A Dream Came True. Betty Neels

reasonably. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Lady Manderly, but I couldn’t have left that cat lying there in the middle of the road…’

      Her employer raised a majestic hand. ‘Spare me the details, Miss Mason, I do not wish to hear them.’

      ‘That’s the trouble, isn’t it?’ said Jemima equably. ‘People never want to hear about misery and pain, do they?’

      Lady Manderly drew in a hissing breath, lifted her lorgnette and stared at Jemima through them, and then flung them back on to her generous front so fiercely that the chain snapped and the whole lot fell on to the carpet.

      ‘There, now see what you’ve done,’ said Jemima chidingly. ‘I told you that specs would be easier for you.’ She got down on her knees and picked up the broken chain. ‘I’ll get some thread and tie the links together until we can get it mended.’

      Lady Manderly was opening and closing her mouth like a dying fish, struggling to get out words. At last she managed: ‘You are a forward girl…’

      ‘I don’t mean to be,’ said Jemima, and smiled nicely at the cross face.

      ‘Would you like me to read to you first this morning, there don’t seem to be many letters.’ She glanced at the unopened pile on the desk.

      ‘Very well,’ said Lady Manderly ungraciously, and then: ‘Really, I don’t know if you will suit, Miss Mason.’

      Jemima’s heart sank, but she turned a calm face to her employer.

      ‘Would you like me to draft another advertisement?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

      Lady Manderly bristled. ‘You don’t like your work here? You wish to leave?’

      ‘Me? Heavens, no! I’m very happy, you see I had an invalid mother to look after for a few years and I—I miss caring for someone.’

      Lady Manderly’s rather protuberant eyes popped out still further and for once she had no answer. Jemima hadn’t expected one, she skimmed through the news, picking out the choicest bits. ‘Shall I start reading, Lady Manderly?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes, you may do so, Miss Mason. You say that you are happy here—that being so, I am prepared to overlook your lateness this morning. After all, my nephew seems to think that you are a good enough young woman.’

      ‘How very kind of him,’ said Jemima softly and her fine eyes sparkled with temper at the arrogance of it.

      ‘So you will stay?’ asked Lady Manderly, and Jemima detected the tiniest hint of wistfulness in the commanding voice.

      ‘Yes, I’d like to, Lady Manderly.’ She smiled at the lady and picked up the paper. ‘There is a report on the PM’s speech—shall I read it to you first?’

      The morning went as usual after that, and at lunch time, Lady Manderly made gracious conversation, presumably offering an olive branch of sorts. Jemima was a good listener; they rose from the table in charity with each other and Jemima, having seen Lady Manderly safely tucked up in the drawing room, whisked herself out of the house with Coco, just as eager for a walk as she was.

      It was almost six o’clock, and Jemima was just finishing the last of the letters when the phone rang.

      ‘You leave at five o’clock, do you not?’ asked the Professor into her ear.

      ‘No, I don’t, Professor.’ Remembering that he had called her a good enough young woman, she asked in a freezing voice: ‘You wish to speak to Lady Manderly?’

      ‘No, not particularly, I thought you might like to know that the little cat is recovering nicely. Have you attempted to find out if it belongs to anyone?’

      ‘How could I do that?’ she asked with a snap. ‘I’ve had no time at all. I’ll go round to every house this evening when I’m free to do so.’

      ‘If you hadn’t taken me up so sharply, I would have continued,’ said the Professor mildly. ‘The cat is obviously a stray, ill cared for and half starved. If I might suggest—without my head being bitten off—that she remains with the vet until she is quite well, then if you wish to have her you can do so, if not, we must find a good home for her.’

      ‘Oh, yes—well, that would be nice, but the vet won’t keep her for nothing? Will he? Could I have his phone number or his name—the bill, you know.’

      ‘I thought I had made myself clear already, Miss Mason. He doesn’t charge for emergency treatment, and I will settle the account…’

      Jemima said suddenly: ‘You’re an endocrinologist, aren’t you? Belling told me. Do you use cats to—to experiment on? Because if that’s the reason…’

      His voice cut through hers like cold steel. ‘Miss Mason, I do not, as you put it, use cats. I never have done nor do I intend to, but since you are determined to think the worst of me I suggest we end our conversation.’

      He hung up before she could so much as draw breath.

      She licked down the last envelope, wondering if she had hurt his feelings—or was he a man with feelings to hurt? Just his pride perhaps. In any case she would have to apologise. She picked up the letters to post and went along to the drawing room to wish Lady Manderly goodnight and went slowly out of the house and down the street.

      ‘Bother the man,’ she muttered, ‘I hope I never see him again!’ The thought was a little lowering for some reason; she brightened visibly when she remembered that she would have to in order to apologise.