Rachel Lindsay - Love in Disguise

by Rachel Lindsay

  Rachel Lindsay - Love in Disguise

  To do a friend a favour — and also be-cause it suited her at the time to get away from home — Anthea offered to take over temporarily the friend's new job, as housekeeper to the high-powered tycoon Mark Allen. But Mr. Allen, it seemed, preferred his housekeepers to be staid and middle-aged, so Anthea assumed a disguise.

  But no disguise could hide her growing awareness of her acid-tongued employer or help to conceal her dislike of the lovely Claudine who seemed determined to marry him…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Anthea Wilmot took her father's letter into the garden and, settling herself in a deckchair beneath the shade of the chestnut tree, took out the thin airmail sheets covered with the familiar spiky handwriting.

  It was unusual for her father to write at such length and she decided that his convalescence must be doing him good. No doubt this letter was full of instructions for the research he wanted her to do prior to his beginning the second volume of his magnus opus—The Customs of Ancient Britain. Bending her head, she began to read.

  A shaft of sunlight filtering through the leafy bower above her, turned her brown hair to the colour of sherry and gave her creamy skin a golden hue. In profile her face had the serious intensity often found in a child, an impression increased by her high forehead and the rounded curve of her chin.

  If anyone had told Anthea she was beautiful she would have burst out laughing, for hankering after the sleek looks of the models whose pictures she admired in Vogue, she was not enamoured of her own more voluptuous curves, nor the bouncing vitality which was so much a part of her character. But as she folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope, some of this vitality faded, tempered by a dismay so profound that it required a great effort not to let it engulf her.

  Her father had got married again. Unbelievable but true. A rambling account of the woman who had made him succumb to matrimony was contained within the pages she had just read.

  'I know my news will come as a surprise to you,' he had written, 'but when you meet Maude you will understand why I did it. She is an excellent woman with an unusually good mind.'

  Coming from her father this was praise indeed, though she wished he had been less concise in his description. All he had added to this was that, like himself, the unknown Maude had lost her partner several years ago, and that she had been a teacher in a small provincial town.

  'Maude is looking forward to university life,' he had concluded, 'and I have assured her she will not be disappointed.'

  Wondering what her new stepmother envisaged as university life, Anthea went to break the news to Chrissy, their housekeeper and general factotum ever since she could remember.

  'Married!' that good woman said in dismay. 'Why on earth did the Professor do a thing like that?'

  'For love, I suppose,' Anthea smiled.

  'At sixty?' Chrissy was indignant. 'Really, Miss Anthea, I thought he had more sense!'

  Though Anthea privately agreed with the comment it seemed circumspect not to admit it. 'We'd better get the front bedroom ready,' she said.

  'Your mother's room?'

  'Not any more,' Anthea said gently. 'There's a new Mrs. Wilmot now, Chrissy. We must remember that.'

  'Not if it means forgetting the first one.' Tears welled in the faded brown eyes and the housekeeper turned and busied herself at the sink. 'And you can't forget so easily either. There's no point telling me you can.'

  'Of course I can't forget. I'm merely saying it's wrong for us to go on living in the past. I'm glad my father has remarried.'

  'If he was going to get himself a wife, it's a pity he didn't do it before he was taken ill.' Chrissy banged down a pot.

  He wouldn't have upset your career if he'd had someone else to look after him and help him with his work.'

  'Even if he'd had a wife, I would still have left university,' Anthea replied. 'It wasn't much fun for him to be tied to the house for a year; and without me to do his research, he'd never have finished his book.'

  An audible sniff was the housekeeper's only comment, and deciding to leave while peace still reigned in the kitchen, Anthea went upstairs.

  The front bedroom had not been used since her mother's death ten years ago, though it had been repainted and refurnished and held no hint of the sadness of its past. She sighed and wondered if her father realised how lucky he was to have had two doting women to care for him all his life. His own mother—whom Anthea remembered as a matriarch in black—then his wife, a woman as gay and vital as Anthea herself, who had run his home so efficiently that he had been able to devote himself entirely to his work. Her death had temporarily upset the even tenor of his life, but Chrissy had soon managed to cope with all the domestic chores while Anthea had learned to cope with the personal ones.

  A year ago this peaceful existence had been broken by his illness. A severe attack of bronchitis developed into pneumonia, and he had been left so debilitated that he had been given a year's leave of absence from university. Anthea had immediately left too—in the middle of her degree course— in order to do the research necessary for her father to continue with his book. She had promised to complete her degree as soon as he was well again, and his trip to Greece this Easter had been the final stage of his convalescence.

  Sorting through the linen cupboard, she tried to overcome the fear she felt at the prospect of having to share her home with a stranger. Unworldly though her father was, he would surely not marry someone with whom he was totally incompatible, and this at least meant that she herself would have something in common with the unknown Maude. She took his letter out of her pocket and looked at the last page to check the hour of his arrival. By this time tomorrow he would be home and she would know the worst.

  'The best,' she said aloud. 'Think positive, my girl. Think positive!'

  Anthea's first sight of her stepmother did little to encourage positive thought. Dressed without concession to the heat or time of day, the new Mrs. Wilmot sailed majestically across the lawn in a tweed suit with complementary hat, gloves and shoes.

  'My dear Anthea,' she said in a loud voice, 'I am delighted to meet you. Frederick has told me so much about you.'

  Frederick. Hearing her father called this, when for years no one had called him anything other than Fred, a warning bell rang ominously in Anthea's brain. She glanced at her father, but he did not appear to see anything strange in the full use of his name, and was beaming happily at his bride.

  'I don't expect you to call me Mother,' the woman went on, 'and you're too old to call me Aunt. I think—yes—I have no objection to you calling me Maude.'

  Murmuring that she would be delighted to do so, Anthea wondered where was the charm and intelligence her father had written about. Not until after dinner did some of this emerge, when Mrs. Wilmot settled back in an armchair and urged her husband to talk.

  There was nothing Fred Wilmot liked better, and he started by telling them how far he had progressed with his book that day and what his current problems were with it.

  Maude Wilmot hung on his every word and, watching her, Anthea had to concede that her interest was genuine. There was no doubt the woman hankered for culture with a capital C, and was overwhelmed at having managed to capture a real live professor. This belief was confirmed by the questions she showered on Anthea, for they showed lively concern with academic life and position.

  'It's extremely important for Frederick's students to know they can come here whenever they wish,' she declared emphatically. 'It was a belief my late husband always tried to inculcate in his students. But day school doesn't give one the same opportunities. At university it must be quite different. I'm sure the students would en
joy a chance to relax in a homely atmosphere.'

  'I have open house once every term,' Fred Wilmot said. 'It's too much work for Chrissy to have it more often.'

  'I am sure we can manage to do better than that in future. Wait till you have sampled my cooking, Frederick. When you do you won't be disappointed.' Prominent brown eyes looked at Anthea. 'I suppose you consider cooking a waste of time? Most intellectuals do.'

  'Anthea is an excellent cook,' her father interjected mildly. 'You must get her to make you a soufflé; it's one of her specialities.'

  'There's nothing difficult about making a soufflé,' Maude Wilmot answered.

  'I've arranged the menu for tomorrow,' Anthea said hurriedly. 'But after that, the reins are in your hands—er— Maude.'

  'Thank you, my dear. I am sure you must be happy to give them up and go your own way again. Your father told me you came back home to look after him when he was ill.'

  'I left university,' Anthea corrected, 'but it wasn't a question of returning home. I lived here already.'

  'You mean you went to this university?'

  'I'm reading history. Who better to teach me than Dad?'

  Maude made no comment, but her mouth set in an uncompromising line which, in turn, increased the squareness of her chin. Definitely a Maude, Anthea mused with an inward sigh, and in her mind's eye already saw the writing on the wall.

  Later that night as she climbed into bed her father came to see her. He had taken off his jacket and she was glad to see he was not so bony. He looked more rested too, though she could not believe this was due to Maude, whom she had found, even on short acquaintance, to be extremely wearing. Not so her father, it seemed, for sitting on the bed, he spoke of his bride with genuine warmth.

  'She doesn't make a good first impression, but that's because she is nervous and tries too hard. But she is a sympathetic woman and most capable. I feel I can leave things with her and know they will be done.'

  'They always have been done,' Anthea said, hurt.

  'I know that, my dear,' her father responded. 'Both you and Chrissy have looked after me devotedly. But I don't have the right to command such devotion—certainly not from you. I felt very badly at asking you to give up your own life this past year.'

  'I enjoyed it,' Anthea said at once. 'I've learned more working with you than I'd have done if I'd taken ten degree courses!'

  'Which brings me back to the reason I came in,' her father replied. 'My marriage must make no difference to you. This is your home and always will be for as long as you need it. There's no reason for you to move into lodgings when you resume your studies.'

  Anthea hid her surprise. She hadn't even considered leaving home. To do so was a needless expense and the freedom gained by living in digs in no way compensated for the pleasures of this rambling Victorian house with its lovely garden. Yet her father's remark indicated that Maude had already discussed it with him, and she instinctively knew that the woman wanted her to go. Not that she could blame her for it, Anthea had to admit. If she were in Maude's position she would probably feel the same.

  'It might be an idea for me to live out,' she said casually. 'Most girls of my age do.'

  'At twenty-one?'

  'That's ancient these days!’

  Professor Wilmot stood up and kissed the top of his daughter's head. 'Do whatever you wish, my dear. Of course if you move, I will increase your allowance.'

  'There's no need for that.'

  'You won't find it easy to live on your grant. Anyway, you've been my unpaid assistant for a year. That's worth at least a thousand pounds.'

  'Don't be silly. I didn't do it for the money.'

  'I know. But I still want to pay you. We'll talk about it another time.'

  For a long while after he had gone Anthea considered the future. Maude was right. It would create problems if she went on living here. Chrissy, for one, would not easily accept having another mistress and, if given orders she did not agree with, might well turn to herself for encouragement. Such divided loyalty could only end in discord, and her father would eventually be the one to suffer from it. All things being equal it was advisable for her to find her own place as soon as possible. Provided she did not want anything elaborate it should not be difficult.

  Happier in the knowledge that she had made some resolution about her future, she settled herself to sleep, her thoughts turning fleetingly to her own mother, a living memory still, albeit one that could not help her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Anthea's determination to find somewhere to live received a setback when she discovered the prices being asked for most indifferent accommodation, and though she immediately lowered her standards, the cost of the smallest flat was still far in excess of what she could afford.

  Loath to mention it to her father for fear he would see her urgent desire to move as a criticism of his wife, she said nothing at all. So far she was on amicable terms with her stepmother. It meant treading warily, for Maude had her own way of doing things and a deep-seated desire to be the sole woman in charge of the household. But when her father gave a large party to introduce his bride to his friends and the university fraternity, Anthea realised the necessity of getting away while she and her stepmother were still on speaking terms.

  When not beset by nervous apprehension Maude was a pleasant if determined woman, but when meeting new people she affected such a gushing manner that she caused uneasiness all round. It highlighted Anthea's own ease and casual acceptance of people with whom she had grown up. After all, it was impossible for her to be in awe of even the most illustrious Fellow when he had dangled her on his knee as a child.

  As the evening had progressed, with Anthea being included in all the conversation, Maude's nervousness and irritation had increased, and though she said nothing about it when the party was over, her frustration showed itself several days later.

  'It isn't good for you to be around older people all the time,' she exclaimed. 'You should be with your own friends.

  You don't even have a young man to take you out.'

  'Anthea has plenty of time before concerning herself with boy-friends,' Professor Wilmot said. 'I hope she has the sense to stay single for at least five years. She should see something of the world before she settles down to domes- deity.'

  'How old-fashioned you are, Frederick,' his wife replied. 'These days marriage doesn't mean domesticity. A married woman can have just as full a life as a single one.'

  'Not if she wants to be a good wife and mother.'

  was married when I was twenty,' Maude prickled, 'and I pride myself I was a capable wife without being a dull one. I taught at school with my husband and ran a home.'

  'But you are a remarkable person,' Anthea said quickly. 'I don't think I've got the energy and talent to do both jobs well.'

  The Lightening of Maude's features told Anthea she had lied in a good cause. Like most self-conscious women, Maude responded to flattery no matter how obvious. It was an easy way to curry favour, but Anthea knew she did not have the aptitude to do it for long. Sooner or later temper would get the better of discretion and she and her stepmother would have rows which would have unhappy repercussions for her father.

  'Take the party we gave the other night.' Maude was speaking again. 'There were hardly any young men here and die few that were never got a chance to talk to Anthea because of all the elderly men around her.'

  'My friends would resent hearing themselves described as elderly,' Professor Wilmot smiled.

  'You know what I mean, Frederick.'

  'Yes, my dear, I do.'

  The look he gave his wife, followed by the look he immediately gave his daughter, indicated he was not speaking idly, and this only added to Anthea's determination to leave home. The last thing in the world she wanted was to come between her father and Maude. It was obvious the woman had disliked seeing her husband's friends talking to his daughter rather than to herself, and being too insensitive to see this was due to her own behaviour, she had inevitab
ly blamed it on her stepdaughter's desire to outshine her. Without the competition of a younger woman Maude might eventually settle down; it was doubtful if she would ever be completely at her ease, but she must at least be given the chance of finding a niche for herself.

  'I've seen several flats,' Anthea murmured casually. 'I'm hoping to find the right one soon.'

  'Can't the university help you?' Maude asked.

  'I'm hoping they'll do so in October. There's a chance that I can get rooms in college. It's finding somewhere until October that's the problem.'

  'Aren't the rooms free now?'

  'My college is being redecorated,' Anthea replied. 'That's the whole problem.'

  'It's not such a problem,' her father intervened. 'After all, you do have a home to live in. No one is pushing you out.'

  He did not see the look of annoyance flung at him by his wife, but Anthea did not miss it and was not surprised when, dinner over and Frederick Wilmot retired to his study to glance quietly over some papers, Maude returned to the subject of her moving.

  'I don't want you to feel I'm turning you out of your home, my- dear. I'm sure you realise yourself that——'

  'I do,' Anthea said gently, 'and I agree with you. That's why I want to move. It's the best way for us to remain friends.'

  Maude flushed, uneasy at having a spade so plainly called a spade. 'I don't know whether your father gives you an allowance, but I'd never stand in his way if he did,' she continued awkwardly but with determination.

  'That's most kind of you.' Anthea turned away to hide an unexpected spurt of anger.

  'Mind you,' the older woman went on, 'he's going to have far heavier expenses this year. We'll be doing up the house and refurnishing the drawing-room and dining-room. At the moment I don't feel I belong here.'

  'You've only just moved in. It takes time to feel at home.'

  'I realise that; but I'll never feel at home unless I feel at ease.' She glanced at the chintz covering on the drawing-room chairs and the faded but still lovely carpet on the floor and Anthea, with very little stretch of the imagination, could envisage the way the room would soon be looking: stiff with formal brocade and flowered Wilton.