The word stuck in Domine’s throat. Where was home now? Some place belonging to this man? The hotel in Bognor? Or Grey Witches, finally?
‘Yes,’ she faltered now. ‘How—how do you do?’ Awkwardly she held out her hand, and with an imperceptible shrug James Mannering shook hands with her. His hands were the only artistic thing about him, she thought, long and lean, with smooth, rounded nails.
‘Hello, Domine,’ he said dispassionately. ‘Are you ready to leave?’
‘Oh, but—’ began Reverend Mother, glancing at Domine and then back at James Mannering. ‘I mean—won’t you stay and have tea with us? It—it would give Domine a chance to get to know you. After all, you are a complete stranger to her, are you not?’
James Mannering compressed his lips for a moment. ‘Yes, we are strangers, Reverend Mother,’ he agreed, ‘however, I don’t believe we could possibly begin to get to know one another with a third party present.’ His gaze flickered almost sardonically. ‘Besides, as you know, I was delayed in arriving because of the weather and I should prefer to return to London before dinner time.’
Domine felt an awful tightening of her stomach muscles. Until this moment she had been so concerned with meeting the man himself that she had not fully realized what being his ward would mean. She would be subject to his desires in everything, and wherever he said she should go she would go. She shivered, and Reverend Mother intercepted her nervousness. With a stiffening of her shoulders she said:
‘Nevertheless, Mr. Mannering, I must insist that you have tea with us. As you are a stranger to all of us, I should like to discuss Domine’s future with you. It is natural that we should want to know what your plans for her are, and what arrangements have been made for her to continue with her studies. Domine has always been one of our most intelligent pupils, and it would be a shame if she were to waste her talents—now.’
James Mannering drew out a cigar case and glanced at Reverend Mother rather shrewdly before extracting a cigar and placing it between his teeth. ‘Very well,’ he said laconically. ‘Very well, by all means have tea. But I’ll just have this’—he indicated the cigar—‘if you don’t mind?’
The question was unnecessary, Domine felt sure. James Mannering was the kind of man who would respond to few restrictions. She had the feeling he would smoke his cigar whatever Reverend Mother might say.
Reverend Mother bit her lower lip rather sharply, and walking to the door she opened it and called: ‘Sister Theresa! May we have the trolley now, please?’
Domine hovered in the centre of the carpet aware that James Mannering’s eyes lingered on her rather speculatively, and she wondered how on earth she would ever get used to being his ward. Even six months seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of her. Mannering responded to a suggestion from Reverend Mother that he should sit down, and lounged into a deep leather chair by the window while Domine perched on the edge of a high-backed chair which was placed beside the desk. Sister Theresa wheeled in a tea trolley containing cakes and sandwiches, and Domine was forced to accept a sandwich and nibbled it without enthusiasm. The grimness of the day seemed to have intensified a hundredfold, and she could hardly believe all this was actually happening. There was an air of unreality about the whole affair, and for the first time she pondered the man’s reactions to being landed with a teenage ward without a real knowledge of the world outside the convent walls. During the past few minutes she had become aware of her own ignorance of life in general, and a feeling of despair gripped her. If she had been the kind of girl who sometimes came to the convent, girls like Susan Johnson, one of her friends, she would have felt able to cope, but Susan had a normal home and background, with two elder brothers to have fun with, to share experiences with, while Domine had had no one for the past nine years but a rather elderly gentleman whose ideas of entertaining the young were confined to trips to the cinema or the theatre, and occasionally a visit to some charity function. She had listened to the other girls gossiping about clothes and pop-records and boy-friends, but apart from this she had no knowledge of their world.
Reverend Mother began to question James Mannering about his plans for Domine, but his replies were non-committal and after a while the old woman seemed to realize she would learn little this way. Instead, she turned her attention to Domine and said:
‘Have you made any plans yet, Domine? Have you thought about what kind of occupation you might find?’
Domine hesitated, conscious of Mannering’s interested attention. ‘Obviously, it’s a little early for me to have made any plans,’ she began awkwardly, ‘however, at the end of the six months—when Mr. Mannering’s responsibility towards me ceases—I expect I shan’t find it too difficult to take up some kind of office work. My examination results were good, and I have the qualifications for bank or library work if I need it.’
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
