A Gentle Awakening. Бетти Нилс

going to take a look. Is Pauline on the mend? She had her jab when she was small.’

      ‘Yes, she’s over the worst. Mrs Frobisher is really quite ill, though…’

      She heard him going upstairs two at a time.

      By the time he returned she had finished the peas, had the kettle boiling for tea and had laid a tray with the tea things and a plate of scones.

      He sat down at the kitchen table and told her to get another cup. ‘Very spotty, the pair of them. Nanny’s going to take a little while to get over it, but Pauline’s well out of the wood.’ He shot the next question at her so fast that she answered it without once pausing to think. ‘Who answered the telephone when you and Nanny telephoned?’

      ‘Miss Fortesque…’ She went red because he would think her sneaky. ‘I’m sure it was a misunderstanding…’

      He didn’t answer that. ‘You’ve had your hands full—up for a good deal of the night, too?’

      ‘Well, yes. Nanny felt so hot and ill, but Pauline slept well.’

      His rather sleepy gaze swept round the kitchen. ‘You’ve been running the place, and cooking, as well as looking after Pauline and Nanny?’

      She misunderstood him completely. ‘Oh, but I had all day. Dinner will be ready at half-past seven, but I can put it forward half an hour if you wish. I don’t settle them for the night until about nine o’clock. Pauline likes her supper about eight o’clock and Nanny doesn’t want to eat at present—I’ve been giving her egg and milk and tea and lemonade.’

      He smiled at her suddenly. ‘My poor dear, you are tired to the bone, aren’t you? You’ve got dinner fixed already?’ When she nodded, he continued, ‘We’ll eat here together, then you can get supper for Pauline and I’ll take it up; I’ll see that Nanny takes her fluids, too, and then I’ll wash up while you get Pauline ready for bed.’

      She opened her mouth to protest, but he lifted a large hand to stop her. ‘I’m going back to take another look at Nanny and then to phone Doctor Stone. Which room should Jolly have when he comes?’

      ‘There is the small guest room at the end of the passage where Nanny is—I’ll make up the bed…’

      ‘Put the bed linen out; I’ll see to the bed, you stay here and get on with dinner.’

      Florina, whose father had always considered the making of a bed to be a woman’s work, was surprised, but Sir William had spoken in a voice which, while quiet, obviously expected to be obeyed. She cleared away the tea tray and set the kitchen table for the two of them before getting the ingredients for the soufflé.

      Sir William was as good as his word; she was ready soon after seven o’clock, and he fetched the sherry decanter from the dining-room and poured each of them a glass, and then sat down opposite her and ate dinner with a splendid appetite, talking about nothing much. When they had finished, he sent her upstairs to Pauline. ‘I’ll fetch the tray down; you tidy her up for the night and then come back here.’

      It was pleasant to have someone there to arrange things; Florina did as she was told and half an hour later went back downstairs to find Sir William, one of Nanny’s aprons strained around his person, making the coffee.

      ‘Sit down and drink it,’ he ordered her, ‘then, if you’ll see to Nanny, I’ll finish up down here and say goodnight to Pauline.’

      Nanny was quite willing to be settled for the night. Everything, she told Florina, would be quite all right now that Sir William was home. ‘You cooked him a good dinner?’ she demanded.

      Florina said that yes, she had, but she didn’t mention that she had shared it with him at the kitchen table. There was no sense in sending Nanny’s temperature up! She wished her goodnight and went yawning down the staircase; bed would be delightful, but first she must make sure that the kitchen was ready for the morning. Sir William would want his breakfast, and there was early-morning tea, and what about Jolly—who was Jolly, anyway?

      The kitchen door to the garden was still open and Sir William was out on the patio, leaning over the balustrade, watching the stream below him.

      ‘Come and have five minutes’ peace,’ he advised and she went to stand beside him, hot and dishevelled and very tired. He glanced sideways at her smiling faintly, surprised that it worried him to see her looking so weary. He didn’t say anything and she was glad just to lean there, doing nothing until a car turning into the gates roused her.

      ‘That will be Jolly,’ said Sir William, and went round the side of the house to meet him.

      CHAPTER THREE

      FLORINA was still standing on the patio when Sir William returned, with Jolly beside him. Jolly was the antithesis of his name. He had a long, narrow face, very solemn and pale, dark eyes, and hair greying at the temples, smoothed to a satin finish. He was dressed soberly in a black jacket and striped trousers, and wore an old-fashioned wing-collar and a black bow-tie.

      Sir William halted in front of Florina. ‘This is Jolly, who runs my home. Jolly, this is Florina, who cooks for me and has been coping on her own for the last couple of days. I think we’ll send her to bed and we’ll discuss what’s best to be done. Off you go, Florina, sleep the clock round if you want to.’