Shadow Of Desire. Sara Craven

‘Makes no matter to me, dearie, whether you are or not. As for her, you could be Mrs Beeton the second, and she still wouldn’t take you on. She likes her female staff to be battered old warhorses like me, not clear-skinned young girls—especially when there’s a man around.’

      Ginny was startled. ‘You mean Mr Hendrick?’

      Kathy gave an exaggerated sigh as she settled herself into the passenger seat. ‘None other. He’s all man, believe me. Madam there couldn’t wait for him to sign the lease.’

      ‘I see,’ Ginny said slowly, as she started the engine.

      ‘Well, I hope you do, ducky. No use in looking for trouble, is there? And she marked him down as hers the moment she laid eyes on him.’

      Kathy might be appallingly indiscreet, but she seemed friendly enough, and Ginny laughed.

      ‘I’m not setting up in competition against her, believe me.’

      ‘You couldn’t, dearie.’ Kathy’s tone was dry. ‘You’d be left at the start. If she’d have thought there was the slightest danger you’d be looking for another job.’

      As they drove down the narrow lane leading to Monk’s Dower, it occurred to Ginny that this was the first time her brown mouse looks had ever actually stood her in good stead, but this was not a particular comfort to her. A small flicker of rebellion stirred inside her at being so easily dismissed, but she stilled it. Her attractions, or lack of them, were the last thing that should be on her mind at this point in time.

      Monk’s Dower was large and rambling, built on three sides of a courtyard in a variety of styles reflecting the periods when additions had been made. Her heart sank a little as she followed Kathy from room to room, because it was neither labour-saving nor convenient. There were open fires in the principal rooms, and wide expanses of ancient polished floorboards. Most of the furniture seemed old-fashioned without being antique, but there was a mellow air about the place which not even the slightly dank smell of disuse could dispel.

      The kitchen was slightly more hopeful. It had been modernised and furnished with attractive pine units, and there was a modern wood-burning kitchen range as a centrepiece. The roomy walk-in pantry contained a large deep-freeze, Ginny noticed, and she supposed she would be expected to supply this with the kind of food a bachelor would need—whatever that was. Convenience food, she surmised vaguely, and chops and steaks.

      ‘The place smells damp.’ Kathy sniffed the air. ‘It wants living in—fires fighting. I told you it was a barn, didn’t I?’

      ‘Yes,’ Ginny acknowledged. ‘But it has character—and it could be lovely, if someone cared about it.’

      Kathy’s lips twisted derisively. ‘The someone being you, I take it? Well, let me give you some good advice, ducky. Don’t knock yourself out—and don’t break your heart either. I’ve worked for her ladyship for years, but I’ve seen others come and go. Just do what you’re asked and take your money, but don’t make any special effort, because you won’t be thanked for it.’

      Ginny tried to smile in reply, but Kathy’s cynicism disturbed her. She wondered how many years she had worked for Mrs Lanyon. Certainly she seemed to know her employer only too well.

      She drove home feeling rather depressed when she should have been on top of the world, but when she arrived back at the house she was thankful that she had taken the job, because a social worker was waiting for her, being entertained rather stiffly by Aunt Mary who had been brought up to believe that Heaven helped those who helped themselves, and who disapproved of the Welfare State on principle.

      The interview which followed was a rigorous one, because the children’s officer clearly did not believe that Ginny was old enough or responsible enough to be head of any sort of family. She listened with frank scepticism as Ginny outlined her plans and gave details of the new job.

      ‘You surely don’t expect to maintain yourself and a growing boy on a wage like that!’ was her immediate reaction.

      ‘Certainly not,’ said Ginny, who hadn’t even got around to considering the nuts and bolts of the situation. She cast round wildly in her mind for inspiration. ‘I—I’m going to be left with a lot of time on my hands, so I thought I’d—start a typing agency,’ she finished on a sudden gulp of relief, which she hoped had not been noticed by her inquisitor.

      ‘I see.’ The social worker looked frankly nonplussed, and after a few more rather desultory questions, took her leave, announcing brightly that she would ‘be in touch.’

      ‘I hope,’ Aunt Mary said reprovingly once they were alone, ‘that you haven’t deceived that unfortunate woman, Ginevra. Have you actually made enquiries into the need for such an agency?’

      ‘Well—no,’ Ginny said rather guiltily. ‘But I’m sure there are lots of people around who haven’t enough work for a full-time secretary. I shall advertise.’

      ‘Hm.’ Aunt Mary pursed her lips. ‘I hope your advertising is successful, my dear child. Our visitor’s remarks had a certain justice, you know. Tim is growing fast, and approaching the most expensive period in his life. It seems to me this post you’ve obtained is going to entail a great deal of work for very little return. Are you sure you’ve made the right decision?’

      ‘Part of the return is a roof over our heads,’ Ginny said gently. ‘That’s the most important thing.’

      ‘A roof, nevertheless, that’s dependent on the whim of others.’ Aunt Mary shook her head. ‘Not a comfortable situation, but we’ll have to hope for the best.’ She hesitated for a moment, then reached down for the capacious black leather handbag which accompanied her everywhere. ‘I’ve taken the precaution of writing away to a few places. You’re a good child, Ginevra, but I wouldn’t wish to inflict a greater burden on you than you’re able to bear.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Ginny glanced at the sheaf of papers her great-aunt was extending to her. ‘The Sunny-view Home for the Aged,’ she read aloud in tones of disgust. ‘Oh, Aunt Mary, how could you! Your home is with us—you know it is.’

      ‘My home was with your dear parents,’ Aunt Mary corrected her, her back a little straighter than usual. ‘You’re very young, Ginevra, and you have every right to a life of your own.’ She paused. ‘I’m not by nature an eavesdropper, but I happened to come downstairs one night while your sister was here. I couldn’t avoid overhearing what she was saying, she produces her voice extraordinarily well—part of her stage training, I suppose.’

      ‘Aunt Mary!’ Ginny was aghast. ‘You—you really mustn’t take any notice of Barbara. We see things from completely different angles and …’

      ‘I’m aware of that,’ Aunt Mary said rather acidly. ‘If you shared her viewpoint, this conversation would probably not be taking place. But she was not entirely in the wrong, although I found her mode of expression rather hurtful. Are you quite sure that Tim is not more than sufficient responsibility for you?’

      ‘Quite sure.’ Ginny’s voice was firm. ‘Aunt Mary, you can’t let me down. I—I need you. No matter what I told that woman, I’m going to have my work cut out looking after that house. If you could help with the cooking and—just be there when Tim gets in from school,’ she ended on a note of appeal.

      ‘I shall be pleased to do whatever I can.’ Aunt Mary allowed her firm lips to relax into a smile. ‘And I’m not entirely decrepit, Ginevra. I daresay I could make beds and help with the dusting, as well.’

      Impulsively Ginny put her arms round her great-aunt and hugged her. Aunt Mary did not, as a rule, welcome random demonstrations of affection, but this time when Ginny released her, she looked pink and pleased, even though she said robustly, ‘Go along with you, child.’

      In the intervening two months, Ginny thought, things had worked out better than she had ever dared hope. The move to Monk’s Dower had gone quite smoothly, and Tim was now settled at his new school, with only the occasional nightmare reminding