The Young Nightingales

by Mary Whistler

  “That’s perfectly all right, my dear.” Mrs. Bowman smiled at her. “The great thing is that you’re here! And I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you!”

  Jane flushed faintly, wondering what Roger had said about her in his letters.

  “And I’ve been looking forward immensely to coming out to Switzerland,” she replied. “For some reason I’ve never been here before, and it’s all quite new to me.”

  Mrs. Bowman indicated a chair facing her. “Sit down, child,” she said. “You look a little warm. We’re having a very hot July, and you’ll probably find it rather trying at first. But if you like boating we have our own punt moored to the landing-stage, and there are all sorts of excursions on the lake. I’m afraid I’m too old to go out very much myself, but you must certainly do so ... indeed, I shall insist that you enjoy yourself as much as possible while you’re here.”

  “Thank you.” Jane was aware that she was studying her keenly, and to judge by the pleased expression on her face she was quite satisfied with what she saw.

  “You are so much prettier than I expected ... although Roger did say I’d find you charming. But a man of his type, already turned forty—or is it thirty, I always forget?—is sometimes inclined to ... well, exaggerate a little, particularly if he’s very much impressed himself. And of course you don’t need me to tell you,” smiling indulgently, “that my nephew admires you enormously.”

  “I—er—does he?” Jane felt the colour increase in her cheeks, and she saw the other woman’s eyes twinkle. “Well, of course, we’ve known one another for a—for a long time ...”

  “Ever since you were quite a small girl! Yes,” Mrs. Bowman nodded her head vigorously, “I know all about it, and I must say I think it’s rather like a romantic story. The little girl grows up into a very attractive young woman and the hardened bachelor takes such a keen delight in her that she practically fills his life, and, naturally, when disaster overtakes her and her family he feels that he simply must do something to make the situation more bearable for her. So he insists that she goes away for a complete change of scene and occupation, and that’s where I, most fortunately, have been able to help him out.” Her face went grave all at once, and she bent towards Jane in sympathy. “My dear, I do realise that you’ve had a terrible shock, and you must allow me to say how very, very sorry I am. I understand that you and your father were very close...”

  Jane nodded mutely. On such a subject she could not, as yet, commit herself to speech ... not, at any rate, with a complete stranger.

  Mrs. Bowman pressed her hand.

  “But you’ll get over it, my child. You may not find it easy to believe me now, but you will. I know that when my dear husband died,” with a faint flicker of distress, “I was very much upset, but the years have taught me to live without him, and I’m reasonably content and quite happy to-day.”

  “I—I’m glad of that,” Jane said huskily, and her new employer smiled at her once more.

  “Well, naturally, I had to mention it ... your recent sorrow. But now that you are here, I shall not refer to it again for some time, and I hope that you will find so many distractions here that you won’t even think of what has happened very often. After all, you are young. You have your life before you, and Roger is most anxious that I shall help you to forget. Indeed, I have been given careful instructions as to how I am to handle you, and if I make any mistakes I’m sure he will find it hard to forgive me.”

  “But—” At this point Jane thought she ought to say something about the reason why she had arrived at the Villa Magnolia. “I haven’t come here just to forget. Roger said you needed someone like myself to live with you and act the part of a companion, and perhaps do a certain amount of secretarial work for you. He said that you were actually looking for someone...”

  “And so I was, child, so I was.” The other nodded comfortably. “But I’ve been looking for someone for years, and until now she hasn’t turned up. I was quite reconciled to living here alone with Florence and Andre—who is my chauffeur-gardener—and writing my letters myself. But now perhaps you won’t mind doing them for me, and you can read to me sometimes in the evenings, and perhaps play bezique. Do you play bezique, my dear?” putting on a pair of old-fashioned spectacles the better to peer at her.

  “I’ve played once or twice with my father. But I’m better at chess,” Jane admitted.

  “Then we’ll play chess, and you shall teach me, because I’ve never played it in my life. However, it’s always fun doing something new.”

  Jane felt a little uncertain.

  “It seems that you’ve created this position for me, Mrs. Bowman,” she said.

  The other waved a beringed hand.

  “Think nothing of it,” she returned. “I’m always only too happy to do something for my nephew ... who is my only nephew, you know! And naturally, when I heard about you I wanted to help you, too. I was most anxious to do all I could for you!”

  “Thank you,” Jane said again, rather feebly, realising that this put her in a somewhat awkward position. She couldn’t possibly accept a salary if the job was to be a kind of sinecure.

  And yet she needed some sort of recompense if she was to help Toby...

  Mrs. Bowman must have read her thoughts, and read them swiftly.

  “Of course I’ll pay you a salary,” she said. “I’m a very rich old woman, and money is nothing to me, so you must have whatever you want. As a matter of fact, I agreed with Roger that I would pay you monthly in advance, and I’ll give you a cheque to-morrow.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly—” Jane was beginning, when the beringed hand fluttered again.

  “Don’t be silly, my dear. I hope you’ll be very happy here, but it is also a purely business arrangement. Now,” she touched a silver bell on the table, “I’m going to ring for Florence and get her to show you your room. If you don’t like it you must choose another, because there are lots of rooms in the villa. I do so want you to be comfortable,” beaming on the new arrival. “I want you to settle down and make this your home, at any rate for a few months.”

  “Thank you,” Jane heard herself say, yet again. And then she added with genuine warmth: “You are very kind, Mrs. Bowman.”

  “Not at all, child. I shall simply love having a young thing like you about the house. Besides, you hardly know me yet, and you may find I’m not in the least kind by the time you’ve lived with me a month.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Florence arrived and looked highly disapproving because she said her mistress looked tired, and she must certainly have a nap before lunch. As soon as she had shown Miss Nightingale her room she would settle her comfortably in the conservatory.

  Jane followed Florence upstairs, and was pleased to discover that her room was completely uncluttered and furnished very simply and charmingly in cool tones of green and cream. She had been half afraid that the bed would be shrouded in lace curtaining and the windows difficult to approach because of voluminous draperies, but she need not have worried. The bed was a starkly simple affair covered with hem-stitched linen, and in place of a carpet the polished floor was strewn with off-white rugs. There was a deep, comfortable armchair with a foot-rest, a dressing-table with triple mirrors, and plenty of wardrobe space. And outside the main window there was, as there had been at the hotel, a wide and inviting balcony protected from the fierce glare of the sun by green sun-blinds.

  The first thing Jane did when she had expressed aloud her approval of the room was to step out on to the balcony and gaze with delight at the magnificent view of the lake which was hers. Florence, looking as if she had long ago got over the urge to rhapsodise about the scenery, sniffed and said shortly that she must return to her mistress, and lunch would be at half-past one, and all meals were served promptly at the villa.

  Jane turned round and smiled at her.

  “I’ll remember,” she said.

  Florence hesitated.

  “If there’s anything you wa
nt, miss ... Madame said you’re to be made as comfortable as possible. Just press the bell, and I’ll send up Freda, who comes daily from the town, to find out what it is. But I think I’ve thought of everything you’ll need.”

  Jane nodded.

  “I expect you have. This whole room is quite delightful, and I’m sure I’m going to love it.”

  Florence sounded mollified.

  “Ah, well, it’s had a thorough do out, I can tell you that. When I knew you were coming I set Freda on it for one whole day, and it’s sweet and clean. These Swiss girls are good workers, but they have to do the thing properly to please me.”

  She went out with a vague air of triumph as if she was aware that her qualities as a housekeeper were second to none, and as soon as she was alone Jane unpacked her cases and put away her personal possessions, and then, as it was still only a quarter to one, decided to go outside into the garden and discover for herself what it was like at close quarters.

  When she passed the conservatory she found that all the blinds were drawn and, despite open windows, the whole house had a faintly shrouded air as if it was cowering from the too fierce attentions of the sun. And it was certainly, on this day at least, a very hot sun, and the glare from off the lake seemed to increase the heat and also to offer a warning that if one stayed out in it too long the heat might become unbearable; and she was glad to plunge into the comparative coolness of shrubberies that skirted a well-kept lawn and a tennis-court, and eventually brought her out on to a kind of stone bridge or parapet that overlooked the lake and the trees that overhung it and the landing-stage.

  The trees were weeping willows, and their feathery branches all but caressed the cool waters of the lake. As Jane stared downwards fascinatedly into the placidly lapping water she was quite sure that the water of the lake was very cool indeed, for even as she leaned there she could feel the temperature lowering itself dramatically, and when she lifted her eyes to the snows on the farther shore she was not really in the least surprised.

  Melting flood water must remain cool for a long time after it was melted, and the lake was fed by those continuous trickles that found their way down from the snows. And the branches of the willows were reflected in the water, and so was the bridge on which she stood. She could see her own face gazing back at her, wavering gently in the lightest of summer breezes.

  She climbed down the slightly dangerous steps to the landing-stage, and went into the boat-house and inspected its contents. There was an old and obviously no longer seaworthy canoe, and a battered punt. The punt Mrs. Bowman had already mentioned to her was moored to the landing-stage, but it, too, looked a trifle derelict, and she wondered what would happen to her if she was rash enough to take it out on to the lake.

  However, the garden itself was sufficiently attractive to make her feel reasonably certain that she would not want to desert its shade on a day such as this; and on her way back to the house she discovered a summerhouse bowered in roses which would be an ideal retreat with a book. And she discovered why the villa was called the Villa Magnolia. A truly magnificent magnolia tree grew close to the house, and had probably been planted when the house was built. The waxen blossoms filled the air with perfume, and mingled with the perfume of so many exotic shrubs that Jane couldn’t even begin to count them. But she was glad that the magnolia grew close enough to her own window to mingle with the scent of the nicotiana that she had already noted grew in clumps beneath it.

  On her way back to the house she found that she could look down on the main road along which her own taxi had travelled earlier in the day. The short villa drive encroached on to it at a point which she could also observe from a turn in one of the garden walks, and she could see the main gates standing open and a long, sleek grey car apparently parked just outside the gates, with a motionless chauffeur at the wheel, while a man who had his back to her stood entering into what appeared to be quite earnest conversation with the elderly Florence, who was smoothing down the front of her immaculate white apron as she talked.

  There was something distinctive and distinguishing about the appearance of the man, although his back was all that Jane could see. He appeared to be wearing a dark suit and had very dark, sleek hair, and as he bent towards Florence the sunlight gleamed on his hair and an area of tanned skin at the back of his neck showed up plainly between the carefully barbered hair on his nape and an impeccably white shirt collar.

  He walked swiftly towards his car and slipped sinuously on to the back seat and the chauffeur drove away immediately, while Florence retreated inside the villa gates and closed them carefully behind her.

  When Jane joined her on the drive she was looking vaguely satisfied, with that same air of faint triumph that she had worn when Jane complimented her on the appearance of her room. The air said plainly that she had just accomplished a mission, and that she took a certain amount of credit to herself for doing so.

  “The doctor has just been to call on Madame,” she said, as Jane walked with her back to the house. “I explained to him that she was just enjoying her nap and really ought not to be disturbed. Her health has been much better for several weeks now, so he said he would send her some more of her pills and call to see her next week.”

  “Does he normally call and see her every week?” Jane asked, thinking that her new employer must obviously be very fragile at her time of life.

  “Almost every week. Naturally, he calls much more often when Madame is under the weather, as she is sometimes.”

  “She looks to me to be remarkably well preserved,” Jane remarked, recalling the pink skin and the extraordinarily clear eyes of Mrs. Bowman. “But I expect it’s very healthy here, and it suits her. Does she like her doctor?” she asked. “In the case of someone of her age I should think it is important that she has faith in him.”

  “Oh, yes,” Florence answered, at her most complacent ... and Jane was to learn that she could be very complacent and not in the least truculent when neither her suspicions were aroused nor she felt she had any reason to be otherwise. “Dr. Delacroix is a very good doctor, and Madame is very satisfied with him. She likes him, too. He often comes to dinner, or just looks in to have a talk with her sometimes. He advises her, too, about a lot of things. Oh, yes, she’s got great faith in him, and so have a lot of people in St. Vaizey. I suppose you could say he’s the most important doctor in the place ... and very fashionable, too,” as if that appealed to her snobbish instincts, “He has his own clinic just outside the town.”

  “Really,” Jane murmured. “I must say his means of doing his rounds indicates a fashionable clientele. Not many English doctors nowadays can afford a chauffeur, and that car of his looked expensive. What is it? A Bentley?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Florence answered, considering it impertinent that she should be asked. After all, the doctor was a friend of her mistress ... and whatever they did in England nowadays a great many of her mistress’s friends had extremely expensive cars. Madame Bowman’s own car, driven by Andre, was an old-fashioned Daimler, and Madame Bowman was very proud of it because it had such an opulent appearance despite its vintage years.”

  She stood aside for Jane to precede her into the house, and then stalked through into the kitchen, after murmuring that lunch would be on the table in five minutes.

  Jane smiled to herself. It was plain to her that Florence loved this salubrious backwater in a corner of Switzerland, and apparently Dr. Delacroix was all part of the general atmosphere of comfortable security and spacious living.

  She would have to be careful not to tread on Florence’s corns from time to time. Otherwise life at the Villa Magnolia might not be as smooth as it could be if she was consistently tactful.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  FOR the next week Jane found that it was a perfectly easy matter to settle down as Mrs. Bowman’s companion at the Villa Magnolia, and the only thing that troubled her was that she didn’t seem to be doing very much to earn her salary. Mrs. Bowman was a most understand
ing employer who liked life to flow past her like a placid stream, and fitting into her routine was as uncomplicated as trying on a pair of well-worn gloves.

  She never appeared outside her room in the mornings until eleven o’clock, and then she liked the English newspapers read to her and in particular any reports of Stock Exchange activities which seemed to interest her enormously. After that she toyed with the idea of writing a few letters, although as her only regular correspondent nowadays was her nephew, and occasionally she had something to say to her solicitor, never more than one letter at a time was dictated to Jane, and the latter typed these on her own portable typewriter in her own room, and afterwards took them to the post herself, together with letters she wrote to Irina and Toby, because it was a pleasant walk to the nearest post-office, and the better part of it skirted the lake, and she could never have enough of the sheer beauty and the extraordinary placidity of the lake at St. Vaizey.

  They lunched at half-past one every day, and in the heat of the afternoon Mrs. Bowman dozed in her room. Sometimes after a cup of tea at five o’clock precisely the Daimler was brought round from the garage by Andre and Mrs. Bowman and her companion sallied forth for an evening drive. It never lasted longer than forty minutes, and Andre was not permitted to proceed at anything more than a snail’s pace along the lake shore, and at certain vantage points he was requested to pull up and a particularly attractive aspect of the lake was gazed at with much appreciation by both ladies.

  The air at that hour was pleasantly warm, a pathway of westering sunlight cut like a sword thrust across the lake, and although there was a considerable amount of traffic and a layer of hot dust covered the sidewalks and the ornamental gardens Mrs. Bowman seemed particularly to enjoy these late afternoon excursions.

  Jane found travelling in the Daimler rather like travelling in an old-fashioned chariot that had been most carefully preserved, and had the most comfortably sprung seats of any vehicle she had ever travelled in.