A Gentle Awakening. Бетти Нилс

the last of the washing up and Florina concentrated on her cooking. By the time she heard the car stop by the house, she was satisfied that there was nothing more to do for an hour or so.

      Two other cars arrived then, and Mrs Frobisher, much refreshed by the nap, carried in the tea tray and the assortment of cakes and sandwiches Florina had got ready, before she came back to share a pot of tea with Florina.

      The kitchen was warm; she opened the windows wide and sat down gratefully, listening to Mrs Frobisher describing Sir William’s guests. Rather nice, she was told, and had known him for years—doctors and their wives, rather older than he was.

      ‘And, of course, Miss Fortesque,’ added Nanny, and she sounded as though she had inadvertently sucked on a lemon. ‘A well preserved woman, one might say, but of course she spends a great deal of time and money upon herself.’

      Obviously Nanny didn’t approve of Sir William’s Wanda, but Florina didn’t dare to say so; she murmured vaguely and her companion went on, ‘Had her claws into him for months. I’m surprised at him—she’ll be a bad wife for him and a worse stepmother for my little Pauline.’ She passed her cup for more tea. ‘He’s so busy with all those sick children, he only sees her when she’s dressed up and all charm and prettiness. Of course, that’s very nice for the gentlemen when they’ve had a hard day’s work, but when all’s said and done they want a wife as well, someone who’ll sit on the opposite side of the fireplace and knit while he reads the papers, listen when he wants to talk, and love his children.’ Nanny snorted. ‘All she likes to do is dance and play bridge.’

      ‘Perhaps she’ll change,’ suggested Florina gently, not quite sure if she should voice an opinion. Nanny was obviously labouring under strong feelings, and possibly she would regret her outburst later on.

      ‘You’re a good girl,’ said Nanny, ‘I’ve wanted to say all that to someone for weeks, and you’re the only person I’ve felt I could talk to.’

      To Florina’s distress, Mrs Frobisher’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I had him as a baby,’ she said.

      ‘They’re not married yet,’ ventured Florina. She added, very thoughtfully, ‘It just needs someone to give fate a push and change things…’

      Mrs Frobisher blew her nose, an awesome sound. ‘You’re a sensible girl as well as a good one, Florina.’

      Florina dished up a splendid dinner: artichoke hearts with a sharp dressing of her own invention, lobster cardinal, medallions of beef with a wine sauce and truffles, and tiny pancakes filled with strawberries and smothered in thick cream.

      When the coffee tray had gone in, she and Nanny sat down to eat what was left, before Nanny went away to see Pauline into bed. Mrs Deakin had come back to help with the clearing up, but all the same the evening was far gone, and Sir William seeing his guests on their way, by the time they were finished in the kitchen. Florina set everything ready for the morning, changed into her dress and, with Mrs Deakin for company, locked the kitchen door after her and started for home.

      They were at the gate when Sir William loomed out from the shrubs alongside the short drive. ‘A delightful meal, Florina! My compliments, and thank you, and Mrs Deakin, for working late.’

      Mrs Deakin muttered happily; she was being paid overtime, and generously, for any work she did over and above her normal hours. Florina said quietly, ‘Thank you, Sir William. Goodnight.’

      He would go into his lovely house presently, she supposed, and Wanda would be waiting for him. Florina had caught a glimpse of her during the evening—a vision in scarlet chiffon. Enough to turn any man’s head, even that of the placid, good-natured Sir William.

      She was making a salad the next day when Miss Fortesque, in a startling blue jersey dress and a great many gold bangles, strolled into the kitchen.

      ‘Hello, Cook, busy among your saucepans again? It’s really surprising that even in the depths of the country it’s possible to find someone who can turn out a decent meal.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘After town standards, you know, one hardly expects it.’

      Florina shredded lettuce with hands which shook very slightly with temper, and said nothing.

      ‘That sauce last night,’ continued her visitor, ‘I fancied that there was a touch too much garlic in it. Sir William didn’t complain—he’s really too easy-going…’

      ‘When Sir William complains to me, Miss Fortesque, I shall listen to him,’ said Florina very evenly.

      Wanda’s eyes opened wide. ‘Don’t you dare to speak to me like that, Cook! I’ll have you dismissed…’ She advanced, rather unwisely, too close to Florina, who had started to whip up a dressing for the salad. She increased her beating with a vigour which sent oily drops in all directions. The blue dress would never be the same again; a shower of little blobs had made a graceful pattern down its front.

      Wanda’s breath was a hiss of fury. ‘You clumsy fool—look what you’ve done! It’s ruined—I’ll have to have a new dress, and I’ll see that it’s stopped out of your wages! I’ll…’

      Sir William’s voice, very placid, cut her short. ‘My dear Wanda, if you hadn’t been standing so close, it wouldn’t have happened. You can’t blame Florina, you’ve only yourself to thank. Surely you know that cooks must be left in peace in their kitchens when they are cooking?’

      Wanda shot him a furious glance. She said pettishly, ‘I’ll have to go and change. I hope you’ll give the girl a good telling-off.’

      She flounced out of the kitchen and Florina began to slice tomatoes very thinly. Sir William spoke from the door. ‘I found the sauce exactly right,’ he said gently, and wandered away.

      He took his fiancée back to town that evening, leaving behind a rather unhappy Pauline. He sought out Florina before he left, to tell her that for the next few weeks, while the child was on holiday, he would come down each weekend on Friday afternoons, and drive back early on Monday morning.

      ‘Nanny tells me that you may decide to move in with us. Your father doesn’t object to being alone?’

      Her aunt had written to say that she would be arriving at the end of the week. She told him this, leaving out the details. He nodded pleasantly. ‘I’m sure it will give you more leisure. I hope you’ll be happy here. Pauline will be over the moon when you tell her.’

      She thought wistfully that it would have been nice if he had expressed the same satisfaction, even if in a more modified form. She bade him a quiet good-night, more or less drowned by Miss Fortesque’s voice, pitched high, demanding that they should leave at once.

      The week unfolded at a leisurely pace; Florina packed her things, got her room ready for her aunt and moved to the Wheel House. Her father bade her goodbye with no sign of regret, merely warning her again that she need not expect to go crying back to him when she found herself out of a job. She received this remark without rancour, aware that if he should fall ill again the first thing that he would do would be to demand that she should return home to look after him.

      She enjoyed arranging her few possessions in her room at Wheel House, helped by a delighted Pauline. Once settled in, she found that she had a good deal more leisure. Cooking for the three of them took up only a part of her day; she helped Nanny with the ironing and the cleaning of the silver, took Pauline mushrooming in the early mornings, and, with Mrs Frobisher’s consent, started to give her cooking lessons. By the time Sir William arrived on Friday afternoon, there was a dish of jam tarts and a fruit cake, a little soggy in the middle but still edible, both of which Pauline bore to the tea table with pride. Sir William, a kind and loving parent, ate quantities of both.

      The weekend was one of the happiest Florina had spent for a long time. For one thing, there was a peaceful content over the old home. Sir William insisted that they all breakfast together in the kitchen, a meal which Florina cooked with an almost painful wish to serve up something to perfection, just to please him. She succeeded very well; he ate everything put before him, carrying on a cheerful conversation meanwhile,