Storm In A Rain Barrel

by Anne Mather

  Mannering leant forward, studying the glowing tip of his cigar. ‘Oh, come on now,’ he said, in a harsh tone, ‘this isn’t an auction market, Reverend Mother. It isn’t necessary for Domine to sell herself to me. She’s been handed to me—on a plate, so to speak, and you need have no qualms that her future won’t be adequately attended to!’

  Reverend Mother looked flabbergasted by his plain speaking, and Domine’s pale cheeks turned scarlet at his tone. ‘I wasn’t aware that Domine was attempting to sell herself to you in any way, Mr. Mannering,’ the elderly nun said tautly. ‘We are simple people here, with simple beliefs, and possibly a misguidedly simple attitude towards the world outside, but nevertheless, we are aware that for a girl of Domine’s age to obtain a suitable position she requires the necessary qualifications.’

  Mannering looked up, those light blue eyes glacier clear. ‘And what do you consider a “suitable” position?’ he questioned sardonically.

  Reverend Mother’s cheeks coloured a little. ‘I do not feel that I should be forced to answer your questions, Mr. Mannering,’ she replied, sharply. ‘But, as you ask, any of the positions Domine has mentioned seem perfectly acceptable to me.’

  James Mannering shook his head. ‘In effect you are ruling out any occupation that might fall short of your rigid set of values,’ he said, bluntly. ‘If Domine is well qualified, she may prefer a job in something a little more inspiring than an office or a bank, or a library either, for that matter. There’s advertising, for example. Or the arts. Or even something as devastating as the theatre!’

  ‘Obviously, we are speaking at cross purposes, Mr. Mannering,’ said Reverend Mother, sniffing a little. ‘Am I to understand that Domine is to be thrust into the theatre because that is your world?’

  ‘Hell, no!’ Mannering got to his feet. ‘I agree, we are talking at cross-purposes. However, I don’t see that it matters, for a while at least. Domine won’t immediately be taking up any kind of occupation.’

  Domine glanced at him. ‘Why?’

  Mannering shrugged. ‘We’ll see,’ he said, dismissing her question. He fastened his overcoat and went on: ‘I don’t think we’re achieving anything by discussing it here and now. It’s too early to make any assessments.’ He looked at Reverend Mother. ‘I’ll keep you in touch with Domine’s movements, if that’s what you would like. And now, as time is fleeting, and as I said I want to be back in London before dinner, perhaps you’ll excuse us?’

  Reverend Mother had no choice but to agree, and she sent Domine to collect her things and to say goodbye to her friends. Susan Johnson was waiting in Domine’s room on her return, and her eyes were wide and excited.

  ‘I say, Dom,’ she exclaimed at once. ‘Is that gorgeous male really your James Mannering?’

  Domine gave her a weary glance. ‘What gorgeous male?’

  ‘Heavens! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed!’ gasped Susan. ‘Jane and I saw him arrive. We were downstairs in the hall when he came in. Is it James Mannering?’

  ‘Yes.’ Domine stuffed the rest of her toilet articles into an overnight case, and lifted it together with the larger case that contained all her belongings.

  Susan shook her head. ‘Well, I must say you don’t look very pleased about it,’ she exclaimed rather impatiently. ‘Surely he’s not at all like you had imagined.’

  Domine glanced in her direction as she walked towards the door. ‘Well, I’d agree with you there,’ she said dryly. ‘Honestly, Susan, I know absolutely nothing about him. I don’t even know where I’m going to live!’

  Some of her trepidation showed in her voice and Susan approached her sympathetically. ‘You know he’s quite a well-known playwright,’ she pointed out thoughtfully. ‘And after all, you’re not old enough to arouse any—well, other kind of interest in him, are you? I mean—I don’t want to be unkind, Domine, but you are rather naïve, aren’t you? Me!’ She laughed. ‘I’d give anything to be in your shoes! Being ward to a famous man like him! Having the opportunity to meet all kinds of exciting people! Not just to marry the first man that asks you because you think his prospects are good!’

  Domine half-smiled. ‘You will write to me, won’t you? I’ll let you have the address as soon as I know where it is.’

  Susan nodded vigorously. ‘Of course. After all, you might invite me to come and stay some time.’

  Domine sighed, and then walked slowly along the corridor towards the stairs again. As she began the downward descent, she saw James Mannering waiting in the hall with Reverend Mother, and when he saw her struggling with the cases he left off speaking to the nun and mounted the stairs lithely to take them from her. Domine, unused to any kind of assistance with her belongings, glanced at him in surprise, and saw a faintly mocking glint in his eyes as though he had been glad to escape from Reverend Mother’s catechism.

  Sister Theresa joined her superior to say good-bye to their charge and the double doors of the convent were opened to admit a blast of chilling air, accompanied by driving rain. Domine, who had donned her school coat, a navy gaberdine, pulled up the collar, while James Mannering said: ‘Wait here!’ peremptorily, before dashing out into the storm.

  A few moments later, the roar of a powerful engine heralded the arrival of his car, which he drew up close to the entrance so that Domine had only to cross the terrace and climb into its warmth and luxury. She said good-bye to Sister Theresa, and then to Reverend Mother, and biting back a choking feeling in her throat, she ran and climbed into the limousine. She saw, through the pouring rain, that James Mannering had returned to say good-bye to the nuns, before striding back to the vehicle and sliding in beside her. The engine had been running and he thrust it smoothly into gear and raised one hand in farewell as they began their journey.

  Domine lay back in her seat feeling overwhelmingly shaky now that she had left all that was familiar behind her, and for a few minutes she stared blankly out at the awful weather and thought she would never experience a storm without remembering this afternoon. James Mannering did not speak to her at once, giving her time to collect herself, and manoeuvring the sleek car out of the gates and along the rain-washed country roads. The Convent of the Holy Sisters was situated about five miles from Guildford, and it wasn’t until they reached the main road to London that her companion glanced her way.

  ‘Well?’ he said, somewhat wryly. ‘Are you going to cry? Or will you save that for tonight—in bed?’

  Domine stared at him in astonishment. She was unused to his blunt manner of speaking, and endeavouring to assume a little of his candour, she replied: ‘No, I shan’t cry now, Mr. Mannering. As for tonight, I don’t even know where I’m to spend tonight!’ She compressed her lips to prevent them from trembling.

  Mannering gave her a lazy stare. ‘Don’t you? Didn’t the solicitor explain the situation to you?’

  ‘I haven’t seen the solicitor,’ replied Domine tightly.

  Mannering frowned. ‘Is that so? You mean it was all done by correspondence?’

  ‘Of course. Besides, what could the solicitor have told me? From the tone of his letter, he seemed as surprised as me!’

  Mannering’s frown deepened. ‘Now why were you surprised, Domine? Did you expect to be Henry’s heiress?’

  Domine clenched her fists. ‘I think you’re most objectionable, Mr. Mannering!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t imagine anything. Great-Uncle Henry wasn’t old—at least, not that old. When I was eighteen I expected to go to college, and afterwards—well, I suppose I just thought I’d get a job and find somewhere of my own to live.’

  Mannering gave her a wry glance. ‘Okay, I’ll accept that,’ he nodded. ‘I’m sorry if I’m riding you, kid. Perhaps I’m so used to the rat-race I’ve forgotten there are still mice around.’

  Domine flushed. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Where am I to stay? Where am I to live?’

  Mannering drew out his cigar case and lit a cigar before replying. Then he said: ‘Tonight, you’ll stay at my apartment—in Lon
don. Tomorrow we’ll drive up to Yorkshire.’

  ‘To Grey Witches?’ exclaimed Domine, in surprise.

  ‘Sure, to Grey Witches!’ He frowned. ‘I don’t intend to sell the place, you know. What’s the matter? Doesn’t that appeal to you?’

  Domine shook her head. ‘I didn’t think about that either,’ she murmured, wondering with a sense of excitement whether Grey Witches was to be her home. It would be wonderful to have a real home after all these years.

  Mannering gave an exasperated shrug, and then they encountered a stream of traffic entering London and for a time his attention was focused on negotiating a series of traffic lights. Domine looked about her with interest. She had never really visited London. When she was younger, living with her parents in Nottingham, it had never appealed to her, and afterwards Great-Uncle Henry had avoided it like the plague. ‘Nasty, unhealthy place,’ he had called it, and Domine had been too inexperienced to offer an opinion.

  James Mannering’s apartment was the penthouse of a block of luxury dwellings, and once inside the air-conditioned environs of the lift Domine forgot the vile weather outside. The lift swept upwards smoothly, and then whined to a halt at the thirtieth floor. They stepped out on to a pile carpeted corridor that led to double doors into his apartment, and Mannering went ahead of her, using a key to admit them.

  Immediately a suave little man appeared from the direction of what she later learned to be the kitchen, and Mannering introduced him as Graham while he removed his overcoat.

  Domine smiled, and shook hands, and Mannering said: ‘Graham is a gentleman’s gentleman. He was employed by Lord Bestingcot years ago, but he’s been with me for about ten years now, haven’t you, Graham? He’s endeavouring to instil the attributes of a gentleman into rough clay like myself!’ He smiled, and Domine was surprised at the change it brought to his harsh features. She was begining to see why Susan had thought him attractive. There was something particularly masculine about him, and his hardness, she thought, would appeal to some women.

  Graham took Domine’s gaberdine, and suggested they might like some coffee, but after ascertaining that dinner would be ready in about fifteen minutes, James Mannering waved him away.

  ‘We’ll have something a little more appetizing,’ he remarked, and nodding, Graham went to attend to the meal. Then Mannering looked at Domine, standing hoveringly by the door. In truth, she was still recovering from the impact the apartment had made on her, with its plate-glass windows, giving a panoramic view of the city, and the soft carpet underfoot into which her feet sank. There were deep red leather chairs, and occasional tables made of ebony, while in the alcoves, fitted shelves supported books, hi-fi equipment, and a super-luxury television set. The room was lit by tall standard lamps designed in sprays, while the heating was concealed but comfortable. And despite its artistic design, the room was the kind of place where one could relax without worrying too much about ultra-tidiness. Just now, a pile of manuscript lay on a side table, while some magazines were strewn on a low couch. It had a lived-in air, and Domine wondered whether Great-Uncle Henry had ever been here.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ invited James Mannering, indicating the couch. ‘Take your shoes off; make yourself at home. If you’re to be my ward for the next six months, we might as well get used to one another.’

  Domine hesitated, and then she stepped forward, and did as he suggested, subsiding on to a couch that was softer than anything she had previously experienced.

  ‘Now! What are you going to drink?’ he asked, walking over to a cocktail cabinet. ‘Port, sherry, Martini? Or just some fruit juice?’

  Domine bit her lip. ‘Fruit juice, please,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap.

  He glanced round at her, looked as though he was about to protest, and then seemed to change his mind. ‘All right,’ he agreed, and mixed her a lime and lemon. ‘There you are!’ He poured himself a stiff measure of whisky and swallowed it at a gulp, then he poured another before coming to sit opposite her, on a low chair, regarding her with lazy, yet intent, blue eyes.

  Domine sipped her drink, and looked about her nervously, wishing he would not study her so intently. She could feel the colour sweeping up her neck and over her ears, washing her face a brilliant shade of tomato. Then he seemed to grow bored with embarrassing her this way, and said, instead:

  ‘Haven’t you any questions you want to ask?’

  Domine looked down at her glass. ‘Heaps,’ she agreed candidly.

  ‘Well, go on, then. Ask?’

  Domine felt tongue-tied for a moment. ‘Have—have you written many plays?’ she asked tentatively.

  Mannering lay back in his seat regarding her impatiently. ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he exclaimed. ‘What does that matter? Come on, Domine, stop being such a mouse for once, and speak your mind! Doesn’t it bother you that Henry should have thrust you so heedlessly into my hands?’

  Domine’s fingers tightened round the glass. ‘Of course it bothers me. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about that. It—it might be a good idea if I stayed here—in London, I mean. I could easily get a job, and I suppose there are bed-sitters and things—’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Mannering raised his eyes heavenward. Then he stared at her again. ‘Oh, no, Domine, most definitely, no! Old Henry knew exactly what he was doing when he handed you into my care. He knew that once I’d seen you, talked with you, got to know what kind of innocent you really are, I wouldn’t dare to let you out of my sight. Leave you here in London, indeed! Good God, girl, you haven’t the faintest idea what could happen to you here—in swinging London, as they say! Oh, no! Like I said at the convent earlier, right now you’re in for a holiday.’

  Domine sighed. ‘But I don’t want to be a nuisance—’

  ‘A nuisance?’ He shook his head. ‘My dear girl, you began being a nuisance three weeks ago when old Henry died. There’s not a chance that you’re going to stop now, and certainly not by attempting to be independent. How old are you, fifteen? Sixteen?’

  ‘Seventeen!’ retorted Domine, somewhat jerkily. ‘You know that as well as I do!’

  He smiled. ‘Yes, well, maybe I do at that. But right now you look about fourteen, and considering the promiscuity of girls today I would place you mentally among the twelve-year-olds!’

  ‘Thank you!’ Domine got unsteadily to her feet. ‘You needn’t imagine that because you’ve been given my guardianship that you can speak to me as you like!’ she gasped angrily. ‘I may look like a child, and I may appear to be one in your sophisticated eyes, Mr. Mannering, but I’m not, and I’m not as ignorant of the way of the world as you imagine!’

  He looked up at her mockingly. ‘Are you not? Then forgive me!’

  She turned away from his mockery then, unable to stand this verbal baiting any longer, and he seemed to repent, for he said: ‘Oh, Domine, this will have to stop, you know. It’s no good our arguing all the time. All right, I’ll accept that you’re on the verge of young womanhood, but there’s a hell of a lot you’ve got to learn, and you won’t learn it in the space of a couple of weeks.’

  She looked back at him. ‘I don’t expect to,’ she said unevenly.

  He leaned forward then, studying her thoughtfully. ‘And you won’t get anywhere unless you start asking some questions,’ he remarked. ‘Like, for instance, why Henry left everything to me.’

  Domine flushed. ‘That’s nothing to do with me,’ she murmured.

  ‘Of course it is!’ Mannering shook his head, apparently amazed at her lack of curiosity. ‘Look, did he never talk about me—about my mother?’

  Domine shook her head uncertainly. ‘Not that I can remember.’

  ‘Did he talk about Grey Witches?’

  Domine shook her head again.

  ‘I see. And you never visited there, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  Mannering heaved a sigh. ‘Obviously his intention was to keep both sections of his life apart. He could hardly have taken you to Grey Witches without arousing a lo
t of unpleasant questions—unpleasant for him, that is.’

  ‘Why?’ Domine’s brows drew together.

  ‘Because my mother lives at Grey Witches. She always has.’

  ‘What!’

  He shrugged. ‘Where else would a man’s house-keeper live?’

  ‘Your mother was Great-Uncle Henry’s house-keeper?’ Domine stared at him. ‘I—I see!’

  He lay back in the chair again. ‘Now, just what do you see, Domine?’ he asked, sardonically.

  Domine flushed. ‘Well—well, that explains a little of the mystery.’

  ‘There’s no mystery,’ he retorted dryly. ‘Your great-uncle was a man, like other men. His wife was an invalid for many years, or maybe you didn’t know that. After all, it was long before you were born. At any rate, my mother was ultimately more attractive than his virtue.’

  Domine’s colour deepened. ‘I see,’ she murmured uncomfortably.

  James Mannering got impatiently to his feet. ‘Oh, God,’ he said exasperatedly, ‘I can almost see your mind working. What kind of reading matter did you have at that establishment you’ve just left? Not the kind that lends itself to a situation of this kind, I’ll be bound. I’m not the illegitimate son, in the legal sense of the word. My mother was married when she produced old Henry’s heir!’ There was mockery in his dénouement of his father’s actions.

  Domine bent her head. ‘You didn’t have to explain yourself to me.’

  ‘Dammit,’ he muttered, almost angrily now. ‘I’m not attempting to explain myself to you! My father was no saint, and I’ll admit when I learned of my connection with him, I hated him! That was when I was a teenager, when I was like you, beginning to find my feet—my identity, if you like. At any rate, I’d had enough of the simple life in Hollingford. I needed an excuse to escape, and that provided one. It was later, after I’d lived in London for a few years that I realized what a stupid attitude I’d adopted. Perhaps I’d realized I was human, too, by then, and humanity possesses many frailties, as you’ll discover in time.’