Love Can Wait

by Betty Neels

‘Although I doubt if you’ll see your money back, miss,’ she was told.

  She gave her name and address, assured him that she was unharmed and, since there was nothing else to be done about it, got on her bike and did her shopping. A pity that they hadn’t taken the housekeeping money instead of her precious savings.

  She didn’t allow herself to think about it while she shopped. Her world had fallen around her in ruins, and she would have to start to rebuild it all over again. Disappointment tasted bitter in her mouth, but for the moment there were more important things to think of. Lady Cowder’s lunch, for instance…

  She cycled back presently, her purchases made, wondering how she was going to break the news to her mother. She would have to wait until Sunday. She rarely got the chance to use the phone unless it was on Lady Cowder’s behalf, and she saw no hope of getting enough free time to go home until then. And she had no intention of telling Lady Cowder.

  Back at the house, she was reprimanded in Lady Cowder’s deceptively gentle voice for being late. ‘It is so essential that I should have my meals served punctually,’ she pointed out. ‘I feel quite low, and now I must wait for lunch to be served. You may pour me a glass of sherry, Kate.’

  Which Kate did in calm silence before going down to the kitchen to deal with the mushrooms and oysters. But before she did that she poured herself a glass of the cooking sherry—an inferior brand, of course, but still sherry.

  She tossed it off recklessly and started on her preparations for lunch, not caring if she burnt everything to cinders or curdled the sauce. Of course, she didn’t; she served a beautifully cooked meal to an impatient Lady Cowder and went back to the kitchen where she sat down and had a good cry.

  CHAPTER SIX

  KATE felt better in the morning. The loss was a set back, but with the optimism born of a new day she told herself that a hundred pounds wasn’t such a vast sum and if she could save it once, she could save it a second time.

  Her optimism faded as the day wore on; Lady Cowder was demanding, and for some reason sorry for herself. She declared that the journey home had upset her and went round the house finding fault with everything.

  It was a blessing when the vicar’s wife called after lunch to confer with her about the Autumn Fair. Lady Cowder prided herself on patronising local charity, and made no bones about telling everyone how generous she was in their cause.

  She spent a pleasant afternoon telling the vicar’s wife just how things should be done. Kate, bringing in the tea tray, heard her telling that lady that she would be delighted to supply as many cakes and biscuits as were needed for the cake stall and the refreshment tent.

  ‘As you know,’ said Lady Cowder in her wispy voice, ‘I will go to any amount of trouble to help a worthy cause.’

  Kate, with the prospect of hours of cake baking ahead of her, sighed.

  The vicar’s wife was only a passing respite, though; by the following morning Lady Cowder was as gloomy as ever. Thank heavens, thought Kate, that I can go home tomorrow.

  Lady Cowder fancied a sponge cake for her tea. ‘Although I dare say I shall eat only a morsel of it.’ She added sharply, ‘Any of the cake which is left over you may use for a trifle, Kate.’

  Kate stood there, not saying a word, her face calm, and wearing the air of reserve which annoyed her employer. ‘I’ll have the turbot with wild mushrooms for dinner. Oh, and a spinach salad, I think, and a raspberry tart with orange sauce.’ She glanced at Kate. ‘You’re rather pale. I hope you aren’t going to be ill, Kate.’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ said Kate, and went away to make the sponge cake. She hoped it would turn out like lead, but as usual it was as light as a feather.

  She thought of Mr Tait-Bouverie as she worked. It was silly of her to waste time over him, but at least it stopped her thinking about her lost money.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie stood at the window, looking at his aunt’s garden. He wasn’t sure why he had felt the urge to pay her a visit and had no intention of pursuing the matter too deeply. He had almost convinced himself that the feelings he had for Kate were nothing more than a passing infatuation, but when the door opened and she came in with the tea tray he had to admit that that was nonsense. Nothing less than marrying her would do, and that as soon as possible.

  However, he let none of these feelings show but bade her a quiet good afternoon and watched her arrange the tray to please his aunt. She had gone delightfully pink when she’d seen him, but now he saw that she looked pale and tired. More than that—unhappy.

  She left the room as quietly as she had entered, not looking at him again, aware of Lady Cowder’s sharp eyes, and he went to take his tea cup from his aunt and sit down opposite her.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that you found the journey home tiring. Kate looks tired, too. Perhaps you should have broken your trip and stayed in town for a night.’

  ‘My dear boy, all I longed to do was get here—and indeed the journey was so fatiguing, getting to the airport and then the flight. You know how nervous I am. And then standing about while the luggage is seen to and the car fetched—and then the long drive here.’ She added sharply, ‘Kate isn’t in the least tired. She’s a great strapping girl, perfectly able to cope—and after a month’s idleness, too. I’m glad to see that she hasn’t taken advantage of your kindness to her at Alesund.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie gave her a look of such coldness that she shivered.

  ‘Of course, I’m sure she would do no such thing,’ she said hastily. ‘Such a reserved young woman.’ Anxious to take the look of ferocity from her nephew’s face, she added, ‘You will stay to dinner, won’t you, James?’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie, making plans, declined. After his absence from London, he pointed out, he had a backlog of work. He urged his aunt to take more exercise, volunteered to let himself out of the house and went round to the kitchen door.

  Kate was sitting at the table. The ingredients for the raspberry tart Lady Cowder fancied for dinner were before her, although she was making no attempt to do anything about it.

  Seeing Mr Tait-Bouverie had been a bit of a shock—a surprisingly pleasant one, she discovered. She had put down the tea tray and taken care to reply to his pleasant greeting with suitable reserve, but the urge to fall on his neck and pour out her troubles had been very strong. She reflected that she must like him more than she thought she did, not that her feelings came into it.

  ‘But it would be nice to have a shoulder to moan on,’ she observed to Horace, who was sitting cosily by the Aga.

  ‘I don’t know if you have a shoulder in mind,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie from the door. ‘But would mine do?’

  She turned her head to look at him. ‘You shouldn’t creep up on people like that; it’s bad for the nerves.’

  Indeed, she had gone very pale at the sight of him.

  He came right into the room and sat down at the table opposite her.

  ‘Did I shock you? I’m sorry. Now tell me, Kate, what is the matter? And don’t waste time saying nothing, because neither you nor I have time to waste.’

  ‘I have no intention…’ began Kate, and stopped when she caught his eye. She said baldly, ‘I went to Thame on Thursday to shop, you know, and I had the money—the hundred pounds—with me to take to the bank. I was going to see the manager. I was mugged by some boys. They took my bag with the money inside.’ She paused to look at him. ‘Fortunately the housekeeping money was in the basket on my bike, so I was able to do the shopping.’

  She managed a small smile. ‘I’m a bit disappointed.’

  He put out a hand and took hers, which was lying on the table, in his. ‘My poor Kate. What a wretched thing to happen. Of course, you told the police…?’

  ‘Yes. They said they’d do their best—but, you see, no one really saw it happen. People were passing on the other side of the street but not looking, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘You told my aunt?’

  She gave her hand a tug but he held it fast. ‘Well, no; there’s no
point in doing that, is there?’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘It’s my free day tomorrow. I shall tell her then.’

  ‘What do you intend to do?’

  ‘Why, start again, of course. I’d hoped that I would be able to leave here quite soon, but now I’ll stay for at least a year—if Lady Cowder wants me to.’ Her voice wobbled a bit at the thought of that, but she added, ‘A year isn’t long.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie got up, came round the table, heaved her gently out of her chair and took her in his arms. He did it in the manner in which she might have expected a brother or a favourite uncle would do. Kind and impersonal, and bracingly sympathetic. It cost him an effort, but he loved her.

  It was exactly what Kate needed—a shoulder to cry on—and she did just that, comforted by his arms, soothed by his silence. She cried for quite some time, but presently gave a great sniff and mumbled, ‘Sorry about that. I feel much better now. I’ve soaked your jacket.’

  He handed her a beautifully laundered handkerchief. ‘Have a good blow,’ he advised. ‘There’s nothing like a good weep to clear the air. What time are you free tomorrow?’

  ‘I usually get away just after nine o’clock, unless Lady Cowder needs something at the last minute.’

  ‘I’ll be outside at half past nine to take you home. It might help your mother if I’m there, and it might be easier for you to explain. She’s bound to be upset.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kate mopped her face and blew her pink nose again. ‘That would be very kind of you, but are you staying here for the night? I didn’t know—I must make up a bed…’

  ‘I’m going back home now.’ He gave her a kind and what he hoped was an avuncular smile. ‘I’ll be here in the morning. Perhaps we can think of something to help your mother over her disappointment. Now cheer up, Kate; something will turn up…’

  ‘What?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Well, that’s the nice part about it, because you don’t know, do you? And a surprise is always exciting.’ He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘I must go. See you in the morning. And, Kate—sleep well tonight.’

  She nodded. ‘I think I shall. And thank you, Mr Tait-Bouverie, you have been so kind.’ She smiled. ‘You’re quite right; there’s nothing like a good weep on someone’s shoulder. I’m grateful for yours.’

  She sat at the table for several minutes after he had gone. He had offered no solution, made no hopeful suggestions, and yet she felt cheerful about the future. Perhaps it was because he had been so matter-of-fact about it, while at the same time accepting her bout of weeping with just the right amount of calm sympathy. Breaking the news to her mother would be a great deal easier with him there.

  He had kissed her, too. A light, brotherly kiss which had made her feel…she sought for the right word. Cherished. Absurd, of course.

  She got up and began to prepare Lady Cowder’s dinner, then made herself a pot of tea, gave Horace his evening snack and sat down again to wait for Lady Cowder’s ring signalling her wish for her dinner to be served.

  It was a fine morning when Kate woke from a good night’s sleep. A pity her nicest dress had been ruined in the tunnel she thought as she got into a cotton jersey dress. It had been a pretty blue once upon a time, but constant washing had faded it. As she fastened its belt she wished that she had something pretty and fashionable to wear, and then told herself not to be silly; Mr Tait-Bouverie wouldn’t notice what she was wearing.

  He did, however, down to the last button, while watching her coming round the side of the house from the kitchen door, the sun shining on her glorious hair, smiling at him shyly because she felt awkward at the remembrance of her tears yesterday.

  He wished her good morning, popped her into the car and drove off without waste of time. ‘Your mother won’t mind Prince again?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘No, of course not; he’s such a dear.’ She turned round to look at him sitting at the back, grinning at her with his tongue hanging out.

  ‘You have slept,’ observed Mr Tait-Bouverie.

  ‘Yes, yes, I did. I’m sorry I was so silly yesterday—I was tired…’ She glanced at his rather stern profile. ‘Please forget it.’

  He didn’t answer as he stopped before her home, but got out and opened her door and let Prince out to join them. By the time he had done that Mrs Crosby was at the open door.

  ‘What a lovely surprise. Hello, darling, and how delightful to see you again, Mr Tait-Bouverie. I hope you’ve come to stay? There’s coffee all ready—we can have it in the garden.’

  She beamed at them both and stooped to pat Prince. ‘You’ll stay?’ she asked again.

  ‘With pleasure, Mrs Crosby. You don’t mind Prince?’

  ‘Of course not. He shall have some water and a biscuit.’ She turned to Kate. ‘Go into the garden, dear, I’ll bring the tray…’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie carried the tray out while Kate fetched the little queen cakes her mother had made, all the while talking over-brightly about Norway—indeed, hardly pausing for breath, so anxious was she not to have a long silence which might encourage her mother to ask about her trip to Thame.

  In the end, Mrs Crosby managed to get a word in. She couldn’t ask outright about the bank manager, not in front of their guest, but she asked eagerly, ‘Did you have a successful trip to Thame, dear?’

  ‘I’ve some disappointing news, mother,’ began Kate.

  ‘Won’t they lend you the money? Wasn’t it enough, the hundred pounds?’

  ‘Well, mother, I didn’t get the chance to find out. I was mugged just outside the bank. The police don’t think that there is much chance of getting the money back—it was in my bag.’

  Mrs Crosby put her cup carefully back into the saucer. She had gone rather pale. ‘You mean, there is no money…?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mother, dear. It’s a bit of a blow, isn’t it? But we’ll just have to start again.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Mrs Crosby unhappily, ‘that you must go on working like a slave for too little money for another year? More, perhaps.’

  She picked up her cup and put it down again because her hand was shaking. ‘Did you know about this?’ she asked Mr Tait-Bouverie.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Crosby. I saw Kate yesterday evening and she told me.’

  Mrs Crosby said, ‘I can quite understand what a relief it must be to have hysterics. Kate, dear, I am so very sorry. After all these months of work—and you’ve never once complained.’ She looked at Mr Tait-Bouverie. ‘This is rather dull for you. Let’s talk about something else.’

  He said in his calm way, ‘If I might make a suggestion, there is perhaps something to be done…’

  He had spent a large amount of the previous evening on the telephone after he’d returned home, but first of all he had gone in search of Mudd, who had been sitting in the comfortable kitchen doing the crossword.

  ‘Mudd, do I pay you an adequate wage?’

  Mudd had got to his feet and been told to sit down again. ‘Indeed, you do, sir; slightly more than is the going rate.’

  ‘Oh, good. Tell me, would you know the—er—going rate for a housekeeper? One who runs the house more or less single-handed and does all the cooking.’

  ‘A good plain cook or cordon bleu?’ asked Mudd.

  ‘Oh, cordon bleu.’

  Mudd thought, named a sum and added, ‘Such a person would expect her own quarters too, the use of the car, two days off a week and annual holiday.’

  Mudd looked enquiringly at Mr Tait-Bouverie, but if he hoped to hear more he was to be disappointed. He was thanked and left to his puzzle while Mr Tait-Bouverie went to his study and sat down at his desk to think. The half-formed plan he had allowed to simmer as he drove himself home began to take shape. Presently, when it came to the boil, he had picked up the phone and dialled a number.

  Now he returned Kate’s look of suspicion with a bland stare. ‘No, Kate, it isn’t something I’ve thought up during the last few minutes. It is something I remembered on my way home last night. An ol
d lady—an extremely active eighty-something—told me some time ago that her cook would have to go into hospital for some time and would probably be away for several months. It seems the poor woman should have been there much earlier, but her employer was unable to find someone to replace her. She lives in a village south of Bath—a large house, well staffed… Kate, will you tell me what wages you receive?’

  She told him, for she saw no reason not to.

  ‘I believe that you are underpaid by my aunt. Did you know that?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But I needed a job badly, and someone we knew offered us this cottage at a cheap rent. I know I’m not paid enough, but where would I find another job where we could live as cheaply as we do here?’

  ‘Exactly. But if you could get work where you lived rent-free and were better paid, it might be a good idea to take a calculated risk. You would be able to save more money—no rent, nor gas or electricity. I’m a bit vague about such things, but surely there would be more scope for saving?’

  ‘But it would be temporary. I might be out of work again…’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘With Bath only four miles away?’ He smiled. ‘Faint-hearted, Kate?’

  She flared up. ‘Certainly not; what a horrid thing to say.’ She added quickly, ‘I’m sorry. That was ungrateful and horrid of me.’

  She looked at her mother. Mrs Crosby said quietly, ‘We have nothing to lose, have we? I think it’s a marvellous idea, and I’m grateful to James…’ She smiled across at him. ‘You don’t mind? You see, I feel that you are our friend…for thinking of it and offering us help.’

  Kate got up and went to stand by his chair, and when he got up, too, held out her hand. ‘Mother’s right; you’re being kind and helping us, and I don’t deserve it. I feel awful about it.’

  He took her hand in his and smiled down at her. ‘I hope that I may always be your friend, Kate—you and your mother. And as for being kind, I don’t need to trouble myself further than to write to this old lady and let you know what she says. She may, of course, have already found someone to her taste.’