by Betty Neels
Mr Tait-Bouverie said, ‘Indeed,’ in a cold voice, and then, ‘Forgive me if I ring off; Mudd has just put dinner on the table.’
‘Oh, how thoughtless of me, James. Tell me, before you go, how is your dear mother?’
‘In splendid health.’ And when he had no more to add to that, Lady Cowder rang off herself.
He was eating his breakfast the next morning when his mother phoned. ‘James, I do hope I haven’t got you out of bed? I’m back…I know I’m not supposed to be here until tomorrow, but there was a seat on the plane and I thought I’d transfer. Can I come to your place and tidy up before I go home?’
‘Mother, dear, stay just where you are—I’m on my way to work, but Mudd shall fetch you at once. You’ll stay here as long as you like. I’ll be home later today and Mudd will look after you. Did you leave everyone well in Toronto?’
‘Splendid, dear. The baby’s a darling. I’ll tell you all the news when I see you.’
‘Go and have breakfast or coffee, my dear; Mudd will be as quick as he can.’
He put down the phone and found Mudd at his elbow. ‘Mrs Tait-Bouverie is back, Mudd. Will you take the Rover and fetch her from Heathrow? Take Prince with you…no, on second thoughts he had better stay at home. It’s Mrs Todd’s day for cleaning, isn’t it? She’ll keep an eye on him. Mother is sure to have a great deal of luggage.’
‘Mrs Todd has already arrived, sir. I will inform her of what has happened and go immediately to the airport.’
Mudd spoke with his usual dignity, refusing to be hassled by the unexpected. Mr Tait-Bouverie swallowed his coffee and prepared to leave his house. ‘Splendid, Mudd. And think up one of your dinners for this evening, will you?’
‘I have already borne that in mind, sir,’ said Mudd.
There was a hint of reproach in his voice, and Mr Tait-Bouverie said at once, ‘You’re a paragon, Mudd. I would be lost without you.’
Mudd, aware of his worth, merely inclined his head gravely.
Mrs Tait-Bouverie was sharing a sofa with Prince when her son got home that evening. He was tired; his out-patients clinic had been larger than usual, and he had interrupted his ward round in order to see a badly injured child brought into the accident room.
His mother offered a cheek for his kiss. ‘You’ve had a long day, James.’
‘Yes, Mother, but it’s so nice to come home to you…’
‘You should be coming home to your wife.’
He sat down opposite to her and picked up the glass Mudd had put on the table beside his chair. ‘Something I hope to do.’
Mrs Tait-Bouverie put down her glass of sherry. ‘James, dear, you’ve found her…?’
‘Yes.’ He glanced at his mother—a tall woman, a little given to stoutness, but still good-looking, and with a charming smile. She dressed beautifully to please herself and was always elegant.
He went on, ‘She has a lovely face, and quantities of russet hair. She is tall, as tall as you, and she has a delightful voice. She is cook-housekeeper to Aunt Edith Braithewaite.’
‘Why?’ asked his mother.
‘Fallen on hard times after her father died. She lives with her mother.’
‘Not one of those beanpole girls playing at earning her living?’
‘No, no. She has no money.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘And she has what I believe are described as “generous curves”.’
His mother accepted a second glass of sherry. ‘She sounds exactly right for you. Has she agreed to marry you?’
‘Certainly not. I imagine that she is unaware that I’m in love with her. Certainly she treats me with a cautious politeness, which is a bit disconcerting.’
‘When shall I see her?’
‘We are invited to Aunt Edith’s birthday luncheon. She will be in the kitchen, of course. We must contrive a meeting.’
‘When is this luncheon to be?’
‘Ten days’ time. Will you stay until then?’
‘No, my dear. I’d like to go home and make sure that everything is all right. Have you managed to go there at all?’
‘Twice. It’s too far for a day’s drive; I managed weekends. Everything was all right. You could easily stay here, and I’ll drive you up to Northumberland after the party.’
‘I think I’d like to go home first. I’ll get Peggy to drive me down. Did you see her while you were there?’
‘Yes. She seems very happy. I’m to be an uncle again, I hear.’
‘Yes. Isn’t that splendid? Your sisters have given me several grandchildren, James. It’s time you did the same.’
He smiled at her. ‘All in good time, my dear. Here is Mudd to tell us that dinner is on the table.’
Two weeks wasn’t long in which to plan and prepare the kind of luncheon Mrs Braithewaite insisted upon giving. Kate sat up late at night, writing copious notes and then assembling everything she would need. A good deal could be prepared well ahead of the day, but catering for seventy people was a challenge. Luckily the staff, led by a self-important Mr Tombs, were delighted with the idea of such a social gathering and went out of their way to help Kate— Tombs going so far as to drive her into Bath so that she could choose what she needed for herself and then stow it away in the huge freezer until she needed it.
All the same, even with so much willing help, there was a lot to do. Kate enjoyed it, though. Cooking for Lady Cowder had been a thankless task, but now, as she made tartlets and pork pies, cooked the hams to an exact pinkness, coated chicken breasts in a creamy cheese sauce, made lobster patties and crisp potato straws, she felt satisfaction.
On the day previous to the luncheon she stayed up until the small hours, making bowls of mouthwatering trifle, puréeing fruit to mix with gelatine and turn out into colourful shapes. And the cake… She had baked that days ago; now she iced it, decorated it with the roses she had fashioned so carefully and set a single candle amongst them.
Mr Tombs had advised that. ‘Mrs Braithewaite hasn’t enough breath to blow out one candle, let alone eighty-three,’ he had told her seriously.
The great day dawned with a clear sky, although there was an autumnal nip in the air. Luncheon was to be served at one o’clock, and Kate and her helpers were up and about before the sun was up. The tables had to be set up, draped with damask, decorated with flowers and set with plates and cutlery, glass and napkins.
They ate a hasty breakfast and Kate assembled what she would need for dinner that evening. There were to be guests staying on—ten people, close family of Mrs Braithewaite—and she had been warned to send up a four-course meal. Rack of lamb with suitable accompaniments, a sorbet, Charlotte Russe and, for starters, mushrooms in a garlic and cream sauce. For the kitchen staff she had wisely made a vast steak and kidney pudding which could be cut into and kept warm if need be.
The guests began to arrive at around noon and Mr Tombs, Daisy and Meg went upstairs to take coats and hand around sherry. Kate, a little nervous now, put the finishing touches to the cake and put on a clean pinny. Now was her chance to nip up to the drawing room where the buffet had been arranged and make sure that everything was just as it should be.
She paused on the threshold and sighed with satisfaction. The tables were loaded with food but they looked elegant. The flowers were perfect and the hams on their vast dishes, surrounded by dishes of various salads, looked mouthwatering. The cake, of course, was to be brought in at the end of luncheon, to be cut by Mrs Braithewaite and handed round with champagne. Kate nodded her bright head, well satisfied.
Mrs Tait-Bouverie, just that minute arrived and strolling round the hall while James put the car away, paused to look at her. Even from the back Mrs Tait-Bouverie knew who she was. There weren’t many heads of hair like hers—besides, James had described her very accurately. Mrs Tait-Bouverie wandered a little nearer, and when Kate turned round to go she was pleased to see that he had been quite right about Kate’s looks, too. A beautiful creature and plenty of her, thought his mother. She said pleasantly, ‘May I take a peep
, or is it to be a surprise at one o’clock?’
Kate smiled at her. ‘Well, yes, I suppose it should be. Mr Tombs said that no one was to go into the room until then. I’m the cook, and I came to make sure everything was as it should be.’
Mrs Tait-Bouverie surveyed the colourful display. ‘It looks magnificent. Caterers, I suppose?’
‘Well, no,’ said Kate matter-of-factly. ‘It’s all been done here. We all helped.’
‘But who did the cooking?’
‘I did—only I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s help. I’d better go—and if you don’t mind I’ll shut the door…’
Which she did, and with a polite murmur went back to the kitchen. Mrs Tait-Bouverie strolled back to the entrance to meet her son.
‘I’ve been talking to your Kate,’ she told him. ‘She’s everything you said of her, my dear, and I suspect a lot more besides. She had no idea who I was. You’ll go and find her before we leave?’
‘Yes. There should be plenty of opportunity. The house is packed with people; we had better join them.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
MR TAIT-BOUVERIE following his mother, entered the smaller drawing room, where his aunt was sitting receiving her guests. A slow business, as she insisted on opening each present as it was offered to her. She greeted Mrs Tait-Bouverie with a peck on the cheek and turned to James.
‘So you found the time to come?’ she observed, and added slyly, ‘Your Aunt Cowder is here with that girl…wanted to know where you were.’
He bent to kiss her cheek and she added wistfully, ‘I should like to see you married, my dear.’ She chuckled. ‘Not to Claudia, of course.’
He said, ‘Since it’s your birthday, I believe it very likely that you will have your wish granted.’
He offered his gift, suitably wrapped and beribboned, and, leaving his mother with the old lady, wandered off to greet family and friends.
It wasn’t long before Lady Cowder saw him.
‘James, how delightful. You managed to get here, after all.’ She pecked his cheek and added archly, ‘Claudia is so looking forward to seeing you.’
Claudia, James saw at a glance, was dressed to kill—her make-up had been applied by a skilled hand and her blonde hair had been arranged in a fashionable tangle which, while in the forefront of the current mode, did nothing for her… Mr Tait-Bouverie shook hands, said everything necessary for good manners, and excused himself, giving his aunt a vague reply when she wanted to know when he would be returning.
‘Of course, he knows everyone here,’ said Lady Cowder soothingly to Claudia, and wished uneasily that the girl would at least disguise her peevishness with a smile.
The last of the guests having arrived, drinks were handed round, a toast was drunk to their hostess and Tombs announced that luncheon was being served from the buffet.
This was a signal for a well-mannered rush to fill plates while Tombs carved the hams and Daisy and Meg and the girls pressed into service from the village saw to it that everyone was served.
When that was done everyone settled down to eating and gossip, having their plates replenished from time to time and drinking the excellent wines Mrs Braithewaite had provided. That lady was seated in some state at a table at one end of the room while an ever-changing stream of people came and went to exchange a few words with her. Everyone was, in fact, fully occupied, and Mr Tait-Bouverie had no difficulty in slipping away unseen.
The house was quiet once he had left the drawing room, gone down the staircase and through the baize door at the back of the hall to the kitchen. He opened its door quietly and paused to enjoy the sight of Kate, fast asleep in one of the shabby armchairs by the Aga.
She had kicked off her shoes and slept like a child, her mouth slightly open, confident that she had the place to herself for an hour or more. The last of the food had been carried upstairs and there was nothing for her to do until Tombs came to tell her to make the tea which some of the guests, at least, would undoubtedly want. So she slept dreamlessly, aware of a job well done.
Mr Tait-Bouverie trod silently across the kitchen and sat down in the equally shabby chair opposite her, quite happy to wait. He had dismissed a strong wish to kiss Kate awake, and contented himself with watching her tired, sleeping face.
Presently she opened her eyes, stared at him unbelievingly for a moment and, Kate being Kate, asked, ‘Was I snoring?’
Mr Tait-Bouverie stayed where he was. ‘No,’ he said placidly. ‘What time did you get up this morning, Kate?’
‘Me? Four o’clock—I had to finish icing the cake. How did you get here?’
‘I came down the stairs. Shall I make us a pot of tea?’
‘That would be lovely…’ She stopped and sat up straight. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Tait-Bouverie, did you come with a message, or want something? I’m sorry I fell asleep.’
He perceived that any rash ideas he might have had about asking her to marry him would have to be ignored for the moment. A pity, for he saw her so seldom, and now, with plenty of time in which to tell her of his feelings, he would have to waste it making tea. He smiled at the thought.
‘No, no, everything is going splendidly upstairs. I came to see if you were still quite happy here.’
He got up, opened up the Aga and put the kettle on, found a teapot and the tea and two mugs, whistling quietly as he did so—a sound which Kate found reassuring and in some strange way comforting.
‘A very successful birthday party,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie. ‘Have you had lunch?’ And when she said that she had not, he asked, ‘Breakfast?’
‘Well, I didn’t have any time…’
‘As a small boy,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie in a voice so soothing it would have reduced a roaring lion to tears, ‘I was taught to boil an egg, make toast and butter it—my mother being of the opinion that if I could master these arts I would never starve.’
He had found the bread and the eggs and was busy at the Aga. ‘Is your mother well? I must go over to the cottage and see her before we leave.’
Kate’s tired brain fastened on the ‘we’. ‘Oh, you came with Claudia, I expect.’
The fragrant smell of toast made her twitch her pretty nose, and she didn’t see his quick glance.
‘No. I came with my mother. She’s back from Canada, and came down from Northumberland. She and Aunt Edith are close friends.’
He placed a plate of well-buttered toast on the table and dished up an egg. ‘Come and eat something.’ When she had sat down at the table he poured the tea, a strong brew capable of reviving anyone not actually dead.
Kate ate her egg, polished off the toast and, imbued with new energy by the tea, got to her feet.
‘That was lovely, thank you very much. I mustn’t keep you, Mr Tait-Bouverie.’ She popped a crumb into her mouth. ‘I’m very grateful, but I mustn’t keep you. It was most kind…’ She stopped herself saying it all again.
She didn’t quite look at him, and it was an effort to remember that she was the cook and must behave accordingly.
He made no attempt to leave. ‘You have made your plans for the future?’ he wanted to know. ‘I am told that Mrs Willett will be returning in another few weeks, but I’m sure you will find something in Bath until you are ready to start on your own.’
‘Yes. I shall start looking round in a week or two. Bath seems a very pleasant place. Mother has been there—to look round, you know. I’m sure I’ll find something.’
They were standing facing each other and she said again, ‘Don’t let me keep you—you’re missing the party.’
When he didn’t move, she added, ‘It’s a success, I hope? Mrs Braithewaite was so anxious that it should go off well. I hope she had some lovely presents—it’s quite an achievement to be eighty-three and still have so many friends to wish one well…’
She spoke in her cook’s voice, saying anything which came into her head, because if she didn’t she might fling herself at him and pour out all her hopes and fears and love for him. She
added, ‘I must start the clearing up…’
‘Of course. I’m glad you are happy here, Kate. I must go back upstairs and have a word with friends I haven’t seen for some time.’
She nodded and answered his goodbye in a voice as cheerful as his own. It was pure chance which had caused them to meet again, she told herself when he had gone, and chances like that seldom happened twice.
Claudia was there, upstairs in the drawing room, looking, according to Daisy, quite lovely. Kate began to stack dishes, put away uneaten food and set out cups and saucers for the tea that the staff would undoubtedly be wanting later.
As for Mr Tait-Bouverie, he crossed the courtyard behind the house and paid a visit to her mother.
She greeted him warmly. ‘Is it any good offering you coffee?’ she asked. ‘I expect you’ve had it already. Is the party a success?’
‘Indeed, it is. A magnificent banquet; Kate can be proud of herself.’
‘It was hard work,’ Mrs Crosby said eagerly. ‘But you see, James, that she could make a career out of her cooking, once she can get started?’
‘If that is indeed what she wants.’ He took the mug of coffee she offered him. ‘Mrs Crosby—you’re tired, or not feeling well…’
She said far too quickly, ‘I’m fine.’ And then, catching his eyes, ‘Well, it’s just this silly little pain; it comes and goes. Even when it’s not there I know that it is, if you see what I mean.’ She smiled. ‘It’s nothing; really, it isn’t…’
‘Does Kate know?’
‘No, of course not. She has had enough to think about for the last two weeks—up at dawn and going to bed at all hours. I’ll go and see a doctor when the festivities are over.’
‘This pain,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie. ‘Tell me where it is, Mrs Crosby.’
She told him, because suddenly he wasn’t James but a kind, impersonal doctor asking her questions in a quiet voice.
