The Chain of Destiny (5 page)

Professor Bowers-Bentinck was standing there, leaning against the wall watching her.

‘Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise.' His voice had a silkiness she didn't much like.

‘A surprise,' she amended in her sensible way, ‘but I don't know about it being pleasant.'

‘An outspoken young lady,' he commented, ‘but I should feel flattered that you remember me.'

She was still kneeling, a handful of programmes in her hand, looking at him. She said matter-of-factly, ‘Well, I'd be silly if I didn't—you're much larger than most men, for a start, and you must know you're good-looking; besides that, you came to see Aunt Mabel.'

‘Such an abundance of compliments,' he murmured.

‘They're not meant to be,' said Suzannah prosaically, ‘just facts.' She had a sudden alarming thought. ‘Lady Manbrook—she's not ill? Or Mrs van Beuck? They were all right at lunch.' She sprang to her feet. ‘Is that why you are here?'

‘Both ladies are in splendid health', he assured her. He eyed her coldly. ‘You are very untidy and dusty.'

‘Of course I am, it's dusty work, and I have to get
down on to the floor—there's more room, and anyway, I can't see that it matters to you.'

‘It doesn't. Tell me, why do I find you here? How did you find this job?'

‘It was advertised. I've been here a week, and I'm very happy.' She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Do you mind telling me why you're here?'

‘I've come to tea.'

Her lovely eyes grew round. ‘Have you really? How extraordinary that we should meet again…'

‘Yes, isn't it? You don't object?'

‘Object? Why should I? I mean, one is always bumping into people in unexpected places.'

‘How true.' He eyed her frowningly. ‘Had you not better finish and wash your hands and tidy your hair? It's almost four o'clock.'

She dusted her skirt and gave him a tolerant glance. ‘Don't worry, I'll make myself presentable. I usually have my tea up here on a tray.' She added kindly, ‘You don't need to fuss.'

His voice was as cold as his eyes. ‘I'm not in the habit of fussing—what a tiresome girl you are.' He went through the door, closing it behind him, leaving her to gather up the programmes and then leave the attic after him. Undoubtedly a bad-tempered man, she reflected, and because of that to be pitied.

She told Horace all about him while she brushed her bright hair into smoothness, ready for tea.

T
HE DRAWING ROOM
looked charming as she went in; the lamps were lit and the firelight flickered on the walls and twinkled on the silver muffin dish on the tea-table. The two ladies were sitting in their usual chairs, and lounging in an outsize armchair was the professor, looking very much at home.

An old friend, she wondered, or the family doctor? Quite obviously someone who knew the old ladies well.

He got to his feet as she crossed the room and drew forward a small armchair for her, and Lady Manbrook said, ‘Our nephew tells us that he has met you previously, Suzannah, so there is no need to introduce you. I see that you have the dance programmes we were discussing with you; when we have had tea you must show them to us.'

Suzannah murmured a reply. Of course, now that she saw the three of them together there was no mistaking the relationship—those high-bridged, self assured noses, the cool blue stare from heavy-lidded eyes. She sat composedly, drinking tea from paper-thin china and nibbling at minuscule cucumber sandwiches, and allowed her imagination to have full rein. The professor would live in London, because undoubtedly that
was where a man of his ability would work, but he was friends—close friends, probably—with Phoebe Davinish. He would be spending the weekend with her, and had dropped in to say hello to his aunts.

She was brought up short by his voice, rather too smooth for her liking, wanting to know if she was enjoying her work.

‘Very much, thank you,' she told him.

‘And how long do you suppose it will take you to finish it?' he continued.

‘I'm not sure. Everything is sorted into dated piles, but I think that is the easiest part; you see, the letters and cuttings are about a great many people—they'll have to be sorted out.'

‘There is no hurry,' declared Mrs van Beuck. ‘You seem to have accomplished a great deal in a week…'

‘Even on a Sunday,' murmured the professor. ‘Do you prefer to have a free day in the week?'

‘Me?' Suzannah spoke sharply, with a fine disregard for grammar. ‘I'm very happy—'

He cut her short. ‘I'm sure you are; nevertheless, you should have time to yourself. I cannot imagine that my aunts will mind if you take a week or so longer with your sorting and indexing; I am equally sure that they would wish you to enjoy a certain amount of time to yourself.'

Lady Manbrook was looking quite upset. ‘My dear child, how thoughtless of us—of course you must have some hours to yourself. What do you suggest, Guy?'

He didn't even look at Suzannah to see what she thought about it, which annoyed her. ‘Oh, a day off each week—most office workers and shop assistants have two days—and set hours of work each day; nine until lunchtime, and then four hours' work between two o'clock and dinnertime, to suit herself.'

Just as though I'm not here, thought Suzannah crossly. She shot him a speaking glance and met his cold eyes. ‘You are agreeable to that?' he wanted to know.

It was tempting to tell him that she wasn't agreeable at all, but Lady Manbrook was still looking upset so she said in a colourless voice. ‘Thank you, Professor, yes, that will do very well,' and then, because she felt peevish, ‘So kind of you to bother,' she added waspishly.

‘I'm not a particularly kind man,' he observed, ‘but I hope that I am a just one.'

Maybe he was; he was also rude. She picked up the dance programmes and asked if the ladies would like to see them.

The next hour passed quickly, with the ladies exclaiming over the charming little cards with their coloured pencils attached by still bright cords, most of them filled by scrawled initials, one or two woefully half-empty. ‘That would be Emily Wolferton,' declared Lady Manbrook. ‘Such a haughty piece.' She tossed the card down and added with satisfaction, ‘I always had partners,' and her sister echoed,

‘And so did I. Here's one—Phoebe's grandmother—a nasty, ill-tempered girl she was too, always wanting something she hadn't.' She looked across at the professor, sitting impassively doing nothing. ‘I hope Phoebe isn't ill-tempered, Guy?'

‘Oh, never, just as long as she gets what she wants,' he replied idly.

‘And of course, she gets it,' observed Mrs van Beuck. ‘William Davinish is too old to want any more than peace and quiet at all costs.'

He made no reply to this, but said presently, ‘Perhaps Suzannah would like an hour or two to herself before dinner.' He glanced at his watch. ‘I must go presently…'

‘So soon, dear?' asked Lady Manbrook.

He looked at Suzannah. ‘I'm dining with Phoebe.'

Suzannah got up, excused herself with nice manners and made for the door. The professor had it open before she reached it. He couldn't get rid of her fast enough, it seemed, but he spoke as she went past him.

‘A pity we had no time to talk.'

She gave him a thoughtful look. ‘Is it? I can't think of anything we would want to talk about, Professor.'

She didn't much like his smile. He said softly in a silky tone. ‘You may be mouselike despite that hair of yours, but your tongue, like a mouse's tooth, is sharp.' He opened the door. ‘Goodnight, Suzannah.'

She mumbled goodnight as she whisked past him.

He stood at the open door watching her disappear across the hall, and the look on his face made Lady Manbrook say, ‘Such a nice girl, Guy, so neat and tidy and hard-working.'

He smiled at his aunt and wondered what Suzannah would say to that; no girl, however self-effacing, would consider that a compliment. He shrugged huge shoulders, impatient with himself for his unwilling interest. It had been easy enough to arrange this job for her with his aunts; he had done that, he reflected, out of pity and because he considered that she had been unfairly treated by Phoebe. He had no reason to feel interest in her future; he had made it possible for her to have a couple of months' respite, and in that time she could decide what she wanted to do. She would have to earn her living. He strolled back to his chair and sat for another hour or so listening to his aunts' gentle chatter.

Suzannah bounced into her little flat, fed Horace, lit the fire and got her coat, all the while muttering and
grumbling to Horace, who ate his supper in a single-minded fashion and didn't bother to answer.

‘He's a very rude man,' declared Suzannah. ‘I think he dislikes me very much—it's most unfortunate that we had to meet again.' She tugged her coat-belt tight in a ruthless fashion, scooped up Horace and went outside. Horace, during the previous week, had indicated in a positive fashion just where he preferred to take his walk. She followed him across the yard, along the back drive and then circled the grounds of the house, which brought them to the front gates. There was never anything about at that time of the evening; Horace meandered along, stopping to savour a few blades of grass as he went. They were on the last leg of their walk, rounding the curve of the drive back to the courtyard, when the Bentley swooped silently round the corner, to brake sharply within a foot of Horace.

The professor poked his handsome head out of the car window. He said testily, ‘For heaven's sake—must you stroll around in the dusk without a light? I could have killed that cat.'

However, Suzannah had Horace, shocked and indignant, clasped firmly against her. ‘This,' she pointed out in a voice squeaky with fright and rage, ‘is a private drive. I wasn't to know that you would come tearing round the corner at ninety miles an hour!'

He laughed. ‘Thirty at the most. And I'm a good driver. But let it be a lesson to you in the future.' He withdrew his head and drove on, leaving her very cross indeed.

Safely in her room again, she looked at the clock. It was time for her to get ready for Sunday supper. She went into the tiny bathroom and began to clean her teeth. ‘I hope I never see the beastly man again,' she told Horace through a mouthful of toothpaste.

The second week slid away pleasantly enough; the old ladies seemed to have taken their nephew's suggestions to heart, for she was narrowly questioned each day as to whether she had worked for longer hours than he had suggested, and when Saturday came she was told to take the day off.

Something she was glad enough to do; the dance programmes had been dealt with and neatly catalogued and she was well into the newspaper cuttings; much harder work but even more interesting, although tiring too. Besides, she had two weeks' pay in her pocket and the desire to spend some of it was very great. There wasn't enough for a dress, but she was handy with her needle; material for a skirt and wool for a sweater would leave money over for her to save. She hadn't forgotten the future; indeed, she lay awake at night sometimes worrying about it, but there was still four weeks' work, and if she limited her spending to a pair of shoes and small necessities she would have enough to tide her over until she could get another job. She would have to start looking in the situations vacant columns before she left, of course. In the meantime she settled Horace, got into her tweed suit and caught the bus into Marlborough.

She found what she wanted: a fine green wool for the skirt and green knitting wool to match it—the jumper pattern was intricate and boasted a pattern of small flowers in a number of colours—but she was a good knitter and there was time enough in her free time to work at it. She had a frugal lunch in a little café away from the main street and caught an early bus back.

Back in her flat, she lit the fire, fed Horace, and got her tea. She had brought crumpets back with her; with the curtains drawn and the lamp by the fireplace alight,
she sat down contentedly munching and drinking tea. How nice the simple pleasures of life were, she observed to Horace, and licked her buttery fingers.

There was still plenty of time before dinner. She tidied away the tea things, made up the fire and spread her material on the floor and cut out her skirt. She would have to sew it by hand, but that didn't worry her; she tacked it together, tried it on in front of the small bedroom looking-glass and then got ready to go over to the house.

There was no sign of the professor during the next week, but then she hadn't expected to see him and certainly no one mentioned him. She worked away at the press cuttings, sewed her skirt in her free time and took a brisk walk each day. A dull week, but its very dullness gave her a sense of security. She went to Marlborough again on her free day, but she spent very little of her pay; the future was beginning to loom. Another three weeks and she would be finished. There were only the letters and diaries to sort and read now, and the cataloguing, now that she had made sense of the muddle, presented no difficulties. Next week, she promised herself, she would decide what was to be done. Hopefully, she would get a good reference from Lady Manbrook and a study of the domestic situations in
The Lady
seemed hopeful. She treated herself to tea in a modest café and caught the bus back.

The letters, when she began on them, were fascinating. The contents were, for the most part, innocuous enough; accounts of morning calls, tea parties and dances with descriptions of the clothes worn by the writer's friends, some of them a trifle tart. But a packet of envelopes tied with ribbon Suzannah opened with some hesitation and then tied them up again. The top
letter began ‘My dearest love', and to read further would have been as bad as eavesdropping. She took the bundle, and another one like it, down to the drawing-room before dinner that evening and gave them to Lady Manbrook, who looked through them, murmuring from time to time. ‘Great-Aunt Alicia,' she said finally, ‘and Great-Uncle Humbert—before they became engaged. How very interesting. But you did quite right to give them to me, Suzannah; if there are any more of these letters, will you fasten them together—put them into an envelope, perhaps?—and write “Private” on it. I scarcely feel that they were meant for any eyes, but those for whom they were intended. Are there many more?'

‘I don't think so, Lady Manbrook, but there are several in another language—it looks a little like German…'

‘Dutch,' said Mrs van Beuck promptly. ‘Are they written or typed, my dear?'

‘Typed, for the most part.'

‘Marriage settlements when I married dear Everard. Dear me, such a long time ago.'

Suzannah wasn't sure what to say; she knew nothing about marriage settlements, and Mrs van Beuck was looking sad. ‘We went together to the family solicitor,' she ruminated. ‘I had a lovely hat—grey tulle with pink roses,' a remark which led to the two ladies talking at some length about long-forgotten toilettes. Suzannah sat between them an appreciative audience, until they went in to dinner.

It was as they drank their coffee afterwards that Lady Manbrook said, ‘We shall miss you, Suzannah; you have worked so hard and I am sure you have made a splendid job of arranging those tiresome papers. Do you have any plans?'

‘Not at present, Lady Manbrook. I think that I shall be finished in three weeks; the cataloguing will take a good deal of time, but I've almost finished looking through the letters and I left those until last.'

‘I'm sure you will find something nice to do,' observed Mrs van Beuck comfortably. ‘It must be very quiet for you here.'

‘I've been very happy here, and I love the country.' Suzannah excused herself presently and went to her flat, feeling anxious. It seemed to her that the two ladies were eager for her to finish, although they hadn't said so. She sat down by the fire with Horace on her lap and studied the situations vacant column in the local paper; several pubs wanted barmaids, but even if she had known something about the work she doubted if anyone would consider her suitable; barmaids were usually pretty and buxom, and she was neither. There was a job for a home help to live in; five children in the family, must love dogs, be cheerful and prepared to assist a handicapped granny when needed; salary negotiable. Suzannah wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she had a nasty feeling that she would come off second-best in negotiations of any kind. She folded the paper tidily and decided to go to the domestic agency in Marlborough on her next day off.