Rachel Lindsay - Love in Disguise

by Rachel Lindsay

  The sharp buzz of a bell startled Anthea out of her reverie. It was the first time Mr. Allen had rung for her, and sticking a stray hairpin into her plaits she hurried to answer him.

  He was in the small dining-room, looking at the laden table with acute dislike.

  'The one thing Mrs. Goodbody forgot to tell , you,' he said as she came in, 'is that I hate being fattened up like a calf for Christmas! For heaven's sake, have half that food taken away.'

  Quickly Anthea went to do as he said and he gave an exclamation of annoyance.

  'Not you, Miss Wilmot. It's Leggat's job. Anyway, why didn't he come when I rang?'

  'He's off for the evening.'

  'He has no business to go out while I'm still here. Damn it all, he does nothing all week when I'm in town 1'

  'It's my fault, sir,' Anthea said quickly. 'He didn't want to go, but I told him he could.' 'He should have known better than to listen to you. He's been with me long enough to know the service I expect.'

  The comment was justified though the criticism was not, for Anthea felt she was solely to blame for the butler's absence. But when she tried to say so, Mark Allen cut her short.

  'You've already made that point,' he said irritably, and watched as she started to remove some of the food.

  'I suppose it will be thrown out,' he continued abrupdy. 'I hate having food wasted.'

  'It won't be wasted with all the staff we have,' she assured him, and went to the door with the tray. 'I'll come back for the rest in a moment, sir.'

  'No, put it back!' As she stared at him he came over and took the tray from her. 'It's as heavy as lead,' he muttered, and banged it down on the table. 'You have no business lifting this.'

  'I wanted to get it out of your way.'

  'Are you as scared of me as you sound, Miss Wilmot?' His irritability had vanished and there was amusement in his soft voice.

  'There's a difference between being scared of one's employer and wishing to please him,' she said coldly.

  'Well, you will please me very much by sitting down and sharing my supper with me.'

  Unsure that she had heard him correctly, she remained standing.

  'Sit down,' he said testily. 'Or do you want me to hold the chair out for you?'

  Scarlet-faced, she collapsed into a chair, and he immediately sat down opposite her.

  'Help yourself to some meat, Miss Wilmot. I'm sure you don't need me to sell you the food? You probably prepared it yourself.'

  'Monsieur Marcel did it.'

  'Good for him,' came the sarcastic rejoinder. 1 was afraid you'd sent him off for a rest too. One day I anticipate coming down here to find everyone off on an extended holiday!'

  'Leggat has only gone to the village to collect his wife,' she retorted. 'You make it sound as if he's gone on a world cruise!'

  'I'm trying to make you realise that when I pay people to do a job, I expect them here to do it. I've never been accused of turning my servants into slaves—which your care for their wellbeing seems to indicate!'

  'Oh no!' Anthea was horrified that her actions had been misjudged. 'It's just that it's such a waste of time for lots of people to hang around waiting on one man.' Colour swept into her face again. 'Oh dear,' she cried, 'now I really have put my foot in it.'

  'Both of them,' he replied. 'You wouldn't be a communist, by any chance?'

  'Certainly not! I just don't like to see people wasting their time.'

  'My staff don't think they waste their time. They believe they have well paid jobs that aren't too difficult. If they didn't like it here, they wouldn't stay.' He helped himself to some cold meat and salad. 'Does your concern for my employees' waste of time extend to yourself?'

  'No, sir. I have many things to keep me occupied.'

  'Those ponderous volumes you consume by the dozen?'

  'I enjoy reading. It stops me from being———- ' Her voice faltered, but he finished the sentence for her.

  'It stops you from being bored to death?'

  'I never said so.'

  'Sometimes, Miss Wilmot, your expression speaks for you!' He set down his fork and looked at her. 'For such a self-controlled woman, you disclose a great deal about yourself without being aware of it.'

  She wondered when he had had the chance to study her, and the question was answered as he continued: 'I've been watching you with my visitors and my aunt. You behaved differently with each one of them. Which reminds me— Claudine left this for you. She didn't want to give it to Leggat. She says it's for you personally.'

  He took a five-pound note from his pocket and Anthea's face flamed.

  'I'm not in the habit of accepting tips, Mr. Allen.'

  'Staff do. It's one of the reasons they like their employers to give parties.'

  The truth of his statement was undeniable and she knew she was foolish to feel resentful at Mrs. Goderick's gesture. She wished she could tell him her true background. After all, he knew she was only working here as a stand-in for Miss Evans and he must surely have wondered what she normally did with herself. But even as she opened her mouth to speak, she shut it again. The background of his housekeeper—especially a temporary one—was the last thing in the world he would be interested in knowing.

  'Do you wish me to return the money to Mrs. Goderick?' he enquired, holding it up again.

  'That would be rude,' Anthea said composedly, and taking the note from him, put it in her pocket.

  'I'm glad to see you don't intend slipping it into your corselet.'

  She looked at him, startled, then saw the gleam in his eyes—or was it the reflection of the light on his glasses? 'I don't wear one,' she said coolly. 'They went out with the dodo.'

  'So has the get-up you're wearing.'

  She caught her breath. 'Mrs. Goodbody wore the same sort of dress.'

  'Mrs. Goodbody had thirty years on you.'

  A quick piece of mental arithmetic told Anthea he still believed her to be in her middle thirties. It was a depressing thought, though a triumph to her disguise.

  'I'll be quite happy to wear a different sort of uniform, sir.'

  'I don't want you to wear a uniform at all! This isn't an institution, you know, it's my home!'

  'I can wear another colour,' she said cautiously.

  He shrugged, as though bored by the conversation, and picking up his fork resumed eating.

  Manfully Anthea did the same. She usually had a hearty appetite, but tonight it seemed to have disappeared, no doubt due to the embarrassment she felt at sitting opposite this difficult man. Still, he was a mortal like herself. It was ridiculous to let his wealth and position turn her into a bundle of nerves.

  Resolutely she helped herself to some more meat. It was certainly nicer to eat here than in the housekeeper's sitting- room. She still could not think of it as her own domain, though perhaps this was because she knew she was only here for a short time. How would it feel to have a permanent job like this one? It would give her sufficient free time to pursue any other subject in which she was interested. She could not see her father being pleased at the idea—he would consider it a waste of her academic talents—and her stepmother would be totally disapproving. She grinned at the thought of Maude.

  'What's the joke?' her employer asked.

  'I—er—something personal.'

  'I'm glad to hear you have something personal to smile about. You seem so reserved, I was beginning to wonder if you had any personal thoughts whatever.'

  'Do you always judge a book by its cover?'

  'If it's a feminine book. Your fair sex are far more interested in cover than content!' He eyed her ugly black dress with disfavour. 'Not that you appear to be of similar mind.'

  ‘I’ll buy a more summery dress on my day off,' she said promptly. 'When you come down next weekend, you won't see me in black.'

  'I may be going to Deauville with Mr. and Mrs. Goderick next weekend.'

  'Isn't it rather dreary out of season?'

  'It's even worse in season!' He helped himse
lf to a liberal portion of trifle. 'Actually the season has already begun there. Mrs. Goderick wouldn't be going otherwise.'

  'She loves showing off.' His glasses glinted and she added hastily: 'I mean, she's extremely beautiful, isn't she?'

  'Extremely.’

  His tone gave nothing away, and fearing she had said too much she lapsed into silence.

  'My aunt liked you,' he said unexpectedly.

  'I liked her,' Anthea said warmly, 'though she wasn't what I had expected.'

  'What did you expect?'

  'When I heard she was coming as your hostess, I thought she was… I imagined she'd be…' Anthea drew a deep breath. 'I hadn't realised she was your aunt.'

  'I would never allow a girl-friend to act as my hostess,' he said matter-of-factly. 'It might give her the wrong idea.'

  'Wrong idea?'

  'Marriage. That's one kind of partnership I'm not interested in.'

  'Do you intend to remain a bachelor all your life?'

  'Not all of it,' he said. 'I would like children. All this—' he waved his hand round the room—'would be pointless otherwise. But unfortunately one cannot have a family without the encumbrances that go with it.'

  'And you regard a wife as an encumbrance?'

  'I do.' His look was sardonic. 'There's no point in asking if you feel the same way about a husband. Most women see marriage as the be-all and end-all of their existence.'

  'For heaven's sake!' She caught herself up. 'I'm sorry, Mr. Allen. I shouldn't have said that.'

  'Don't apologise, Miss Wilmot. You are dining at my table and there's no reason why you shouldn't talk to me on equal terms.'

  'We can never be equal, Mr. Allen. Your whole way of living is alien to mine. You've devoted yourself to amassing money; you have no existence outside of that.'

  'Would you find it more laudable if I spent my life in the hallowed precincts of Oxbridge and devoted myself to petty quarrels with fellow dons?'

  Against her will Anthea burst out laughing—a warm sound that bubbled from her throat. He gave her a surprised glance, and as she became aware of it she sobered instantly and busied herself by picking up the plates and depositing them on the sideboard.

  'Have you always been a housekeeper?' he asked slowly.

  'I've always kept house,' she replied, keeping her back to him. 'My mother died when I was a child and I looked after my father.'

  'What does he do?'

  She pretended not to hear him. 'Would you like your coffee now, Mr. Allen, or later?'

  'Now.' He watched in silence as she poured it out and brought him a cup. 'Join me,' he said laconically, and again she did as he bid.

  He sat quietly sipping it, looking unexpectedly tired. After the busy week he had spent in London, it would have done him more good to have had a quiet weekend and not one devoted to business. She knew from what Leggat had told her that he had been closeted until the small hours with Mr. Goderick and Mr. Frankenheim. But she did not have the right to tell him he was overworking; nor did anyone else, for that matter, if what he had said earlier was true.

  He was a loner who enjoyed living his life this way.

  As though aware of her scrutiny he moved his head in her direction, and the heavy rims of his glasses gave him a forbidding air.

  'How long is your friend likely to be ill, Miss Wilmot?'

  'Betsy, you mean? I hope she'll be able to come here in a couple of months; perhaps a little earlier.'

  'Do you have another job to go to?'

  'Not until October,' she said quickly.

  'Is it near here?'

  'Not far away.'

  'You seem to like this district.'

  'I've lived in this area all my life.' She hesitated. 'Where were you born, Mr. Allen?'

  'In this house.' He saw her amazement and grinned, wickedly. 'Did you think mine was a rags to riches story? I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Wilmot, but my background is considered to be impeccable. Poor but impeccable.'

  She glanced around her. 'Hardly poor, Mr. Allen.'

  'The house was all we had. Two world wars killed off the senior males in the family and death duties crippled my lather. When I was seven we sold up and moved to London.'

  She was startled and unable to hide it. 'But how did you… I mean, you———-'

  'I was able to retrieve the family fortunes,' he said blandly, 'and buy back the house when it came on the market again.'

  'You're lucky it did. It's a lovely place. I can't imagine anyone wanting to sell it.'

  He laughed again, and white teeth flashed in a tanned face, making him look Italian. 'When I bought out Hercules Holdings, this house was the home of its chairman!' He glanced around him. 'I keep meaning to change the furnishings, but I haven't got round to it yet.'

  'A wife would do it for you,' she said demurely.

  'So would an interior decorator—and far less expensive in the long run!'

  Anthea smiled. He had a dry sense of humour that appealed to her. 'What is your ambition now, Mr. Allen, or have you achieved everything you want?'

  'Does one ever achieve everything one wants?'

  She thought of her father, content with his books and his second marriage. 'I think so,' she murmured. 'Some people do.'

  'I wish I was one of them. Unfortunately I'm the driver driven.'

  'I don't follow that.'

  He shrugged. 'I'm driven by restlessness and that forces me into activity which makes me force others into activity too.'

  'Have you never been able to relax?'

  'A long time ago I could.' He stood up and began to pace the room. 'Not any more, though. It's boredom, Miss Wilmot. I do it all because of boredom.' 'You mean poverty of inner resources, Mr. Allen.'

  'You have a sharp turn of phrase, Miss Wilmot! It doesn't go with your hausfrau appearance.' His words reminded her of her position and she stood up.

  'Would you care for another cup of coffee, sir?' And then as he shook his head: 'In that case, perhaps you'll excuse me?'

  'Of course. It was remiss of me to keep you talking so late.'

  She glanced at her wristwatch and saw it was nearly eleven. Time had flown without her noticing it.

  'My secretary will let you know if I'll be here next weekend,' he said, and murmured goodnight before she reached the door.

  'As she went to her bedroom she tried not to be resentful of his casual dismissal; after all, she had been the one to suggest ending the evening; but she wished he had not accepted it with such alacrity. Seeing her reflection in her dressing-table mirror she giggled. No wonder he had not wanted to extend their conversation together. It was amazing he had wanted to begin it in the first place.

  She took off her steel-rimmed spectacles, then took out her hairpins and shook her head. The chestnut brown plait fell past her shoulders and she undid it and started to brush it free. How much younger she looked with her hair a satin curtain round her face, and what a ridiculous contrast it was to this bunchy black dress. Tomorrow she would go into Reading and buy herself a less hideous one. Inexplicably she thought of Claudine Goderick's exquisite clothes and shook her head. Jasper was too high a price to pay for them. No amount of money could ever be compensation for spending one's life with a man one did not love. And if one did fall in love, then the money he had would be unimportant. What a pity that Mr. Allen was too cynical lo believe a woman could think that way.

  CHAPTER SIX

  As he had half indicated, Mark Allen went to Deauville the following weekend, a fact reported in the gossip columns of the tabloid which Mrs. Leggat avidly read each morning. Surprisingly there was also a picture of him taken with Claudine Goderick, the caption beneath it implying that the couple were going away together for the weekend. In the fuller blurb written below, however, Jasper Goderick was stated to be in the party, and described as a wiry Australian.

  'He doesn't have an Australian accent,' Mrs. Leggat muttered, and her husband nodded sagely.

  'Because he's lived here the best part of
his life. Here and in Canada. That's where he met his wife.'

  'Let's hope she remains his wife,' Mrs. Leggat frowned at the photograph of Claudine. 'I wouldn't fancy having her as mistress here.'

  Anthea's ears pricked, but she forcibly reminded herself of her determination not to gossip. Happily her conscience was appeased and her curiosity satisfied as Leggat himself continued the conversation.

  'If Mr. Allen has managed to avoid matrimony so far, he won't succumb to Mrs. Goderick.'

  'His other women friends haven't been like her,' Mrs. Leggat snorted. 'She's a very determined woman.'

  'So is her husband. He watches her like a hawk.'

  'I'm not surprised. Any man who marries someone young enough to be his daughter is asking for trouble!'

  'They've been happily married for eight years,' the butler protested. 'I heard Mr. Goderick say so at dinner the other night.'

  'It won't last another eight,' Mrs. Leggat prophesied. 'Not now she's met Mr. Allen.'

  Anthea rustled the notebook in her hand. She had come in to make a list of the provisions that needed to be reordered and felt it would be better to put an end to his conversation. Taking the hint, Mrs. Leggat went into the larder, and for the next hour the two of them concentrated on the stock cupboard.

  Later that day, as Anthea drove to her father's house— odd that she did not think of it as her own home any more—she wondered how accurate Mrs. Leggat's gossip was about Mr. Allen and the lovely Claudine.

  It did not require great acumen to know that the girl did not love her husband. It was apparent in the cool way she spoke to him and the derisive looks she gave him when he was not looking in her direction, and which had been one of the first things Anthea had noticed. Yet she did not have much sympathy for Jasper Goderick either. He was too wily a bird not to know the character of the girl he had married nor her reasons for marrying him. Money! Anthea thought scornfully. It made women want men and men want the world. But what an empty world it often turned out to be for them. Mark Allen had said so himself. He had sill the money he was ever likely to need, yet he was bored. What greater indictment could there be against the ambitious striving for wealth and business success?