A Dream Come True

by Betty Neels

  Mrs Spencer nodded. `Two ladies. I'll see that you get something to eat, miss."

  'You're a dear, Mrs Spencer. But don't bother to send anyone up. I'll come down and fetch a tray if you tell me what time.'

  `Half past eight it's sole bonne femme and caramel oranges.'

  `Lovely, I'm going up the back stairs. You don't mind?'

  In her own room she tried on the dress once more. It was every bit as nice as it had looked in the shop; she hung it away in the closet and settled down to her letter writing-an exaggerated letter to Dick, a long one to Shirley, describing her new dress, and then a clutch of brief letters full of nothings, to friends in Oxford. She was aware that they didn't much mind if they saw her again or not, but just for a little while longer they would keep up the polite fiction of writing to her, not really wanting to know what she was doing but feeling guiltily that they should do something about her.

  She made it easy for them by writing that life was so busy and so varied in its happenings that letter-writing was becoming a luxury to be fitted in during her rare quiet moments. `That'll let them off the hook,' she muttered, and went downstairs for her tray.

  There wasn't much to do after that. Jemima washed her hair, had a long and far too hot bath and got into bed with the paperback she had bought that day, but presently she laid it down. Tomorrow Professor Cator would arrive; she couldn't wait to see him again, but at the same time she dreaded it. He would be cold and offhand and look at her with hard eyes, and she would be terrified of betraying her feelings. And there was Gloria, who would most likely make snide remarks about companions and wearing all the wrong clothes. Jemima registered a resolve to scrape her hair well back and wear the plainest of her skirts and jumpers, and since the brown dress was by far the dullest of her evening attire she would wear that. Thus heartened by this entirely feminine point of view, she turned out the light, had a good cry, and went to sleep.

  She was out with Coco when they arrived just before lunch the next day. The Rolls was standing before the door when she arrived back. Mrs Spencer answered her ring, looking put out.

  `Sorry to have brought you all this way,' said Jemima hastily.

  `Oh, it ain't you, miss it's that Miss Egerton, says her room's too cold and not enough lighting and wants a bathroom to herself. Which can't be done, as you well know; my lady has her own, an' we've got one to ourselves, but the other two 'as to do for guests in the ' ouse.'

  `It's only for a weekend, Mrs Spencer,' said Jemima placatingly. `And I'll take care not to get in Miss Egerton's way! Where's Lady Manderly?"

  'In the drawing-room with Professor Cator and Miss Egerton. She said you were to go down to lunch when you came in.'

  Jemima nodded resignedly, handed over Coco and went upstairs, where she brushed her hair into a severe style, wasted no time upon her face at all, and went downstairs again.

  They were sitting round the fire, drinks in their hands and looking, she thought with surprise, uncommonly bored with each other. The Professor saw her first and got to his feet with a polite: `Hullo, Jemima.' Lady Manderly turned her head regally. `There you are, Jemima-too late for a drink.' While Gloria didn't look round.

  Professor Cator appeared not to have heard his aunt; he poured sherry and brought it over to where Jemima had seated herself, a little way from the fire.

  `Plenty of time,' he observed easily. `There's no hurry, is there? Nothing on this afternoon.'

  `No, Alexander, I daresay you and Gloria have plans of your own.'

  `Nothing special-the theatre this evening, of course. Are you quite sure you won't come with us?"

  'Positive, Alexander. We will dine early, though.'

  `Oh, God,' said Gloria, `that means I have to start dressing at some unearthly hour, I suppose.' She sat up and looked at Jemima. `Sometimes I wish I were a paid companion with a plain face and no clothes.'

  `If that's meant to be a joke, I don't find it funny,' said the Professor icily. `I've often thought that a good day's work would be of great benefit to you.'

  Gloria tossed off the rest of her drink. `I wouldn't know how,' she stated simply, and smiled angelically at him. `I don't mean to be rude,' she explained to Jemima. `I have this awful habit of saying exactly what I think.' She laughed gently. `No one seems to mind.'

  Jemima didn't say anything at all. Resentment was choking her and the thought of the next hour was enough to make her scream. She prayed she would get through it without turning on the girl and telling her just what she thought of her. She swallowed the rest of her sherry and looked out of the window. A burst of angry tears would have been a great comfort to her, but this was neither the time nor the place. Lady Manderly, obedient to Mrs Spencer's voice assuring her that lunch was on the table, got to her feet and led the way to the dining-room.

  Contrary to her expectations, Jemima found that the meal wasn't the ordeal she had expected, largely because Professor Cator took the conversation into his own hands, allowing his aunt no more than an odd remark or two, and Gloria almost none at all. He addressed most of his conversation to the table at large, but was careful to include Jemima in it, and since he chose to carry on at some length about Shakespeare and his works, and it was obvious that Gloria wasn't in the least interested, she found herself responding warmly, a nice colour in her cheeks and her eyes sparkling with interest. Just for the moment she had forgotten that she loved him; that he disliked her, and that now she only knew that she was enjoying herself, that it was wonderful to talk to someone who was interested in the same things as she was herself.

  It was Gloria who brought her down to earth. `Can we change the subject?' she asked plaintively. `It's bad enough that I've got to go to this beastly play this evening without having to have it rammed down my throat all day as well!'

  Professor Cator looked at her thoughtfully. `So sorry,' he said blandly, `we got carried away.' He smiled at Gloria and at his aunt, who bowed her head graciously and declared that she had found the topic interesting enough. `Although I know little enough about it, unlike my companion,' she added. `We will excuse you, Jemima, there are those letters to see to; if you'll have them ready, I'll sign them and you can post them when you go out with Coco.'

  `I didn't know you typed,' observed the Professor idly.

  `I don't.' Jemima got up from the table and slipped away, to shut herself in the small sitting-room and write replies to Lady Manderly's various invitations in her neat hand, trying not to hear the laughter coming from the drawing-room.

  She wore the brown dress again that evening, with her hair well dragged back, and got a sour satisfaction from Gloria's appearance: sapphire blue velvet of a devastatingly simple cut and some outrageously chunky jewellery which looked exactly right with it. As Jemima went into the drawing-room Gloria looked her up and down. `Hullo, Jemima, still a brown mouse? And what in heaven's name have you done to your hair?' She laughed a little and shrugged gracefully. `Oh, well, I suppose clever girls don't need to bother with themselves. Thank God I'm not clever...'

  She broke off as Lady Manderly and her nephew came into the room together and she crossed the room to tuck an arm into the Professor's. `Don't I look nice?' she wanted to know. `I think I'm going to enjoy myself after all.'

  He answered her rather absently, his frowning gaze on Jemima. Gloria saw that. `And don't stare at poor Jemima, just because she isn't wearing a pretty dress-there, now you've made her blush!'

  Hateful creature, thought Jemima, needling me and knowing I can't do a thing about it. But Gloria knew when to stop; nothing could have been friendlier than her manner towards Jemima during dinner, and outwardly at least, the meal was pleasant enough.

  Lady Manderly was strangely silent after they had gone. She and Jemima had an hour of cribbage, then she got up from the card table and sat down, very upright, in her chair. And for once she was polite.

  `I should like you to play to me,' she stated. `I feel a little restless this evening, some music may calm me. Be good enough to lift Coco on
to my knee and ask Mrs Spencer to bring a tray of coffee.'

  And when this was done and Jemima had poured coffee for them both she was bidden to sit down and drink hers before going to the piano.

  `We shall be leaving here shortly,' observed Lady Manderly. `There's a good deal to see to before Christmas.'

  It was the opportunity Jemima had been looking for. `When Professor Cator first told me about the visit you intended to make here, I mentioned that I'd thought of leaving before Christmas. You see, Lady Manderly, I have to train for something or other-shorthand and typing for an office job, some sort of social work, nursing ... I haven't decided which I shall do, but I must start soon...'

  `You dislike being my companion? You're not happy?' Lady Manderly sounded as though she couldn't believe her ears.

  'I'm very happy, thank you, and I certainly don't dislike working for you, Lady Manderly, but you must see that sooner or later I must do something else-I'm twenty-seven, if I don't get married, and that isn't likely, I have thirty or so years ahead of me, and I have to do something worthwhile with them, build up a career if I can. I know I've left it rather late, but that's all the more reason to get started.'

  `But you'll stay until I return to London?' Lady Manderly passed her cup for more coffee. `I have your word on that?"

  'Certainly, Lady Manderly.'

  `Good. You may go to the piano now-I should like Chopin, I think, and perhaps a little Schubert.'

  So Jemima sat down to play, the soft light from a table lamp shining on her, turning her quiet face and plump person into something very pleasing to the eye. `Restful,' murmured Lady Manderly, and didn't mean the music.

  Jemima played Chopin and thought about Alexander Cator. He would be sitting in one of the best seats, naturally, and Gloria would have tucked an exquisitely kept hand into his. The play was All's Well that Ends Well, very appropriate for the pair of them, she supposed, and what with the knowledge of her own hidden love, and the thought of a future empty of the Professor and the wistful Chopin Nocturne she was playing, she was hard put to it not to burst into tears.

  She came to the end of it and dropped her hands into her lap, but Lady Manderly said at once: `Go on, go on, let's have Schubert now.'

  So Jemima played on, presently soothed just as much as her listener. She went from Schubert to Handel and then, her good sense asserting itself once more and feeling a shade militant, she started on Beethoven. Her technique left much to be desired, but she played with a good deal of fire and feeling, which was probably why she didn't hear the return of Gloria and the Professor. And Lady Manderly didn't hear them either; she was sleeping, still sitting bolt upright, snoring faintly.

  Beethoven dealt with, Jemima started on Delius. The `Walk to the Paradise Garden' suited her mood, which, no longer bolstered up by Beethoven's rolling chords, had become decidedly sad. She didn't hear the door open; the Professor stood there listening to her for quite a few minutes before she finished and turned on her stool to speak to Lady Manderly.

  Jemima closed the lid and got up at once, and he strolled over to her, casting a smiling glance at his sleeping aunt as he did so.

  `The play was excellent, but I believe I should have enjoyed myself even better if I'd stayed here and listened to you playing. You're a woman of parts, Jemima.'

  `Lady Manderly likes me to play to her sometimes, but as she's asleep now I'll fetch Pooley.' She skipped past him, rather in the manner of someone avoiding a dangerous whirlpool. `I'll say goodnight, Professor Cator.'

  She hadn't been quite quick enough; he caught her arm, quite gently, and drew her back. 'I'll say goodnight too,' he said softly, and kissed her. It was a pity that he added as he let her go: `That brown dress suits you.' It reminded her how dowdy she must look after Gloria's glowing velvet and reminded her who she was, too. She went out of the room without a word.

  She didn't even look at him, and if Lady Manderly had woken up and seen it all, she didn't care two pins. Probably she would be sacked the next morning, like Victorian governesses caught with the son of the house. She giggled as she went up stairs, but the giggle turned into a sob.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JEMIMA was quite out in her guessing. She went down to breakfast in the morning to find Lady Manderly and her nephew already at the table, and by the way they looked at her as she went in, talking about her too. Gloria, of course, was having her breakfast in bed. Jemima took the chair the Professor had politely set for her, wished them both good morning and poured herself some coffee. The air of innocence upon Lady Manderly's face, while quite out of place, was highly suspicious. Jemima buttered toast, added marmalade and waited quietly.

  She had taken the first bite when Lady Manderly spoke. `I've decided to go to Scotland for a couple of weeks,' she observed weightily. `I have a small lodge there-it belonged to my husband, he was accustomed to spend August and September there each year. In the highlands on the Morar coast. We'll fly to Glasgow, take the train to Oban and hire a car to take us the rest of the way.'

  Jemima put down her toast. `But, Lady Manderly, I understood that we were returning to London within the next week or so...'

  `I have changed my mind,' said Lady Manderly in regal tones. `Unless you have a new post waiting for you, I can see no reason why you shouldn't accompany me. I need you.'

  Jemima took a quick peep at the Professor. He was eating his eggs and bacon with an inscrutable face and listening to every word.

  `I have a feeling that I'm being got at,' she said clearly.

  Lady Manderly's face became richly purple, but before she could speak Professor Cator said smoothly: `Now why should you think that, Jemima? You've told me that you have no job to go to.' He exchanged a lightning glance with his aunt. `I believe the intention is for my aunt to leave for Arisaig within the next day or so; so that you'll still return to London a mere few days later.'

  `But surely the weather...' began Jemima weakly. `I mean, it's winter, isn't it, wherever we're going?'

  `The west coast of the Highlands,' he told her blandly, `is known for its mild climate. And the lodge is very comfortable.'

  She gave him a look and addressed herself to Lady Manderly.

  `I had intended to put an advertisement in one of the London papers, Lady Manderly... ' She stopped, remembering that she had declared her intention of training for something or other; she had given it as the reason for leaving. She reddened, but neither of her companions appeared to have noticed. Professor Cator, buttering a roll, looked up briefly to say: `If you like to write it out, I'll see that it goes into one of the evening papers and that any replies are sent on to you.'

  Jemima had her mouth open to refuse and then, in the face of his blandly smiling countenance, closed it again. She loved him with her whole heart, but just at that moment she would willingly have boxed his ears. After a few moments she remarked matter-of-factly: `Well, I really don't see how I can go ... I haven't any warm clothing with me, only some sweaters and a raincoat.'

  It was Lady Manderly who spoke this time. `That is quickly arranged. I have only to telephone to Belling and ask him to go to your lodgings and collect anything you may need.'

  Jemima looked doubtful. `I don't suppose it would get here in time-the post, you know.'

  `There's some sort of urgent delivery, I believe; a couple of days should suffice.' The Professor's voice was almost placid, but she thought she heard laughter in it.

  She looked at Lady Manderly and was surprised to see her looking anxious. Perhaps the old lady really did want her to go, perhaps she had some sentimental reason for going to the lodge at all the wrong time in the year. She said slowly: `Very well, Lady Manderly, I'll come with you.'

  Lady Manderly inclined her head in regal thanks. `We will leave here in three days' time. Be good enough to have a list of the things you require as soon as possible after breakfast. Perhaps it would be as well if you spoke to Belling yourself.'

  Jemima turned to her neglected breakfast. `Yes, Lady Manderly.' She
buttered toast with a steady hand, aware of excitement. It would be interesting to see the Highlands in early winter; at the same time it would mean that Professor Cator would be even farther away. Not that distance made any difference, she reminded herself. However near they were to each other he would never notice her as a persona girl-she had to admit, with nothing to notice about her, anyway.

  His voice interrupted her thoughts. `If I might suggest, Aunt, it would be far easier if you were to drive up from Glasgow. There are plenty of firms who'll send a car and driver to meet you at the airport.'

  `A good idea, Alexander. I shall do that; Jemima shall see to it...'

  `No need,' his voice was careless, `I can arrange it for you.' He handed Jemima his cup for more coffee. `Are we going to church?"

  'Naturally we all go,' stated Lady Manderly. `If you've finished your breakfast, Jemima, be good enough to go to Gloria's room and remind her that we leave the house at half past ten.'