waited patiently while he gobbled and snorted, and told her several times that she was a wicked and ungrateful girl.
‘Why?’ asked Florina. ‘It’s not wicked to get you to help a little, especially when the doctor says it would be good for you. And what do I have to be grateful for, Father?’
‘A roof over your head, and food and a bed!’ he shouted very angrily.
She could get those if she lived in at Wheel House… ‘I’m thinking of leaving home,’ she told him. ‘I’ll stay until you can get someone to come in and keep the house tidy and do the washing. You said a few days ago that a cousin of yours—Aunt Meg, was it? I don’t remember her very well—had been widowed. She might be glad to come and live here with you…’
‘You would leave your home? But you were born here, your mother lived here.’
‘Yes, I know, Father, but now she isn’t here any more it isn’t home, not to me.’ She added gently, ‘You’ll be happier if I’m not here, won’t you?’
Her father’s face turned alarmingly red. ‘To think that a daughter of mine should say such a thing…’
‘But it’s true, isn’t it, Father? And if Aunt Meg were here, she would be at home all day and be company for you. You wouldn’t miss my money because she would pay her share, wouldn’t she?’
He agreed in a grumbling voice. ‘And, since you are determined to leave home and leave me to shift for myself, I’ll write to her, I suppose. But don’t you think you can come sneaking back here if you’re ever out of a job.’
‘There is always work for a good cook,’ observed Florina.
Sunday was very much like Saturday, except that there was hot lunch and cold supper, which gave Florina a good deal more leisure. She left everything ready for tea and, intent on striking while the iron was hot, asked Mrs Frobisher if she had been serious when she had suggested that for her to live in would be more convenient for everyone.
‘Yes, of course I was,’ declared that lady. ‘Why do you ask?’
Florina explained, leaving out the bits about her father’s bad temper.
‘A good idea. Come and see the room.’
It was a very nice room, its windows overlooking the river running through the garden. It was well furnished, too, with a small writing desk and an easy chair with a table beside it, and a divan bed along one wall with a fitted cover. There were pictures on the walls and a window-box cascading geraniums. There was a cupboard in one wall and a small bathroom, cunningly built into the roof. A minuscule kitchen contained a sink and a minature gas cooker, capable of turning out a meal for one, as well as an electric kettle.
‘Why, it’s perfect! Whoever thought of it?’
‘Sir William. He enjoys comfort, and wants everyone around him to be comfortable, too. I believe that he will be pleased if you were to live here, Florina, but of course I’ll say nothing until you’ve decided.’
She had a good deal more leisure for the rest of the week. Sir William left early on the Monday morning, but that leisure was very much encroached on by Pauline, who attached herself to Florina at every possible moment. Though Florina, who had perforce led a somewhat solitary life, enjoyed her company; it was fun to show the child where she could find mushrooms and wild strawberries, sit by the river and watch for water voles, and feed the swans. Pauline, who had spent almost all her life in London, loved every minute of it. But, if life was pleasant while she was at the Wheel House, it was uncomfortable at home. Her father had indeed written to her aunt, and received a reply, full of enthusiasm for his scheme and suggesting that she would be ready to join him in a couple of weeks’ time, news which apparently gave him no pleasure at all. Not that he wanted Florina to change her plans. Indeed, she had told him Mrs Frobisher knew that she was willing to live in, providing Sir William agreed. Cutting sandwiches for Pauline’s tea, she had never felt so happy.
It had to be too good to last. On Friday morning she began her preparations for the weekend. She and Mrs Frobisher had decided on a menu, and the housekeeper had gone to Wilton and bought everything for Florina on her list, so it had only remained for her to assemble them ready for Saturday evening. Mrs Frobisher, who seemed to like her, in a guarded manner, had taken her upstairs in the afternoon to show her the guest room.
‘Miss Fortesque is used to town ways,’ she explained. ‘She’ll expect her breakfast in bed…’ She sniffed. ‘She’ll not want me here when they’re married.’
‘But were you not Pauline’s Nanny?’
‘And Sir William’s before her.’ Miss Fortesque forgotten momentarily, Mrs Frobisher threw open the two doors close to the room they were viewing. ‘Guest rooms,’ she pointed out. ‘Pauline’s room is on the other side of the landing, as is Sir William’s. You’ve noticed that there are more rooms above the kitchen. The housekeeper’s—I sleep on this landing at present because otherwise Pauline would be alone… There is another bathroom and a third bedroom. I dare say Miss Fortesque will want someone else to live in. It’s a large house and I doubt if she knows what a duster looks like.’
Certainly, dusters were the last things one would think of at the sight of Miss Fortesque, thought Florina, watching from the kitchen window as she stepped from Sir William’s car on Saturday morning. She was the picture of elegance, the sort of elegance never seen in the village: a sleeveless dress of what Florina was sure was pure silk in palest blue, Italian sandals and enormous hoop earrings matching the gold bracelets on her arms. Florina sighed without knowing it, twitched her apron so that it covered her small person correctly, and went back to the preparation of crêpes de volaille Florentine. She was making the cheese sauce when Sir William wandered into the kitchen.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Every time I see you, you’re slaving over a hot stove.’
She couldn’t prevent her delight at seeing him showing on her face, although she didn’t know that. ‘I’m the cook, sir,’ she reminded him.
‘Yes—I seem to have difficulty in remembering that.’ He smiled at her and called over his shoulder, ‘Wanda, come and meet Florina.’
Miss Fortesque strolled in and linked an arm in his. ‘Oh, hello. You’re the cook?’
The air positively hummed with their mutual dislike, instantly recognized, even if silent. Sir William watched them from half-shut lids.
‘Florina is our treasure—she cooks like a dream, and Pauline considers her to be her best friend.’
Wanda opened large blue eyes. ‘Oh, the poor child, has she no friends of her own sort?’ She made a small gesture. ‘Is it wise to let her live here, William? At a good boarding-school she would make friends with all the right children.’
‘Who are the right children?’ he asked carelessly. ‘Don’t be a snob, Wanda. Pauline is happy; she’ll be going to day school in Wilton in September, and there’s plenty to occupy her here meantime.’ He glanced at Florina. ‘Does she bother you, Florina?’
‘Not in the least, Sir William. She is learning to cook and she spends a great deal of time gardening. She and Mrs Frobisher go for long walks.’
Miss Fortesque turned on her heel. ‘Oh, well, if you’re quite content to leave her with the servants…’ She smiled bewitchingly, ‘I shall alter all that, of course. When are the others arriving?’
Florina was left to seethe over the Aga. The horrible girl was quite unsuitable to be Sir William’s wife, and she would be a disastrous stepmother. If Sir William was as easy-going as he appeared to be, then Pauline would find herself at a boarding-school, and she and Nanny would be out of jobs. Not too bad for Nanny, for she had already officially retired, but it would mean finding work for herself, and away from home, too.
Despite her rage, she served up a lunch which was perfection itself, and shared a quick meal with Nanny. When Sir William, with his fiancée and Pauline,