Act of Will. Barbara Taylor Bradford

      Mrs Irène Bell bore no resemblance to the image Audra had conjured up in her mind. The woman who walked towards her down the long stretch of luxurious Turkey carpet was tall, lissom, very smart, and she had the brightest, reddest of auburn hair. This had been cut in a sleek and fashionable bob, then shaped into a fringe above pencilled brows and velvety brown eyes that shone with great brilliance. High cheekbones and a slender aristocratic nose were peppered with freckles; a rather wide mouth was outlined in scarlet lipstick.

      Irène Bell was stunning; and she had an arresting personal style that was highly dramatic.

      She took swift strides through the handsome blue-and-white living room, filled with antiques, where Audra stood waiting, and there was something reminiscent of the bold tomboy in her manner, the way she moved. In fact, her looks had a marked hoydenish quality; she also appeared to be much younger than a woman in her mid-forties. The red wool-jersey dress she wore under-scored her intrinsic youthfulness with its long, loose-fitting bodice and pleated skirt, rather short, that swung around her splendid legs.

      Audra, sharp eyed, recognized the dress at once. She had seen a photograph of it only last week in an old summer issue of Harper’s Bazaar, which she had bought at the second-hand bookstall in Ripon market. It had been designed by a young French couturière called Gabrielle Chanel, who was currently all the vogue.

      ‘Hello! Hello!’ Mrs Bell exclaimed, gliding to a stop, thrusting her hand towards her visitor. ‘So very pleased to meet you, Miss Kenton.’

      Audra took the proffered hand, then found her own being squeezed in the tightest of grips. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bell. I’m happy to meet you, too.’

      Giving her a warm and winning smile, continuing to hold her hand, Irène Bell drew Audra forward to the two huge sofas which were positioned opposite each other in front of the fireplace. ‘So very good of you to travel all this way, Miss Kenton. And in this frightful weather. Yes, so very good of you indeed. Do, do sit here. Yes, yes, next to the fire. Warm yourself after your journey. Cook is preparing hot chocolate. Cora will bring it up shortly. I do hope you like hot chocolate. Would you prefer tea? Or coffee, perhaps?’

      ‘The chocolate would be lovely, thank you very much,’ Audra said, seating herself tentatively on the edge of the blue velvet sofa. Her keen eyes rested on Mrs Bell, who sat down on the other one.

      Now that she was seeing her close up, Audra realized that she had not been wrong about Irène Bell’s age after all. She was definitely a woman in her mid-forties, but very well preserved and exquisitely groomed. Although there were tell-tale lines of age around her eyes and her mouth, these were fine, hardly discernible; she had kept her figure and there was no visible grey in her fiery hair, which was quite obviously natural, not dyed. And her vivacity, her energetic way of moving and speaking with intensity and swiftness, somehow added to the impression of youthfulness she projected.

      Intuitively, Audra knew that she was going to like this woman, even though she had only been in her presence for a few minutes. There was something open and easy, honest and down-to-earth about Mrs Bell, and Audra found herself responding to her on a variety of levels. She sat back, instantly relaxing, feeling suddenly comfortable here at Calpher House. And she, who was usually so shy, so reserved with strangers, was perfectly at ease with Mrs Bell.

      Irène Bell crossed her long and elegant legs, and focused her dark intelligent eyes on Audra, assessing her, yet without really appearing to do so.

      She said in her light, gay voice, ‘In some ways I do feel rather foolish, Miss Kenton. Asking you to come for an interview like this. Matron Lennox spoke so highly about you, gave you such a wonderful reference, I actually thought of engaging you over the telephone. Without even bothering to meet you personally.’

      Laughing as though at herself, her velvet eyes glowed with humour as she added, ‘But then I realized how unfair that would be to you, Miss Kenton. After all, it is important for you to like us. For you to want to live and work here at Calpher House. I knew I must give you the opportunity to come here and look us over.’

      Irène Bell laughed again, leaned back, rested one elbow on the pile of silk cushions, and continued to study Audra discreetly, not wishing to embarrass her. She was intrigued by the young woman who sat before her, who handled herself with such grace and dignity. Margaret Lennox had painted a charming verbal picture of her, and the Matron had obviously not exaggerated. Audra Kenton was smaller than she had expected her to be, even delicate looking, but she was not terribly concerned about physical stamina. Strength of character, refinement, morality and a pleasant personality were her chief considerations when it came to selecting and engaging a nanny. This girl had every one of these qualities, and more, according to Margaret, whose judgement she trusted.

      ‘Matron Lennox told me that she thought you and I would be most compatible, Mrs Bell, and she felt sure that I could handle the job here easily.’ Audra levelled her blue eyes at the other woman, and ventured, ‘But she was vague about it. Perhaps you would be kind enough to give me a few more details, Mrs Bell.’

      ‘Good Lord, of course! I must fill you in, mustn’t I? Well now, let me see. As you know from Matron, you would be entirely responsible for our youngest child, Theo. Our only son. Our three daughters are almost grown up. The eldest, Pandora, lives at home. The younger two, Felicity and Antonia, are away at boarding school. Let me explain something, Miss Kenton. I go to business every day. I run the woollen mill I inherited from my father, I also have an exclusive ladies’ gown salon in Leeds. Paris Modes. I’m quite certain you must know it.’

      Audra shook her head, looking regretful. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t, Mrs Bell. The only store I know in Leeds is Harte’s Emporium. I went there once with my friend Gwen.’

      Mrs Bell said, ‘My dress shop is not as large as Emma Harte’s store. But my imported French gowns are beginning to rival those she sells in her Model Room at Harte’s. Even if I do say so myself. But to continue. Obviously, because I am out most of the day, I need a responsible person in charge of the nursery and the baby. A person such as yourself. As to your accommodation here, there is a lovely bedroom, large and comfortable, which overlooks the gardens. It’s on the nursery floor, has its own private bathroom. You would have one day off during the week, and every other Sunday. One week’s holiday a year. I would provide you with three cotton uniforms for summer, plus a summer coat and hat. The same amount of clothing for winter. Now, regarding the wages –’

      Mrs Bell broke off at the sound of a knock, and glanced towards the door. It opened to admit a plump young maid, who rushed forward rather too quickly, pushing a laden tea trolley in front of her with great gusto.

      ‘Ah Cora, there you are at last!’ Mrs Bell exclaimed. ‘Do, please, be careful. Bring the trolley over here by the fire. This is Miss Kenton, Cora. Whom I sincerely hope will be joining us at Calpher House. As the new nanny.’

      Cora and the tea trolley came to an abrupt stop with a rattling jolt. She stared at Audra, narrowing her eyes, squinting at her. Then, as if she had decided she liked the look of her, she smiled broadly, bobbed a half-curtsy. ‘Please ter meet yer, Miss,’ she said, and proceeded down the long stretch of Turkey carpet, handling the trolley with a kind of dangerous abandon.

      Audra inclined her head graciously, and returned the maid’s smile. ‘Good afternoon, Cora,’ she replied, and cringed as she watched Cora’s perilous progress towards them. She hoped that nothing would go crashing to the floor, for the maid’s sake.

      After coming to a shuddering halt, Cora positioned the trolley next to Mrs Bell, gave it a final little jiggle to straighten it, asked, ‘Do yer want me ter pour the ‘ot chocolate then, ma’am?’

      ‘No, no, Cora, that’s all right, I can manage,’ Irène Bell replied swiftly, wincing at the thought. She dismissed Cora with a smile and a nod, lifted the silver jug and carefully filled two large breakfast cups, remarking, ‘We have a wonderful cook, Mrs Jackson, and the butler is Mr Agiter. I believe you saw Dodie, the other housemaid, when you arrived? Did she not open the door to you?’