Roses Have Thorns Page 4

  She said quickly, "I can't-Mevrouw Nauta has just told me to go on playing."

  "She will have to put up with me." He scooped her off the stool and took her place, and much to her surprise began to play Debussy. He took no notice of her, and his grandmother had her eyes closed; she went downstairs and ate her lunch and then, urged by Mevrouw Nauta junior, took a walk in the garden. When she went back, the Professor and his grandmother were talking softly together and he had her hand in his. He got up presently and went away with nothing but a casual nod.

  The following two days and nights followed the same erratic pattern so that Sarah hardly knew what time of day it was, but old Mevrouw Nauta was quieter now, content to lie and listen to Sarah playing and from time to time reading out loud. Sarah had company for a good deal of the time: Mevrouw sat quietly in a corner of the room, knitting or embroidering, and her husband wandered in and out to sit by the bed and listen to his mother, rambling a little now but still chatty and occasionally querulous.

  It was the Professor who shared the long hours of the night with Sarah and the old lady, sitting relaxed by the bed while Sarah played or read aloud or sat thankfully silent while he and his grandmother talked. He made the old lady laugh, a weak chuckle which Sarah found pathetic, and he brought her flowers, delicate little nosegays which Sarah arranged in vases around the room. Always he behaved as though his grandmother were well, ignoring her confusion, discussing the new flower-beds in the garden that his father was having dug, just as though she would be there to see them when they were planted, coaxing her to eat and sometimes drawing Sarah into their conversation, slipping back into English, never at a loss for the cheerful talk the old lady enjoyed.

  It was four o'clock in the morning of the third day when the old lady closed her eyes and didn't wake again. Sarah had been reading to her while the Professor lounged in a chair by the bed, his eyes on his grandmother. Something made her look up, and she faltered and stopped and then closed the book. She drew a sharp breath, and wishing not to intrude, whispered, "Oh, she…what do you want me to do?"

  He picked up the small hand on the coverlet and kissed it. "Nothing, Sarah. My mother and father came this evening while you were in your own room, and so did the servants. I'll fetch Nel presently. Go to bed now."

  "I can't leave you alone…"

  He turned to look at her, and she was shocked at the grief in his calm face. "Do as I say, Sarah."

  So she went, to lie awake for a time and then fall into the sleep she needed so badly. She woke once, to remember that she was due back at work in two days' time. When she woke the second time it was to find Nel standing by the bed with a breakfast tray. There was a note propped up against the teapot telling her that the family hoped that she would join them for coffee, but that if she was still tired she was to remain in bed.

  She went downstairs presently and found Mevrouw Nauta in the drawing-room. Her husband was there too, but there was no sign of the Professor. "Radolf has gone to make the necessary arrangements," Mevrouw Nauta told her. "He should be back at any moment. You slept? You have had a tiring two weeks, my dear, and we are most grateful to you."

  "You made my mother very happy," observed Mijnheer Nauta. "She loved music, above all the piano."

  When the Professor joined them he said at once, "My grandmother asked that you should attend her funeral, Sarah. In four days' time. I'll arrange for you to travel back the day after that."

  "Well," said Sarah, "I don't think-"

  She was stopped by his frown. "It was her particular wish-unless you have any other plans?"

  She bristled at his manner-indifferent and arrogant, she told herself, and she was on the point of reminding him that her plans included going back to work when Mevrouw Nauta chimed in. "Oh, do please stay, Sarah, you were so good to her and it was her wish."

  "Very well," said Sarah quietly, and listened politely while Mevrouw Nauta enumerated the family who might be expected to attend the funeral. Sarah hoped that there weren't many more like the Professor.

  She wrote to the head of her department that afternoon. Miss Payne disliked her, but surely she would understand that Sarah couldn't refuse to stay in Holland? She walked to the village, very glad to be free to go where she liked, purchased a stamp and posted her letter-happily unaware that there was a lightning strike of postmen in England, and that the chances of her letter's getting to its destination on time were slim.

  The next three days were extremely pleasant. She had her meals with the family and spent some time with Mevrouw Nauta, but the rest of the days were hers. She wandered around the countryside and on the second day borrowed a bike and went further afield. The weather was kind, for at least it didn't rain, and on the third day she cycled the seven miles over to Sneek. She hadn't the time to see much and she longed for time to explore, but at least she had seen one Dutch town.

  Of the Professor there was little to be seen; he was polite to her when they met at meals, but she had the feeling that he was avoiding her. That, she supposed, was natural enough-he had engaged her to be a companion to his grandmother, and now she was surplus to his requirements. He was polite at the funeral, introducing her, when their paths crossed, to the hordes of Family and friends who came. Sarah shook hands and murmured politely, lost in a sea of strange faces.

  It wasn't until that evening at dinner that she heard him telling his parents that he would be leaving that night. It seemed that they already knew that he was going away, but now for some reason he would be going almost at once.

  "You'll take the car?" asked his father, and nodded his head when the Professor observed that it was an easy drive.

  He bade her goodnight and hoped that she would have a good journey, his voice so cold that she replied stiffly in as few words as possible. It was Hans, driving her to Schiphol the following morning, who told her that the Professor had gone to Germany for a fortnight. "He lectures, miss, and he'll call in on his way back to London, I expect." He added, "We are all quite sorry to see you go, miss. You made the old lady's last days very happy."

  She thanked him gratefully, responding suitably to his hope that they would meet again at some time, and said goodbye at Schiphol with regret.

  The Professor might not like her overmuch, but he had arranged her journey meticulously. Moreover, he had arranged for someone to deliver Charles to her bedsit that evening, for which she was grateful, for without her cat her homecoming would have been lonely indeed. Her room, after the luxury of the Nautas' home, seemed smaller and darker and shabbier than it actually was, but once the fire was lit and Charles had settled down in front of it and she had unpacked her few things, her good sense reasserted itself. She had a home, even though it was one room, and she had a job, too.

  She was at her desk in good time in the morning, confident that Miss Payne, however much she disliked her, would have accepted her letter. Besides, the Professor, when he arranged her return, would surely have explained why she hadn't gone back to her job when she should have done.

  An hour later she was forced to admit that he had either forgotten or had decided it wasn't necessary to give any explanation to her department. Miss Payne, choosing her time between clinics, had come to see her and hadn't minced her words. Sarah was not to be depended upon, and was she aware that this was the second time that she had returned late from a holiday without bothering to let anyone know?

  "But I wrote you a letter," objected Sarah.

  "Stuff and nonsense-there has been no letter. That is the easiest excuse to make, for I have no means of knowing if you are speaking the truth."

  "Then you are a very silly woman," declared Sarah. She wished she hadn't said that the moment the words popped out, for Miss Payne had gone a dull red and her already thin mouth had practically disappeared, but, a normally mild-tempered girl, Sarah was now extremely cross. If only the Professor had been in the hospital, she could have referred Miss Payne to him, but he wasn't.

  She sat looking at Miss Payne, who was
ugly in her wrath, and wondered what would happen next. At least Mrs. Pearce and Mrs. Drew were having their coffee and there were no patients around.

  "Don't imagine that this is the end of the matter," snapped Miss Payne and stalked away, still red in the face, her back like a raMr.od.

  It wasn't two days later that there was a letter for Sarah. Certain changes were being made, and a number of posts were being made redundant. She was to leave at the end of the week with a week's pay in lieu of notice.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SARAH read the letter through twice, put it back in its buff envelope and considered what was best to be done. She could of course seek out Miss Payne and try and explain, but the Professor had said when he had first asked her to go to Holland that he didn't want it to be talked about, and she could hardly blame him for forgetting that she should have been back at work several days before he had arranged her return trip. Besides, she should have made it clear that she had to return on time. Mrs. Pearce and Mrs. Drew were sympathetic but not helpful, only too thankful that they still had their jobs, and when Sarah asked for a reference she was given one which damned her with faint praise: a good worker, but unreliable…

  She left at the end of the week; she had a little money saved and there would surely be a suitable job somewhere in London. By the end of the first week she had to admit that she had had very little success-even when she had got as far as an interview, her reference was the stumbling block. The fact that she had worked at the hospital for a number of years carried no weight in the face of unreliability. She spent a second week applying for any clerical job she could find, but still with no success. She was told that she was too old, unable to use a computer, a word processor…

  Dispirited, but by no means beaten, she took herself into a small cafe and ordered a pot of tea, and while she drank it she worked out her finances. They were getting low-something would have to be done. She poured a last cup of tea and picked up a copy of The Lady magazine which someone had left on the table. There was nothing under the heading of clerical workers. She read the adverts for nannies with regret she liked babies and children, but she couldn't with the wildest stretch of imagination call herself experienced. She fell to reading the domestic situations vacant; there were several pages and, by the time she had read the first page, she knew what she was going to do. Here was a market, almost untapped from the look of it, and she was perfectly able to clean a house, wait at table and answer a door. It would have to be somewhere where Charles would be welcome. She began to read more carefully, marking the most likely adverts.

  She wrote six letters that evening to the six most promising offers. Each of them stressed the urgency of getting help and she surmised that, if that was really the case, Charles might be allowed to accompany her. To her surprise and delight, all six replied. She sifted through them carefully; they all agreed to her taking her pet, but only one offered a small cottage close to the house where she might live.

  A country estate, said the letter, on the outskirts of a small village south of Bedford. She would be required to undertake the duties of housemaid and, when necessary, wait at table.

  The house was adequately staffed, but the staff were elderly; it must be understood that she must be prepared to help wherever help was needed. Her cat was welcome, provided that he was well trained. The wages seemed to her to be more than satisfactory, and she would have a day off each week. References would be required and she might attend an interview at Duke's Hotel, Knightsbridge should she consider the post, bringing three references with her. The interview was for the following day.

  Sarah dressed in the grey jersey dress, her abundant hair smoothed into a chignon, and presented herself at the appointed time. There were several other young women there, all, she supposed, with impeccable references, whereas she had only those from the rector at home and the family doctor, and Miss Payne's letter with its subtle hint of unsatisfactory conduct.

  The three who went in ahead of her came out looking pleased with themselves, and there were two more going in after her. She wasn't hopeful-still less so when she saw the elderly lady sitting beside a table by the window in the luxurious hotel room.

  "Sit down." The lady had a commanding voice. "There, facing the window." And when Sarah had sat, "Your name is Fletcher, Sarah Fletcher? Why do you want to work for me?" She glanced at Sarah's letter. "You say here that you are a clerical worker."

  "I have been made redundant, I can't find similar work and I need a job."

  "Why were you made redundant?"

  "I returned three days late from my holiday. Last year I came back a day late."

  "You had good reasons for doing so?"

  "Yes."

  "You are twenty-eight-do you intend to remain in domestic service for the rest of your working life? You have no-er-relationships?"

  "No family, and I'm not engaged or living with anyone."

  The lady nodded. "I see. You will be notified as to the result of this interview within the next day or two, Miss Fletcher. Thank you."

  Sarah went back to her room and wept all over Charles, who licked his damp fur dry and eyed her reproachfully-he wanted his supper. Sarah opened a tin of cat food and put a sausage roll on a plate for herself. Waiting for the kettle to boil on the gas ring, she wondered out loud where the Professor was and what he was doing. "It's a waste of time thinking about him," she observed to Charles. "He doesn't like me, and by now he'll have forgotten that I ever existed. Besides, he's ill-tempered and impatient. I shall forget him."

  She bit into her sausage roll with a defiant snap.

  She paid her rent the next morning and wondered uneasily how many more weeks she would be able to afford it. She could write to her stepmother, something she hadn't done for several years, but she would have to be desperate indeed. She wondered if she should have mentioned the fact that she had a stepmother when she had been interviewed. But that lady wasn't family-indeed, she had expressed a wish never to set eyes on Sarah again, and Sarah was sure that she would refuse any financial help if she were asked for it. There was the Social Security, of course, but that would be the very last resort. Sarah told herself bracingly not to have any gloomy thoughts.

  The letter came the following morning: her references were satisfactory, and she was to convey herself and her cat to Bedford, where she would be met and taken to Shotley Park. She was expected on the following day, and the train arriving at Bedford at three o'clock was to be taken.

  Sarah read the letter slowly, did a joyful dance around the room with Charles tucked under her arm and went to see her landlady. It was a pity she had just paid a week's rent but, as she had expected, it would be kept in lieu of a week's notice.

  "Goin' somewhere nice?" asked Mrs. Potter.

  "Right away from London," said Sarah, and she didn't say where. "May I leave my big case in your box-room and send for it later? I can't manage more than one case if I've got Charles and his basket."

  "Just so long as it's only for a week or two, otherwise I'll have to charge," cautioned Mrs. Potter. "You're going a bit sudden like, I'll have to re-let…"

  Sarah murmured consolingly, knowing that Mrs. Potter would let her room the moment she and Charles were out of the way.

  She packed a case, filled another with her few bits and pieces, hauled it along to the communal box-room, washed her hair and went to bed. The die was cast-or should it be dye? she wondered.

  The journey to Bedford took just a little over an hour. She tucked Charles in his basket discreetly away under her seat, and since the carriage was almost empty no one noticed him. At Bedford she got out and walked slowly to the barrier, not knowing who to expect. She was impressed when a uniformed chauffeur standing by the ticket collector touched his cap and asked if she was Miss Fletcher.

  "I'm Lady Wesley's chauffeur, Knott. I'm to take you to an outfitter's to collect your uniform before I drive you to Shotley Park."

  He took her case and she put Charles, mute and dignified in his
basket, on to the back seat of the Jaguar and got into the front seat, and the chauffeur drove off at once.

  Sarah sat silently, not quite sure how to behave. Was a housemaid low in the hierarchy of domestic service and, if so, should she wait to be addressed before she spoke? It seemed that she should. Knott gave her a sideways look, liking what he saw. Quiet little thing-knew her place, too. Mrs. Legge, the housekeeper, would be glad of that. He said, very slightly pompously, "The outfitter's is in the high street. You're to collect your parcels and say who you are."

  "Very well, thank you, Mr. Knott." She heaved a hidden sigh of relief because she could see by his face that she had said the right thing.

  There were several packages, but Knott got out of the car and put them in the boot and, when she got in beside him again, he said, "It's about seven miles. I dare say you could do with a cup of tea."

  The country was pleasant, open and wooded here and there, and presently Knott turned in between imposing gates and drove slowly along a curving drive until the house came in sight. It was a good deal more imposing than Sarah had imagined it would be. There would be plenty of dusting and hoovering for her, she reflected, and it would take a long time to answer the door if one happened to be at the back of the mansion or even on the first floor. They drove round the side of the house and stopped in front of a side door set in a stone wall pierced by narrow windows. The house, Palladian from the front, was a complexity of outbuildings at its back where the house itself, the oldest part, was a maze of gables atop of a rambling wing surrounding a courtyard on two sides.

  "Go in, then," said Knott, not unkindly. So Sarah, taking Charles' basket and her courage in both hands, went in.

  There was a stone passage leading to a vast kitchen, the floor there flagstoned too, its walls lined with cupboards and dressers, a large wooden table in its centre and an outsize Aga facing the door, flanked by more cupboards. An extremely stout woman was standing at the table carving a ham with a wicked-looking knife. She paused long enough to say, "You're to go straight through to Mrs. Legge's sitting-room. Through that door."