by Betty Neels
She had been reluctant to accept it, but with money she could do so much more, not only advertise but travel to interviews should they be forthcoming.
She was making a fair copy when Snow came soft-footed into the room. ‘Miss Davinish has called, miss. She would like to see you; I told her that the ladies were resting, but she said she had come to see you.’
‘Me?’ Suzannah jumped up in surprise. Perhaps Miss Davinish wanted her back—perhaps the cottage was vacant again and she could go there to live, only she couldn’t: it was too near the professor’s home…’ Thank you, Snow; would you ask her to come in? Lady Manbrook wouldn’t mind?’
‘Certainly not, miss. She is acquainted with Miss Davinish.’
Phoebe Davinish came into the room with an air of being entirely at home there. She stood for a moment just inside the door, studying Suzannah, who was standing uncertainly by the table. She said, ‘Hello. I’m on my way home and it seemed a good opportunity to see you.’ She sat down and undid her fur coat. ‘I dare say you’re wondering why I’ve called to see you?’
‘Yes, I am rather.’
Phoebe smiled as she watched her. ‘Did Guy— Professor Bowers-Bentinck come to see you this weekend?’
‘Not me specially. He came to visit his aunts.’
Phoebe went on smoothly, ‘Oh, I understood him to say that he would be seeing you. He’s concerned about you; thinks you should have a chance to get a permanent job…’
She paused to watch Suzannah’s reaction and smiled when she replied, ‘Well, yes, he did say that he would like me to stay here, as he thought he knew of something…’
Pheobe went on chattily. ‘Did he tell you that we are to be married?’ She paused again and watched the colour leave Suzannah’s cheeks. ‘I see that he didn’t. Well, I can understand that—you do show your feelings rather openly, and he does dislike hurting people’s feelings.’
Suzannah thought wildly that that didn’t sound like the professor at all; he was kind, certainly, but quite ruthless about getting his own way. But she said nothing, sitting there listening to Phoebe whom she knew didn’t like her, but who sounded so plausible now.
‘Well, we have had a splendid idea. We shall need more staff, of course; I suggested that you might like to come as Girl Friday—you know, answer the phone, write letters, take calls for Guy, help around the house. You would have a room to yourself, of course, and wages…’
So that was the permanent job he had had in mind, thought Suzannah, and anything less possible she had yet to think of. She wished very much that she could scream with rage and misery and throw something at the girl sitting opposite her, but instead she said in a calm voice, ‘That’s very kind of you, Miss Davinish. It’s rather a surprise, and not quite what I had planned to do…’
‘Oh and what was that?’
Phoebe sounded quite friendly; everything was going very nicely. She had banked on Suzannah’s refusing; she wasn’t the kind of girl to let a man know that she was in love with him—she would want to put the whole of England between them.
‘I mean to go right away, and as soon as possible.’
‘Well, I dare say that might be a good idea, after all, although I’m sure Guy will want to help in any way he can. You’ll need money.’
Suzannah thought of the fifty pounds. ‘I think I can manage.’
Phoebe started to do up her coat.
‘Well, do let us know if you need help. Guy is a great one for helping lame dogs over stiles, you know.’
She got to her feet and Suzannah got up too and put Horace on the floor. He had been staring unwinkingly at Phoebe; now he crossed the space between them and sank his claws into her coat, and then drew a vicious claw down her tights, ripping them neatly.
Phoebe whirled round and aimed a blow at him, although he had prudently retired under the table by then. ‘You damned brute,’ she screamed, ‘you’ve ruined my tights and probably my coat as well! You’re dangerous—’ She glared at Suzannah. ‘You should have him put down… You’ll pay for this.’
She stormed out, brushing past an astonished Snow and banging the front door behind her, and he returned to the drawing-room to ask, ‘What was all that about, miss?’
‘Horace scratched her, Snow.’ Suzannah had stopped to pick up Horace who looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. ‘She said he should be put down.’
Snow’s stern face relaxed very slightly. ‘A more docile beast I have yet to meet, miss. A very nice cat, if I may say so.’
When he had gone, Suzannah sat down again with Horace on her knee. She said softly, ‘I don’t blame you, Horace; if I had claws I would have done exactly the same.’
He settled down, purring loudly, and when he felt the top of his head getting damp from her tears he took no notice.
CHAPTER NINE
THERE WAS TIME for Suzannah to go to the village and post her letters off to the magazine and newspaper she had chosen. She left Horace snoozing before the fire, got her outdoor things, and walked briskly to the general stores with its additional small sub-post-office. The shop was full, and only Mrs Maddox who owned it was there to serve, discussing the merits of streaky bacon with a customer. Suzannah wandered over to the corner where the newspapers and a variety of magazines were on display, and picked up the morning’s paper. She put it down again as her eye lighted on the board hanging on the wall behind the paper stand. It was full of cards: local teenagers wanted to pick watercress, a carrycot for sale, kittens wanting good homes, charming widow in her forties would like to meet a friendly gentleman of a similar age for outings, and then, wedged in among the prams, kitchen tables and winter coats on offer was something Suzannah felt was meant for her. It was written in black ink and heavily underlined. Strong young woman required at once to assist in moving family to York. Emergency post, temporary until nanny has recovered from illness. To be responsible for two small children and a baby. There was a phone number and an address in Avebury.
Suzannah wasted no time. She was across the street and in the telephone box as fast as her legs would carry her, only once there she remembered that she hadn’t any small change. A precious ten minutes was wasted while she went back to the shop and wheedled the queue to let her get change from Mrs Maddox, but finally she got through to Mrs Coffin. That lady listened to what she had to say, and then stayed silent for so long that Suzannah was dancing with impatience. Finally, she said in her comfortable country voice, ‘All right, love. If you get this job I’ll have Horace; just so long as it’s not for more than a week or two.’
Suzannah let out a sigh of relief, thanked her old friend and then dialled the number on the card. A distraught voice answered, and when she asked if the post had been filled, the owner of the voice broke into a long speech in which the baby being sick, the two children making off with a cake cook had just made and the removal men due to arrive the next morning, were jumbled together in a mournful diatribe. Suzannah waited for a pause. ‘Then may I come and see you? Perhaps I might do if there is no one else?’
‘When can you come?’
Suzannah peered across the street at the church clock. ‘Well, I’m not sure about buses, I’m at Ramsbourne St Michael…’
‘I’ll send the gardener to fetch you. Where are you?’
Suzannah told her. ‘But I’m afraid I must ask to be brought back here again.’
‘That’s fine. He’ll be along in a few minutes. It’s only a mile or two.’
The gnarled old man who drove up presently in a Land Rover had little to say, although he wasn’t unfriendly. He turned off the road about a mile out of the village, down a lane full of pot-holes and then in through an open gate to stop before a rambling house; there were no curtains at the windows and the front door was open even on such a cold day. A skip half-full with odds and ends of broken furniture and rubbish was in the drive, and someone was hammering in a demented fashion.
Suzannah got out, thanked her driver and knocked on the open door.
The kitchen: a pleasant, cluttered room, but warm and cosy too and at the moment rather crowded. Two small children were sitting at the table eating their tea, an older woman was at the sink, cleaning vegetables, and the owner of the voice was sitting by the Aga with a baby on her lap.
‘Sorry for the mess. We’re moving house,’ she added quite unnecessarily. ‘Of course, Nanny would get measles just when she’s most needed. Are you strong? The children are awful. Have you any references? Do you live locally—I don’t remember seeing you around? My name’s Meredith, by the way. My husband’s already at York—we’ve bought a house there but he can’t get back to give me a hand. He doesn’t know about Nanny.’
There didn’t seem to be any necessity to answer any of this; Suzannah picked up the slice of bread and butter one of the children had hurled on to the floor and waited patiently. When Mrs Meredith stopped talking, she said, ‘My name is Lightfoot, Suzannah. I lived for a long time with my aunt near Marlborough. She died recently and I want a temporary post while I decide what to do.’
‘When can you come? We move the day after tomorrow. I suppose I must ask you for references.’
Suzannah gave the names of Mrs Collin and Dr Warren.
‘And when could you start?’ asked Mrs Meredith again. ‘I warn you it will be pretty ghastly—Nanny will be away for two weeks and I’m no good with the children.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘The pay’s quite good, and of course we’ll pay your fare back.’
She was a pretty woman, not used, Suzannah guessed, to doing things for herself; she rather liked her. ‘If my references are all right, I could come early on the day you move, if that would do?’
‘My dear girl, you have no idea what a relief it will be to have someone to look after the children and the baby. Can I phone you?’
Suzannah gave her Mrs Coffin’s number; the less Lady Manbrook knew the better, just in case the professor should ask. She didn’t like fibbing to the nice old lady, but she couldn’t think what else to do if she wanted to disappear completely.
Presently she was driven back by the old gardener and set down outside the telephone box, and during the short journey she had time to reflect upon her good fortune. She had time, too, to worry about the fibs she was going to tell old Lady Manbrook; a truthful girl by nature; she was irked at having to deceive the kind old lady, but she could think of nothing else to do. To get away quickly so that she need not see the professor again was paramount in her mind; a few fibs on the way were inevitable.
She thanked the old man and walked back to Ramsbourne House, and at dinner that evening explained that she would have to leave in the morning to look after an old friend from her village. She spoke uncertainly, but the old ladies put that down to her worry about her friend, and since they were both short-sighted they failed to see the guilt written all over her face.
With her few possessions and Horace in his basket she boarded the bus in the morning after bidding the old ladies goodbye. She had told no one where she was going and no one had asked her; that she came from a village not too far away was common knowledge, but its name had never been mentioned. The bus was half-full and no one on it knew her. She felt more and more secure the nearer she got to Mrs Coffin and the village.
She would only be staying for two days, she told Mrs Coffin, paying that lady the modest sum she asked for her lodging. ‘And I’ll pay you for Horace’s food before I go,’ promised Suzannah. ‘Mrs Meredith said two weeks at the most, if you don’t mind.’
‘Lor’ bless you, love, of course I don’t mind and nor does the dog, though I dare say my Tiger will.’ She chuckled easily and went to serve a customer, leaving Suzannah to settle Horace by the fire in the sitting-room and unpack her bag.
She hated saying goodbye to Horace; he had been leading a very unsettled life for the last month or so, and he gave her a reproachful look as she stroked his elderly head. ‘Don’t you fret,’ said Mrs Coffin. ‘I’ll keep an eye on him, and you’ll see, something will turn up for you when you get back.’
Suzannah gave her a hug. ‘Don’t let anyone know where I am,’ she begged.
‘Well, there is no one to ask, is there, love?’
Suzannah bent down to examine a shoe. ‘No, of course not.’
This time she was to be picked up in Marlborough, again by the old gardener, who, beyond observing that the house was in a rare pickle and he doubted they’d get away before the following day, only said, ‘The missus can’t seem to manage without nanny or the master, and them children run wild.’
Hardly an encouraging start, reflected Suzannah, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and if she were kept busy for the next couple of weeks she might be able to forget the professor. She had been singularly unsuccessful at that so far.
The house, when he reached it, was in a state of chaos; Mrs Meredith had recruited two women from the village to help get the house emptied, and the elderly woman, the cook, was in the kitchen banging pots and saucepans into wooden chests, declaring that she would give in her notice the moment they got to York. The furniture movers were already busy, tramping to and fro, taking no notice of anyone else, calling cheerfully to each other with a good deal of, ‘To you, George, and back to you, Tom,’ as they manoeuvred weighty pieces of furniture out of the house and into the van.
Mrs Meredith was in her bedroom, trying to decide what to wear. Her face broke into a wide smile when she saw Suzannah. ‘Oh, good, you’re here. If you could catch the children and get their outdoor clothes on, and then could you possibly change the baby? Cook’s going to make tea for everyone before we go. The men say we’ll be there by six o’clock…’
‘But isn’t York about a hundred and eighty miles from here?’ Suzannah had a mental picture of the two vans and Mrs Meredith racing up the motorway at seventy miles an hour, and even then they’d never get unloaded before midnight. It was a relief when Mrs Meredith laughed. ‘Oh, we shall spend a night on the way. We’re going across country to the M1 and spending the night at a small place called Crick just off the motorway. My husband has got rooms for us all at the Post House there. It’s about half-way, so we should be in York during the afternoon. My husband will be there to meet us and the men will stay overnight at the local pub.’
She turned away to hold up a pale grey trouser suit. ‘This would be sensible to travel in, don’t you think? I’ll be driving the station wagon, Cook can sit beside me and you and the children can sit in the back.’
Sinking her weary head on to the pillow that night, Suzannah went over the day. They had managed to get away somehow; the vans had lumbered off first and then Mrs Meredith, after a last-minute frantic rush around the house to make sure that everything was gone. She was a good driver and they soon overtook the vans, all of them stopping for lunch at a wayside hotel, where she had been kept busy seeing that the children ate their meal, leading them to and from the loo, feeding the baby and changing it and snatching a quick meal for herself. The baby was a good child and slept peacefully for hours at a stretch, which had left her free to amuse the children, both bored stiff by the afternoon. A brief break for tea and they went on again and came at last to the hotel. Mr Meredith had organised everything very well: instructions had been written down, hotels had been advised of their coming and their rooms were comfortable. Suzannah, with the baby in its carry-cot beside her bed and the door open to the children’s room, slept the sleep of someone who had done a hard day’s work.
The rest of the journey went well. The worst was over, Mrs Meredith assured her; they would stop for lunch on the way and be at their new home before tea-time. And so they were.
The house was a few miles from York—a converted farmhouse, roomy and pleasant to the eye and set in several acres of ground. There were lights streaming from its windows as they drove up, and Mr Meredith came to meet them. An effi
cient man, Suzannah guessed, for he had tea organised and a sturdy girl to serve it, and in no time at all the room where the children were to sleep had its essential furniture so that she was able to bath and undress them and bring them their suppers in bed before turning her attention to the baby.
She had had her supper with Cook, and Mr Meredith had thanked her for being of such help to his wife. He was a kind man, a little pompous, but highly successful in life and he was fond of his wife; anyone could see that. It would be nice to be married to someone who doted on you, she mused drowsily, and inevitably thought of the professor.
She had intended to ponder her future during the weeks she would be with the Merediths, but she had little time to think, let alone ponder. The children were endearing, full of spirits and extremely naughty. They disappeared a dozen times a day, hiding in the attics or the enormous cupboards; they fought like two puppies and cried loudly if they were thwarted. It was fortunate that the baby was one of the most placid creatures she had ever encountered. All the same, her days were crammed; there was certainly no time to decide her future.
With the help of curtain hangers, window cleaners, carpet layers and the like, the house was quickly a home. The children had their nursery in one wing of the roomy old house, and since there was a side entrance leading to the back stairs Suzannah saw little of Mrs Meredith, although each evening after the children were in bed and the baby settled until the ten o’clock feed, Suzannah was invited to go downstairs for drinks and dinner. And, by the time she had bidden the Merediths goodnight and gone to her own room, she was too tired to think about anything much. Only the professor, and that was a waste of time, she told herself crossly, when she should be planning what was the best thing to do next. Invariably at this point she fell asleep.
The professor, back home after an urgent summons to go to the Middle East and perform an intricate operation upon the small son of an oil sheikh, picked up the letters waiting for him, exchanged a few words with Cobb and went to his study. Cobb followed him in with the whisky he had asked for and the assurance that Mrs Cobb would have dinner ready within fifteen minutes and retired silently, leaving the professor to glance through his post. There was a letter from Lady Manbrook—he recognised her copperplate handwriting—but before he read it he reached for his appointments book. There were private patients to see at his rooms in the forenoon, and before that a ward round at the hospital as well as an outpatients clinic in the afternoon. He sighed faintly, his mind full of Suzannah whom he wanted to see above all people; she had captured his heart and his mind, and he had to steel himself against getting into his car and going down to his aunt’s to see her. He opened the letter; at least he knew where she was until he could be with her again.
