his field of learning.’
‘Oh, what sort of learning?’
‘Endocrinology, miss. He’s considered to be a very clever gentleman.’
And a nasty bad-tempered one too, thought Jemima as she was ushered into the small room she had waited in on her first visit. It was a good ten minutes before Belling came back and asked her to follow him.
Jemima got up with alacrity. It was, after all, an important moment in her life; she was about to start her first job.
CHAPTER TWO
BELLING LED THE WAY upstairs and on to the landing, but this time he ignored the drawing-room door and knocked on a smaller door opposite, opened it and stood aside for Jemima to go past him. Compared to the drawing-room, the apartment she entered was small; it was also austerely furnished with a fine knee-hole writing desk, an upright chair behind it, a couple of small tables and an upholstered armchair drawn up to the small fire burning in the polished steel grate.
Lady Manderly was in the chair, wearing a dress exactly the same as the grey one, but this time it was blue and the jet and gold necklace had been replaced by a turquoise choker. There was a pile of letters on the small table by her chair and she was tapping impatiently with a beringed hand upon the newspaper on her lap.
Jemima wished her good morning politely and waited.
‘I said nine o’clock,’ began Lady Manderly icily.
‘Yes, you did,’ agreed Jemima pleasantly, ‘and I was here at five minutes to the hour, Lady Manderly. I waited downstairs until Belling came to fetch me.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘For ten minutes,’ she added.
Lady Manderly looked affronted. ‘I am not always ready, Miss Mason. You will go through these letters and give me those which are personal so that I may read them. Bills, requests for money and so on you will put on the desk and consult me about them when it is convenient.’ She added: ‘To me.’
And when Jemima had done that: ‘While I am reading my letters and when you have sorted the remainder, you will scan The Times and mark anything of significance so that you may read it to me during the course of the day.’
They settled down the pair of them, Lady Manderly occasionally making indignant noises over her correspondence, Jemima working silently, making a neat pile on the desk and then looking through the paper for likely bits to read—a formidable task, since she had no idea what the lady’s tastes were; would she want to hear the Prime Minister’s speech on the coal industry, or what the Middle East was doing at the moment? Or would she be interested in the fashion page? Jemima thought it unlikely; fashion as such didn’t appear to mean much to her employer—she fancied that she made her own. She might like the social column, though, and the weather report…
Lady Manderly laid down the last of her letters. ‘And now you may tell me about the rest,’ she commanded.
They were mostly bills, but there were a couple of begging letters, a leaflet about thermal underwear, an enquiry as to whether Lady Manderly would like double glazing and a catalogue from Liberty’s. Lady Manderly made short work of them while Jemima scribbled little notes on each of them so that she would remember what she had to do later on.
‘Now you may read to me,’ stated Lady Manderly.
Jemima began with the weather report, touched lightly on the Middle East, read the whole of the Prime Minister’s speech in full, added an item or two about the Royal Family’s daily round, touched delicately upon the separation of a peer of the realm and his wife, and ended with a colourful account of the discovery of a rare ceramic—an Imari cat—which had been found on the kitchen overmantel in a Norfolk farmhouse.
As she folded the newspaper Lady Manderly remarked: ‘You have a pleasant voice, Miss Mason, and your choice of reading material was most suitable. Kindly ring the bell for coffee.’
Coffee came, on a massive silver tray. Jemima poured it from a George the Second silver coffee pot into paper-thin cups, and it was atrocious—watery and bitter and not as hot as it should have been; she waited for Lady Manderly to complain, but that lady drank two cups with apparent enjoyment before desiring Jemima to ring the bell once more.
‘You will take Coco for a walk and bring her back to me in one hour,’ said Lady Manderly. ‘My maid, Pooley, always takes her to St James’ Park, but of course she has to be driven there and back. You, I presume, are young enough to enjoy a good walk.’
‘Yes, of course I am, Lady Manderly, but what about Coco? Is she young?’
‘Five—no, six years old, I believe. She does not, of course, get the exercise she should, so you may have to carry her if she tires.’
Jemima pictured herself struggling under the weight of a Great Dane. ‘What sort of dog?’ she asked.
‘A poodle—miniature, of course. You may go now, Miss Mason, but be back at noon precisely.’
Belling was waiting in the hall when Jemima went downstairs, holding the lead of a very small grey poodle. ‘The little dog is very good, miss,’ he volunteered, ‘she’ll be glad of a nice walk.’
The sun was shining although there was a cool wind with a decided autumnal nip to it; just right for a brisk walk. The hour passed too quickly for both Jemima and Coco and she hoped that a daily walk was to be part of her duties. Coco, her paws wiped by a woman in an apron, summoned to the hall by Belling, was allowed to mount the stairs with Jemima and go into the drawing-room where Lady Manderly was sitting before a vast embroidery frame. She looked at her watch before she spoke. ‘At least you are punctual,’ she observed tartly. ‘We lunch at one o’clock, until then you may start on the letters, and I have left you a list of telephone calls I wish you to make.’ She pushed the frame aside. ‘Come to Mother,’ she begged Coco in such a different, gentle voice that Jemima stared. Perhaps Lady Manderly wasn’t as harsh as she seemed. She went back to the small room and sat down at the desk. Fifty pounds had seemed an awful lot of money when she had been offered that sum; she saw now that she was going to earn every penny of it.
She quite enjoyed the next hour, however, telephoning for flowers to be sent, a fitter to come that afternoon with a new dress Lady Manderly had ordered, a wine merchant to deliver a dozen bottles of claret, and then settling down to write answers to the bills and begging letters in her neat handwriting. She made out cheques too, and when they were done, took them back to the drawing-room for Lady Manderly to sign. And by then it was lunch time.
Jemima was relieved to find that this was a substantial meal, which meant that she need only get herself a sandwich or beans on toast or an egg in the evening, and since Lady Manderly had a good appetite, she was able to enjoy her lunch down to the last mouthful. The coffee was frightful, though, and Jemima made up her mind to do something about that just as soon as she had got to know the members of the household.
Lady Manderly rested after lunch, she told Jemima, and liked to be read to, so Jemima made her comfortable on the day bed, draped a series of shawls around her massive person, and took a chair close by. She was to read one of Agatha Christie’s earlier books, one she had read at least twice herself. She had got as far as the second chapter when she was brought up short by a tremendous snore from her companion. There was no point in going on, so she marked the place carefully and sat back in her chair, glad of a few minutes’ quiet. So far, she thought, she wasn’t doing too badly. Lady Manderly had watched her like a hawk during lunch, presumably to make sure that she knew which
