Love Can Wait. Бетти Нилс

Tait-Bouverie did, though. Not that he was an avid follower of women’s fashion, but he encountered a wide variety of patients and their mothers—mostly young women wearing just the kind of dress Kate was wearing today. His private patients, accompanied by well-dressed mothers and nannies, were a different matter altogether. He found himself wondering how Kate would look in the beautiful clothes they wore.

      He had little to say to her during the day; the talk was largely general, and he took care to be casually friendly and impersonal. He was rewarded by a more open manner towards him; the slight tartness with which she had greeted him that morning had disappeared. He found himself wanting to know her better. He shrugged the thought aside; their encounters were infrequent, and his work gave him little time in which to indulge a passing whim—for that was what it was.

      After supper he drove Kate and her mother home. It had been a delightful day and there had been plans to repeat it.

      ‘We mustn’t lose touch,’ Mrs Shaw had declared. ‘Now that we have seen each other again. Next time you must come for the weekend.’

      Sitting once more with Prince in the Bentley, Kate thought it unlikely. As it was she was feeling edgy about returning so late in the evening. Even at the speed at which Mr Tait-Bouverie was driving, it would be almost midnight before she got to Lady Cowder’s house.

      Mr Tait-Bouverie, glancing at his watch, had a very good idea as to what she was thinking. He said over his shoulder, ‘Shall I drop you off before I take your mother home? Or do you wish to go there first?’

      ‘Oh, please, it’s a bit late—if you wouldn’t mind…’

      The house was in darkness when they reached it, but that wasn’t to say that Lady Cowder wasn’t sitting up in bed waiting for her with an eye on the clock.

      It was foolish to feel so apprehensive. She worked long hours, and Lady Cowder put upon her quite shamelessly in a wistful fashion which didn’t deceive Kate—but she couldn’t risk losing her job. She didn’t need to save much more before she would be able to see the bank manager…

      Mr Tait-Bouverie drew up soundlessly and got out of the car.

      ‘You have a key?’

      ‘Yes. The kitchen door—it’s round the side of the house…’

      Kate bade her mother a quiet goodnight, rubbed the top of Prince’s head and got out of the car.

      ‘Give me the key,’ said Mr Tait-Bouverie, and walked silently beside her to the door, unlocked it and handed the key back to her.

      ‘Thank you for taking us to the Shaws’,’ whispered Kate. ‘We had a lovely day…’

      ‘Like old times?’ He bent suddenly and kissed her cheek. ‘Sleep well, Kate.’

      She went past him, closed the door soundlessly and took off her shoes. Creeping like a mouse through the house, she wondered why on earth he had kissed her. It had been a careless kiss, no doubt, but it hadn’t been necessary…

      CHAPTER THREE

      KATE found herself thinking about Mr Tait-Bouverie rather more than she would have wished during the next day or so. Really, she told herself, there was no reason for her to do so. They were hardly likely to meet again, and if they did it wouldn’t be at a mutual friend’s house. She told herself that his kiss had annoyed her—a careless reward, a kind of tip. Her cheeks grew hot at the very idea. She dismissed him from her mind with some difficulty—but he stayed there, rather like a sore tooth, to be avoided at all costs.

      Lady Cowder was being difficult. She seldom raised her voice but her perpetual, faintly complaining remarks, uttered in a martyr-like way, were difficult to put up with. She implied, in the gentle voice which Kate found so hard to bear, that Kate could work a little harder.

      ‘A big strong girl like you,’ she observed one lunchtime, ‘with all day in which to keep the place in good order. I don’t ask much from you, Kate, but I should have thought that an easy task such as turning out the drawing room could be done in an hour or so. And the attics—I am sure that there are a great many things there which the village jumble sale will be only too glad to have. If I had the strength I would do it myself, but you know quite well that I am delicate.’

      Kate, offering a generous portion of sirloin steak with its accompanying mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, French-fried onions and buttered courgettes, murmured meaninglessly. It was a constant wonder to her that her employer ate so heartily while at the same time deploring her lack of appetite.