them in turn. It was as she passed the last cottage on the very edge of the village that her eye caught the Bed and Breakfast sign Mrs Ham was hanging in her front window. It was like watching sudden fireworks or opening a door on to something breathtaking as the thought struck her. She accelerated and swept through the open sagging gate. ‘If Mrs Ham can, so can I,’ said Celine loudly.
She put the car away and went in search of her parents, whom she found sitting in the drawing-room, her mother bent over her tapestry, her father standing with his back to the french window with Dusty beside him.
They both looked at her as she went in, but before either of them had a chance to speak she began cheerfully: ‘It’s all right, I prised it all out of Mr Timms—and don’t be angry, Father, I have every right to know. Most girls like me are pinning down good jobs and paying their own way, but I’ve just been living here and costing you money—now it’s my turn. I think I know a way in which we can go on living here, even if we do have to cut down a bit.’ She studied their upraised faces and thought how elderly and tired they looked and how much she loved them. ‘Bed and breakfast,’ she announced, ‘and evening meal if anyone wants it. No taxes to pay, cash coming in to keep us ticking over. Mr Timms says the rents will cover taxes and rates and so on; we can cut out the electric fires and we don’t need the central heating until the autumn, and there’s plenty of hot water from the Aga. We could at least give it a try, and I’m just spoiling for something to do.’
She waited for them to reply, and it was her mother who spoke first. ‘Darling, it’s a lovely idea, but it’s impossible—there are ten bedrooms and it’s a big house and so difficult to run—there’s only Angela…’
‘And me, Mother, and you.’ And at Mrs Baylis’s startled look, ‘Oh, not housework, darling, but if you did the flowers and laid the tables and ordered the food—’
‘And what should I do?’ enquired her father.
‘Well, Father darling, you could see to the wine—there’s plenty of that in the cellar, isn’t there? You can sell it…and stroll around making sure everyone’s happy and write out the bills.’ Celine smiled at him. ‘Do let’s give it a try. It needn’t cost much to get started; we’ll need a week to get the house ready and open up the rooms and get out the linen and silver. Please, Father, we’ve nothing to lose.’
‘We’ll need help…’
‘Not at first. We’ve got Mrs Stokes and Barney and we might only get a handful of people and we could cope with them; the moment we’ve a little money to spare we can get a girl from the village.’
‘We might get no one at all,’ said her mother.
‘Well, we aren’t losing anything, are we? I mean, we live here anyway, don’t we, and so do Angela and Barney, and we already have to pay them.’
Her father left the window and sat down at the sofa table, where he took out his pen and an old envelope from his pocket. ‘I wonder how much cash we should need to get started?’ he mused out loud.
There was a great deal to do. Half way through the week Celine found herself wondering if she would ever have suggested it if she had had even an inkling of what was involved. It wasn’t just opening up the rooms, airing them, polishing the furniture and making up the beds. There were bedside lamps to find and bulbs to fit into them, soap and towels, the casement windows to oil because most of them squeaked abominably, the three bathrooms, all old-fashioned, to pretty up. And then downstairs—she had never realised what an awkward house it was to keep clean. She had dusted and Hoovered from time to time and done the flowers and polished the silver, but these tasks had never been allowed to interfere with visits to friends and trips to town. Now Celine found herself caught up in a routine of hard work, so that she fell into her bed at night quite worn out. But she discovered that she was enjoying it. The old furniture gleamed with polish, the silver, brought out of its felt bags, was made to shine, glasses which hadn’t been used since the last dinner party at Christmas were brought from the butler’s pantry. And in between all this, Celine found time to draw up lists of groceries with her mother, make up a few hopeful menus, and retire to the big shed at the bottom of the kitchen garden and paint a large sign. This she nailed to a tree by the gate, aided by old Bennett, who strongly approved of the whole idea. ‘All them broad beans and the rhubarb and I don’t know ’ow many raspberries coming along a treat, there’ll be more than enough for ’em.’
Colonel Baylis ignored the sign and went back into his study with the new batch of books from Hatchett’s, but his wife wandered down to the gate and admired it in her gentle way. ‘Very nice, dear,’ had been her comment. ‘I hope someone comes today.’
But no one did. The next day passed, and the next. The Colonel said nothing, he ate his meals almost in silence and then went back to his books, and Mrs Baylis said hopefully: ‘Well, it was a splendid idea, darling, I’m sure someone will come soon.’
‘They’d better,’ observed Celine darkly, and went outside, where she relieved her feelings by painting a gutter she had managed to heave back into its rightful place. She was perched half way up the ladder when the car came up the drive, and when it stopped and two elderly ladies got out she came down pretty smartly and went towards them.
Retired schoolteachers, she thought, taking in the sensible skirts and blouses and cardigans, and said good afternoon politely.
The older and taller of the ladies addressed her with faint hesitation. ‘You do bed and breakfast?’ she asked. ‘We’re looking for somewhere quiet and not expensive.’
‘It’s very quiet,’ said Celine, trying not to sound eager. She told them the charge for bed and breakfast, adding the cost of dinner, should they like an evening meal.
The ladies exchanged a glance. ‘If we might see the rooms? We should require two rooms, of course.’
‘Do come in,’ invited Celine, and just stopped herself from dancing through the hall and up the stairs.
She showed them the two nicest single rooms there were, at the back of the house, and as luck would have it, one of the bathrooms was just across the passage.
‘No washbasins,’ commented the younger of the two ladies.
‘It’s a very old house,’ said Celine. ‘Tudor, you know, and modernising it has been very difficult. But this bathroom will be for your sole use.’
‘We’ll take the rooms, and we should like dinner. Do you have a varied menu?’
‘Hors d’oeuvres, local trout, vegetables from the garden, egg custards and cream or rhubarb tart and cream. Chicken supreme if you would like that, but it would take a little longer. We have a good cellar too.’
She smiled at them both. ‘I’ll fetch your bags,’ she told them. ‘Would you like tea? Just tea and sandwiches and cakes,’ she added, giving them the price.
‘That would be nice.’ The older of the pair joined her. ‘I’ll get our cases from the boot and perhaps you’ll tell me where to put the car.’
Barney was crossing the hall as they went downstairs, and Celine gave a silent chuckle; he gave just the right touch to the house and she knew that her companion was impressed. She called softly: ‘Barney, would you be good enough to take these ladies’ cases to the back wing? And then go and ask Angela to make tea for two?’
She showed the lady where to put the car in the vast covered barn beside the garage and ran back
