good-natured Sir William.
She was making a salad the next day when Miss Fortesque, in a startling blue jersey dress and a great many gold bangles, strolled into the kitchen.
‘Hello, Cook, busy among your saucepans again? It’s really surprising that even in the depths of the country it’s possible to find someone who can turn out a decent meal.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘After town standards, you know, one hardly expects it.’
Florina shredded lettuce with hands which shook very slightly with temper, and said nothing.
‘That sauce last night,’ continued her visitor, ‘I fancied that there was a touch too much garlic in it. Sir William didn’t complain—he’s really too easy-going…’
‘When Sir William complains to me, Miss Fortesque, I shall listen to him,’ said Florina very evenly.
Wanda’s eyes opened wide. ‘Don’t you dare to speak to me like that, Cook! I’ll have you dismissed…’ She advanced, rather unwisely, too close to Florina, who had started to whip up a dressing for the salad. She increased her beating with a vigour which sent oily drops in all directions. The blue dress would never be the same again; a shower of little blobs had made a graceful pattern down its front.
Wanda’s breath was a hiss of fury. ‘You clumsy fool—look what you’ve done! It’s ruined—I’ll have to have a new dress, and I’ll see that it’s stopped out of your wages! I’ll…’
Sir William’s voice, very placid, cut her short. ‘My dear Wanda, if you hadn’t been standing so close, it wouldn’t have happened. You can’t blame Florina, you’ve only yourself to thank. Surely you know that cooks must be left in peace in their kitchens when they are cooking?’
Wanda shot him a furious glance. She said pettishly, ‘I’ll have to go and change. I hope you’ll give the girl a good telling-off.’
She flounced out of the kitchen and Florina began to slice tomatoes very thinly. Sir William spoke from the door. ‘I found the sauce exactly right,’ he said gently, and wandered away.
He took his fiancée back to town that evening, leaving behind a rather unhappy Pauline. He sought out Florina before he left, to tell her that for the next few weeks, while the child was on holiday, he would come down each weekend on Friday afternoons, and drive back early on Monday morning.
‘Nanny tells me that you may decide to move in with us. Your father doesn’t object to being alone?’
Her aunt had written to say that she would be arriving at the end of the week. She told him this, leaving out the details. He nodded pleasantly. ‘I’m sure it will give you more leisure. I hope you’ll be happy here. Pauline will be over the moon when you tell her.’
She thought wistfully that it would have been nice if he had expressed the same satisfaction, even if in a more modified form. She bade him a quiet good-night, more or less drowned by Miss Fortesque’s voice, pitched high, demanding that they should leave at once.
The week unfolded at a leisurely pace; Florina packed her things, got her room ready for her aunt and moved to the Wheel House. Her father bade her goodbye with no sign of regret, merely warning her again that she need not expect to go crying back to him when she found herself out of a job. She received this remark without rancour, aware that if he should fall ill again the first thing that he would do would be to demand that she should return home to look after him.
She enjoyed arranging her few possessions in her room at Wheel House, helped by a delighted Pauline. Once settled in, she found that she had a good deal more leisure. Cooking for the three of them took up only a part of her day; she helped Nanny with the ironing and the cleaning of the silver, took Pauline mushrooming in the early mornings, and, with Mrs Frobisher’s consent, started to give her cooking lessons. By the time Sir William arrived on Friday afternoon, there was a dish of jam tarts and a fruit cake, a little soggy in the middle but still edible, both of which Pauline bore to the tea table with pride. Sir William, a kind and loving parent, ate quantities of both.
The weekend was one of the happiest Florina had spent for a long time. For one thing, there was a peaceful content over the old home. Sir William insisted that they all breakfast together in the kitchen, a meal which Florina cooked with an almost painful wish to serve up something to perfection, just to please him. She succeeded very well; he ate everything put before him, carrying on a cheerful conversation meanwhile, even making Nanny laugh, something she seldom did. They were at the toast and marmalade stage on Saturday morning, when Pauline said, ‘I wish it could be like this always—just us, Daddy—you and me and Nanny and Florina. Must you marry Wanda? She wouldn’t sit at the kitchen table, and she’s always fussing about eating in case she gets fat.’
Florina saw the look on Sir William’s face. There was a nasty temper hidden away behind that calm exterior, and to avert it she got to her feet, exclaiming loudly, ‘Shall I make another pot of coffee? And how about more toast?’ At the same time she cast a warning glance at Pauline.
The child had gone very red and tears weren’t far off. She sighed and said, ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’
His face was placid again. ‘That’s all right, darling. What are we going to do today?’
The pair of them went off presently, and Florina prepared lunch, decided what to have for dinner, made the coffee and went to help Nanny with the beds. The rest of the weekend was peaceful, and Florina, taking along the coffee tray to the patio where Sir William had settled with the Sunday papers after church, while Pauline fed the swans, thought how delightful life was.
She gave him breakfast the next morning, happily aware that he would be back on Friday afternoon. Wanda Fortesque had gone to stay with friends in the south of France, and Florina allowed herself the childish hope that something, anything, would prevent her from ever coming back from there!
The weather changed suddenly during the day, by the evening it was chilly and grey, and Pauline seemed to have the beginnings of a cold.
Nanny came down to the kitchen after she had seen Pauline to bed. ‘The child’s feverish,’ she declared. ‘I think I’d better keep her in bed tomorrow; these summer colds can be heavy.’
But when morning came, Pauline was feeling worse; moreover, she had a pinky, blotchy rash.
‘Measles,’ said Nanny, and phoned for the doctor.
He came from Wilton that morning, confirmed Nanny’s diagnosis, and observed that there was a lot of it about and that Pauline, having had an anti-measles injection when she was a little girl, would soon be on her feet again. ‘Plenty to drink,’ he advised, ‘and keep her in bed until her temperature is down.’ He patted Nanny reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
All the same, Nanny telephoned Sir William in London, only to be told that he was at the hospital and would be there all day. She put the phone down, undecided as to what to do, when it rang again.
Florina, making iced lemonade for the invalid, heard her talking at some length, and presently she came back to the kitchen.
‘Sir William’s not at home and won’t be until the evening, but Miss Fortesque was there. She rang back when I told her I wanted him urgently, said she would tell him when he got back. I would rather have phoned the hospital, but that would be no use if he is in the theatre or the out-patients.’
By the time they were ready for bed, more than
