she hadn’t much choice.
Lady Manderly woke presently and Jemima went on reading, just as though she had never left off. Coco had to be taken for a short walk before four o’clock tea, a welcome break before Jemima found herself behind the silver tea tray once more, this time flanked by plates of little sandwiches and cakes. She had handed Lady Manderly her tea and a plate and was offering her the sandwiches when the door opened and Professor Cator came in, and just ahead of him came the girl who had called at the office in Bloomsbury. She was looking more beautiful than ever, in knickerbockers again, this time plaid ones with a fetching little velvet waistcoat and a ridiculous velvet beret perched on her lovely head. She said: ‘Hullo, Lady Manderly, I made Alexander bring me here for tea—I’m dying for a cup.’ She pecked Lady Manderly’s cheek and grinned at Jemima. ‘Hullo to you too. Alexander said Lady Manderly had a new companion, though I must say you don’t look the part.’ She put her head on one side. ‘Well, perhaps you do—no glamour, poor dear, and you ought to do something with that mousy hair.’
The Professor had gone to stand by the window after greeting his aunt briefly. He had barely glanced at Jemima, but now he stared at her thoughtfully so that she coloured and frowned. ‘I’ll ring for more cups,’ she said rather primly, and stood by the bell until Belling came into the room. She felt awkward and dreadfully plain, and although the girl hadn’t meant to be unkind, her words had poked a hole in Jemima’s pride—a hole made much worse by Lady Manderly telling her carelessly to go and have her tea in the room where she had been working that morning. ‘Find something to do,’ advised Lady Manderly, ‘and come back when I ring.’
So Jemima tidied the desk and then sat behind it, longing for her tea and not sure if she was supposed to go in search of it or ring. Probably Belling would object to bringing it to her—after all, she wasn’t much better than a servant.
She sat for five minutes or so, getting steadily more and more indignant. She was after all a don’s daughter who had enjoyed a social life of sorts, well educated, so that when presently Professor Cator opened the door and came into the room she gave him a look of dislike as well as surprise.
‘Ah, you have had no tea,’ he observed in a bland voice which made her grit her teeth.
‘I don’t want any, thank you, Professor Cator,’ said Jemima while she thought longingly of a whole teapot full, with sandwiches to go with it.
He took no notice of her at all, but pulled the bell rope and when Belling came, ordered tea to be brought at once. ‘And be so good as to put a second cup on the tray,’ he finished, and to Jemima’s annoyance, sat down.
She could think of nothing to say; she sat behind the desk still, twiddling a pen between her fingers and wishing he would go away.
Something he didn’t mean to do, for as the tea tray was borne in and set down on a small table he observed: ‘I take milk and two lumps of sugar.’
Jemima raised her eyes to his impassive face. ‘Shouldn’t you be having tea with Lady Manderly and—and the young lady?’
He shrugged massive shoulders. ‘They’re discussing some party or other which I found boring.’ And at the speaking look she gave him: ‘You won’t bore me, Miss Mason, because there is no need for us to talk.’
Jemima poured tea carefully from a small silver teapot. ‘That’s an abominable thing to say,’ she pointed out severely, and handed him his cup and saucer. He put it down by his chair and in turn handed her the plate of sandwiches.
It was a little unnerving, but by the time she had given both of them a second cup of tea, and eaten her share of the sandwiches and started upon the really delicious walnut cake, her sensible nature had reasserted itself. And as for her companion, he appeared to be the picture of ease and contentment, sitting there eating his tea for all the world as if he were alone. It was a chastening thought that she made not the slightest impression upon him, a remark borne out by his: ‘You may not set the Thames on fire, Miss Mason, but at least you don’t chatter,’ as he got to his feet and went out of the room.
She sat very still after he had gone. He had been extremely rude, for two pins she would get her things and leave the house and leave him and his arrogant old aunt to fend for themselves. But of course she couldn’t do that; she hadn’t two pins, let alone a week’s salary, and the beautiful Gloria would undoubtedly fend very nicely for the Professor.
She heard their voices presently as they prepared to leave, and shortly afterwards Lady Manderly swept into the room, told her to get the tray taken away, and when that was done, began on a list of names of those who were to be invited to a party she intended giving. ‘In two weeks’ time,’ she observed. ‘Just a small affair—my birthday, you know.’ She shot a glance at Jemima. ‘There will be a good deal of organising to do.’
From which Jemima concluded that she was to be organiser in chief.
Lady Manderly was still murmuring on about smoked salmon and should she have oyster patties when the carriage clock above the fireplace tinkled the hour. Jemima finished the note she was making and closed the book.
‘I’ll start on the invitations tomorrow morning, shall I, Lady Manderly?’ She stood up, aware that Lady Manderly was looking surprised. ‘It’s six o’clock,’ she went on.
Lady Manderly snapped: ‘A clockwatcher, are you? Another half hour or so…’
‘I’m sorry, but it’s quite a long day, you know, and I have things to do in the evenings—besides, you wouldn’t want to pay me overtime, Lady Manderly.’
Her employer gobbled. ‘Overtime? I have no intention of paying you overtime!’
‘No, I didn’t think you would want to, that’s why I’m going now. Good evening, Lady Manderly.’
Jemima smiled kindly at her companion, who was obviously struggling for words, but by the time she had decided what to say, Jemima had gone.
The flat, when she reached it, looked small and poky and her room dark and shabby, but she told herself that that was because she had just come from such luxurious surroundings. She tidied herself and in response to Shirley’s cheerful shout, went along to the sitting room and sat down to the supper they had invited her to share. Mrs Adams and Shirley greeted her with a casual friendliness which was heartwarming after the arrogance of her employer and Professor Cator’s indifference and rudeness. They piled her plate high with food, poured strong tea and plied her with questions.
‘What’s the old lady like?’ asked Shirley eagerly, and before Jemima could answer: ‘What’s the house like inside?’ asked her mother.
‘Very large,’ said Jemima, and thought that answered both questions very adequately, but it wouldn’t do to make fun of her employer. ‘Lots of lovely furniture and thick velvet curtains. I haven’t seen any bedrooms, indeed I’ve only been in three rooms; the drawing-room is magnificent, a bit like a museum, you know. I work in a smaller room with just a desk and a table and chair or two, and we had lunch in a dining room at the back of the house…’
‘And the old lady?’
‘Very—very dignified. Tall and stout and beautifully dressed. There’s a butler and I suppose there are maids as well, though I haven’t seen any yet.’
‘What did you eat?’ asked Mrs Adams, and cast an involuntary glance at the remains of the steak and kidney pudding on the plastic tablecloth.
‘Well,
