandmother, quite a well paid job; she would certainly have sufficient funds to see her through the next week or so; all the same, he would make sure that she had the five hundred pounds as quickly as possible.

Jane tidied the kitchen and went back to the drawing-room. Until now she had done everything in a kind of bad dream but the sight of Bruno sitting before the fire with Percy and Simpkin each side of him turned the dream into reality. She knelt beside them, glad of the warmth of the fire. ‘Don’t worry, my dears,’ she begged them. ‘I’ll think of something. Not the local kennels; Basil would soon find out about that. There’s no one in the village—everyone I know has dogs and cats with no room for more.’

She got up and fetched pen and paper and started to do sums. Boarding them would cost money and she hadn’t a great deal; besides, they couldn’t stay shut up forever. She could try one of the animal sanctuaries, somewhere where they could all be together. She would have to go back to London and go to an agency and get a job as quickly as possible and then take her time applying for a post at one of the larger hospitals. She would have to pack too … The phone rang and she went to answer it. It was Basil.

‘We’ve stopped for coffee,’ he told her, and added, ‘And we have just remembered to remind you not to take anything which isn’t yours—’

‘How dare you?’ said Jane and banged down the receiver just as the front doorbell rang.

She had gone pale with rage and flung the door open, not caring who was there or why; it could be a gang of thieves for all she cared.

It was Professor van der Vollenhove, and at the sight of him the unhappiness and misery and fear of the future welled up and choked her. She burst into tears and flung her not inconsiderable person on to his massive chest.

The professor remained calm, a comforting arm around her shoulders, a hand offering a spotless white handkerchief, and, since she seemed incapable of using it, he mopped her wet face. Not that it made much difference; she went on sniffing and sobbing into his waistcoat for some minutes but presently she blew her charming nose and dried her eyes and disentangled herself.

‘Oh, I’m so ashamed. Do forgive me, it’s just …’ A large tear trickled down her cheek. ‘He’s going to have them put down,’ she mumbled, and a second tear started down the other cheek. Despite her pink nose and tear-stained face she still looked lovely. She looked up into his impassive face. ‘She loved them …’

He took the sopping handkerchief from her. ‘Come inside and tell me about it?’ he suggested.

A firm hand between her shoulderblades urging her on, Jane led him into the drawing-room. She said on a watery hiccup, ‘So sorry—if you will sit down I’ll make some coffee.’

For answer he swept her into a chair and sat down opposite her, his long legs stretched out before him, the epitome of relaxation—something the animals must have sensed, for they came to look up into his face and then sat themselves tidily at his feet.

‘I have a call to make fairly near here; I came to offer my condolences. I was sorry to hear about Mrs Wesley, a charming and brave old lady.’ When Jane nodded he said, ‘Begin at the beginning and tell me what has gone wrong.’

He was the last person she would have confided in; she had gained the impression that he hadn’t liked her, but now it all came tumbling out, a bit muddled though she made a brave effort to tell him nothing but the facts. Only when she told him about having Bruno and Percy and Simpkin put down did she falter. ‘You see,’ she added, ‘there’s nothing to stop Basil—it’s all his …’ She looked up. ‘It’s kind of you to listen. I’ll go and make the coffee.’

‘Let us forget the coffee for the moment.’ He sounded coolly friendly. ‘I think that I am able to help you.’ At her look of delighted relief he said, ‘You will as well be helping me and you will get the worst of the bargain. I am on my way to call upon an old friend of my mother: Lady Grimstone—perhaps you know her?’

‘Yes—well, Granny did.’

‘Then you will know that she is an irascible old lady with an uncertain temper and emphysema. She has had a companion for years—a Miss Smithers—badly in need of a holiday. So far, none of the applicants to replace her for a month has proved suitable. You might do.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It needs to be someone who needs work badly; she is extremely difficult. There is one advantage, however—Miss Smithers has two cats and Lady Grimstone has a very old basset hound; I believe she would have no objection to your having these small creatures with you.’

‘You mean that, really?’

He gave her a look which chilled the sudden glow of hope welling up in her insides.

‘I am not in the habit of speaking lightly, Miss Fox.’

She said hastily, ‘No, no, I’m sure you’re not, Professor. If you think I might do I’ll apply for the post. I’m most grateful …’

‘You may regret saying that.’ He looked her over in his cool way. ‘So now go and do something to your face and hair but show me first where I can make coffee.’

‘You’ll make the coffee?’ Her amazement was transparent.

His faintly mocking look stopped her from saying anything else; she led him to the kitchen, pointed out the coffee-pot, the Aga and the coffee-mill on the wall. Let him do his best, she thought, skimming through the door to her room.

She felt herself again, able to cope, and although she flinched away from the memory of her outburst she had the good sense to know that it was something which sooner or later would have occurred. She washed her face and dashed on some powder and some lipstick, brushed her hair smoothly into a French pleat and searched her wardrobe for something suitable to wear. She chose a cotton chambray dress the colour of clotted cream with a neat collar and shaped yoke and a thick knit cardigan to wear with it, one she had knitted herself while sitting with her grandmother. She hoped that she looked reasonably like a companion as she ran back downstairs to the kitchen and found the professor pouring coffee into two mugs.

He scarcely looked at her. ‘I need to be back in town by four o’clock,’ he observed and handed her a mug.

‘I don’t suppose Lady Grimstone will take very long interviewing me,’ ventured Jane.

‘Probably not; we should be away from there in plenty of time. I’ll drop you off here as I go.’

‘Won’t that take you out of your way?’

‘No. I can take the A354 to Salisbury and pick up the A303.’ His tone made it plain that it wasn’t her concern. She drank her coffee and told him meekly that she was ready if he wanted to leave.

CHAPTER TWO

LADY GRIMSTONE lived on the outskirts of a hamlet away from the road between Pimperne and Tarrant Hinton, not many miles from Mrs Wesley’s house as a crow might fly, but by car it meant taking the lane through the village and on until it joined the main road to Blandford and then taking another side-road, to finally turn off into a narrow lane.

Jane had been momentarily diverted from her thoughts of an uncertain future by the sight of the Bentley Continental outside the door. Understated elegance, she reflected, admiring its sober dark grey and the soft leather of its interior. If she had known the professor better, or been more certain of his opinion of her, she would have commented on it—as it was, she got in when he opened the door for her and sat serenely beside him. She had found time to leave a note in case Bessy came back first, check that the windows were closed, make sure that she had the keys and that the Aga was smouldering as it should, and assure the animals that she would be back very shortly before she went out of the house to join him. He wasn’t to know that she had the urge—strong in all females—to go back and check everything once more before finally closing the door and giving the handle a quick turn just to make sure that it was shut.

They spoke hardly at all as he drove. Jane, the sharp edge of her grief washed away by her tears, pondered her prospects—a month would give her time to apply for as many posts as possible and she had enough money to rent a small flat or even a large bedsitter for a week or two as long as it had a balcony so that the animals could stay easily. She sat debating with herself as to which city would be the best in which to apply for a post, unaware that her companion, glancing at her from time to time, could see her frown and guessed a little of what she was thinking.

‘It is just a waste of time to plan your future until you have this job.’

His voice, cool and impersonal, broke into her thoughts.

‘You think I might not be suitable?’

‘Why should you not be suitable? But you would be wise to take things as they come.’

He was right, of course, even though his advice lacked warmth.

Lady Grimstone lived in a solid country residence set in conventional grounds, a mere half-mile from the village, but the walls round it were high and the double gates were closed so that the professor had to lean on his horn until a flustered woman came from the lodge.

‘Lady Grimstone doesn’t encourage visitors,’ observed the professor drily as he drove along the drive to the house.

A stern-visaged woman admitted them, ushered them into a small room off the hall and went away. Jane sat down composedly; it was no use getting uptight. Things didn’t look too promising at the moment but she needed the job and she reminded herself that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The professor, entirely at his ease, had gone to look out of the window; an encouraging word or two would have been kind, she reflected with a touch of peevishness. It was on the tip of her tongue to say so when the door opened and the woman asked them to follow her.

They were led upstairs to a portrait-lined gallery above and ushered in to a room facing the staircase. The room was large and had a balcony overlooking the grounds; it was furnished with a great many tables and uncomfortable-looking chairs, the tables loaded with ornaments and photos in silver frames. The room was also very hot with a fire blazing in the hearth. Sitting by the fire in a high-backed chair was Lady Grimstone, a formidable figure, her stoutness well corseted and clothed in purple velvet—an unfortunate choice, thought Jane, with that high complexion. She looked ill tempered, her mouth turned down at its corners, but as the professor entered the room with Jane beside him she smiled.

‘Nikolaas—how delightful to see you. You bring news of your dear mother, no doubt.’ She fished the pince-nez from her upholstered bosom. ‘And who is this? Do I know her?’

‘Miss Jane Fox, who, I hope, will take over from Miss Smithers for a short while. A trained nurse and most competent,’ he added smoothly.

Lady Grimstone studied Jane at some length. ‘I cannot really understand why Miss Smithers should need a holiday,’ she observed. ‘She leads a very pleasant life here with me.’

The professor didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Oh, undoubtedly, but it is two—three years since she visited her sister in Scotland; a month away doesn’t seem unreasonable to me, Lady Grimstone, and besides you will benefit from her fresh outlook when she returns.’ He added suavely, ‘We all need to make sacrifices from time to time …’

Lady Grimstone’s massive person swelled alarmingly. ‘You are right, of course. How like your dear father you are, Nikolaas, and I know that you have my welfare at heart.’

She looked at Jane again. ‘I have constant ill health,’ she observed. ‘My present companion, Miss Smithers, understands my needs; it is to be hoped that you will do your best to emulate her.’ She adjusted the pince-nez. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven, Lady Grimstone.’

‘And no followers, I trust?’

Without looking at him, Jane knew that Professor van der Vollenhove was amused. ‘No.’

‘You like animals? I have a dog. Miss Smithers has cats but I presume that they will go with her if and when she goes on holiday.’

‘I do like animals; I have two cats and a dog.’

To her surprise Lady Grimstone took the news with equanimity. ‘You would have Miss Smithers’s room, quite suitable for animals. The dog is small?’

‘Yes, Lady Grimstone.’

‘Ring the bell, if you please, Nikolaas.’

When the woman answered it she said, ‘Tell Miss Smithers to come here,’ in a demanding tone without so much as a please.

Miss Smithers came into the room silently, a sensible-looking woman in her forties. She had a pleasant face and a quiet voice.

‘You wanted me, Lady Grimstone?’

‘As you see, Professor van der Vollenhove has come to see me—his mother is one of my dearest friends. He has found someone to take your place while you go on this holiday. Take her away and explain your duties.’

Miss Smithers didn’t answer but smiled at Jane and went to the door and Jane followed. ‘Come down to my room,’ invited Miss Smithers. ‘We can talk there.’

She led the way downstairs and opened a door leading from the hall, ushered Jane through it and closed the door behind her. ‘You must need a job badly,’ she observed in her sensible voice. She smiled as she spoke and Jane smiled back.

‘Oh, I do. You see I have to leave—my home, and I have two cats and a dog. It seemed hopeless but Professor van der Vollenhove called this morning and said he knew of something. Is it a difficult job?’

‘No, but you will have no life of your own and you are still so young—for myself it suits well enough; I am able to save money and when I have sufficient I shall retire. I like a quiet life and Lady Grimstone is most lenient about pets and that is important to me—to you too, I expect?’

‘Yes, more important than anything else. If I can’t find somewhere they will be welcome my cousin will have them put down.’

‘Sit down and tell me about it,’ invited Miss Smithers.

It was nice to talk to someone who was willing to listen and who, when Jane had finished her sorry little tale, assured her that, difficult though Lady Grimstone was, this was obviously the answer to her prayers. ‘I’ll tell you the daily routine …’

Her day would start early and finish late but from time to time there would be a chance to have an hour or two to herself, ‘And Lady Grimstone expects you to walk her dog several times a day which means you can take yours at the same time. As you can see, this room is ideal—’ she crossed the room and opened the glass doors leading to a small conservatory ‘—it’s ideal for cats and dogs. I leave the outside door open so that they can get in and out if I’m not here—there’s a high wall right round the garden so they can’t go far.’

A bell pinged loudly and Miss Smithers said, ‘That’s Lady Grimstone now. I must warn you that she rings any time during the twenty-four hours and will expect you to be there within minutes. Do you still want the job? It’s for a month … do you know how much you’ll be paid?’

‘I’ve no idea, I just want somewhere for a few weeks while I decide what to do—I’m a nurse—I’ve had a ward for several years, I intend to apply for a job, but it takes time. This is perfect …’

‘Can you not stay with your cousin? Would he not allow you to remain for a few weeks?’

Jane, who had glossed over the gloomier aspects of her tale, admitted that she had just two days in which to leave the house. ‘So you see, it is urgent.’

‘Well, we’ll soon see what she’s decided.’ They went back upstairs to the drawing-room and found Lady Grimstone still in her chair and the professor standing with his back to the fire.

‘Professor van der Vollenhove recommends you, Miss Fox, and I dare say you’ll do and be no worse than anyone else. He tells me that you’re free to come at once so you, Miss Smithers, can pack your bags and be off. A month, mind, not a day more. Have you explained your duties?’

‘Yes, Lady Grimstone. May I suggest that I go on the day after tomorrow and that Miss Fox comes tomorrow so that she may see exactly how you like things done?’

‘I had already thought of that,’ declared Lady Grimstone, who hadn’t. ‘How will you get here?’ she asked abruptly, and Jane thought, Rude old woman; but before she could answer the professor said carelessly, ‘Oh, I’ve another visit to make in Blandford, I can easily collect Miss Fox and her luggage and animals.’ He didn’t wait for the old lady to reply but asked Jane, ‘Will ten o’clock suit you? That will give you all day to find your way around before Miss Smithers goes.’

‘Thank you, it’s kind of you to offer.’

‘Now I’m afraid I must be off and if you’re ready, Miss Fox, I’ll drop you off—I pass your door.’

Lady Grimstone was pleased to be gracious. ‘Well, that settles everything, does it not? Of course I shall not pay you the salary which Miss Smithers enjoys. Let me see …’

She named a sum which, from the look of disgust on Miss Smithers’s face, was well below the normal rate, but Jane answered quietly, ‘Thank you, Lady Grimstone.’ It might not be much but she would be able to save a good deal of it in a month; to be able to step straight into a job at the end of that time might not be possible and there were the animals.

In the car the professor said, ‘I hope you are prepared for a rather disagreeable month …’

‘Yes, I am, and thank you very much for helping me, Professor, I’m very grateful …’

‘Save your gratitude.’ He sounded mocking. ‘I told you what kind of a job it would be.’

‘I know that, but at least we can all have a home while I look around for a permanent job.’

He said casually, ‘True enough. Be ready for me in the morning. Have you a great deal of luggage?’

‘Two cases and the cats and Bruno. The girl who took over my flat when I came home has stored most of my things. Must I tell Basil?’

‘Certainly not. He told you to leave and you are doing so; that should suffice. What about that nice woman—Bessy? Is she to go too?’

‘He said she was to stay until he came but she won’t do that. She has a sister in London—she wants to go there. She had to go to Blandford this morning to see the solicitor and arrange her annuity.’

‘If she can be ready I’ll take her to Blandford as we go.’

‘You’re very kind …’

‘Dismiss the thought that I am a second Sir Galahad, I merely like to arrange matters in a satisfactory manner.’

Which speech so dampened Jane’s spirits that she fell silent. At the house she asked diffidently if he cared to come in.

‘Five minutes—I’ll talk to Bessy.’

‘She may not be back unless she got a lift. The bus doesn’t leave until after lunch …’ She stopped talking for she could see that he wasn’t listening; indeed, he looked bored. She led him wordlessly to the drawing-room and went to see if Bessy had returned.

She had. Jane could hear her singing, slightly off key, in the kitchen. She looked up from peeling potatoes as Jane went in. ‘Everything’s settled, Miss Jane. That nice old man, ‘e ‘as everything just so, I put me name ter a paper or two and that’s that. Money every month—what do you think of that, eh?’

‘Wonderful, Bessy. Look, come quickly, will you? There’s no time to tell you now, but I’ve got a job and am leaving tomorrow—the professor says if you want to go too he’ll give you and your luggage a lift when he comes for me.’

Bessy was already taking off her pinny. ‘It’s a bit sudden, like, but I can’t get away quick enough.’ She trotted back with Jane and found the professor leaning out of an open window, looking at the view.

He explained quickly and very clearly so that Bessy took it all in without a lot of interrupting. ‘I’ll be ready and waiting, sir,’ she said without any hesitation, ‘and thank yer kindly. Me and Miss Jane, we can’t get away from ‘ere fast enough now Mrs Wesley’s gone.’

‘Good. I’ll see you both tomorrow.’

‘Will you have some lunch?’ asked Jane, and went pink when he said gravely, ‘I have no time, but thanks for the coffee I had earlier.’

She saw him to the door and watched him get into his car and drive away. There had been no need to remind her that she had made a fool of herself weeping all over him. He had been kind and helpful and indeed given her the chance to get away just when she was in despair. All the same, she wasn’t sure if she liked him.

She had no time to waste thinking about him. She and Bessy had a sketchy meal in the kitchen and went about the business of packing. The house was already cleaned and polished; Basil would be unable to find fault with the way in which they had left it. Bessy telephoned her sister, cleaned out the fridge and, having packed her things, set about cooking a splendid meal for them both. As for Jane, she went down to the village and told the post office that they were leaving and could their letters be redirected, then she stopped the milk and warned the baker.

Mrs Bristow leaned over the counter. ‘Is that Mr Basil coming to live here?’ she wanted to know, and when Jane said that yes, he was, Mrs Bristow nodded. ‘Well, love, you just go and enjoy yourself, you’ve earned it, I dare swear, you and Bessy both. Good luck to you. Not but what we shall all miss you.’

There wouldn’t be much time in the morning; Jane went round the old house, bidding it a silent goodbye and shutting the windows and locking the doors. Basil had demanded a set of keys on his last visit and now she left her bunch of keys on their ring on the hall table and went along to the kitchen to eat her supper. They washed up together before she took Bruno and the cats for their last walk, and then, quite tired from their busy day, they went to their beds.

At breakfast Bessy said suddenly, ‘I can’t believe it, Miss Jane. After all these years, and you—it’s been yer ‘ome for most of yer life.’

‘But it wouldn’t be home if we stayed, Bessy, dear.’

‘I’ll ‘ear from you?’

‘Of course, Bessy, and I’ll come and see you as soon as I can—before I go to a job. I shall try for something away from London but I promise you I’ll come and see you first.’

She left Bessy to wash the few dishes and went in search of the animals, enjoying the morning sunshine in the garden; she had been careful not to let them see their baskets but all the same they were aware that something unusual was afoot; it would be most unfortunate if one of them decided to disappear just as the professor arrived. It was a relief when the small worry was resolved by a sudden chilly shower so that they trooped indoors where they settled in front of the fireless grate.

The professor was punctual and Jane lost no time in popping Percy and Simpkin into their baskets and fastening the lead on to Bruno’s collar. By the time he had been admitted and was carrying out the cases, she was ready, composed in a tweed suit and sensible shoes, her glorious hair very neat, her lovely face hardly needing the powder and lipstick which she had discreetly applied.

The professor wasted no time in idle chat; his good-morning was brisk and beyond a matter-of-fact question as to whether the gas and electricity had been turned off and the windows and doors closed he saved his breath, stowed the animals in the back with Bessy, held the door for Jane to get in beside him and without a backward glance drove away. Jane, who had been dreading the last few minutes when they left, was thankful for the abruptness of their departure, but she couldn’t resist a last look over her shoulder as they turned into the lane, suddenly annoyed with him because he had hurried them away; it would have been nice to have had a last quick walk through her home, a last stroll in the garden.

Without looking at her he said quietly, ‘This is the best way, you know. Lingering goodbyes are much better avoided.’ He was suddenly brisk. ‘We’ll take Bessy to the train first and see her on to it—there’s time enough for that.’

At the last moment Bessy broke down. The professor had bought her ticket for her, put her cases on the train and stood with Jane on the platform. There were still a couple of minutes before the train was due to leave and Bessy appeared at the door, leaning out precariously. ‘Oh, Miss Jane, you will write? I’ll miss the ‘ouse and you and the animals. Wasn’t there no other way?’

Jane went and took her hand. ‘Bessy, dear, it’ll be all right, I promise you. Look, if I get a good job and can find somewhere to live, if you’re not quite settled with your sister you can come and live with me then we’ll be all together again.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise, Bessy. I’ll write to you in a day or two—we still have each other and I’m sure Granny would have approved of what we’re doing.’

‘That nasty old Basil.’ Bessy wiped her eyes and managed a small smile and a moment later the train pulled out of the station. Jane waved until Bessy was nothing but a blur in the distance and then walked out of the station beside the professor. She wanted to have a good cry herself but that would have to wait.

She was distracted from her unhappy thoughts by the anxious mutterings and growls from the back of the car. The professor waited patiently while she soothed the animals, his face inscrutable, but she had no doubt that he was anxious to hand her over and be on his way. He had been kind in an impersonal way and after all, she reflected, he had got his own way, hadn’t he? She had saved him the bother of finding someone to take Miss Smithers’s place. All the same, she didn’t like to try his patience too far.

She was surprised when he stopped outside an inn a mile or so out of the town. ‘Coffee?’ he suggested. ‘I doubt if you will get it once you get to Lady Grimstone’s.’

‘Is there time?’

‘Ample. I dare say Bruno would like to stretch his legs too.’

They didn’t stay long but the coffee was hot and well made and the pub’s bar cheerful and warm. Back in the car she asked diffidently, ‘Have we upset your day? I do hope not. We—Bessy and I—are very grateful.’

‘I did tell you that I had another visit to pay close by, did I not?’

He spoke coldly, so that she observed with a snap, ‘Indeed you did, but one likes to express one’s gratitude.’

‘I stand corrected.’ He spoke carelessly and with impatience. Really, she thought, he had done so much for them and she should like him enormously for that but now she wasn’t sure if she liked him at all. But it was hard not to when they arrived, to find a decidedly bad-tempered Lady Grimstone waiting for them in the drawing-room.

‘I expected you sooner than this, Miss Fox,’ she snapped without bothering with a greeting.

‘My fault,’ said Professor van der Vollenhove. ‘I was detained and had no way of letting Miss Fox know that I would be later than we had arranged.’ He added blandly, ‘Indeed, I am very sorry to have caused you and her so much worry.’

Lady Grimstone’s high colour paled to a more normal shade. ‘Oh, well, I must forgive you, I suppose. Will you stay for lunch? I should like to hear how your dear mother is—we have had so little time to talk.’

‘I have an appointment in half an hour’s time in Salisbury, much as I should have enjoyed staying. I shall be coming this way again in the near future; perhaps you will invite me then. I must tell my mother how well you are looking.’

‘I should so like to see her again.’ Her eye lighted on Jane, standing quietly by the door. ‘You can go, Miss Fox, find Miss Smithers—I expect you to take over from her without any inconvenience to myself.’

‘Very well, Lady Grimstone.’ Jane made her voice colourless. ‘Goodbye, Professor van der Vollenhove.’

He went to open the door for her but he didn’t say anything. Why should he? she thought dispiritedly; his plans had worked out very well and he could forget her. She went downstairs and found Miss Smithers waiting for her. ‘I’ve put the cats and your dog in my room. Come and see them.’

‘What about yours?’

‘They’re in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind but I’m going this afternoon—a friend with a car is coming to fetch me—it’s too good a chance to miss.’ She opened the door into her room. ‘I’ve shut the outer door so they’ll be quite safe here. There’s everything they need in the conservatory and I thought it might be a good idea if I fetched Bill and we went into the garden together with the two dogs.’

‘You’re going today?’ Jane suppressed panic. ‘I haven’t the least idea what to do …’

‘Not to worry, I’ve written everything down for you. The staff will help you—they’ve been here for years—Lady Grimstone is no fun to work for but they’re used to her and she pays them well.’

They released Percy and Simpkin, who began to prowl cautiously while Bruno sat watching them.

‘Has Professor van der Vollenhove gone?’ asked Miss Smithers.

‘He was still in the drawing-room but he said that he had to go almost at once.’

‘I’ll get Bill from the kitchen and we’ll have a quick run in the garden before Lady Grimstone rings. There’s food for the cats already put out. I’ll let you out of the garden door and meet you outside.’

Bill was elderly, good-natured and slow-moving; he stood patiently while Bruno circled him and decided to be friends and then wandered away in a ponderous fashion while Bruno made rings round him, pleased with his new friend.

‘Oh, good, you’ll not have any trouble with them, and I don’t see why the cats shouldn’t settle down too. When she rings I’ll tell Lady Grimstone that you’re unpacking—that will give you time to read through the notes I’ve written for you.’ Miss Smithers smiled kindly. ‘I’m sure you’ll do and bless you for coming—this job suits me—not many people will accept pets—but I really need a break. I’m off to Scotland to my married sister.’

‘I hope you have a lovely holiday—you’ll let me know when you’ll be back? If I get a job I’ll need to give the date when I’ll be free …’

‘I’ll let you know in good time. If everything goes to plan it should be in four weeks’ time.’ She whistled to Bill and went away with him and Jane followed her presently, to sit down on the one easy-chair in the room and study Miss Smithers’s instructions. They were concise and she would have been an idiot not to understand them; life, she could see, was going to be busy for the next four weeks—there was no menial work involved but any number of small chores: letter-writing, reading aloud, making conversation, accompanying Lady Grimstone if and when she chose to go out, walking Bill, making sure that she was settled each night and getting up in the small hours if Lady Grimstone chose to send for her—and at the bottom of the list Miss Smithers had written in her neat hand, ‘Sorting wool, unpicking embroidery, unpicking knitting, finding specs, acting as go-between with various local charities. A half-day a week free but you will need to remind her.’ This last sentence cheered her up; she could find out about buses to Blandford or Salisbury and if the buses didn’t fit with her off-duty the village shop would see to her small wants.

Four weeks wasn’t long, she told herself, making sure that she looked as much like a companion as possible. The bell went then and she went back upstairs and presented herself to Lady Grimstone.

Miss Smithers was there too, sitting quietly saying nothing while her employer reiterated Jane’s duties and then ordered Jane to ring the bell. ‘Since Miss Smithers is going on holiday I think we might drink to that,’ and when a boot-faced elderly man came into the room she said, ‘Blake, fetch the sherry—we wish to toast Miss Smithers, who is in the happy position of going on holiday.’ Lady Grimstone fixed a beady eye on Jane. ‘I only wish that my health allowed me to indulge in such extravagance.’

Miss Smithers said nothing; probably she had heard it all before, reflected Jane. ‘I think that one is entitled to a holiday if one works hard for one’s living.’

Lady Grimstone’s complexion took on a dangerous hue. ‘I’m sure you are entitled to your opinion, Miss Fox; you are, of course, talking of menial workers. Smithers has a pleasant, easy life here, as no doubt you will discover for yourself while she is away.’

They drank their thimblefuls of sherry and went downstairs to the dining-room, which was exactly as Jane had expected it to be—heavy with red chenille curtains and massive furniture, the table set with great elegance. She wondered why someone had gone to all that trouble when they were served a soup so thin that it might have been, and probably was, an Oxo cube dissolved in a pint of water, followed by very small lamb chops, each lost with its sprig of parsley on the splendid porcelain plate and accompanied by a side-plate on which were arranged very prettily one small potato, a sliver of carrot and a morsel of broccoli. Jane, who had a splendid appetite and pleasantly Junoesque proportions to sustain, made hers last as long as possible and hoped for a substantial pudding.

Blancmange—something she hadn’t eaten and had hated since early childhood. She rose from the table still hungry, and resolved to stock up with biscuits as soon as she could get to the village shop.

Lady Grimstone, leading the way majestically from the dining-room, said over her shoulder, ‘Miss Smithers, let us say au revoir now. Miss Fox, you are free until four o’clock after you have settled me for my nap. You will take Bill for a walk and take any telephone calls and open the afternoon post which you will bring with you at precisely the hour.’

She bade Miss Smithers goodbye and ascended the staircase with Jane on her heels. Lady Grimstone took her nap in the drawing-room, lying on a chaise-longue before a splendid fire, but before she could compose herself there was ten minutes’ hard work for Jane. A shawl to be wrapped just so around the lady’s well covered shoulders, a fine rug to be spread over the rest of her person, a small table fetched and a glass of water, smelling salts, a fan and a clean handkerchief with a small bottle of lavender water arranged upon it—and not anyhow; each item had its appointed place. Jane, finished at last to her employer’s satisfaction, thought that she looked like someone in a Regency novel.

‘You may now go and enjoy your afternoon,’ said Lady Grimstone graciously.

It would be a short afternoon, reflected Jane, it was already two o’clock and Bill had to have his walk; and how was she to answer the phone if she was walking him? She didn’t ask; time was too precious.

She found Miss Smithers in her room. ‘I forgot to tell you that Lady Grimstone doesn’t like big meals. There’s a tin of digestive biscuits in the top drawer of the dressing-table, you can stock up on your half-day—you don’t have to be in until ten o’clock and there’s a quiet little pub in the village where you can get a good meal. Just tell them you’re taking over from me for a week or two and they’ll look after you. If you wanted to go to Blandford or Salisbury I’m afraid you can’t—the buses don’t fit and, even if they did, by the time you got there it would be time to come back.’ She smiled. ‘It’s only for a month and the village shop has all the basics, newspapers and magazines and so on. The postman, Ted, will take your letters and bring anything you may want. You’ll be all right?’

A bit late to ask, thought Jane, and said that yes, everything was fine. ‘Then I’m off; the car’s outside for me. I’ve put the cats in.’

They shook hands and Miss Smithers went away and presently Jane heard the car as it was driven away.

It was a clear chilly afternoon and she went along to the kitchen and collected Bill, exchanged the time of day with Mrs Gibb the cook and Petts, the grim-faced woman who had let them in. There was another woman there too, small and round. ‘Sarah,’ said Mrs Gibb, ‘gives a hand round the house—comes each day.’ She smiled at Jane. ‘New to this kind of job, are you? Thought so—well, we’ll all give you a helping hand if you need it.’

Jane thanked her, collected Bill and went back to her room, opened the door and let out Percy and Simpkin, also Bruno, and set off to explore the grounds. The garden around the house gave way presently to a shrubbery and a wide expanse of grass planted with ornamental trees and circled and criss-crossed by narrow paths—ideal for the animals since there was a twelve-foot wall surrounding them. She walked briskly, feeling the first chill of autumn, and as she walked she made plans. She would get the postman to take a note to the post office in the village; once she could get one of the nursing magazines delivered she could start to apply for a job. It might have to be temporary again but she had to have somewhere to go when she left Lady Grimstone, somewhere where the dog and cats would be welcome; she had better order the Lady too; failing a nursing post she could go as a companion at least for the time being while she found exactly what she wanted. She might have to go back to London …

She took her companions indoors, unpacked and then explored her room. It was comfortable enough and had its own small bathroom as well as the conservatory. She had been lucky to get the job, she reflected, a thought which led naturally enough to Professor van der Vollenhove. Did he work in London, she wondered, or did he live in Holland and travel around? Probably the latter, she thought, if he was sufficiently well known. During her years in hospital she had met several medical men who travelled widely, famous not only in their own country but in half the world as well. Her thoughts lingered on him and she wondered if she would see him again. It seemed unlikely. She was puzzling over her feeling of regret at the thought when she glanced at her watch; time to see if there was any post and tidy herself ready for what she hoped would be tea and cake.

Bill had stayed in her room, perfectly happy with his new friends, and, not sure if Lady Grimstone wanted him or not, she left him there and went along to the kitchen. Mrs Gibbs was at the table, cutting wafer-thin bread and butter.

‘The post?’ asked Jane. ‘I was told to collect it—do I come here for it?’

‘The hall, miss, on the table under the tiger head. If you want to see the postman he’s here every morning at half-past seven, having a cuppa with us. He’ll take your letters and bring you anything from the shop. Been doing it for years for Miss Smithers.’

She glanced at the old-fashioned clock on the wall. ‘Tea in ten minutes, miss; time you got that post and had it ready for her ladyship.’

Jane thanked her and fetched the few letters on the tray. She slit the envelopes and carried them upstairs just as the long case clock in the hall chimed the hour.

She went into the drawing-room quietly and paused. Lady Grimstone was snoring with tremendous gusto but Jane supposed that she wouldn’t want the servants to see her like that, lying anyhow, when they brought the tea-tray. She opened the curtains and let in the early dusk and her employer woke with a snort and sat up.

‘I must have dozed off after lunch—it was rather a heavy meal.’ A remark Jane felt unable to answer as she unwound the shawl and rug and helped Lady Grimstone to her feet, eased her into her chair and handed the post. Just in nice time; the tea-tray, borne by Blake, arrived then—Earl Grey tea, milkless of course, bread and butter she could see through and very small fairy cakes. Lady Grimstone ate all but one of the cakes.

In bed at last, Jane reflected on her day. It hadn’t been too bad; although dinner, for which she had been told to dress, had been as meagre as lunch and she had eaten half the biscuits as she got ready for bed and was still hungry; the roast pigeon and straw potatoes followed by semolina shape had done little to fill her. ‘But it’s only for a month,’ she told Percy and Simpkin, curled up at the end of the bed, and Bruno from his basket growled gently. ‘At least we’re all together, thanks to Professor van der Vollenhove.’

She fell asleep thinking about him.

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