A Gentle Awakening
‘Good afternoon. Mrs Datchett told me this morning that you were wanting a cook…’
‘Sir William is wanting a cook. I’m the housekeeper. Do come in.’
She was led into a small sitting-room in the kitchen wing. ‘Why do you want to come?’
‘I work at a hotel in Wilton—I’ve been there for several years. I cycle there and back each day. I’d like to work on my own.’ Florina added, anxiously, ‘I’m a good cook, I can get references.’
‘You live here?’
‘Yes, just this side of the bridge.’
‘You’d have to be here by eight o’clock each morning, make out the menus, keep the kitchen clean, cook lunch if Sir William is here, and dinner as well. You’d be free in the afternoons. You’d have help with the washing up and so on, but you might have to stay late some evenings. Do you want to live in?’
‘I live very close by and I have to look after my father…’
The housekeeper nodded. ‘Well, you’re not quite what I had in mind, but I dare say you’ll suit. You can come on a month’s trial. There’s Sir William at weekends, his daughter, Pauline, living here with me, and you must be prepared to cook for guests at the weekends. You do know that Sir William intends to marry?’
Florina shook her head. She hadn’t realised until that moment that Sir William loomed so large in her life. The idea of him marrying left her with a feeling of disquiet, but she had no time to wonder about it, for the housekeeper said, ‘Sir William will be moving in at the end of next week. Can you start then? A month’s trial and, mind, he expects the best.’
She had to give a week’s notice. She would go and see the hotel manager in the morning, for that would give him ten days in which to find someone to take her place.
‘You haven’t asked what your wages will be,’ said the housekeeper, and mentioned a sum which sent Florina’s ginger eyebrows up.
‘That’s a good deal more than I’m getting now,’ she pointed out.
‘Probably, but you’ll have to work for it.’
‘I’d like to work here,’ said Florina. She would see Sir William sometimes, even if he never spoke to her.
‘Very well, you’ll get a letter in a day or two. My name is Frobisher, Miss Martha Frobisher. If you have any problems you’ll bring them to me. Sir William is a busy man, he hasn’t the time to bother with household matters.’ She eyed Florina’s small, neat person. ‘What is your name?’
‘Payne—Florina Payne.’
They wished each other goodbye with guarded politeness.
Mr Payne, apprised of his daughter’s astonishing behaviour, called upon heaven to defend him from ungrateful daughters, painted a pathetic picture of his early death from neglect and starvation, since there would be no one to look after him. Finally he declared that he might as well be dead.
‘Nonsense, Father,’ said Florina kindly. ‘You know that’s not true. I’m likely to be at home more than I am now. You’ve had to boil your kettle for breakfast for years now, and I’ll leave your lunch ready just as usual…’
‘The housework—the whole place will go to rack and ruin.’
‘I shall be home each afternoon, I can do the chores then. Besides, the doctor said it would do you good to be more active now you’re better.’
‘I shall never be better…’
Florina said cheerfully, ‘I’ll make a cup of tea. You’ll feel better then.’
The manager was sorry that she wished to leave, but he understood that the chance of a job so close to her home wasn’t to be missed. He wrote out a splendid reference which she slid through the letterbox at Wheel House, together with her letter accepting the job. If she didn’t suit, of course, it would mean that she would be out of work at the end of a month; but she refused to entertain that idea, for she knew she was a good cook.
She went to the Wheel House the day before she was to start work, so that she might have a good look round her kitchen. It had everything, and the pantry and cupboards and fridge were bulging with food. She spent a satisfying afternoon arranging everything to her liking, and then went home to get her father’s tea, a meal she sat through while he grumbled and complained at her lack of filial devotion. It was a relief, once she had tidied their meal away, to walk back to Wheel House and put the finishing touches to the kitchen. Miss Frobisher was upstairs somewhere, and the old house was quiet but for the gentle sound of running water from the mill. She had left the kitchen door open so the setting sun poured in, lighting the whole place as she made the last of her preparations for the morning. Sir William and Pauline would be arriving after lunch; she would bake a cake and scones in the morning and prepare everything for dinner that evening. She would have all day, so she wouldn’t need to hurry.
She crossed to the door to close it and, with a final look round, went down the passage to the front hall. Sir William was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his head on one side, contemplating a large oil painting of a prissy-looking young lady in rose-coloured taffeta and ringlets, leaning over a gilded chair.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Hello. She doesn’t seem quite right there, does she? One of my more strait-laced forebears.’ He smiled. ‘I expect you’re here for some reason?’
At the sight of him, Florina was experiencing a variety of sensations: a sudden rush of delight, peevishness at the thought of her untidy appearance, a deep sadness that he hadn’t a clue as to who she was, which of course was ridiculous of her. And woven through this a variety of thoughts…suitable food which could be cooked quickly if he needed a meal.
He was watching her with faint amusement. ‘Have we met?’ He snapped a finger. ‘Of course! You were so good as to tell us where we might stay when we first came here.’
‘Yes,’ said Florina breathlessly, ‘that’s me. I’m the cook. Miss Frobisher engaged me, but only if you approve.’ She added to make it quite clear, ‘I’m on a month’s trial.’
‘You don’t look much like a cook.’ He stared rather hard at the ginger plait hanging over one shoulder. ‘But the proof of the pudding…as they say.’
He turned round as Miss Frobisher bustled in. ‘Nanny, how nice to see you. I’m here a day too soon, aren’t I? I’ve left Pauline with her aunt, but I’ll drive back tomorrow and fetch her after lunch. I had a consultation in Salisbury and it seemed a good idea to come on here instead of driving back to town. Is everything just as it should be?’
‘Aye, Sir William, it is. You’ll be tired, no doubt. Cook will get you a light meal…’
‘No need. I’ll go to the Trout and Feathers. And I can’t call you “cook”, not with that pigtail. What is your name?’
‘Florina Payne.’ She caught Mrs Frobisher’s stern eye, and added, ‘Sir William.’
‘Not an English name, but a pretty one.’
‘My mother was Dutch, sir.’
‘Indeed! I go to Holland from time to time.’ He added kindly, ‘Well, Florina, we’ll see you in the morning—or do you live in?’
‘In the village.’
‘I’ll need to leave early,’ he observed, and strolled away towards the drawing-room.
Mrs Frobisher said, in a warning voice, ‘So you had best be here at half-past seven, Florina, for he will want his breakfast at eight o’clock. You can have your own breakfast with me after he has gone.’
Florina glanced at the broad back disappearing through the open door of the drawing-room. She found the idea of cooking his breakfast positively exciting; an idea, she told herself sternly, which was both pointless and silly.
All the same, the thought of it sustained her through her father’s diatribe when she got back home.
She made tea before she left in the morning, and took a cup up to her father, bade him a cheerful good morning, reminded him that everything was ready for his breakfast, just as usual, and walked quickly through the still quiet village. Wheel House was quiet, too. She went in through the kitchen door, using the key Mrs Frobisher had given her, and set to work. The kettle was boiling and the teapot warming when Sir William wandered in, wrapped in a rather splendid dressing-gown. She turned from cutting bread for toast and wished him a polite good morning. ‘Where would you like your tea, sir?’ she asked him. ‘Breakfast will be in half an hour, sooner, if you wish.’
‘Half an hour is fine. And I’ll have my tea here.’ He fetched a mug from the dresser, poured his tea and went to stand in the open doorway. ‘What’s for breakfast?’
‘Bacon and eggs, with mushrooms, fried bread and tomato. Then, toast and marmalade, tea or coffee, sir.’
‘Where did you learn to cook?’ he asked idly.
‘My mother taught me and I took a cookery course in Salisbury. I worked at the hotel in Wilton for several years.’
He nodded. ‘I shall have guests sometimes. You could cope with that?’
She said seriously, ‘Oh, yes.’ She put a frying pan on the Aga. ‘Would you like more tea, sir?’
He shook his head. ‘Why not have a cup yourself?’ He wandered to the door. ‘Pauline will be glad to see you—she’ll be here this afternoon.’
She set the table in the dining-room, and was making the toast when Miss Frobisher came into the kitchen. She eyed the laden tray with approval and her greeting held more warmth than usual. ‘Sir William always likes a good breakfast; he’s a big man and needs his strength for his work.’ She shot a look at Florina. ‘He’s a doctor, did you know that? A very well known one. He was a dear little boy, I always knew he’d be successful. You’d better take that tray in, I can hear him coming downstairs.’
Florina laid the food on the table before him, casting a motherly glance at him hidden behind the morning paper. She had liked him on sight, she remembered, and that liking was growing by the minute. She would very much like to know all about him, of course, though she had the good sense to know that she never would.
CHAPTER TWO
THERE was plenty to keep Florina busy that morning. After breakfast, shared with Mrs Frobisher, there was the menu to put together, the cake and scones to make and everything to prepare for the evening. That done, there was coffee to make for Mrs Frobisher, Mrs Deakin and Mrs Datchett, who came to sit around the kitchen table for a short break from their polishing and dusting. The latter two ladies were inclined to gossip, but received short shrift from the housekeeper, who didn’t answer their questions about the new owner and silenced them with an intimidating eye.
‘But he is going to marry?’ persisted Mrs Deakin, not easily put off.
‘It seems very likely,’ conceded Mrs Frobisher, and Florina thought that there was a trace of disquiet in the housekeeper’s voice.
Florina left an excellent light lunch ready for the housekeeper, and took herself off home to get a meal for her father and herself. The breakfast dishes were still on the table and he was sitting in a chair, reading the paper.
He greeted her with a disgruntled, ‘So there you are, and high time too!’ Then he picked up his paper again, leaving her to clear the table, wash up and get a snack meal.
They ate in silence and Florina made short work of tidying everything away. Cleaning the house, dusting and carpet-sweeping took her another half an hour; there was an hour of leisure before she needed to return to Wheel House. She spent it in the big garden behind the cottage, weeding and tying back the clumps of old-fashioned flowers her mother had planted years ago, and which Florina tended still. She made tea for her father before she went, drank a cup herself, tidied her already neat person and returned to Wheel House. She had left everything ready for tea, and as she went round the back of the house to the kitchen wing she could hear the little girl’s excited voice from the drawing-room, the door of which was open as she passed. Her hand was on the kitchen door when she was stopped.
The girl rushed at her from the room. ‘I’m Pauline—oh, isn’t this fun? Have you seen my room? It’s pink and white! We’ve eaten almost all the scones and half the cake. Daddy says you must be a treasure in the kitchen.’
‘Hello,’ said Florina, and beamed at the pretty little face grinning at her. ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed the cake. I’m going to get dinner ready now.’
‘I’ll help you.’
Pauline danced into the kitchen, examining the pots and saucepans, opening the cupboards and peering inside, peeping into the fridge. Florina, changing out of her dress into the striped cotton frock and large white apron which was her uniform while she was working, called from the little cloakroom leading from the kitchen, ‘Put everything back where you found it, won’t you, Pauline?’
She reappeared to collect the ingredients for the watercress soup, boeuf en croûte, and the chocolate sauce to go with the profiteroles.
Florina worked steadily, undeterred by Pauline’s stream of excited chatter. She was chopping mint and Pauline was sitting on the table, running a finger round the remnants of the chocolate sauce in the pan, when Sir William wandered in.
‘Something smells delightful. Is it a secret?’
‘Watercress soup, boeuf en croûte, potatoes with mint, courgettes, new carrots, spinach purée, profiteroles with chocolate sauce, cheese and biscuits and coffee,’ recited Florina, finishing the last of the sauce.
‘It sounds good. Are you cordon bleu trained, Florina?’
‘Yes, but I think I learnt almost everything from my mother—the cordon bleu just—just put the polish on.’
She had washed her hands, and was piling profiteroles into a pyramid on a china dish. It crossed her mind that she felt completely at ease with Sir William, as though she had known him for years… She really must remember to call him Sir William. ‘Dinner will be at half-past seven unless you would like to change that, Sir William?’
He said carelessly, ‘Oh, no, why should I change it? I’ll take Pauline off your hands—we’ll go for a stroll.’
Without Pauline’s pleasant chatter and her father’s large presence, the kitchen seemed empty and quiet. Florina went to and fro, putting the finishing touches to the food. She was a little warm by now, but still very neat. Mrs Frobisher, coming into the kitchen, nodded approvingly.
‘You certainly know your work,’ she allowed. ‘Sir William is a very punctual man, so have the soup ready on the dot. I’ll carry in the food.’
The meal over and the last of the dishes back in the kitchen, Florina put the coffee tray ready to be carried in, and started on the clearing up.
The china, glass and silver Mrs Deakin would see to in the morning, but she did her saucepans and cooking utensils. It had been a strict rule at the hotel and one she intended to continue. She had just finished burnishing the last pan when Mrs Frobisher came back with the coffee tray. ‘Sir William is very satisfied with your cooking,’ she told Florina, ‘I’m to pass on his compliments. He wants to know if you can cook for a dinner party next weekend. Eight sitting down to table, and Miss Fortesque, his fiancée, will be staying for the weekend.’
‘No problem. If there is anything special Sir William wants, I’ll do my best.’
‘I’ll ask him. You’re finished? Did you put everything to keep warm in the Aga? Good. I’ll lay the table and you dish up. It’s been a busy evening, but you’ve done very well. I’ve suggested to Sir William that we get a girl from the village to come in in the evenings and help you clear up and see to the vegetables and so on. Do you know of one?’
Florina thought. ‘Yes, there is Jean Smith at Keeper’s Cottage—she’s left school, but she’s got to wait a month or two before she can start work training as a nurse. She will be glad of the money.’
‘I’ll leave you to ask her to come along and see me. Now, let’s have dinner. I’ve seen Pauline safely up to bed, and Sir William has got all he wants. Your father knows you won’t be home until later?’
‘Oh, yes. I left his supper ready for him.’
‘You’re kept busy,’ observed Mrs Frobisher. ‘Mind you, during the week it will be midday dinner and a light supper at seven o’clock. You’ll have most of the evening free. It is a pity that you can’t live in.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind working late or coming early in the morning,’ said Florina, and tried not to sound anxious.
She did not quite succeed, though, for Mrs Frobisher said quickly, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that dinner, Sir William won’t want to lose you on any account. I was only thinking that it would be much easier for you; there’s a nice little room at the top of the back stairs with its own bathroom, and nicely furnished, too. Still, I dare say your father would miss you.’
Florina, serving them with the last of the profiteroles, agreed quietly.
She faced a long-drawn-out lecture when she got home. She listened with half an ear while she washed up his supper things and put everything ready for the morning. When her father paused at last, she surprised him and herself by saying, without heat, ‘Father, the doctor said that it would be good for you to do a few things for yourself. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t clear away your meals and wash up. You could make your bed, too, and get your own tea. I’m really working hard for most of the day, and I give you almost all my money. You could even get a part-time job! Then you would have more money and I could have some money of my own.’
She 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?’