Love Can Wait. Betty Neels

that they lived in a charming cottage with few cares and were happily settled in the village.

      Presumably, thought Mrs Shaw, who had been told about the housekeeper’s job, it wasn’t quite the normal housekeeper’s kind of work. There was talk about tennis parties and a pleasant social life in which, she imagined, Kate took part. Not quite what the dear girl had been accustomed to, but girls worked at the oddest jobs these days.

      Mrs Shaw, whose own housekeeper was a hard-bitten lady of uncertain age who wore print aprons and used no make-up, dismissed Kate’s work as a temporary flight of fancy. There was certainly nothing wrong with either Kate’s or her mother’s clothes…

      Mrs Shaw, who didn’t buy her dresses at high-street stores, failed to recognise them as such. They were skilfully altered with different buttons, another belt, careful letting-out and taking-in…

      Mr 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…