Love Can Wait

by Betty Neels

  All of which sounded very convincing in Kate’s ear. As he had meant it to.

  Kate took her hand away reluctantly. ‘What do you want us to do? Write to this lady asking her if she will employ me?’

  ‘No, no. I think it best if I write to her and discover if she has found someone already. If she has, there is no more to be said—but if she is still seeking someone, I could suggest that I know of a good cook who would be willing to take over for as long as is needed.’ He looked at Mrs Crosby. ‘Would that do, do you suppose?’

  ‘Very well, I should think. We’ll try and forget about it until we hear from you, then we shan’t be disappointed.’ She smiled at him. ‘We can never thank you enough, James. I’ve said that already, but I must say it again.’

  He went away soon after that, leaving them to speculate about a possible future. ‘James is quite right,’ said Mrs Crosby. ‘If we can live rent-free think of the money we’ll save. Even if the job lasts for only a few months we might have enough to get started, with help from the bank.’

  ‘It’s a risk.’

  ‘Worth taking,’ said Mrs Crosby cheerfully, and clinched the matter.

  Kate heard nothing from Mr Tait-Bouverie for the best part of a week and then suddenly there he was, standing in the kitchen doorway, wishing her good afternoon in a cool voice.

  Kate paused in her pastry making, aware of pleasure at seeing him.

  ‘Are you staying for dinner?’ she wanted to know. ‘Because if you are I’ll have to grill some more lamb chops.’

  ‘No. No. I merely called in on my way back from Bristol. I have been sent by my aunt to tell you that I am here for tea.’

  ‘I have just taken an apple cake out of the oven. Does Lady Cowder want tea at once?’

  ‘I do have to leave in half an hour or so, if that is not too much trouble?’

  He came further into the kitchen. ‘I heard from the old lady I told you about. She will be writing to you. It will be for you to decide what you want to do, Kate.’

  She smiled widely at him. ‘You have? She will write? That’s marvellous news. Thank you, Mr Tait-Bouverie. If this lady wants me to work for her I’ll go there as soon as I’ve given notice here.’ She added uncertainly, ‘If she would wait?’

  ‘Oh, I imagine so,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie easily. ‘I don’t suppose another week or so will make any difference.’

  He strolled to the door. ‘I’m sure everything will get nicely settled without any difficulties.’

  He had gone before she could thank him.

  The letter came the next day. Kate was asked to present herself for an interview on a day suitable to herself during the next week, and she wrote back at once, suggesting the following Wednesday afternoon.

  Getting there might be a problem—one solved by asking the son of the owner of the village shop to give her a lift into Oxford, where she could catch a train. It would be a tiresome journey, and to be on the safe side she told Lady Cowder that she might be back late in the evening.

  Kate, hurrying down to the village to start her journey on Wednesday afternoon, felt mean about leaving Lady Cowder in the dark—then she remembered how that lady hadn’t scrupled to underpay her…

  Rather to her surprise, she was to be met at Bath and driven to her prospective employer’s house, which was at a small village some four miles or so away. The man who met her was elderly and very polite, although he offered no information about himself.

  ‘Mrs Braithewaite is elderly, miss, as you perhaps know. You are to see her first for a short interview and then have a talk with Cook. You are to return to Thame this evening?’

  ‘Yes. I hope to catch the half-past-six train to Oxford if possible.’

  ‘I shall be taking you back to Bath. You should be finished by then.’

  He had no more to say, and sat silently until he turned in at an open gate and drew up before an imposing Queen Anne house set in a large garden. Its massive front door was flanked by rows of large windows, but Kate followed her companion round the side of the house and went in through a side door.

  The kitchen at the end of the stone passage was large and airy and, she noted, well equipped with a vast Aga and a huge dresser, rows of saucepans on its walls and a solid table. There were chairs each side of the Aga and a tabby cat curled up in one of them. There were three people there—an elderly woman, sitting on one of the chairs, and two younger women at the table, drinking tea.

  They looked up as Kate was ushered in, and the elder woman said, ‘You’re young, but from all accounts you’re a good cook. Sit down and have a cup of tea. Mrs Braithewaite will see you in ten minutes. I’m Mrs Willett. This is Daisy, the housemaid, and Meg, the kitchenmaid. Mr Tombs, the butler, will see you before you go.’

  Kate accepted a cup of tea, thanked the man who had driven her from the station and got a quick nod from him. ‘I’m the chauffeur and gardener; Briggs is the name.’

  ‘I’m very grateful for the lift.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s my job. You don’t look much like a cook, miss.’

  She was saved from answering this by Mrs Willett, who got to her feet with some difficulty, saying, ‘Time we went.’

  They went along a lengthy passage and through a door opening into the entrance hall. They crossed this and Mrs Willett knocked on one of the several doors opening from it. Bidden to come in, she stood aside for Kate to go in and then followed her to stand by the door.

  ‘Come here.’ The old lady sitting in a high-backed chair by the window had a loud, commanding voice. ‘Where I can see you. What’s your name again?’

  ‘Kate Crosby, Mrs Braithewaite.’

  ‘Hmm. I’m told you can cook. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes. I can cook.’

  ‘It’s a temporary job, you understand that? While Mrs Willett has time off to go to hospital and convalesce. I have no idea how long that will be, but you’ll be given reasonable notice. Dependants?’

  ‘My mother.’

  ‘There’s Mrs Willett’s cottage at the back of the house. She’s willing for you to live there while she’s away. Bring your mother if you wish. I take it you have references? I know Mr Tait-Bouverie recommended you, but I want references as well.’

  Kate had a chance to study the old lady as she spoke. Stout, and once upon a time a handsome woman, even now she was striking, with white hair beautifully dressed. She wore a great many chains and rings and there was a stick by her chair.

  ‘I’m a difficult person to please,’ went on Mrs Braithewaite. ‘I’ll stand no nonsense. Do your work well and you will be well treated and paid. You can start as soon as possible. Arrange that with Mrs Willett.’

  Mrs Willett gave a little cough which Kate rightly took to be a signal to take her leave.

  She thanked Mrs Braithewaite politely, bade her good day and followed Mrs Willett out of the room.

  ‘There, that’s settled, then,’ said the cook in a relieved voice. ‘You’ve no idea how many she’s interviewed, and me just dying to get to hospital and be seen to.’

  ‘I’ll come as soon as I can. I have to give notice where I’m working at present. I’ll write to you as soon as I’ve got a date to leave, shall I?’

  ‘You do that, miss. What’s your name again? Not married, are you?’

  ‘No. Would you call me Kate?’

  ‘Suits me. I’ll tell the others. Come and see the cottage, and there’s time for another cup of tea before Briggs takes you back. And you’ve still got to see Mr Tombs.’

  The cottage was close to the house—a small, rather sparsely furnished living room opened into a minuscule kitchen and a further door led to a bathroom. The stairs, behind a door in the sitting room wall, led to two bedrooms, each with a single bed, dressing table and clothes cupboard.

  Kate said, ‘We have our own furniture where we are at present. We’ll store it, of course, but would you like us to bring our own bed linen—and anything else to replace whatever you would like to pack away? We’re careful t
enants…’

  Mrs Willett looked pleased. ‘Now that’s a nice idea, Kate. Bring your own sheets and table linen. I’ll put anything I want to store away in the cupboard in the living room.’

  ‘There’s just one other thing—we have a cat. He’s elderly and well-behaved.’

  ‘Suits me, so long as he doesn’t mess up my things.’ Mrs Willett led the way back to the house. ‘Mr Tombs will be waiting to see you…’

  Mr Tombs was an imposing figure of a man. Middle-aged, with strands of hair carefully combed over his balding pate, he wore a severe expression and an air of self-importance. He fixed her with a cold eye and expressed the wish that they would suit each other. ‘The kitchen is, of course, your domain, but all household matters must be referred to me,’ he told her pompously.

  Later, in the car being driven back to her train, Briggs said, ‘You don’t have to worry about Mr Tombs; his bark’s worse than his bite.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ said Kate. ‘But I shan’t have much to do with the house, shall I? And the kitchen, as he said, is to be my domain.’ She added, ‘I think I’m quite easy to get on with.’

  That sounded a bit cocksure. ‘I mean, I’ll try to fit in as quickly as possible, and I hope that someone will tell me if I don’t. I shall do my best to do as Mrs Willett has done.’

  ‘No doubt. We’re all that glad that Mrs Willett can get seen to. She’s waited long enough.’

  Presently he left her at the station and she got into the train and spent the journey back making plans. They would have to start packing up, and the furniture would have to be stored, but they would be able to take some of their small possessions, she supposed. There was the question of telling Lady Cowder, too.

  Kate spent a long time rehearsing what she would say. By the time she reached Oxford she was word-perfect.

  Jimmy from the village had promised to meet her, and he was waiting.

  ‘Any luck?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got the job—but don’t tell a soul until I’ve given in my notice, will you?’

  ‘Course not. Coming back here when the job’s finished?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. Perhaps, if we can have the cottage back again.’

  He left her at her home with a cheerful goodnight and she quickly went indoors to tell her mother. ‘I can’t stop,’ she told her. ‘I’ll tell you all about it on Sunday. I’ve got the job. I’ll have to give in my notice tomorrow.’

  She kissed her mother, got on her bike and pedalled back to Lady Cowder’s house. It was late now, and she would be hauled over the coals in the morning in Lady Cowder’s gentle, complaining voice. She let herself in, crept up to her room and, once in bed, lay worrying about the morning. She expected an unpleasant interview and the prospect allowed her only brief snatches of sleep.

  Her forebodings looked as if they were going to come true, for when she took in Lady Cowder’s tea that lady said, ‘I wish to speak to you after breakfast, Kate. Come to my sitting room at ten o’clock.’

  Kate, outwardly her usual quiet, composed self was very surprised to find Lady Cowder looking uneasy when she presented herself. She didn’t look at Kate, but kept her eyes on the book on her lap.

  ‘Yesterday I had a long talk with my god-daughter, Claudia—Miss Travers. As you know, I am devoted to her. She told me that her mother is going to live in the south of France and is dismissing her staff at her home here in England. Claudia is upset, since their housekeeper has been with them for some years and is, in her opinion, too elderly to find another post. Claudia asked me—begged me—to employ this woman.

  ‘Claudia is a sensible girl as well as a strikingly pretty one—she pointed out that it will be easier for you to obtain a new post than their own housekeeper, and suggested that you might consider leaving. She is quite right, of course.’ Lady Cowder looked up briefly. ‘So be good enough to take a week’s notice as from today, Kate. I will, of course, give you an excellent reference.’

  Kate restrained herself from dancing a jig; indeed, she didn’t allow her surprised delight to show. Lady Cowder’s discomfiture was very evident, and Kate added to it with her calm, ‘Very well, Lady Cowder. Have you decided what you would like for lunch today? And will there be your usual bridge tea this afternoon?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I have no appetite—an omelette with a salad will do.’

  Kate shut the door quietly as she went, and then danced all the way down to the kitchen, where she gave Horace the contents of a tin of sardines and made herself coffee. She couldn’t quite believe this sudden quirk of fate, but she was thankful for it. It was a good sign, she told herself; the future was going to be rosy. Well, perhaps not quite that, but certainly pink-tinged.

  She would have to write to Mr Tait-Bouverie and tell him that his help had borne fruit. She knew where he worked as a consultant, for her mother had asked him, and she would send a letter there.

  She composed it while she assembled Lady Cowder’s coffee tray. She wasn’t likely to see him again, she reflected, and felt decidedly sad at the thought. ‘Which is silly,’ she told Horace, ‘for we quite often disagree, although he can be very kind and—and safe, if you know what I mean. Only I wish he wasn’t going to marry Claudia…’

  She wrote the letter that evening and gave it to Mrs Pickett to post when she went home. It had been surprisingly difficult to write; things she wanted to tell him and which would have sounded all right if she had uttered them looked silly on paper. She considered the final effort very satisfactory, and had stamped it with the feeling that she had sealed away part of her life instead of just the envelope. She had no reason to feel sad, she reminded herself, and the concern she felt for his forthcoming marriage to Claudia was quite unnecessary—in fact, rather silly.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie read the letter as he ate his breakfast the following morning. Reading its stiff contents, he reflected that Kate must have had a bad time composing it. It held no warmth but expressed very correctly her gratitude, her wish for his pleasant future and an assurance that she would endeavour to please her new employer. No one reading the letter would have recognised the Kate who wrote it—but, of course, Mr Tait-Bouverie, with a wealth of memories, even the most trivial ones, tucked away in his clever head, knew better. He read it again and then folded it carefully and put it into his pocket. Kate might think that they would never meet again but he knew better than that.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THERE was a great deal to do during the next few days, but Lady Cowder rather surprisingly told Kate that she might go home each evening after she had served dinner and cleared away the dishes. Kate had arranged to go straight to her new job, and her mother would follow within the week, after seeing their furniture put into store and returning the cottage key to its owner.

  The owner of the village store had turned up trumps with an offer to drive Mrs Crosby to her new home with most of the luggage and Moggerty, so that Kate needed only her overnight bag and a case.

  It was all very satisfactory, although her remaining days with Lady Cowder were uneasy, partly because Claudia had arrived unexpectedly, bringing with her the woman who was to replace Kate. She was a thin, sour-faced person with a sharp nose and grey hair scraped back into a bun. She followed Kate round the house on a tour of inspection, answering Kate’s helpful remarks with sniffs of disapproval.

  ‘I’ll not have that cat in my kitchen,’ she told Kate. ‘The gardener can take it away and drown it.’

  ‘No need,’ said Kate, swallowing rage. ‘Horace is coming with me, and may I remind you that until I leave I am still the housekeeper here.’

  Miss Brown drew herself up with tremendous dignity, then said, ‘I am sure I have no wish to interfere. It is to be hoped that your hoity-toity ways don’t spoil your chances of earning a living.’

  With which parting shot she took herself off to complain to Claudia, who in turn complained to Lady Cowder. That lady, who was guiltily aware that she had treated Kate badly, told her g
od-daughter with unexpected sharpness to tell Miss Brown to be civil and not interfere with Kate.

  ‘Kate has been quite satisfactory while she has been with me, my dear, and she will be going to another job in two days’ time.’

  The next morning when Kate took up Lady Cowder’s breakfast tray she waited until that lady had arranged herself comfortably against her pillows before saying quietly, ‘Miss Brown doesn’t want Horace in the house, Lady Cowder. May I take him with me?’

  ‘The kitchen cat? I suppose so, if he’ll go with you. Can he not be given to the gardener or someone? They’ll know what to do with him.’

  ‘They’ll drown him.’

  Lady Cowder gave a shudder. ‘Really, Kate, must you tell me these unpleasant things just as I am about to have breakfast?’

  When Kate said nothing and just stood there, Lady Cowder said pettishly, ‘Oh, take the cat by all means. It is most unfair of you to cause this unpleasantness, Kate. It is perhaps a good thing that you are leaving my employ.’

  She wasn’t an unkind woman, although she was selfish and self-indulgent and lazy, so she added, ‘Take the cat to your home this afternoon. Miss Brown can get our tea.’

  Kate said, ‘Thank you, Lady Cowder,’ and went back to the kitchen to tell Horace that he would shortly have a new home. ‘Where you will be loved,’ she told him cheerfully, so that he lost the harassed expression he had had on his whiskery face ever since he had encountered Miss Brown.

  Kate took him home later and, being an intelligent beast, knowing upon which side his bread was buttered, he made cautious overtures to Moggerty, explored the garden without attempting to leave it and settled down in the kitchen.

  ‘Nice company for Moggerty,’ observed Mrs Crosby.

  Two days later Kate left Lady Cowder’s house. It was still early morning, and Lady Cowder had bidden her goodbye on the previous evening. She had given Kate an extra week’s salary, too, at the same time pointing out that her generosity was due to her kind nature.