an English name, but a pretty one.’
‘My mother was Dutch, sir.’
‘Indeed! I go to Holland from time to time.’ He added kindly, ‘Well, Florina, we’ll see you in the morning—or do you live in?’
‘In the village.’
‘I’ll need to leave early,’ he observed, and strolled away towards the drawing-room.
Mrs Frobisher said, in a warning voice, ‘So you had best be here at half-past seven, Florina, for he will want his breakfast at eight o’clock. You can have your own breakfast with me after he has gone.’
Florina glanced at the broad back disappearing through the open door of the drawing-room. She found the idea of cooking his breakfast positively exciting; an idea, she told herself sternly, which was both pointless and silly.
All the same, the thought of it sustained her through her father’s diatribe when she got back home.
She made tea before she left in the morning, and took a cup up to her father, bade him a cheerful good morning, reminded him that everything was ready for his breakfast, just as usual, and walked quickly through the still quiet village. Wheel House was quiet, too. She went in through the kitchen door, using the key Mrs Frobisher had given her, and set to work. The kettle was boiling and the teapot warming when Sir William wandered in, wrapped in a rather splendid dressing-gown. She turned from cutting bread for toast and wished him a polite good morning. ‘Where would you like your tea, sir?’ she asked him. ‘Breakfast will be in half an hour, sooner, if you wish.’
‘Half an hour is fine. And I’ll have my tea here.’ He fetched a mug from the dresser, poured his tea and went to stand in the open doorway. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
‘Bacon and eggs, with mushrooms, fried bread and tomato. Then, toast and marmalade, tea or coffee, sir.’
‘Where did you learn to cook?’ he asked idly.
‘My mother taught me and I took a cookery course in Salisbury. I worked at the hotel in Wilton for several years.’
He nodded. ‘I shall have guests sometimes. You could cope with that?’
She said seriously, ‘Oh, yes.’ She put a frying pan on the Aga. ‘Would you like more tea, sir?’
He shook his head. ‘Why not have a cup yourself?’ He wandered to the door. ‘Pauline will be glad to see you—she’ll be here this afternoon.’
She set the table in the dining-room, and was making the toast when Miss Frobisher came into the kitchen. She eyed the laden tray with approval and her greeting held more warmth than usual. ‘Sir William always likes a good breakfast; he’s a big man and needs his strength for his work.’ She shot a look at Florina. ‘He’s a doctor, did you know that? A very well known one. He was a dear little boy, I always knew he’d be successful. You’d better take that tray in, I can hear him coming downstairs.’
Florina laid the food on the table before him, casting a motherly glance at him hidden behind the morning paper. She had liked him on sight, she remembered, and that liking was growing by the minute. She would very much like to know all about him, of course, though she had the good sense to know that she never would.
CHAPTER TWO
THERE was plenty to keep Florina busy that morning. After breakfast, shared with Mrs Frobisher, there was the menu to put together, the cake and scones to make and everything to prepare for the evening. That done, there was coffee to make for Mrs Frobisher, Mrs Deakin and Mrs Datchett, who came to sit around the kitchen table for a short break from their polishing and dusting. The latter two ladies were inclined to gossip, but received short shrift from the housekeeper, who didn’t answer their questions about the new owner and silenced them with an intimidating eye.
‘But he is going to marry?’ persisted Mrs Deakin, not easily put off.
‘It seems very likely,’ conceded Mrs Frobisher, and Florina thought that there was a trace of disquiet in the housekeeper’s voice.
Florina left an excellent light lunch ready for the housekeeper, and took herself off home to get a meal for her father and herself. The breakfast dishes were still on the table and he was sitting in a chair, reading the paper.
He greeted her with a disgruntled, ‘So there you are, and high time too!’ Then he picked up his paper again, leaving her to clear the table, wash up and get a snack meal.
They ate in silence and Florina made short work of tidying everything away. Cleaning the house, dusting and carpet-sweeping took her another half an hour; there was an hour of leisure before she needed to return to Wheel House. She spent it in the big garden behind the cottage, weeding and tying back the clumps of old-fashioned flowers her mother had planted years ago, and which Florina tended still. She made tea for her father before she went, drank a cup herself, tidied her already neat person and returned to Wheel House. She had left everything ready for tea, and as she went round the back of the house to the kitchen wing she could hear the little girl’s excited voice from the drawing-room, the door of which was open as she passed. Her hand was on the kitchen door when she was stopped.
The girl rushed at her from the room. ‘I’m Pauline—oh, isn’t this fun? Have you seen my room? It’s pink and white! We’ve eaten almost all the scones and half the cake. Daddy says you must be a treasure in the kitchen.’
‘Hello,’ said Florina, and beamed at the pretty little face grinning at her. ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed the cake. I’m going to get dinner ready now.’
‘I’ll help you.’
Pauline danced into the kitchen, examining the pots and saucepans, opening the cupboards and peering inside, peeping into the fridge. Florina, changing out of her dress into the striped cotton frock and large white apron which was her uniform while she was working, called from the little cloakroom leading from the kitchen, ‘Put everything back where you found it, won’t you, Pauline?’
She reappeared to collect the ingredients for the watercress soup, boeuf en croûte, and the chocolate sauce to go with the profiteroles.
Florina worked steadily, undeterred by Pauline’s stream of excited chatter. She was chopping mint and Pauline was sitting on the table, running a finger round the remnants of the chocolate sauce in the pan, when Sir William wandered in.
‘Something smells delightful. Is it a secret?’
‘Watercress soup, boeuf en croûte, potatoes with mint, courgettes, new carrots, spinach purée, profiteroles with chocolate sauce, cheese and biscuits and coffee,’ recited Florina, finishing the last of the sauce.
‘It sounds good. Are you cordon bleu trained, Florina?’
‘Yes, but I think I learnt almost everything from my mother—the cordon bleu just—just put the polish on.’
She had washed her hands, and was piling profiteroles into a pyramid on a china dish. It crossed her mind that she felt completely at ease with Sir William, as though she had known him for years… She really must remember to call him Sir William. ‘Dinner will be at half-past seven unless you would like to change that, Sir William?’
He said carelessly,
