Love Can Wait Read online

  ‘Oh, indeed. A delightful evening, Aunt. The dinner was superb. You have a treasure in your housekeeper, if she did indeed cook it. A big task for her, I should imagine—but doubtless she has ample help.’

  ‘Oh, Kate can do the work of two,’ said Lady Cowder airily. ‘Of course, I allowed her to have a daily woman to help, and a young girl—she waited at table. Some kind of a niece, I believe. The best we could do at such short notice.’

  ‘You plan more entertainments while Claudia is here?’

  ‘Oh, yes—tennis tomorrow, with tea in the garden and perhaps a buffet supper. And on Friday there will be people coming for drinks, and I dare say several of them will stay on and take pot luck. Claudia thinks she may stay until early next week. I must think up something special for Sunday. A barbecue, perhaps. Kate could manage that easily.’

  She would manage, thought Mr Tait-Bouverie, but her feet would be aching fit to kill her by then, and her longed-for day off would be out of the question.

  ‘If Claudia is staying until Monday or Tuesday, why don’t you bring her up to town on Friday evening? I’m free for the weekend. We might go to a play on Friday evening, and perhaps go somewhere to dine on Saturday. And she might enjoy a drive down to Henley on Sunday?’

  ‘My dear, James, what a delightful idea. We shall both adore to come. I can leave Kate to look after the house—such a good chance for her to do a little extra work…’

  ‘Oh, you’re far too generous for that,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie suavely. ‘Let the girl go home for a couple of days; your gardener could keep an eye on the house. I’m sure you will want to reward Kate for such a splendid dinner. Besides, why keep the house open when you can lock up and save on your gas and electricity bills?’

  Lady Cowder, who was mean with her money, said thoughtfully, ‘You know, James, that is a good idea. You have no idea how much this place costs to run and, of course, if I’m not here to keep an eye on Kate she might give way to extravagance.’

  ‘I’ll expect you around six o’clock,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie. ‘And, if by chance I’m held up, Mudd will take care of you both. You’ll come in Claudia’s car?’

  ‘Yes. She’s a splendid driver. She does everything so well. She will make a splendid wife.’

  If she expected an answer to this she was to be disappointed. Her nephew remarked pleasantly that he must leave without delay and embarked on his farewells, saying all the right things and leaving the house by a side door.

  He was letting Prince out of the car for a few moments when he heard voices, and saw Mrs Pickett and her niece leaving the house from the kitchen door. They wished him goodnight as they reached him, and then paused as he asked, ‘You’re going to the village? I’m just leaving, I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘Well, now, that would be a treat for we’re that tired, sir.’

  ‘I imagine so.’ He opened the car door and they got in carefully.

  ‘You will have to tell me where you live, Mrs Pickett.’ He started the car and said over his shoulder, ‘What a splendid dinner party. You must have worked very hard.’

  ‘That we did—and that poor Kate, so tired she couldn’t eat her supper. Had a busy time of it, with all the shopping and the house to see to as well as concocting all them fancy dishes. Now I hears it’s to be a tennis party tomorrow—that means she’ll have to be up early, making cakes. Missed her half-day off, too, though she didn’t say a word about it.’

  Mrs Pickett, a gossip by nature, was in full flood. ‘It’s not as though she’s used to service. She’s a lady, born and bred, but she’s got no airs or graces, just gets on with it.’ She paused for breath. ‘It’s just along here, sir, the third cottage on the left. And I’m sure Sally and me are that grateful,’ she chuckled. ‘Don’t often get the chance of a ride in such a posh car.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie, brought up to mind his manners by a fierce nanny, got out of the car to assist his passengers to alight—an action which, from Mrs Pickett’s view, made her day. As for Sally, she thought she would never forget him.

  ‘I cannot think what possessed me,’ Mr Tait-Bouverie told Prince as he drove back to London. ‘I have deliberately ruined my weekend in order to allow a girl I hardly know to go and look at shop windows…’

  Prince leaned against him and rumbled soothingly, and his master said, ‘Oh, it’s all very well for you to approve—you liked her, didn’t you? Well, I’m sure she is a very worthy person, but I rather regret being so magnanimous.’

  Lady Cowder told Kate the following morning, making it sound as if she was bestowing a gracious favour. She sat up in bed while Kate drew the curtains and put the tea tray beside her.

  ‘There are some employers who would expect their staff to remain at the house during their absence, but, as I am told so often, I am generous to a fault. You may go home as soon as you have made sure that your work is done, and I expect you back on Sunday evening. Harvey, the gardener, will keep an eye on things, but I shall hold you responsible for anything which is amiss.’

  ‘Yes, Lady Cowder,’ said Kate, showing what her employer found to be a sorry lack of gratitude. Kate went down to the kitchen to start breakfast for the two ladies, who liked it in bed. More extra work for her.

  It would be lovely to have two whole days at home; the pleasure of that got her through another trying day, with unexpected guests for lunch and a great many people coming to play tennis and have tea in the garden.

  Mrs Pickett’s feet didn’t allow her to walk too much, so Kate went to and fro with pots of tea, more sandwiches, more cakes, lemonade and ice cream.

  ‘It’s a crying shame,’ declared Mrs Pickett, ‘expecting you to do everything on your own. Too mean to get help, she is. I suppose she thinks that having Sally last night was more than enough.’ Mrs Pickett sniffed. ‘It’s the likes of her should try doing a bit of cooking and housework for themselves.’

  Kate agreed silently.

  That evening there was a barbecue, the preparations for which were much hindered by Claudia rearranging everything and then demanding that it should all be returned to its normal place—which meant that by the time the guests began to arrive nothing was quite ready, a circumstance which Claudia, naturally enough, blamed on Kate. With Kate still within earshot, she observed in her rather loud voice, ‘Of course, one can’t expect the servants to know about these things…’

  Kate, stifling an urge to go back and strangle the girl, went to the kitchen to fetch the sausages and steaks.

  ‘Now you can get the charcoal burning,’ ordered Claudia.

  Kate set the sausages and steaks beside each other on one of the tables.

  ‘I’m wanted in the house,’ she said, and whisked herself away.

  She 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 were needed, preparations for the lunch that Lady Cowder would certainly want had to be made, the dining room and the sitting room needed a quick dusting…

  Lady Cowder arrived soon after nine o’clock, driven in a hired car, her eyes everywhere, looking for something she could complain about.

  She had little to say to Kate. ‘Dear Claudia had to drive to Edinburgh,’ she said briefly. ‘And my nephew had to leave early, so it seemed pointless for me to stay on on my own. You can cook me a light breakfast; I had no time to have a proper meal before I left. Coddled eggs and some thinly sliced toast—and coffee. In fifteen minutes. I’m going to my room now.’

  Lady Cowder wasn’t in a good mood, decided Kate, grinding coffee beans. Perhaps the weekend hadn’t been a success. Come to think of it, she couldn’t believe that she and Claudia and that nephew of hers could have much in common. Although, since he had invited them, perhaps he had fallen in love with Claudia. She hoped not. She knew nothing about him—indeed, she suspected that he might be a difficult man to get to know—but he had been kind, praising her cooking, and he might be rather nice if one ever got to be friends with him.

  ‘And that is most unlikely,’ said Kate to Horace, who was hovering discreetly in the hope of a snack. ‘I mean, I’m the housekeeper, aren’t I? And I expect he’s something powerful on the Stock Exchange or something.’

  If Mr Tait-Bouverie, immersed in a tricky operation on a very small harelip, could have heard her he would have been amused.

  It was some days later, chatting to one of his colleagues at the hospital that he was asked, ‘Isn’t Lady Cowder an aunt of yours, James? Funny thing, I hear her housekeeper is the daughter of an old friend of mine—he died a year or so ago. Nice girl—pretty too. Fallen on hard times, I hear. Haven’t heard from them since they left their place in the Cotswolds—keep meaning to look them up.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie said slowly, ‘Yes, I’ve met her. She seems very efficient, but overworked. My aunt is a kind woman, but incredibly selfish and leaves a
good deal to Kate, I believe.’

  ‘I must do something about it.’ His elderly companion frowned. ‘I’ll get Sarah to write and invite them for a weekend.’

  ‘Kate only has Sunday off…’

  ‘Oh, well, they could spend the day. Have they a car?’

  ‘Kate rides a bike.’

  ‘Good Lord, does she? I could drive over and fetch them.’

  ‘Why not invite me, and I’ll collect them on my way and take them back on my way home?’

  ‘My dear James, that’s very good of you. We’ll fix a day—pretty soon, because we’re off to Greece for a couple of weeks very shortly and I dare say you’ve your own holiday planned. ‘I’ll write to Jean Crosby. They left very quietly, you know; didn’t want to make things awkward, if you understand. A bit dodgy, finding yourself more or less penniless. Kate had several young men after her, too. Don’t suppose any of them were keen enough, though.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie, overdue for his ward round, dismissed the matter from his mind. He liked Professor Shaw; he was a kindly and clever man, but also absent-minded. He thought it was unlikely that he would remember to act upon his suggestion.

  He was wrong. Before the end of the week he was reminded of their plan and asked if he could spare the time for the Sunday after next. ‘Sarah has written to Jean and won’t take no for an answer, so all you need do is to collect them—come in time for drinks before lunch. Our daughter and her husband will be here, and she and Kate were good friends. Spend the day—Sarah counts on you to stay for supper.’

  Mr Tait-Bouverie sighed. It was his own fault, of course—he had suggested driving the Crosbys down. Another spoilt weekend, he reflected, which he could have spent sailing at Bosham.

  Kate, arriving home for her day off with barely time to get to church, since Lady Cowder had declared in her faraway voice that she felt faint and mustn’t be left, had no time to do more than greet her mother and walk rapidly on to church.