made herself a pot of tea in the kitchen, emptied the dishwasher and tidied the room. It was a fine, warm evening, and the party would probably go on for some time, which would give her the chance to press a dress of Claudia’s and go upstairs and turn down the beds. First, though, she fed Horace, scrubbed two potatoes and popped them into the Aga for her supper. When they were baked she would top them with cheese and put them under the grill.
One more day, she told herself as she tidied Claudia’s room. The drinks party the next day would be child’s play after the last few days. She wished Mr Tait-Bouverie joy of his weekend guests, and hoped he was thoughtful of his housekeeper. She wasn’t sure if she liked him, but she thought he might be a man who considered his servants…
The barbecue went on for a long time. Kate did her chores, ate her potatoes and much later, when everyone had left and Lady Cowder and Claudia had gone to their rooms, she went to hers, stood half-asleep under the shower and tumbled into bed, to sleep the sleep of a very tired girl.
Since Lady Cowder and her goddaughter were to go to London in the early evening, the drinks party the next day was held just before noon, and because the guests had tended to linger, lunch was a hurried affair. Kate whisked the plates in and out without waste of time, found Lady Cowder’s spectacles, her handbag, her pills, and went upstairs twice to make sure that Claudia had packed everything.
‘Though I can’t think why I should have to pack for myself,’ said that young lady pettishly, and snatched a Gucci scarf from Kate’s hand without thanking her.
Kate watched them go, heaved an enormous sigh of relief and began to clear lunch away and leave the house tidy. Horace had been fed, and Harvey promised he would be up to see to him and make sure that everything was all right later that evening. He was a nice old man, and Kate gave him cups of tea and plenty of her scones whenever he came up to the house with the vegetables. He would take a look at the house, he assured her, and see to Horace.
‘You can go home, Missy,’ he told her, ‘and have a couple of days to yourself. All that rumpus—makes a heap of work for the likes of us.’
It was lovely to sleep in her own bed again, to wake in the morning and smell the bacon frying for her breakfast and not for someone else’s. She went down to the small kitchen intent on finishing the cooking, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it.
‘You’ve had a horrid week, love, and it’s marvellous to have you home for two whole days. What shall we do?’
‘We’re going to Thame,’ said Kate firmly. ‘We’ll have a good look at the shops and have tea at that patisserie.’
‘It’s expensive…’
‘We owe ourselves a treat.’
They sat over breakfast while Kate told her mother about her week.
‘Wasn’t there anyone nice there?’ asked Mrs Crosby.
‘No, not a soul. Well, there was one—Lady Cowder’s nephew. He’s very reserved, I should think he has a nasty temper, too. He complimented me on dinner, but that doesn’t mean to say that he’s nice.’
‘But he talked to you?’
‘No, only to remark that it had been a pleasant evening.’
‘And?’
‘I told him that it might have been pleasant for some, and that my feet ached.’
Her mother laughed. ‘I wonder what he thought of that?’
‘I’ve no idea, and I really don’t care. We’ll have a lovely day today.’
A sentiment not echoed by Mr Tait-Bouverie, who had welcomed his guests on Friday evening, much regretting his impulsive action. After suitable greetings he had handed them over to Mudd and, with Prince hard on his heels, had gone to his room to dress. He had got tickets for a popular musical, and Mudd had thought up a special dinner.
Tomorrow, he had reflected, shrugging himself into his jacket, he would escort them to a picture gallery which was all the fashion and then take them to lunch. Dinner and dancing at the Savoy in the evening would take care of Saturday. Then a drive out into the country on Sunday and one of Mudd’s superb dinners, and early Monday morning they would drive back.
A waste of a perfectly good weekend, he had thought regretfully, and hoped that Kate was enjoying hers more than he expected to enjoy his. ‘Although, the girl is no concern of mine,’ he had pointed out to Prince.
Presently he had forgotten about her, listening to Claudia’s ceaseless chatter and his aunt’s gentle complaining voice. A delicious dinner, she had told him, but such a pity that she wasn’t able to appreciate it now that she suffered with those vague pains. ‘One so hopes that it isn’t cancer,’ she had observed with a wistful little laugh.
Mr Tait-Bouverie, having watched her eat a splen did meal with something very like greed, had assured her that that was most unlikely. ‘A touch of indigestion?’ he had suggested—a remark dismissed with a frown from Lady Cowder. Indigestion was vulgar, something suitable for the lower classes…
He’d sat through the performance at the theatre with every show of interest, while mentally assessing his work ahead for the following week. It would be a busy one—his weekly out-patients’ clinic on Monday, and a tricky operation on a small girl with a sarcoma of the hip in the afternoon. Private patients to see, and a trip to Birmingham Children’s Hospital later in the week.
In his own world of Paediatrics he was already making a name for himself, content to be doing something he had always wished to do, absorbed in his work and content, too, with his life. He supposed that one day he would marry, if he could find the right girl. His friends were zealous in introducing him to suitable young women in the hope that he would fall in love, and he was well aware that his aunt was dangling Claudia before him in the hope that he would be attracted to her. Certainly she was pretty enough, but he had seen her sulky mouth and suspected that the pretty face concealed a nasty temper.
The weekend went far too quickly for Kate. The delights of window shopping were followed by a peaceful Sunday: church in the morning, a snack lunch in the little garden behind the cottage with her mother and a lazy afternoon. After tea she went into the kitchen and made a cheese soufflé and a salad, and since there were a few strawberries in the garden she made little tartlets and a creamy custard.
They ate their supper together and then it was time for Kate to go back to Lady Cowder’s house. That lady hadn’t said exactly when she would return—some time early the following morning, she had hinted. Kate suspected that she would arrive unexpectedly, ready to find fault.
The house seemed gloomy and silent, and she was glad to find Horace in the kitchen. She gave him an extra supper and presently he accompanied her up to her room and settled on the end of the bed—something he wouldn’t have dared to do when Lady Cowder was there. Kate found his company a comfort, and, after a little while spent listening rather anxiously to the creaks and groans an old house makes at night, she went to sleep—her alarm clock prudently set for half-past six.
It was a beautiful morning; getting up was no hardship. She went down to the kitchen with Horace, fed him generously, let him out and made herself a pot of tea. She didn’t sit over it but went back upstairs to dress and then went round the house, opening windows and drawing back curtains while her breakfast egg cooked. She didn’t sit over breakfast either—fresh flowers
