mother had gone, and followed them. And done something about it.
Kate, who wanted to marry and have children, could see that it wasn’t very likely that she would get her wish. Not in the foreseeable future at any rate. She did her best to ignore her longings and bent all her thoughts on a future which, hopefully, would provide her and her mother with a livelihood.
Presently they went into the tiny garden behind the cottage and sat under the old plum tree in one corner.
‘Once I can start cooking,’ said Kate, ‘this tree will be a godsend. Think of all the plums just waiting to be bottled and turned into jam. Perhaps I could specialise in some kind of plum tart…’
‘Not this year,’ remarked her mother.
‘No, no, of course not. But by the end of next year we might have enough money to persuade the bank manager.’
Moggerty had gone to sleep on Kate’s lap, and presently Kate dozed off too.
She made light of her job, but she was up early and went to bed late and quite often did the work of two. Lady Cowder saw no reason to hire more help in the house—Kate was young and strong, and didn’t complain. Besides, Mrs Pickett came up from the village each morning to help with the housework. That she was elderly, with arthritis in her knees which didn’t allow her to do anything much below waist level, was something which Lady Cowder found unimportant; a hefty young woman like Kate had plenty of energy…
Kate awoke feeling much refreshed, ate a splendid lunch with her mother and later that evening cycled back to Lady Cowder’s house, half a mile or so outside the village. She reminded her mother that in three days’ time, on her half-day off, they would take the bus into Thame and have a look at the shops. They would take sandwiches and eat them on a bench in the pleasant green gardens around the church, and later treat themselves to tea in one of the teashops.
Taking Lady Cowder’s breakfast tray up to her room the next morning, Kate found her sitting up in bed with a pad and pencil. She nodded in reply to Kate’s polite good morning, accepted her tray without thanks and said, with more animation than she usually showed, ‘My god-daughter is coming to stay—she will arrive tomorrow, so get the guest room overlooking the garden ready. I shall arrange a dinner party for her, of course—Wednesday suits me very well…’
‘My half-day off,’ Kate reminded her quietly.
‘Oh, so it is. Well, you will have to manage without it this week—I’ll see that it’s made up to you later on. I want Claudia’s visit to be a happy one. We can have a few friends in for tennis, tea on the terrace, and perhaps a little supper one evening. Certainly I shall ask friends to come for a drink one evening. We must keep her amused…’
And me run off my feet! thought Kate. She said, without visible annoyance, ‘I shall need extra help.’
Lady Cowder looked startled. ‘Whatever for? Surely you’re capable of a little extra cooking?’
‘Of course I am, Lady Cowder, but I can’t make beds and dust and cook meals for dinner parties and suppers, let alone teas. Of course, I could go to the supermarket—they have excellent meals, all ready to warm up.’
Lady Cowder stared at her. Was the girl being impertinent? Seemingly not; Kate had spoken gravely and stood there looking concerned.
‘No, no, certainly not. I’ll get Mrs Pickett to come for the whole day.’
‘She has a niece staying with her,’ volunteered Kate, straight-faced. ‘I think she is in service somewhere in Oxford—perhaps she would oblige for a few days.’
‘Yes, yes, see what you can do, Kate.’ Lady Cowder buttered toast and piled on the marmalade. Feeling magnanimous, she added, ‘I dare say you can get an hour or so free in the evenings after dinner.’
Kate thought that unlikely. ‘I should like to go home for an hour this evening, or perhaps after lunch while you are resting, Lady Cowder. My mother and I had arranged to go out on Wednesday, and I must tell her that I shan’t be free.’
‘Very well, Kate. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work.’ Lady Cowder lay back on her pillows. ‘You had better get on. I fancy a light lunch of cold chicken with a salad, and one or two new potatoes. Perhaps one of your jam soufflés to follow. I’ll let you know later about dinner.’
Kate went back downstairs, dusted the small sitting room where Lady Cowder sat in the morning, got out the Hoover ready for Mrs Pickett and went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea and butter a plate of scones—Mrs Pickett needed refreshment before she started on her work and so, for that matter, did Kate—although a good deal of her day’s work was already done.
Mrs Pickett, sweetened by the tea and scones, agreed to come for the whole day.
‘A week, mind, no more than that. Sally will come up for a few hours whenever you need her. She’ll be glad of a bit of extra money—the cash that girl spends on clothes… How about a couple of hours in the morning? Nine-ish? Just to make beds and tidy the rooms and clear the breakfast. You’ll have your work cut out if Her Nibs is going to have parties and such. Sally could pop in evenings, too—help with laying the table and clearing away. I’ll say this for the girl: she’s a good worker, and honest.’ Mrs Pickett fixed Kate with a beady eye. ‘Paid by the hour, mind.’
‘How much?’
‘Four pounds. And that’s cheap. She can afford it.’ Mrs Pickett jerked her head ceilingwards.
‘I’ll let you know, and about your extra hours. Would you like to stay for midday dinner and clear up after while I get the cooking started?’
‘Suits me. Puts upon you, she does,’ said Mrs Pickett. ‘Do her good to do a bit of cooking herself once in a while.’
Kate said cheerfully, ‘I like cooking—but you do see that I need help if there’s to be a lot of entertaining?’
‘Lor’ bless you, girl, of course I do. Besides, me and the old man, we’re wanting to go to Blackpool in September for a week—see the lights and have a bit of fun. The extra cash will come in handy.’
Lady Cowder, informed of all this, shied like a startled horse at the expense. ‘Anyone would think that I was made of money,’ she moaned. She caught Kate’s large green eyes. ‘But dear Claudia must be properly entertained, and it is only for one week. Very well, Kate, make whatever arrangements you must. I shall want you here after tea to discuss the meals.’
Mr Tait-Bouverie took off his gloves, stood patiently while a nurse untied his gown, threw it with unerring precision at the container meant for its reception and went out of the theatre. It had been a long list of operations, and the last case hadn’t been straightforward so there would be no time for coffee in Sister’s office—his private patients would be waiting for him.
Fifteen minutes later he emerged, immaculate and unhurried, refusing with his beautiful manners Sister’s offer of coffee, and made his way out of the hospital to his car. The streets were comparatively quiet—it was too late for the evening rush, too early for the theatre and cinemagoers. He got into the Bentley and drove himself home, away from the centre of the city, past the Houses of Parliament, and along Millbank until he reached his home—a narrow house wedged between two imposing town houses, half their size but sharing their view of the river and the opposite bank.
He
