by Betty Neels
He shook his head. ‘Cordelia doesn’t have much time to herself, my dear, she must sometimes wish for an hour alone.’
‘But she’s my governess, and I like her to be with me all the time.’ She gave him a faintly cunning look. ‘Don’t…don’t you like her Uncle Charles?’
‘She’s what your Granny would call a thoroughly nice girl, Eileen, and yes, I like her very much. And if you so much as hint that to her, I shall wring your neck.’
‘Oh, I won’t tell,’ said Eileen loftily, ‘but it’s a pity she doesn’t know because then if ever she wanted another job, she could ask you for a reference.’ She frowned. ‘You would give her one, wouldn’t you?’
‘You may rely on me, Eileen. Here we are, I must go through my post before lunch. Take the present with you will you?’
‘I’ll put it in your study.’
He got out of the car and watched her go in the entrance; a nice child, even if spoilt, and much too bright. He strolled unhurriedly after her and went to his study and didn’t come out until lunch time.
By then Cordelia was her usual calm self again, she replied cheerfully to Eileen’s chatter, made various and quite unnecessary observations about the weather, replied suitably to the doctor when he suggested that they should take a drive through the city and take tea at one of the cafés, and ate almost no lunch. The doctor, with his eyes everywhere as usual, asked her sharply if she felt well and she told him in her sensible way that she found the warm day a little trying. The grunt he gave could have been of disbelief or there again, acquiescence.
She didn’t see him again that day; she and Eileen went for their drive, had tea and since it was so warm, went to the park and strolled around, admiring the flowers and stopping for an ice. After dinner, Cordelia got Eileen to bed, for by now she was getting both excited and peevish.
Downstairs in the small sitting room, she sat down and did neat sums, trying to guess her future. She had saved carefully during the past few weeks, and there was every chance that she would stay with Eileen for a month or so yet, at least until she went to school in September. And if Eileen had her way; she would stay for years. But she couldn’t count on that.
Presently she went to bed, still pondering her finances; she would have to have a new winter coat and a skirt and sweaters, everything she had was shabby and governesses, even if not encouraged to be in the forefront of fashion, were expected to wear clothes suitable to their surroundings. She slept finally, her last thoughts not of clothes but of Charles Trescombe.
The morning was entirely taken up with keeping Eileen reasonably calm, listening patiently to her endless queries about what she should wear. By lunch time Cordelia had her dressed, ready and fairly quiet and lunch, which she had been dreading in case Eileen threw a tantrum, went off well, possibly because the doctor exhibited no signs of excitement at the prospect of seeing his sister and brother-in-law again although he was ready enough to discuss their entertainment with his niece.
He was careful to include Cordelia in their talk, not, she felt sure, because she would be involved, but because his manners were too good to allow her to feel left out. But his careless nod as he left with Eileen was meant, she felt sure, to put her in her place, reinforced as it was by his cool: ‘Don’t forget that you are free until this evening, Cordelia.’
She said tartly: ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I’m looking forward to it.’ A remark which called forth a slow smile which disturbed her very much.
Left on her own, she went to her room, got her handbag and let herself out of the apartment. She had hours in front of her; she decided to go window shopping and visit St Stephan’s cathedral once more, and then treat herself to tea at Sacher’s for the last time. She was aware that it was an extravagance that she could ill afford, but she might never come to Vienna again.
She went to the cathedral first, wandering around its magnificent vastness and then strolling to the Graben, where she studied the beautiful luxurious things in the shop windows and then made her way to Karntner Strasse close by. She was looking at a display of leather handbags when Julius Salfinger came to a halt beside her.
‘Ah, the English governess. I have been hoping to meet you again. I did not like the things Dr Trescombe said to me, you know. You owe me something for that, Cordelia.’ He had put a hand on her arm, and when she tried to free it, he merely tightened his hold.
‘I owe you nothing, Dr Salfinger, and whatever Dr Trescombe had to say to you had nothing to do with me and was certainly not of my doing.’
‘No? Then how was it that he was so well informed? I don’t believe you; I think that you wished to gain his interest and that was an easy way. No, do not try to take your arm away, it is a small comfort to me to see you frightened.’
She said contemptuously, ‘Scared? Of you? Don’t be silly.’ She put her hand over his and lifted his hand away.
And at that moment the doctor, driving his family through the shopping streets so that his sister might get a glimpse of them, slowed in the heavy traffic and saw them. His face went blank and his hands tightened on the wheel but only for a few moments; he drove on at once, pointing out anything of interest as they went.
As for Cordelia, happily unaware of having been seen, she handed Dr Salfinger back his hand, wished him a cold goodbye and walked away. She would have liked to have run, but that would let him see how scared she was. There were crowds on either side of the street, she lost herself thankfully among them and when she reached Sacher’s Coffee Shop, she went inside and sat herself at a table where she could see the street and the door. But there was no sign of him; she drank her coffee and ate her chocolate cake, her pleasure in her afternoon quite gone, and then made her way back to the apartment. She had a couple of hours before she needed to present herself to her new employers and she could sit quietly in her room until it was time to change her dress.
There were voices and laughter coming from the drawing room as she went in and she walked softly down the hall, intent on getting to her room. She had gained the steps when the study door opened and the doctor put his head out. He looked, she considered, annoyed.
‘Back early?’ He asked nastily, ‘was young Salfinger on duty this evening? Still, you had the afternoon together.’
She was so surprised that she could only stand and gape at him. What had come over him? Usually so cool and impersonal, even in his more friendly moments.
She said without thinking. ‘Did you see us? We were in the Karntner Strasse. I thought the airport was in the other direction.’
‘And so it is, unfortunately for your plans, I drove that way so that my sister could have a look round…’ He looked so angry she expected him to grind his teeth at her.
‘Plans—what plans?’ As usual when she was with him, she became less than her usual sensible self. ‘And we didn’t have the afternoon together, what a silly thing to say…’
‘Do not make excuses,’ said the doctor coldly, and withdrew his head, leaving her as it were in the middle of a highly unsatisfactory conversation.
Made even more unsatisfactory by Eileen, who came bouncing into her room a few minutes later. ‘I saw you,’ she began at once, ‘with Julius Salfinger. Why did you meet him? I thought you didn’t like him; Uncle Charles said he wasn’t your sort at all, and that I wasn’t to play Cupid and you were to find your own love…’
Cordelia’s bosom heaved with rage, humiliation and deep regret that she couldn’t throw something heavy at Charles Trescombe’s head. She said in an icy voice; ‘Your uncle has no business to discuss me and my affairs and I am quite capable of looking after myself.’
Eileen flung her arms round her. ‘Oh, darling Cordelia, now you’re mad at me, aren’t you? We weren’t discussing you—Uncle Charles was giving me a telling off—he said you were a nice girl…’
Cordelia gave a hollow laugh. ‘I suppose that is an improvement on being a dull girl with no looks.’ She went on briskly: ‘Now love, you’d better have a shower and get yoursel
f ready for dinner. What shall you wear?’
A red herring which was a sure fire success.
Cordelia put on the pink dress; with temper and the unhappy nagging at the back of her mind, her face was pale and needed whatever help she could give it. She went downstairs presently with Eileen, outwardly composed, her insides frothing with uncertainty; Eileen’s mother might be a dragon; a female Uncle Charles with cold eyes and cold voice; she could dislike her on sight…
Mrs Kinneard was none of these things, she was a youthful copy of her mother, with a sweet smile, a kind face, exquisitely made up and wearing a dress Cordelia instantly coveted. She came across the room to meet them and took Cordelia’s hand. ‘I’m going to call you Cordelia—you don’t mind? Eileen has told us so much about you, I feel we’ve known each other for a lifetime.’ She turned her head towards her husband, talking to the doctor; a thick set, fair haired man with a rugged, handsome face. ‘Henry, come and meet Cordelia. You know that when mother wrote to say she’d engaged a governess we did wonder what she was like. Mother’s no good at describing anyone, she wrote that you were just right for Eileen, Eileen told us that you were an angel who liked clothes—it was Charles who described you in detail.’
By a strong effort of will Cordelia didn’t blush. She smiled nicely, darted a dagger look at the doctor who returned it with a bland stare, and patiently answered Mrs Kinneard’s questions, sitting beside her on the sofa, sipping a very dry sherry which she didn’t like much. The two men were at the other end of the room and Eileen divided her attention upon both parties.
No one said a word about future plans, it wasn’t until Eileen had been coaxed to bed and Cordelia got up to go with her that Mrs Kinneard said, ‘We’ll have a nice talk tomorrow, Cordelia. Will you come to my room after breakfast?’
Cordelia, sitting by her window, enjoying the cool evening air, wondered what they would talk about.
Both men were at breakfast and for once the doctor hadn’t got his handsome nose buried in his letters. Instead he said carelessly: ‘Open these for me presently, will you, Cordelia? I’ll have to read them before lunch.’ He turned to his brother-in-law: ‘Any plans for this morning, Henry?’
‘Sal want’s to go shopping, she also wants to see Schonbrunn, the Hof Palace, the Cathedral, and the Vienna Woods, oh, and Sacher’s of course. How many days will that take?’
‘It depends on the shopping. Don’t rush away on my account—I’m here for another ten days at least.’
‘I’d like to get back before the end of the week. I’ll see if I can get Sal to agree to three days before we move on.’ He smiled across the table at Cordelia. ‘I hope you’ll move with us,’ he said kindly, ‘My wife will talk about that. I’ll take Eileen off your hands for an hour so that you can have your little chat.’
Which seemed a good moment to excuse herself from the breakfast table and go up to Mrs Kinneard’s room. That lady was sitting up in the vast bed, a breakfast tray pushed to one side, leafing through a magazine.
‘There you are,’ she looked pleased to see Cordelia. ‘Come and sit down and we’ll have our little chat. Charles tells us that you’ve been splendid with Eileen, that she’s been taking German lessons and embroidery and playing tennis.’ Mrs Kinneard seemed to have forgotten that Cordelia had written faithfully giving details of all these activities. ‘I’m afraid she’s been spoilt but he assures me that you have dealt with that most efficiently. She has become very fond of you, which is nice, and I—we would be very happy if you would return with us. My husband is anxious to get home as soon as possible, but I’m hoping he’ll stay just a day or so so that I can have a look round. I do need some new clothes—I dare say Eileen could do with one or two things, I’ll take her with me. What time does Charles have lunch? If I get up now, would we have time to shop before then?’
‘Oh, yes Mrs Kinneard, you could walk—no, perhaps if you had a taxi to Karntner Strasse, the Graben is close by, they are the two best shopping streets—you could take a fiacre back here—the doctor has lunch at one o’clock, but he is not always at home, though I expect he will be now that you are here.’
Mrs Kinneard nibbled at a piece of cold toast. ‘Does he still keep his nose buried in his work? Such a waste. I’m glad he was here to look after Eileen when she had her appendix. He’s not as crusty as he seems. I must say he’s pretty good at being head of the family.’ She shot a quick look at Cordelia. ‘And you, you have a family my mother told us.’
‘Oh, yes. My father died some years ago.’ It sounded in her ears like a reference and Mrs Kinneard seemed to regard it as one. She murmured, ‘Oh yes, of course—I’m sorry and you are the eldest?’
‘Yes, by ten years.’
Mrs Kinneard said vaguely, ‘That must be a great help…’
Cordelia wasn’t sure just what sort of a help it might be, but her companion, nice though she was, wasn’t very interested. She asked ‘Would you like me to tell your daughter that she is going out with you or would you like to see her here?’
‘You tell her, will you? I’ll never get dressed once she gets into the room, bless the child. I’ll be half an hour, if you could get someone to get a taxi and see that Eileen’s presentable…’
An hour later the apartment was quiet, Mrs Kinneard and Eileen had been seen on their way, Mr Kinneard had gone off somewhere to meet someone he knew and the doctor had gone long since to the hospital. The Thompsons were in the kitchen, Cordelia could hear the low murmur of voices as she stood in the hall deciding what to do. Mrs Kinneard hadn’t said that she might go off on her own, on the other hand she had nothing to do. It was then that she remembered the letters she hadn’t opened. She went along to the dining room and found them neatly piled on a side table and sat down to open them and lay them in orderly piles; bills, personal letters, any amount of printed pamphlets and a couple of catalogues. She gathered them up and put them on the desk in the study and went to pick up the waste paper basket and empty it. She was on the way to the kitchen with it when the doctor let himself into the hall.
She had quite forgotten his bad temper of the evening before and although he had said no more than good morning at breakfast she hadn’t wondered at that. Eileen and her father had carried on a conversation in which he had joined from time to time, she beamed at him now and said, ‘Oh hullo, Doctor, you’re home early—everyone’s just gone out.’
‘But not you, Cordelia?’ He sounded disinterested.
‘Well, no, I’m not sure if Mrs Kinneard wanted me to stay here, in case they come back early or something.’
‘Most unlikely if they’ve gone shopping, I’m sure she meant you to be free until this afternoon. Most conveniently so—Salfinger has the morning off. Use the ‘phone if you wish…’ He sounded as though he was talking to some stranger he hoped never to see again.
‘I don’t wish to use the ‘phone Dr Trescombe, nor do I wish to meet anyone. I’m going for a walk.’ She swept past him and out of the apartment and took herself down the street and began to walk smartly along the pavement. When she had gone a dozen yards or so she remembered that she had no purse with her, something which made her temper, already very frayed at the edges explode alarmingly.
She stayed in the park for an hour, dying of thirst and with nothing to do but fume about the doctor’s strange behaviour. ‘If only I didn’t love him,’ she muttered, ‘if only I’d never met him…’ The idea didn’t bear thinking about. Presently she walked back and was grateful for Thompson’s thoughtful: ‘Ah, Miss Gibson, Mrs Thompson’s got coffee ready, you look as though you could do with a cup. I’ll bring it to the small sitting room, there’s still an hour before lunch.’
The coffee revived her normal even temper, by the time Mrs Kinneard and Eileen returned she was her usual practical self, ready to listen to that lady’s descriptions of the purchases she had made and Eileen’s excited chatter while the doctor and Mr Kinneard turned a deaf ear and plunged into details of the return to England. Cordelia, sitting near
est them contrived to listen to what they were saying, hoping at the same time that the journey back might be postponed for a few days. She paled a little with disappointment when she heard the doctor saying that he would arrange to take them to the airport on the day after tomorrow. That meant one whole day left, she thought distractedly, not that it mattered if he was going to treat her with the icy ill temper she had had to put up with that morning.
‘Pink silk,’ enthused Mrs Kinneard, ‘with the prettiest lace insertions, I thought it was cheap at the price—real silk and hand made.’
‘It sounds gorgeous,’ declared Cordelia, and wondered what it was, certainly not cheap by her standards if it was real silk and hand made.
‘I bought two,’ went on Mrs Kinneard, ‘and found a long sleeved one for mother. I do like pretty undies, don’t you Cordelia?’
Cordelia thinking of her Marks and Spencer underwear, agreed, not silk but pretty nonetheless. But it must be nice to wear pure silk…
They had lunch presently and Eileen was handed over to her care for the afternoon. ‘Take yourselves out to tea,’ advised Mrs Kinneard largely, ‘we’re going to the opera this evening and I simply must rest. Charles do you suppose Mrs Thompson could give them an extra special supper?’ She added ‘We shall be out to dinner shan’t we?’
Eileen was inclined to sit and sulk because she wouldn’t be going out that evening, but as Cordelia pointed out in her reasonable way if she was cheerful about it, she was much more likely to be included in further treats, so the pair of them played a desultory game of tennis until tea time instead of going out again and when the others had left the house, Eileen, who had behaved in an exemplary fashion until the very moment her mother went out of the door, indulged in a fit of temper which tried Cordelia’s patience to its limit. It was ten o’clock before the child at last fell asleep and left her free to go to bed herself.
She would have to pack for them both in the morning, she thought tiredly and probably give Mrs Kinneard a hand as well. At least it would keep her out of the doctor’s way, something she told herself vehemently she very much wished to do.
