Love Can Wait. Бетти Нилс

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