Authors: Barbara Perkins
‘I have a suggestion to make. Quite by chance, just as you’re looking for a job, I’m looking for a social secretary.’
‘A what?’
‘Please. Wait a moment.’ He looked at me quite seriously for a second, the twinkle usually present in his eyes gone. ‘I really do need a social secretary. At least, that’s what I shall call it, though it’s something more than that. It’s a question of my daughter.’
‘Oh,’ I said faintly.
‘She’s seventeen, and it’s time I did something about her. She has no idea of the social graces at all—she barely speaks to anyone who isn’t a horse! Now you, Shah, could be a very good example to her. Did I mention that I would want my social secretary to come and work in Suffolk?’
‘No, you didn’t. But—’
‘I’m intending spending the winter there, which promises to be very dull; unless, of course, we enliven it a little.’ He grinned at me, before becoming serious again. ‘It’s difficult without a woman in the house—apart from Mrs. Mott, my housekeeper—and I’m determined that Esther shall learn to wear something other than jodhpurs and talk about something other than strained fetlocks. I will not be father to a—a cross-bred mare!’ Henry snorted, making me want to giggle. ‘I propose to give a series of parties for Esther—dances, and so on—and to make her meet people socially as well as on horseback. No doubt the conversation
will
be horsy—it’s apt to be unavoidable!—but at least she can learn to dress like a lady! You see my point?’
‘Yes,’ I said doubtfully. ‘But
—I’m
not very—’
‘Nonsense, Shah. Of course you’re very.’ The twinkle was back now, and very much in evidence. ‘You’re very suitable in every way. You’re attractive, graceful, and you know how to dress. You can listen when a man talks, and you’re good company. Besides, you’re a responsible young woman who doesn’t feel it’s necessary to be endlessly solemn about it. And you
don’t
like horses.’ He counted the points off on his fingers while I tried, vainly, to recognize myself in the picture he was painting. He said, ‘I think you’d be an extremely good influence on Esther. Somehow, by hook or by crook, I’ll make her learn to be feminine if it’s the last thing I do. But—’ he paused, looking at me conspiratorially, ‘we mustn’t, of course, let her know we’re doing it!’
‘I haven’t any qualifications as a secretary at all,’ I pointed out. ‘You’re being very kind, but—’
‘It’s more of a hostess than a secretary. And I think you’d do it admirably. I really can’t give parties without a hostess.’
‘But I don’t know anything about—’
‘You’re used to meeting people—and from what you’ve told me about your home, quite used to organizing things too.’ He seemed determined to override my objections. ‘If it’s the domestic arrangements you’re worried about, those will be taken care of.’ He waved the domestic arrangements away with one airy hand.
‘What I need is someone to be about the place and look after things. The feminine touch. It really is sadly lacking at the moment.’ He made a plaintive face at me. ‘Now really, Shah, you wouldn’t condemn me to a complete stranger, would you? I must have someone who can be part of the family. And think,’ he added, smiling at me, ‘of the dreary winter we’re both going to spend, if you go and take a job just like your last one, and I have to cope with Esther all by myself!’
I drew a deep breath, my thoughts in confusion. Finally I said, ‘But I’m really not a—secretarial hostess. I’m a nurse.’
‘But you wouldn’t mind having a change for a while, would you? Try this for a few months. After that,’ he added, looking at me thoughtfully, ‘we’ll see.’
That made my heart give an uneven lurch. It all seemed too much like fate—but I couldn’t imagine myself acting as Henry’s hostess. The nearest I’d ever got to anything similar was entertaining the Bishop for lunch because both my mother and Jill were in bed with ‘flu and I happened to be there. I said, helplessly, ‘I don’t think I’m the right type at all. I mean, thank you for suggesting it, but—you don’t really know anything about me!’
‘I know a great deal about you. Come, come, Shah.’ He studied me with amusement. ‘I’m quite a good judge of character, you know—better than my relations give me credit for! I could probably tell you more about you than you know yourself!’ His eyes, suddenly, were kind as well as humorous. ‘I know for example that you’ve been suppressing your natural self for years to fit in with the ideas of this stupid Robert—who must have very little taste! Besides, you’d be doing me a great favour if you’d come. Won’t you consider it?’
‘I really don’t know.’ It was a tempting offer, coming out of the blue like this, and Henry was far too nice anyway for me to be able to say a direct no. And it would, certainly, be different... perhaps too different for me to cope with. ‘I don’t really know if I could do that kind of job.’
‘Try. Go on, Shah, break out!’ He grinned at me very wickedly, and then became brisk. ‘Let’s talk about the practical details. You’d have to live in the house, of course—but I think you’d find it comfortable, and I’d want you to treat it as your home. Working hours would be irregular. I’d pay you ...’ he named a sum of what seemed astronomical proportions, without blinking an eyelid, ‘and of course you’d have your keep. And you’d need a car to drive—that we could provide—you do drive, I believe you said. It’s rather quiet at Thurlanger, but we’ll cure that once we start entertaining. Dreadfully dull people, I expect, but we can always do our best. I think,’ he added mischievously, ‘between us we might make the task quite amusing! I’m short of kindred spirits down at Thurlanger. So do come, Shah! What else can I tell you, I wonder?’
‘Er...’ I tried to think of something. ‘What would I
do?’
I asked. ‘Housework?’
‘Good gracious, no. Mrs. Mott deals with all that. With a varying selection of local help. I’m not inviting you down to scrub floors, my dear!’
‘Sorry.’ I smiled back at him, unable to help catching his amusement at the thought—though I’d scrubbed plenty of floors in my time. ‘I was just,’ I admitted, ‘trying to think of something I ought to ask!’
‘Then you will consider it?’ he asked eagerly. ‘Good! As to your duties—oh, entertain, organize things, choose Esther’s clothes—that’s
very
necessary—and generally be there to supervise. And you and I can keep each other amused while everyone else talks about hunting, as they undoubtedly will!’
I was feeling dazed—at the prospect of such a job falling into my lap, and by the effort I was having to stop myself feeling as if fate was pushing me straight into Henry Thurlanger’s arms. After all, he was only offering me a
job
... even if he
had
called me a kindred spirit, and described me in startlingly flattering terms. I told myself firmly that Henry probably looked on me in as fatherly a way as he did Esther—and had to restrain an inner comment that his manner towards me wasn’t at all paternal. He said,
‘If you dislike the idea too much, I won’t press it. But you don’t really—do you?’
‘No, of—of course not. But—’
‘There is just one thing. I think we’d do better to conceal the fact that you’re a nurse. We just won’t bother to mention it.’
‘Why?’ I asked—surprised, and put a little on my guard.
‘Because one of two things would happen. Either—and most probably—people would assume I’m suffering from some dreadful disease, which I don’t want to mention, but that I’ve brought you down to look after me. The vultures, in the shape of my relations, would gather hopefully.’ He grinned unrepentantly. ‘Or Esther would jump to the conclusion that you’re not there as my secretary but as her nursemaid, and would rebel accordingly. We need subtlety. You see what I mean? Would you object to that?’
‘
I
—suppose not.’ It made sense: Henry looked extremely healthy to me, but if he suddenly employed a living-in secretary who admitted to being a nurse, people
might
well draw the wrong conclusions. ‘If—if I decided to take the job, I mean. May I—think about it?’
‘You really will think about it? I’m glad you haven’t said no.’
‘It’s too good an offer to refuse point-blank,’ I said frankly—doing a further job on crushing the voice of Gypsy Rose, whispering inside my head. Journeys, and a change coming into my life. I pushed the thought away and hoped I wasn’t blushing. ‘How soon,’ I asked, trying to sound businesslike, ‘would you want an answer?’
‘As soon as you can give me one. A few days? I’m sorry if I seem to be rushing you, but if you’ll agree to come it would be pointless to waste time. I’d have liked you to come to Thurlanger as soon as possible—if you will.’ He gave me a charming smile. ‘Now we’ll talk about something else, shall we? It’s not at all late yet, so let’s enjoy the rest of the evening, while I have the pleasure of your company. And—’ he twinkled at me—‘I’ll do my best to put in some subtle persuasions while you’re not looking!’
If being an entertaining companion was one of his ‘subtle persuasions ‘he could manage that without any effort at all. He talked well, and amusingly; and while half my mind was wrestling with the idea of the proffered job and trying
not
to give it any deep implications, the other half began to relax again in the ease of Henry’s company. He insisted on having a taxi called to take me all the way back to Julia’s flat when the evening was over—and paid it in advance—and we parted laughing, because he had been telling me a long and probably apocryphal story about the time all his relations had decided to visit him at Thurlanger at once, and he had disliked them all so much that he had simply packed up and left for the South of France. We left it that I would write to him and let him know whether I would accept his job, since he was off to Thurlanger in the morning. He hoped I would decide to come...
I found I was still seeing Henry as a leprechaun as I let myself into Julia’s flat. Mischievous, but both charming and kind—and he seemed, for some reason of his own, to like me.
As I crept past Julia’s room—it was very late—I felt inclined to wake her up and tell her I’d just been offered a fabulous and overpaid job as a social secretary. And that Henry’s arrival in my life had been predicted by a gypsy—with further, distinctly startling, suggestions...
I could imagine what she would say. ‘Really, Charlotte, you must be feverish! You’d better go to ‘bed!’ Or if I told her about the job and not the gypsy, she’d say, ‘Good gracious, how extraordinary! And what a waste of your training! Of course, you won’t take it!’
And she’d be right—of course. I wouldn’t take it.
CHAPTER III
I climbed out of the taxi which had been there to meet me at Beemondham Station, and looked up at Thurlanger House with a flutter of nervousness in my stomach.
All right—so here I was. It was one thing to decide the whole thing was inevitable, to write accepting Henry’s offer, and to receive a delighted letter back. It was another to be standing here in front of this square-fronted, beautifully imposing house trying to nerve myself to ring the doorbell and announce my arrival. I glanced over my shoulder at the parkland falling away behind me—grass, trees, a fenced paddock with horses grazing. Low buildings away to the left of the house suggested themselves as stables, and beyond them I could see white and red poles and bars set up as practice jumps. I had seen all this as we came up the long drive from the road, after a rattling journey along the fifteen winding miles from Beemondham. Beemondham’s best (or only) taxi had seen better days, but as its driver deposited my suitcases and climbed back behind the wheel, I felt half inclined to go back with him. I was too ridiculously out of place in this gracious setting. But it was too late to do anything about that now, as the car wheels swished on the gravel and the taxi rattled back the way we had come. Besides, I had not only accepted the job, but an advance on my salary as well, sent by Henry ‘for necessary expenses.’ One of the necessary expenses had been more clothes bought in London on my way here, since part of my job was supposed to be looking well-dressed for the benefits of Esther Thurlanger. Glancing round now, I had the horrible feeling that nothing I possessed would look suitable worn here—I should have gone for good tweeds, and sensible shoes. Wrong already—but it was no use standing here in the cool early October air wishing I’d never come. Stiffening myself resolutely, I picked up my suitcases and mounted the three shallow steps to the front door. After all, there was nothing to be afraid of...
My peal on the doorbell had unexpectedly rapid results. The door swung open at once, as if someone had been standing just inside it—in fact someone obviously had, though not for the purpose of greeting me. He was on his way out—a very tall, broad-shouldered young man, who almost bumped into me, and drew back with an apology which died on his lips. I found myself staring into a face I’d seen once before—on the train, at Bradfield, when I first met Henry. The young man called Kevin was still favouring me with a thunderstruck glare when there was a stir behind him, and Henry himself bustled into view.
‘Ah, Shah, my dear, you’ve arrived. Good. Kevin, this is my new secretary. My nephew, Kevin Thurlanger. You’ll be seeing a lot of one another. Kevin—’
‘How do you do?’ I said, finding my voice and holding out my hand.
‘We’ve met.’ It was delivered with unpromising harshness, in the deep voice I remembered now too well. Kevin put his hand into mine for just long enough to be barely polite, glanced at his uncle, at me again, and moved to pass me. ‘Uncle, I’m just off,’ he said shortly. ‘Don’t wait dinner for me. I’ll be late.’
‘How unusually kind of you to warn me,’ Henry said with an irony which brought a faint flush to Kevin’s face—and then Henry took hold of my arm, turning me away from his nephew and leading me into the house.
‘How nice to see you, Shah,’ he said cordially. ‘No, don’t worry about your cases—I’ll have Ganner take them up to your room in a moment. Did you have a good journey? Come over here to the fire and warm yourself...’
The slam of the front door jerked me out of my numbness, and I found my voice again. I assured Henry that I had had a good journey, and then, feeling that I couldn’t ignore my meeting with Kevin as Henry was so blandly doing, I asked, ‘Is—is your nephew staying here?’
‘Kevin? He lives here. I’m sorry he couldn’t wait to be introduced to you properly. Always in a hurry.’
Henry smiled at me amiably, seemingly forgetful of the fact that this was the second time I had brushed against his nephew in spite of Kevin’s statement of the fact, and added, ‘You’ll see him later, of course. But tell me—did you manage to find something to eat on the train? I’m sure Mrs. Mott can find you something if you’re hungry. No? Well then, get yourself warm, and then you must be shown round. Esther’s out, I’m afraid. But Mrs. Mott can take you to your room, and do the honours. Sit down, and tell me how you are!’
How I was, at the moment, was very unsure of myself. I reminded myself that my entire family, though a little surprised, had accepted my taking a job as a secretary in Suffolk for the winter as a good move. Henry and my father had exchanged letters. My father had told me he was sure I’d enjoy myself chaperoning Mr. Thurlanger’s daughter. (Somehow, without my lying about it, it had been automatically assumed that I’d met Henry quite officially while I was in Grimsbridge—after all, Charlotte was So Sensible.) Now, unnerved by walking into the supercilious Kevin, I was quite sure Charlotte wasn’t at all sensible. Henry certainly hadn’t warned me that
he
was living here. However, there was no reason why he should—I was only an employee, after all. And here I was. I met Henry’s pleasant, friendly expression, and said weakly, ‘This is a—a lovely house.’
‘You like it?’ He looked round the wide panelled hall in which we were standing. ‘Yes, it’s pleasant. Previous Thurlangers seem to have had the taste to make only reasonable alterations. Parts of it are quite old—this fireplace, for example. Most of the heat goes up the chimney, but we have to light it to keep out the draught—do come closer, you must have had a cold journey.’ He indicated the wide, cowled fireplace with its stone, chimney jutting out into the room: a log fire blazed merrily. ‘There’s central heating in most of the house, of course. I refuse to live like an English country gentleman if it means being covered in ice. Ah, here’s Mrs. Mott. Let me introduce you.’
Mrs. Mott was fat and grey-haired and comfortable, and looked so much like a housekeeper that it was almost impossible to believe she was one. She had a comfortable voice, too, going up a little at the end of every sentence as if everything was a question. She smiled at me, shook my proffered hand, and took me off placidly to show me my room—feeling faintly comforted, though still fluttering a little inside. The house, imposing outside, bore signs of such care, with everything shiningly polished, that I felt I might scratch something just by looking at it—but Mrs. Mott looked amiable as well as capable, and didn’t seem in any way to resent my arrival.
A wide staircase of beautiful proportions curved up out of the hall, which was the height of both floors with the upper corridor forming a balustraded gallery. We came up into the centre of the gallery, and walked along one side, with Mrs. Mott pointing out doors-as we passed them: Mr. Thurlanger’s room; the study; the sitting-room. At the end of the gallery a much narrower staircase took us up to the top floor (with another staircase at the foot of it going down: the back stairs, I was told) and Mrs. Mott opened the first door we came to.
‘This’ll be your room, then. I hope you’ll be comfortable.’
‘I—I’m sure I will.’
It was a bright, chintzy room, friendly and not nearly as imposing as the other parts of the house. Mrs. Mott was saying that Ganner would be up in a moment with my cases, and I murmured thanks as I crossed to the window to look out. The view was from the back of the house: a formal garden lay below, to the right a walled area made a kitchen garden, and beyond both there was rough grass and then woodland. It was a pretty view, so I exclaimed that it was, and then felt foolish: somehow Thurlanger House couldn’t possibly look out on anything but beautiful views.
‘That’s right,’ Mrs. Mott said placidly. ‘There’s Tyzet village down beyond the trees there, around a mile away, but you can’t see it with the woods in between. Just as well, I’d say, with the way they build some of the houses nowadays. Ah, here’s Ganner with your things, then. You’ll be wanting to unpack.’
Ganner must have knocked on the door with his elbow: he had one of my cases in each hand, and he gave me a nod as he put them down carefully, and wiped his hand before shaking mine when Mrs. Mott introduced him to me. He was gone again before I had gained more than the impression that he was a small, brown-faced man with a bow-legged walk—yet another person to make me feel tall, as Mrs. Mott only came up to my shoulder, her lack of inches making her look even rounder than she was. My mind went fleetingly to the one person who had looked down at me instead of up—Kevin, Henry’s nephew—and it was almost as if she had picked up my thought when Mrs. Mott began talking again.
‘There’s the bathroom and lavatory along the end of the passage, past Mr. Kevin’s room,’ she said. ‘You won’t want to be going all the way down to Miss Essie’s bathroom when there’s one up there, Mr. Thurlanger said, and Mr. Kevin could learn to be tidier.’ She gave me a comfortable smile. ‘Mr. Kevin’s in and out at all hours, but you won’t be minding that. He’s quiet enough. Oh, when you’ve things wanting washing out, I’ll hang them on the outside fine for you, if you’ll let me have them. I’ll be showing you where the bathroom is, and then I expect you’d like to rest a bit, if you’ve come all the way from London today.’
‘All the way from London’ sounded a long way as Mrs. Mott put it: I had also come all the way from Hertfordshire via London, but I didn’t say so in case that drove Mrs. Mott to feel I ought to be totally exhausted. Besides, I was taking in the fact that I had been put in the bedroom next to the supercilious Mr. Kevin Thurlanger, was apparently to share a bathroom he considered exclusively his. From the way Mrs. Mott had spoken, it sounded ominously as if he had objected that I would be sure to hang underwear all round it to dry. I thought grimly that I was likely to be receiving sardonic glances every time I ran into Mr. Kevin in the passage outside our rooms, and the idea didn’t cheer me—but it was no use thinking I had been mad to come when I was already here, so I followed Mrs. Mott along the narrow corridor and listened while she told me that I could put the towels from my room on this rail, and Sarah Ann should have put another toothglass up here as she’d been told, but that Mrs. Mott would see to it. Trailing back to my room, I learned with even deeper gloom that Mr. Kevin and I were in sole possession on this floor—the other doors, on each side of the long passage lit by a window at each end, gave on to rooms which were described by Mrs. Mott as the Old Nursery, a box-room, a linen-room, and a little room which wasn’t anything in particular but where Mr. Kevin ‘kept some things.’ By the time she went away downstairs, I was getting a little tired of hearing the name Mr. Kevin: for example, the Old Nursery hadn’t been used since Miss Essie was a baby, and wouldn’t be used again, Mrs. Mott supposed, until Mr. Kevin got married. She left me with the information that there would be tea at four o’clock in the drawing-room, and that was the door on the right as I came down into the hall, but that she could send Sarah Ann up with a cup of tea for me now if I’d like one? I refused politely, and went into my room to unpack, still feeling (in spite of Mrs. Mott’s amiability) that I had been mad to come.
My bright room, with its comfortable bed and pretty curtains, seemed a small consolation. I wondered, rather helplessly, when my duties were supposed to begin—and caught myself longing for the familiar routines of nursing. That reminded me of the added confusion of my promise to Henry not to say I was—had been—a nurse. I wondered what to say if anyone questioned me directly on my past—perhaps I had better invent something? Pulling myself together, I unpacked quickly, tidied myself, and began to go downstairs—after a glance at the closed door of Mr. Kevin’s room. So that rude young man came in and out at all hours, did he? He must lead a gay social life. Well, if he made a noise about it, I thought with more resolution, I
would
hang my underwear all round the bathroom, in protest!
I reached the gallery and began to walk round it: then I paused for a moment, to look down on the panelled hall from here. There was no sign of Henry, or anyone else, and I stood appreciating (with reservations about my own presence) the feeling of gracious living which went with the house’s well-kept elegance. And then the front door was pushed open, and a girl’s voice, husky and abrupt but young, floated clearly up to me.
‘Don’t
fuss,
Phil! It’s only dripping a bit! And—’ the girl came round the door as she spoke, a small and somewhat muddy figure—‘don’t tell your mother either, got it? Or I’ll slit yer throat!’
She seemed satisfied that this terrible threat would silence Phil (whoever he was) and came right inside, kicking the door to behind her with one muddy boot. She was in jodhpurs and a jacket, and from above, all I could see of her looks was a mop of tangled brown hair. She came on towards the stairs without looking right or left, and I hesitated, wondering whether to retreat or go forward and introduce myself. I could guess who she was: Henry’s horse-mad daughter. Should I wait to be introduced to her properly, or ... but it was rather late to remove myself, so I stepped forward as she reached the top of the stairs. The movement brought her head round towards me quickly, and for a startled second we stared at each other. The words I had opened my mouth to say temporarily vanished, as I took in the unexpected details of Esther Thurlanger’s appearance. Surely Henry had said (rudely) that his daughter looked like a horse ... but, even dirty, untidy, and streaked with mud, the girl looking at me was startlingly beautiful.
She had a small, pointed face, pale against the surrounding mop of curls. The perfect curve of her eyebrows was somewhat spoiled by a streak of mud across one of them, but her enormous brown eyes were fringed with unfairly thick black lashes. She was small—like Henry—but already at seventeen her figure was perfectly proportioned. The words ‘pocket Venus’ shot into my mind out of some book I’d read, but, after the first surprise of seeing me, she had already collected herself before I had. She said, huskily, ‘Hallo. Thought for a minute it was going to be Mottie. Are you the new secretary? I’m Essie. Sorry, can’t shake hands, I’m dripping gore at the moment.’