Love Can Wait Page 12

  ‘My god-daughter told me that I am being unnecessarily generous,’ she pointed out to Kate. ‘But as you will no doubt agree, I have been most liberal in my treatment of you, Kate.’

  Kate would have liked to have handed the money back, only she couldn’t afford to. Lady Cowder, waiting for grateful thanks and assurances of her generosity, frowned at Kate’s polite thanks.

  ‘Really,’ she told Claudia later. ‘Kate showed a lack of gratitude which quite shocked me.’

  ‘Well, I told you so, didn’t I? Brown wants to know at what time she should serve lunch…and I must go back home this afternoon.’ She added carelessly, ‘Have you heard anything of James lately?’

  Lady Cowder looked thoughtful. ‘No, I have been seeing quite a lot of him during the last month or so, but not recently. He’s in great demand and probably working hard.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie was indeed working hard, but he still found time to think about Kate. He was aware that he could have made things much easier for Kate and her mother by driving them to their new home himself, but he had kept away. His Kate, he reflected ruefully, was suspicious of any help which smacked even slightly of charity. Besides, she was quite capable of putting two and two together and making five…

  He would have to wait until she was settled in before paying a visit, so he took on even more work and at the weekends, if he happened to be free, went down to Bosham with Prince and spent the day sailing. He had a dear little cottage there; Kate would like it, and he would teach her to sail.

  He came home late one evening after a long day at the hospital, and Mudd, meeting him in the hall, observed gravely that in his opinion Mr Tait-Bouverie was overdoing it.

  ‘With all due respect, sir,’ said Mudd, ‘You are wearing yourself out; you need a wife.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie picked up his case and made for his study. ‘Mudd, you’re quite right. Will it make you happy if I tell you that I intend to take a wife?’

  Mudd beamed. ‘Really, sir? When will that be?’

  ‘As soon as she’ll have me, Mudd.’

  Kate, getting ready for bed in Mrs Willett’s cottage, presently laid her tired head on the pillow. It had been a crowded day; not least of all her arrival, her rather solemn reception by Mr Tombs followed by a brief five minutes with Mrs Braithewaite and then tea with the rest of the staff and finally going to bed in the cottage.

  Mrs Willett had left that very afternoon to go straight to the hospital, leaving everything very neat and tidy, and all Kate had to do was go to bed, close her eyes and sleep until her alarm clock went off at half past six the following morning. But despite her tiredness, she allowed her thoughts to stray towards Mr Tait-Bouverie. She wondered sleepily what he was doing and wished that she could see him again.

  ‘You are more than foolish,’ said Kate loudly to herself, ‘you are downright silly. Forget him.’

  So she went to sleep and dreamed of him.

  During the next day, and those following it, Kate made several discoveries. Mrs Braithewaite was old and crotchety, and she expected perfection, but she never failed to thank those who worked for her. Kate, used to Lady Cowder’s demands, was thankful for that. The rest of the staff, even Mr Tombs, were friendly, anxious to put her at her ease and show her where everything was kept. Mr Tombs expressed the wish that she would find her stay with them a happy one, and that she was to consult him if any problem should arise.

  As to her work, she was kept busy enough running the house, being careful not to upset Daisy or Meg or the two cleaning ladies who came each day—and besides that she had the stores to order, menus to discuss with Mrs Braithewaite and the cooking to do. She was free each afternoon for a couple of hours and free, too, once dinner had been served to Mrs Braithewaite and the rest of the staff had had their supper.

  Her mother had followed her within a few days and the little cottage, decorated with a few of their personal ornaments and photographs, had taken on the aspect of home. Up early in the mornings, feeding Horace and Moggerty, taking tea to her mother and drinking her own by the open door leading to the little garden beyond the cottage, Kate was happy. It wasn’t going to last; she knew that. But while it did she was content.

  Well, almost content. Despite her best efforts, she found her thoughts wandering far too often towards Mr Tait-Bouverie. She hadn’t expected to hear from him again, but all the same she was disappointed. Unable to forget the matter, she asked her mother, one day, in what she hoped was a casual manner if she thought he might find the time to phone them. ‘Just to see if we’ve settled in,’ Kate explained.

  ‘Most unlikely,’ her mother had said firmly. ‘A busy man like him. After all, he has done all he could for us but that doesn’t mean to say that he has to be bothered with us. He helped us and that’s that, Kate.’

  Mrs Crosby glanced at Kate’s face, unwilling to agree that she had been disappointed, too. She had thought, quite wrongly, it seemed, that Mr Tait-Bouverie had had more than a passing interest in Kate. Well, she had been wrong; he had done an act of kindness and that was that. She went on cheerfully, ‘I’ve been looking in the local paper—he was quite right, there are several hotels advertising for cooks or housekeepers. You’ll get a job easily enough when we leave here. I shan’t like that, will you? You’re happier here, aren’t you, Kate?’

  ‘Yes, Mother. It’s a nice job and Mrs Braithewaite is rather an old dear. I know she’s strict but she’s not mean. Compared with Lady Cowder she eats like a bird, although Mr Tombs tells me that she entertains from time to time on a lavish scale.’

  Kate and her mother had been there just over two weeks when Kate, going off duty for her afternoon break, walked out of the kitchen door and saw Mr Tait-Bouverie. He was sitting, very much at his ease, on the stone wall by the door but he got down and came to meet her. His, ‘Hello, Kate,’ was casual in the extreme, which had the immediate effect of damping down her delight at seeing him.

  She bade him a good afternoon in a severe manner and started to walk across the wide cobbled-stone yard, and he fell into step beside her. ‘Pleased to see me, Kate?’

  Of course she was, but she wasn’t going to say so. She didn’t answer that but observed in her calm way, ‘I dare say you have come to see Mrs Braithewaite—you did mention that you knew her.’

  ‘Of course I know her; she’s one of my aunts. Are you going to invite me to your cottage?’

  Kate stood still. ‘Certainly not, Mr Tait-Bouverie. You know as well as I do that it’s not possible.’

  ‘You mean old Tombs will take umbrage?’ He loomed over her, too close for her peace of mind. ‘He taught me to ride my first bike. I used to stay here when I was a small boy.’

  Kate was momentarily diverted. ‘Did he? Did he, really? How old were you?’

  She remembered suddenly that she must remain aloof. Grateful and friendly, of course—but aloof… ‘You will excuse me if I go? I have only an hour or so, but I have several things that I want to do.’

  He nodded. ‘Wash your hair, rinse out the smalls, bake a cake. Stop making excuses, Kate; I asked if you were glad to see me?’

  She stood there, rather tired from her morning’s work, her hair not as tidy as it might be. He studied the curling tendrils of hair which had escaped, and only with difficulty stopped himself from taking the pins out and letting the whole gleaming mass fall round her shoulders.

  Kate had her eyes fixed on his waistcoat; that seemed the safest place. She said quietly, ‘Yes, I’m glad to see you, Mr Tait-Bouverie.’

  ‘Good. Has our friendship advanced sufficiently for you to call me James?’

  ‘No! I mean—that is, it wouldn’t do.’

  ‘It will do very well indeed when we’re alone.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll tell Mother that I have seen you, we—she talks about you from time to time.’

  ‘I’ve visited your mother. While you were slaving over a hot stove I was drinking coffee in the cottage with her.’ He saw her look. ‘When I com
e here I look up the entire household. Tombs would be upset if I didn’t spend half an hour with him, and I like a word with Daisy and Meg, and old Briggs. We had a pleasant chat, your mother and I. She is full of plans for your future.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Yes. You were quite right—there are plenty of jobs in Bath. When I leave here we’ll find something there. Just as soon as—as it’s possible, we’ll look for somewhere to live and I can start…’

  ‘That is still what you have set your heart on doing, Kate?’

  She said soberly, ‘Yes. Then we shall have a life of our own, won’t we?’

  ‘What if a man should come along and sweep you off your feet and marry you?’

  ‘I’d like that very much, but since it isn’t likely to happen…’

  ‘Will you promise me to tell me when it does?’

  He spoke lightly and she smiled at him. ‘All right, I do promise.’ She added hesitantly, ‘Lady Cowder told me that you are to be married.’

  ‘Did she, indeed? She is, of course, quite right.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m going to have a chat with Briggs. I’m glad that you are happy here, Kate. Goodbye.’

  She offered her hand and wished that he would never let it go. But he did, and she said a quiet goodbye and went on her way to the cottage. He had said goodbye, she reflected. She wouldn’t see him again and this was hardly the time to discover that she was in love with him.

  Her mother was in the small garden behind the cottage, with Horace and Moggerty curled up together beside her.

  ‘You’re late, darling,’ she said. And then, when she saw Kate’s face, ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Something has upset you?’

  ‘I met Mr Tait-Bouverie as I left the house. He—he was wandering around talking to everyone. He said he’d been to see you.’ Kate took a slow breath. ‘He said goodbye.’

  ‘Yes, dear. He’s going back to town this afternoon. We had coffee together—what a nice man he is, and so interested in our plans. He’s off to America in a couple of days. He certainly leads a busy life.’

  Indeed he led a busy life, Kate agreed silently. A life in which there was no place for her. He would become more and more successful and marry Claudia, who would arrange his social life for him, and see that he met all the right people. She would be good at that, ignoring his work and having no interest in it. He would be unhappy… Kate sighed—such a deep sigh that her mother gave her a thoughtful look.

  ‘You’re happy here, Kate? I know it isn’t for long, but if all goes well we should be able to start on our own before the winter. I intend to get a job—part-time—so that I can look after us both while you get your catering started.’

  That roused Kate from her unhappy thoughts. ‘No, Mother, you’re not to go out to work. There’ll be no need—we can manage on the money I’ll borrow from the bank. With luck I’ll get one or two regular customers—hotels in Bath and small cafés—and we’ll manage.’

  They would too, Kate reflected. She would make a success of her cooking and catering and she and her mother would live in comfort for the rest of their lives. She would also forget Mr Tait-Bouverie…

  As it happened that wasn’t difficult to do, for the following morning she was summoned to Mrs Braithewaite’s sitting room. She had seen very little of her since she had arrived to work for her, but she hadn’t expected to—Mr Tombs relayed his mistress’s requirements from day to day, and only occasionally had Kate been bidden to the old lady’s presence.

  ‘Not the sack,’ thought Kate aloud, assuming her calm housekeeper’s face and tapping on the door.

  The old lady was sitting by the window, guarded from draughts by numerous shawls and scarves. She said tetchily, ‘Come in, do, Kate. I hope you have your notebook and pen with you. There is a great deal to discuss.’

  Kate advanced into the room and stood where her employer could see her. She said, ‘Good morning, madam,’ and produced her notebook and pencil without comment. Presumably a special dinner…

  ‘It is my birthday in two weeks’ time,’ said Mrs Braithewaite. ‘I shall be eighty-three years old and I intend to celebrate the occasion. I shall give a buffet luncheon for—let me see—about sixty or seventy persons. I do not require you to cook those tiresome morsels on biscuits, and bits and pieces. You are to do ham on the bone, and a whole salmon, of course—two, perhaps? Cheese tartlets, a good round of cold beef, chicken… I expect you to embellish these and add anything else suitable. Sweets, of course, something which can be eaten elegantly without trouble—possibly ice cream, which you will make yourself. What have you to say to that?’

  ‘May I add suitable accompaniments to the main dishes, madam? And may I make out a menu and let you decide if it suits you?’

  ‘Do that. I want it this evening, mind. If you need extra help in the kitchen, say so. Tombs will see to that.’

  Mrs Braithewaite was suddenly impatient. ‘Go along, Kate, you must have work to do.’

  Tombs was waiting for her in the kitchen. ‘This is to be a great occasion,’ he told her solemnly. ‘Mrs Braithewaite has many relations and friends. You will let me know if you need help, Kate, and please come to me for advice if you should need it.’ His tone implied that he was quite sure that she would.

  Kate thanked him nicely, aware that he was doubtful as to her capabilities when it came to such an undertaking. She had no doubts herself. She went back to her work and that afternoon she went over to the cottage, told her mother and sat down to assemble a suitable menu.

  She presented herself later in Mrs Braithewaite’s sitting room and handed her a menu and two alternatives.

  Mrs Braithewaite adjusted her lorgnettes. ‘What is a toad-in-the-hole?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘A morsel of cooked sausage in a very small Yorkshire pudding. They can be eaten in the hand.’

  The old lady grunted. ‘The salads seem adequate. See that there is enough of everything, Kate. And desserts—sorbets, of course, ice creams, Charlotte Russe, jellied fruits, trifle… Very well, that should suffice. Send Tombs to me, if you please.’

  So for the next two weeks Kate had more than enough to do, keeping her too busy to think about anything other than food. There was an enormous freezer in the kitchen, so she was able to prepare a great deal of food in advance, and, although Mrs Braithewaite had said nothing about it, she baked a cake—rich with dried fruit, sherry and the best butter. She had wisely consulted Mr Tombs about this, and he had given it his blessing. Indeed, the kitchen staff had been consulted as to its decoration, to be undertaken at the last minute.

  Kate’s days were full; it was only when she laid her tired head on the pillow that she allowed her thoughts to dwell on Mr Tait-Bouverie. She supposed that he would come to the luncheon if he was back in England, but she was hardly likely to see him. She was unlikely to stir out of her kitchen.

  Tombs had assembled casual help from the village to do the waiting, and she would remain in the kitchen and make sure that the food was transported safely upstairs to the big drawing room where trestle tables were to be erected, suitably swathed in white damask and decorated with the flowers that the gardener was cherishing for just such an occasion.

  Mr Tait-Bouverie was back in England. His aunt’s invitation was waiting for him when he returned from a weekend at Bosham, where he had spent a good deal of time thinking of good reasons why he should go and see Kate. Now the reason was most conveniently there.

  He accepted with alacrity and Mudd, removing the well-worn and quite unsuitable garments which Mr Tait-Bouverie delighted in wearing when he was at Bosham, reflected with satisfaction that such an occasion would make it necessary for his master to be clothed in the superfine suiting—exquisitely tailored—the pristine linen and one of the silk ties which Mudd found fitting for a man of Mr Tait-Bouverie’s standing.

  ‘Just for luncheon, sir?’ he wanted to know. ‘Will you be staying overnight?’

  ‘No, no, Mudd. I’ll drive back here during the afternoon. It’s a Saturday, isn’
t it? I’ll go down to Bosham and spend Sunday there.’

  Mudd nodded gloomily. He would do his best with the unsuitable garments, but that was all they would ever be in his eyes. He asked hopefully, ‘You will be wearing the grey suiting, sir?’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie, thinking about Kate, nodded absently. ‘I’ll need to leave the house early tomorrow morning, Mudd. Breakfast at seven o’clock?’

  Mudd, his feelings soothed by the prospect of sending his master well-dressed to his luncheon date, assured him that breakfast would be on the table at exactly seven o’clock.

  ‘Dinner will be ready in half an hour, sir.’

  ‘Good; I’ll be in the garden with Prince.’

  He wandered around with Prince, enjoying the twilight of the early autumn evening, allowing his thoughts to dwell on the satisfactory prospect of seeing Kate again. He would have to go carefully…she was a proud girl, and stubborn. His pleasant thoughts were interrupted by Mudd, coming to tell him that Lady Cowder was on the phone.

  ‘Dear boy,’ cooed his aunt, ‘you’re back in England. Tell me, are you going to your aunt’s luncheon party? Her birthday—just imagine, eighty-three and giving a party. I have been invited, of course, although we scarcely know each other. I mean, she is on your father’s side of the family, isn’t she? Of course, I have accepted, and begged to bring dear Claudia with me. May we beg a lift from you? And if you would be kind enough to drive us back after the party…?’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie was a truthful man, but sometimes a lie was necessary. Certainly it was now—to spend several hours in Claudia’s company was something he had no wish to do.

  ‘Impossible, I’m afraid,’ he said briskly. ‘I shall be going, but only if I can fit it in with my work. Surely Claudia can drive you there and back? That is, if she accepts the invitation. She will know no one there, I presume?’

  ‘She knows you,’ said Lady Cowder, and gave a little titter. When he didn’t have anything to say to that, she added, ‘Oh, well, I thought I might ask you; I forget how busy you are. I do hope that we will see you there and have time for a chat. Claudia is always talking about you.’