by Betty Neels
‘Give me a ring, then,’ he suggested. ‘Let’s make it next week, whenever you get your half day. With luck I’ll be able to get two seats at short notice. I’m not a real enthusiast about Shakespeare, but I don’t dare to go back home without having been to see at least one of his plays. Do you know what’s on?’
Jemima frowned in thought. ‘Next week? Well, there’s Much Ado About Nothing and Hamlet. I hope it’ll be Hamlet…’
‘Make’s no odds to me,’ said Andrew, and put on a burst of speed to overtake a transport ahead of him. That there was a car coming towards them flashing lights indignantly didn’t seem to bother him at all.
Jemima let out a held breath. ‘Yes, well—I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. The Royal Shakespeare Theatre is famous, so are the people who act there.’
‘I’ll collect you in time for a meal first—any ideas about where to eat?’
‘There’s a good restaurant at the theatre, you can either eat before the play starts or when it’s finished. That’s a bit late, though.’
‘Your old dragon keeps tabs on you? We’ll eat first, then. I’ll give you Uncle’s phone number.’
‘I know it; I’ve known them almost all my life, they were close friends of my mother and father, you see.’
‘Mother and father dead?’ He sounded casually kind. ‘Sorry about that. All on your own, are you, with your brother in the States?’
‘Well, not really, I’ve got a job and digs in London.’
‘Sounds drear. We must make up for that while you’re in Stratford. How long do you think you’ll be here?’
‘A month—six weeks. I really don’t know.’
He had slowed, to her relief, as they crossed the bridge over the Avon and started up Bridge Street. ‘Plenty of time to get acquainted,’ he told her on a laugh, and Jemima agreed, laughing too. It was good for her ego to have a young man even faintly interested in her—after all, during the last few weeks Professor Cator had flattened it almost beyond repair.
They were going slowly through High Street and Andrew pulled up in front of a still open café. ‘How about a cup of coffee?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s only just after seven o’clock.’
It seemed a long time since her lunch and Mrs Gibbons’ tea had been very dainty; perhaps he would suggest a sandwich to go with it… He didn’t, not even a biscuit; probably it wouldn’t enter his head that she might be hungry. They didn’t hurry, but when they got up to go he looked at his watch again. ‘Well, all good things come to an end,’ he told her, and gave her a charming smile. ‘Aunt has supper at nine o’clock, I’ll miss it if I don’t drop you off and race for home—she’s a fabulous cook, and I happen to know it’s steak and kidney pie!’
Jemima’s mouth watered. She supposed he thought everyone had supper at nine o’clock. Well, she could always creep down to the kitchen and get that soup. She got into the car and directed him down Chapel Street and into Chapel Lane. The gates were open and although she asked him to put her down outside them he laughed and turned the car through them, roaring up the drive much too fast and far too loudly.
‘Might as well have a look at the place now I’m here,’ he told her easily, and skidded to a halt in front of the door.
The door was shut, thank heaven, but the heavy curtains hadn’t been drawn over the downstairs windows, and both the dining-room and the drawing-room were brightly lit. Lady Manderly hadn’t said anything about guests for dinner.
‘Any chance of coming in and having a look round?’ asked Andrew.
Jemima glanced at him, appalled. ‘Heavens, no—I mean, it’s a private house.’
‘We’re more hospitable in New Zealand.’ He got out and she got out too.
‘Thank you for the ride,’ she said a little shyly, ‘and the coffee. I enjoyed it.’
He eyed her smilingly. ‘Don’t get much fun, do you?’ He tucked a hand under her arm. ‘We’ll change all that.’ He turned her round to face him and kissed her roughly, and she turned her face away just in time to offer him a cheek.
Andrew laughed. ‘A bit out of practice?’ he asked cheerfully; his hearty voice sounded very loud in the quiet garden. Jemima hoped most fervently that no one could hear—or see, for that matter. All those windows…
Her hopes were in vain. She hadn’t noticed that the door had been opened and that someone was standing in its shadow, watching. Still unaware, she wished Andrew a sober goodnight, watched while he roared away from the house and turned to go indoors.
It was only then that she saw Professor Cator standing there. He didn’t say anything at first, but his smile was nasty, so she judged it expedient to pass him with the smallest nod, and go up smartly to her room. She was stopped; he was a large man, one step sideways and her way was blocked.
‘I’m surprised,’ observed the Professor silkily. ‘You don’t look that kind of a girl.’
Jemima, forced to stay where she was, asked warily: ‘And what do you mean, Professor?’
‘The kind of girl to have such a—shall we say, boisterous?—boy-friend.’
‘He is not my boy-friend. I met him for the first time this afternoon.’ She could have bitten out her tongue, because he pounced on that at once.
‘Surely not a pick-up?’ he asked smoothly. ‘Perhaps this rigorous life style you lead here has driven you to extremes?’
‘I should like to slap your face!’ said Jemima, glowing with splendid rage, then found herself on the verge of tears when he leaned down and offered one side of a massive jaw. She said in a little voice: ‘I don’t know why you needle me, Professor Cator. Isn’t it enough not to like me and let me keep out of your way?’
He straightened up. He said in a surprised voice: ‘I do believe that it’s too late for that, Jemima,’ and stood aside to let her pass into the hall. She was almost at the stairs when he asked: ‘Have you had anything to eat?’
She told herself that she was no longer hungry even while her insides rumbled a denial. She would rather starve than be beholden to him, even for a crust of bread. She was aware that she sounded a little dramatic even in her thoughts, but it suited her mood. She said quietly: ‘I don’t need supper, thank you,’ and went on up the stairs.
Still furiously angry though she was, her thoughts kept dwelling on hot soup, a great plate of chips, rolls and butter, lavish cups of coffee… They almost but not quite eclipsed the Professor.
She had a bath and got into bed and tried to take comfort from the luxury of her surroundings—after all, she was warm and the bed was soft and cosy and she still had a good bit of her book to read. She punched up her pillows and settled herself against them and opened it, but a couple of pages sufficed to show her that the heroine was a fool and the hero too soppy for words. She flung it down, and at the same time someone knocked on the door.
It was barely nine o’clock, surely Lady Manderly didn’t expect her to present herself at that hour? Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen any cars. If there weren’t any guests, she was supposed to play cards or something similar with her employer—did that apply to her half day?
She called, ‘Come in,’ in a questioning voice and Pooley came round the door with a tray.
‘The Professor,’ she explained. ‘He said he’d been in the hall when you came back and he didn’t think you looked quite the thing, asked if we’d bring you up a little something…’ She smiled quite kindly and put the tray on the bedside table. ‘Said he thought you might have gone up to bed so as not to bother anyone. Well, me and Mrs Spencer knows that’s more than likely, you being so considerate and all. It’s just a snack so that you’ll sleep well. Did you have a nice afternoon?’
‘Yes, thank you, Pooley.’ Jemima had an awful feeling that she was going to burst into tears, but she managed to smile instead. ‘You’re both so kind, and I’ll eat every scrap.’
‘That’s right, miss. The morning’ll do for the tray.’
There was soup and a cheese soufflé, so light it almost flew from the dish, and a pea
ch to follow as well as a pot of coffee. Jemima cleared the lot and felt marvellous afterwards, only for some reason she cried herself to sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
LADY MANDERLY made no reference to Jemima’s day. The moment Jemima put her head round the sitting-room door, she embarked on her usual morning activities without one single enquiry as to whether she had enjoyed her freedom. Not that Jemima had really expected it; Lady Manderly was concerned only with herself and her own comfort and wellbeing, although she doubted if she would really be deliberately unkind; it was just that she had never considered anyone else but herself, and it seemed a little late in life to change now. She didn’t mention her nephew’s visit either, but there again, she would consider it was none of Jemima’s business, as indeed it wasn’t.
The rest of the week passed peacefully enough, not that living with Lady Manderly was entirely peaceful; Jemima was glad to retire to her room each evening, for except on the occasion when her employer went out to dinner with friends, she bore that lady company, first at a long-drawn-out dinner and afterwards in the drawing-room, playing bezique or, what was more exhausting, listening to Lady Manderly’s long-winded opinions about one thing and another. She was a lady of decided views and objected strongly to anyone opposing them, so that the unfortunate listener was held captive and unable to say a word in dissent. Jemima, inclined to be argumentative by nature, found it all very trying.
But there were compensations; she enjoyed her walks with Coco, and often enough she was sent into the town to post letters, match embroidery silks or purchase books, which gave her an opportunity to look in the shop windows and decide what she would buy when she had enough money.
The temptation to get herself another dress for the evening was great. The brown was definitely dowdy and the separates, while passable, were being worn far too often. But she had made up her mind to save enough money to live on while she found another job in London, and she wasn’t sure how long that might take. She had been lucky getting this one, next time might not be so easy. She promised herself that she would save her first three weeks’ money and then do some spending.
It wasn’t until the weekend that Lady Manderly mentioned casually that Jemima might have her half day on the following Wednesday, and Jemima lost no time in phoning the Gibbons’ house. Andrew wasn’t there, so she left a message and then waited a whole day before he phoned back. It was a pity that she was in the middle of reading the day’s news out loud when the phone rang. Conscious of Lady Manderly’s beady eyes upon her, she said ‘Yes,’ and ‘No’ and ‘Thank you very much,’ terrified that the old lady would hear Andrew’s hearty voice bellowing that he supposed she was being prim because the dragon was eavesdropping.
‘Half past seven,’ she said in answer to his enquiry as to when the play started, and then, ‘Very well, half past six in the foyer.’
‘And who was that?’ enquired Lady Manderly, awfully.
‘A friend who’s at Oxford. He’s invited me to the theatre on Wednesday evening.’ Jemima picked up The Times again and continued reading about the fuel crisis. She read very nicely, her quiet voice giving no sign of her excited thoughts. An evening in Andrew’s company would be delightful, she repeated the thought a shade too emphatically.
It would have to be the wool dress, she decided as she got ready on Wednesday evening. She had worn the suit when she had gone to Oxford and a long skirt would be a bit much, especially as she didn’t know where they were to sit. Dressed, she examined herself in the pier glass in her room and then turned away with an impatient sigh. She looked neat, that was the best she could say for herself. She only hoped that Andrew wasn’t a connoisseur of women’s clothes.
He was waiting for her in the theatre foyer, and one glance at his face warned her that he was agreeing wholeheartedly with her own opinion of her appearance. She greeted him serenely, wondering miserably if he would ever ask her out again, while she cast covert glances at the well dressed women around them. It depended on how much he liked her, she supposed, and thus challenged, worked hard at being the perfect companion; a good listener, ready to laugh when called upon, keeping up her end of the conversation. It was exhausting as well as tiresome; she had wanted to see Hamlet very badly, but it wasn’t Andrew’s idea of an evening out—that was obvious after the first ten minutes; he muttered asides, coughed and looked around him, and his sigh of relief when the curtain came down for the interval and they went with almost everyone else to the bar was exaggeratedly loud.
Jemima did her best, but he didn’t want to discuss the play or the actors, so she led the conversation round to New Zealand while she sipped her sherry and he described his town, Kiakoura. She wasn’t at all sure exactly where it was, and she didn’t like to ask. She murmured politely when he paused for breath, but he didn’t really need her to talk, just as long as she listened. It was bliss to go back to Shakespeare’s world, but she felt guilty for the rest of the evening. Andrew had asked her out and she felt that she was giving him a poor return for his money; she didn’t even look attractive, and she found, over their supper after the play, that it was increasingly difficult to find a topic which they could talk about with real interest. It dismayed her to discover that they really had nothing in common.
Supper was delicious and Andrew was impressed by the restaurant, half way up the great curving stone staircase. It was almost full, too, and the atmosphere was pleasant. Jemima would have liked to have discussed the play, but Andrew had dismissed her first tentative remarks with a vigorous: ‘Well, so that’s Shakespeare, is it? Myself, I’d rather have a good musical show. I’m going up to town next weekend—a pity you can’t come, we might have taken in a couple of theatres.’
But he hadn’t asked her, thought Jemima, and realised that he hadn’t intended to. She hadn’t come up to expectations, she knew that, and she did her best to make up for it by listening to another long description of the country round his home and the sheep-farming there. The unbidden thought that Professor Cator would have been a far more agreeable companion quite shook her, and made her even more attentive.
They walked back presently and this time he didn’t come up to the house, but wished her a cheerful, careless goodbye at the gate with no mention of a further meeting. She hadn’t expected that anyway.
The house was quiet as she let herself in with the key she had been allowed to borrow. She turned off the lamp in the hall and went softly upstairs. Lady Manderly’s bedroom door was ajar with light streaming on to the landing. Jemima was almost past it, walking on tiptoe, when she heard the old lady’s voice which bade her enter.
‘Come in, Jemima. There’s no need to creep about the house in that fashion.’
Jemima did as she was bid. She might have pointed out that she was being considerate in a sleeping household, but she held her tongue. Getting the better of the old lady was very nearly impossible. She closed the door behind her and waited.
Lady Manderly looked just as formidable in her bed as she did out of it. Her taste ran to satin and lace and plenty of both—she was festooned in them, so was the bed. Jemima, whose heart was soft, found it rather pathetic, although there was nothing in the old lady’s manner to warrant sympathy.
‘Well,’ said Lady Manderly, peering at Jemima through her lorgnette, ‘did you enjoy your evening?’
‘Yes, thank you. The play was quite splendid, and I liked the way they did it—with no real scenery…’
She was interrupted. ‘And the young man? Did he enjoy it?’
‘Well, up to a point. I think he prefers something a bit more lively.’
Her companion snorted. ‘And when is he taking you out again?’
‘He isn’t. He’s going to London for a visit.’
‘But he’ll return?’ went on Lady Manderly, remorselessly questioning.
‘Well, yes, I expect so.’
‘But you don’t expect to see him again?’
Jemima shook her head and the old lady nodded hers in a satisfied fashio
n. ‘I’m not in the least surprised. He’s not for a girl such as you.’ She threw a penetrating glance at Jemima. ‘You’re not upset, I hope?’
‘Not in the least, Lady Manderly,’ said Jemima placidly, and meant it.
‘I’m counting upon you not getting involved with a man during the next few weeks,’ observed Lady Manderly. The way she said it, it sounded like an order.
‘I’m not very likely to do that.’ Jemima felt as though she were stating the obvious. ‘Can I get you anything before I go to bed?’
‘Nothing, thank you. Tomorrow I wish you to drive me into the town. I have several purchases to make. Goodnight, Jemima.’
Dismissed with a wave of the lorgnette, Jemima said goodnight and went out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. In her own room she undressed slowly, sat for a long time before her dressing table mirror studying her reflection, and then got into bed. The evening had hardly been a sparkling success: Andrew had found her dull, she suspected, and she was quite prepared to admit that probably she was. Certainly she hadn’t been at ease with him; hearty types were fine taken in small doses, but she preferred someone a little quieter. And with that thought a very clear picture of Professor Cator presented itself behind her closed lids.
‘Go away,’ said Jemima crossly. ‘I don’t like you in the least!’
She thumped her pillows and buried her head in them to shut him out. By concentrating on Dick’s success in Boston and planning a visit there, she managed to ignore him, and presently went to sleep.
Lady Manderly made no further reference to Jemima’s visit to the theatre. The morning was spent driving her from one shop to the next, helping her out of the car and then in again, and on several occasions being commanded to accompany her into whichever shop she happened to be visiting. The last shop they visited was a boutique, a very superior one, all grey velvet, long mirrors and svelte sales ladies. Lady Manderly spent a long time there, looking at evening stoles, gossamer things made of sequined tulle and lace, guaranteed to make any female feel attractive, even if she wasn’t. Lady Manderly bought two finally and Jemima, making out the cheque for her to sign, thought of all the clothes she could have bought with the cost of them. It was a lovely shop, spilling over with the kind of clothes she could love to wear. She didn’t allow the thought to sour her but took possession of the elegant package, settled Lady Manderly in the car, and got in herself. She hoped they would go back to the house now; she was hungry and a little tired; her employer was no light weight when it came to getting her out and into the car a dozen times or more. Besides, they hadn’t had coffee. She sat behind the wheel and waited to be told where to go next.
