A Dream Come True

by Betty Neels

  Gloria wasn't even eating her breakfast; the tray on the table by her bed was untouched, while she lay back reading a magazine.

  She greeted Jemima with a careless, `Hullo. What do you want?'

  `Nothing, but I have a message from Lady Manderly-that we all leave the house at half past ten for church.'

  `You may, I shan't. It's nine o'clock already and I haven't had breakfast yet, and I take hours to dress. Tell her I'm prostrate with a headache.'

  'You'd have heaps of time if you had your breakfast now and got up straight away.'

  Gloria put down her magazine. `Don't be silly,' she begged languidly, `I shall do exactly what I like.'

  Jemima went downstairs again, uncertain what to do. It was a pity that she met both Lady Manderly and her nephew in the hall.

  `Is she up?' he wanted to know.

  `Well, no-not quite.' Jemima addressed herself to the old lady. `Gloria wondered if you'd mind very much if she doesn't come to church...'

  She watched Lady Manderly's cheeks empurple; one day the old lady would have a stroke or something.

  `Leave this to me.' Professor Cator's voice was brisk; he had disappeared up the stairs as he had spoken, and a moment later they heard a door open and close with a snap. Lady Manderly said almost tearfully: `The girl's impossible-so why can't he see that? But perhaps he does...' She was so obviously talking to herself that Jemima didn't answer, but opened the sitting-room door, and when they were inside, closed it again firmly. She longed wholeheartedly to know what was going on upstairs, but no one was going to accuse her of eavesdropping. She said calmly: `I'll make that list, shall I? Is there time to phone Belling before we go to church? Would you like me to make a list for you at the same time, Lady Manderly?'

  The old lady looked at the closed door and just for a moment Jemima thought she was going to open it and stand in the hall in the hope of hearing what was happening upstairs, but she went and sat in her usual chair. `Yes, you may make a list of things I shall need, and one for yourself; Belling shall see to them at once.'

  The next half hour was taken up with writing. Lady Manderly changed her mind at least twice while Jemima sat patiently, one ear tuned to the silence outside the room. She had the final lists ready by the time the door opened and the Professor joined them. It was tiresome of him not to say anything; he sat down and unfolded the first of the Sunday papers and she went away to telephone to Belling-a lengthy business, since she judged it wise to make him read it all back to her. And when she had finished with him, she phoned Shirley. The phone was behind the post office counter and she was rather afraid that Shirley might not hear it in the flat above; it was Sunday and she enjoyed what she called a good lie-in then, but she was in luck. Shirley's cheerful cockney voice answered after a short interval, wanting to know who it was. Jemima explained:

  `And Belling will come along quite soon,' she pointed out, `if you wouldn't mind looking in my trunk for the things on the list he's got with him. And I'll be back soon now-I think Lady Manderly only wants to stay in Scotland for a week or ten days.' She didn't mention that she intended to leave her employer; by the time she got back, with luck, there would be some answers to her advertisement. She hung up finally and went back to the sitting-room to tell Lady Manderly that Belling would get one of the maids to start the necessary packing up at once, and then retired to her own room, where she wrote out an advertisement. It took several attempts to get it quite right, but in the end she was satisfied, and since it was almost time to leave for church, she put on her jacket and a small felt hat, picked up gloves and handbag and went downstairs.

  Lady Manderly, in mink and fine broadcloth, was sitting in her chair again, her nephew was still reading. Jemima crossed the room and addressed the back of the Sunday Times. `I've written the advertisement,' she told him to his unseen face. `If you would be good enough to put it in the evening paper, and perhaps the Daily Telegraph, and if you'll let me know how much...'

  He put out a hand and took the paper she offered him. `I'll see to it and let you know the cost.'

  The door opened and his uninterested gaze swept over her shoulder as Gloria came into the room. It was clearly obvious that she was in a bad temper, for her lovely mouth was turned down at its corners, making it thin and ugly. She ignored everyone but stood in the middle of the room, one hand on a hip, waiting for someone to speak, which gave Jemima ample opportunity to take in the short fur jacket, elegant skirt and still more elegant boots. A little fur cap crowned her golden head and she was swinging a tan leather handbag and gloves from one hand. She looked perfectly gorgeous,

  thought Jemima, and moved away from the window because the contrast was too awful for words.

  `We might as well go,' observed the Professor calmly; Jemima wondered how he could look at Gloria so coolly when she was so beautiful. Perhaps he was used to her by now. He certainly betrayed no annoyance when she declared that she would sit in the back of the car with Lady Manderly. Jemima got in beside him, feeling a tearing excitement because she was actually so close to him. It made her pale, which hardly added to her looks.

  And once in church, Lady Manderly led the way down the aisle and took her place in a pew under the pulpit, and after a glance at the Professor Gloria followed her. But he made no move, only pushed Jemima gently in her back so that she sat reluctantly beside Gloria. That left the last seat for the Professor. Pig in the middle, thought Jemima, getting on to her knees.

  She sang the hymns in an unselfconscious treble, very sweet but not very powerful, but it wouldn't have mattered if her voice had been twice as strong, for Professor Cator had a rich bass which boomed out above her head, effectively drowning any voice within yards. Gloria didn't sing at all; she stood and sat and knelt like a puppet and Jemima could feel the waves of rage emitting from her elegant person. Peeping sideways at the Professor's placid face, she deplored his craftiness in urging her to sit next to Gloria. Thank heaven she would have to take Coco for her walk directly after they got back from church; perhaps they would settle their differences in the meantime. It seemed wicked to think such thoughts in church, but she couldn't help wishing they would quarrel so hard that Gloria would disappear out of his life for ever. She sat, looking attentively at the vicar in his pulpit, preaching what was probably an excellent sermon, and allowed herself to dream a little. She would, in some unexplained way, become beautiful overnight, the plumpness which she deplored would have disappeared and her conversation would be amusing and witty, so that the Professor would hang on her every word and fall in love with her and before she agreed to marry him she would tell him that he would have to mend his ways ... that wasn't true, she would marry him, faults and all; after all, he had been kind and gentle with the cat. She smiled a little remembering it, unaware that he was watching her, sitting sideways in the pew. She loved him very much and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Her gentle mouth trembled a little and the smile faded...

  `And now to God the Father...' intoned the vicar, and she got to her feet with everyone else, feeling childishly guilty because she hadn't heard one word of the sermon.

  Back at the house at Lady Manderly's command, she went to fetch Coco and left by the back door, only to find Professor Cator stalking along the path to meet her.

  `You've had no coffee,' he pointed out.

  `Oh, that's all right,' she told him pleasantly. `Mrs Spencer will give me a cup when we get back.'

  `You're not a servant!'

  She gave him a clear look from her lovely eyes. `Yes, I am, Professor.'

  She walked past him, but he turned and caught up with her. `One other thing,' he observed. `Why were you smiling in church, and then you looked as though you were going to cry?'

  She stared up at him, a slow blush creeping over her cheeks. `I've no idea,' she said breathlessly. `And now I really must go or we shan't be back in time for lunch.'

  He stood aside without another word, and she went down the path and out of the gate.

&n
bsp; When she entered the drawing-room an hour later it was to find Lady Manderly sitting in her chair, radiating disapproval, Gloria looking sulky and the Professor looking positively thunderous. He offered her sherry and she accepted, and made an effort to lighten the atmosphere. `It's getting much colder,' she offered. `I wonder if we're going to have a hard winter?'

  Gloria turned her back, walking across the room and pouring herself another gin and tonic. The Professor's eyes followed her and he looked as though he was going to speak. But he didn't, it was Lady Manderly who gave Jemima an unexpected look of approval and answered her poor effort at conversation.

  `I think that may be so, Jemima. Personally I rather like the winter. Stratford is pleasant out of season, I shall be sorry to leave here, but I have a strong wish to visit the Lodge.' She added in a voice that dared her listener to agree: `I am, after all, an old woman with not many years more left to me.'

  Jemima sought for a suitable answer to this and was relieved when the Professor, his eyes still on Gloria, said forcefully: `My dear Aunt, you're good for another twenty years, and you know it.'

  This led, naturally enough, to a monologue on Lady Manderly's part, describing her various illnesses, which lasted well into lunch and was kept going by astute remarks from her nephew. Jemima was silent for most of the meal, but only because there was no need to talk, and Gloria was silent because she was still hopping mad. When she did speak it was in an ugly voice which quite belied her lovely face; complaining that the food she was offered was quite unsuitable. `It's so important to keep slim,' she said, and looked pointedly at Jemima. `I'm a size ten and intend to remain so.' She smiled across the table. 'I'm sure you're a fourteen, Jemima?"

  'Twelve.' Jemima helped herself to another portion of trifle and ate it with pleasure.

  `It must be a bit of a squeeze...'

  'Be quiet, Gloria!' said the Professor suddenly.

  Jemima finished her trifle calmly, agreed with equally calm tones to write a letter on Lady Manderly's behalf and post it when she went out with Coco, drank her coffee in a rather strained atmosphere, and escaped. The Professor was an annoying, arrogant man; she loved him so much that all she wanted was to see him happy, even if it meant him marrying Gloria, but she would have given five years of her life to have saved him from what she fully expected would be a most unpleasant drive back to London.

  They had gone by the time she got back with Coco. Lady Manderly was sitting in the drawing-room making an absolute hash of her embroidery. Jemima took it from her without a word, did some unpicking, threaded some silks and handed it back, then asked a few pertinent questions about Scotland.

  `I've told Pooley to start packing,' observed her companion. `I shall of course need the thicker dresses and coats which Belling is sending. If you wish, you may pack whatever you don't need to take with you, and a case can be sent back to London from here. We need very little.'

  Lady Manderly's idea of very little meant three large suitcases, a jewel box and an overnight bag. Jemima ruthlessly discarded most of her clothes, added the slacks and skirt and woollies Shirley had sent via Belling, and declared herself ready. At the last minute she had packed the new dress; Lady Manderly had told her that she didn't stand on ceremony when she was staying at the lodge, but Jemima thought it a good idea to play safe. And it was a pity not to wear the dress even if there was no one to see it. No one being Alexander Cator, of course.

  The journey went smoothly. Lady Manderly was conveyed, giving orders and countermanding them with the next breath, from her house to the airport and from the plane to the waiting hired car-a quite arduous task for Jemima and Pooley, who were only too glad to get into the car with her, and allow themselves to be driven the last hundred and fifty odd miles. They stopped for refreshment at the hotel in Ardlui, and Jemima took Coco for a brisk walk along the shore of Loch Lomand. She would have liked to have lingered there, but Lady Manderly was impatient to get to the lodge and they drove on, taking the road to Fort William and then turning west on to the A830 to Mallaig. Arisaig was some miles short of that town, and lay at the head of Loch nan Ceall, and Jemima was enchanted with the magnificent scenery. It was a small place with a bustling harbour, full, her companion told her, in the summer months with pleasure yachts and cruisers. Now it was comparatively quiet, with only the fishing boats to be seen and very few people about in the dull grey of late afternoon.

  They went through the village and turned off the road into a lane winding uphill, and presently turned into an open gateway, stilll going uphill through closely packed trees. The lodge stood in a small circle of rough grass with trees all round it; a fair sized stone house with a slate roof, small square windows and a great many gables. If it hadn't been for the lights streaming from the downstairs windows, it might have appeared unwelcoming.

  The front door was opened as the car came to a halt and a short sandy-haired woman came out to greet them, addressing them in a cheerful cockney voice.

  `Everything's ready for you, my lady,' she offered. `My old man's down in the village, but 'e'll be back in no time. 'E's fixed for the driver to stay the night there. You'll be wanting yer dinner, no doubt.'

  `In half an hour, Martha. I'll go to my room, then take Miss Mason to hers-Pooley will have her usual room, I suppose?'

  'S' right, my lady.' Martha's shrewd eyes rested for a moment on Jemima, who smiled as she turned away to pay the driver and ask him to bring in the luggage. Lady Manderly was already in the hall when she called back:

  `Before you come in, Jemima, you'd better take Coco for a little run.'

  So it was ten minutes or more before Jemima followed Martha up the stairs to the landing above and into a pleasant room down a short passage.

  `The bathroom's next door, miss. Me and Angus ' ave a room at the back of the ' ouse we sleep in, but we spend Saturday night and all day Sunday with our daughter-she's married to a chap in Mallaig.' She paused in the doorway. `Lady Manderly, she ' asn't never brought her companions 'ere before.'

  Jemima was looking out of the window at the encircling trees. `No? Perhaps she preferred to be alone. Do I call you Martha, or would you rather I used your married name?"

  'Martha'll do, miss. I must say it's a rum time of year to come up 'ere. Lovely autumn we've 'ad, but the weather's going to worsen, so Angus says, and 'e's mostly right.'

  Jemima undid her case and began to take out her clothes. `I do hope not. It looks lovely, and the views are breathtaking.'

  Martha grinned. `Not ' alf they aren't when it's been snowing for a day or two!' She turned away. `I'll leave you to unpack, miss. My lady's at the front of the 'ouse-the double doors on the landing. Pooley's near us at the back. There's a girl comes up to 'elp mornings, but most of the bedrooms are kept closed, so there's not that much to do.'

  Left to herself, Jemima hung her things in the vast old-fashioned wardrobe, did her hair and her face, and went along to Lady Manderly's room.

  There was little for her to do there. Pooley was unpacking and Lady Manderly was sitting in a comfortable chair by the open fire. As soon as she saw Jemima she said without preamble: `Go and telephone Alexander and tell him we've arrived safely, and then wait for me in the sitting-room.'

  It wasn't until Jemima was lifting the receiver that she remembered she had no idea of the Professor's number. She was by no means the perfect companion, she thought, then caught sight of the address book on the table.

  A man answered-an elderly voice, very polite. No, the Professor was out, but a message would be delivered when he returned. She rang off, her head full of colourful pictures of Alexander Cator and Gloria having a splendid evening together in one of the more fashionable night clubs in London. If she had stopped to think she would have realised that the Professor was hardly the sort to frequent night spots, but love was causing her to have some peculiar ideas.

  While she waited for Lady Manderly, she looked around her. The sitting-room was pleasant enough, although it wore the air of not having been used lat
ely, and when she peeped into the dining-room that looked much the same, although the table, laid with a fine linen cloth and set with silver and glass, looked inviting. There was a third door; a smaller room, a mixture of library and study, leading to a closed verandah. The kitchen, she supposed, was through the baize door beside the stairs, and the door behind the sitting-room opened into a quite large room with a piano at one end and a billiard table at its centre. The whole place was comfortably furnished and lacked none of the comforts; it might be miles from anywhere, but it was well maintained. It struck her that it was a little extravagant to maintain a house of this size when it was occupied for only a couple of weeks each year, but perhaps other members of Lady Manderly's family spent their holidays there too. Jemima went back to the sitting-room and stood looking out of the window into the dark evening until Lady Manderly joined her.

  Over dinner Jemima learned that even in the remote Highlands, her duties would be as manifold as before. For one thing, few of Lady Manderly's friends lived within calling distance and almost all of those had gone back to London, which meant that there would be little to distract her. Jemima, she was informed, was to arrange a hire car in the morning, and drive her employer around the surrounding countryside. She was also warned that at least a hundred Christmas cards would need to have their envelopes addressed and last, but not least, a list of necessary Christmas presents must be made. `And you can, of course, play to me in the evenings,' added Lady Manderly. `I am rarely in the mood for television. When you have arranged for the car, we will drive to Mallaig, there is a good library there, and I will select some books.'