A Gentle Awakening

‘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, had driven off for a brief tour of the surrounding country, Florina arranged the tea tray and then got down to preparing dinner. The house was quiet: Mrs Frobisher had gone to put her feet up before tea, Mrs Deakin was doing the last of the washing up and Florina concentrated on her cooking. By the time she heard the car stop by the house, she was satisfied that there was nothing more to do for an hour or so.

Two other cars arrived then, and Mrs Frobisher, much refreshed by the nap, carried in the tea tray and the assortment of cakes and sandwiches Florina had got ready, before she came back to share a pot of tea with Florina.

The kitchen was warm; she opened the windows wide and sat down gratefully, listening to Mrs Frobisher describing Sir William’s guests. Rather nice, she was told, and had known him for years—doctors and their wives, rather older than he was.

‘And, of course, Miss Fortesque,’ added Nanny, and she sounded as though she had inadvertently sucked on a lemon. ‘A well preserved woman, one might say, but of course she spends a great deal of time and money upon herself.’

Obviously Nanny didn’t approve of Sir William’s Wanda, but Florina didn’t dare to say so; she murmured vaguely and her companion went on, ‘Had her claws into him for months. I’m surprised at him—she’ll be a bad wife for him and a worse stepmother for my little Pauline.’ She passed her cup for more tea. ‘He’s so busy with all those sick children, he only sees her when she’s dressed up and all charm and prettiness. Of course, that’s very nice for the gentlemen when they’ve had a hard day’s work, but when all’s said and done they want a wife as well, someone who’ll sit on the opposite side of the fireplace and knit while he reads the papers, listen when he wants to talk, and love his children.’ Nanny snorted. ‘All she likes to do is dance and play bridge.’

‘Perhaps she’ll change,’ suggested Florina gently, not quite sure if she should voice an opinion. Nanny was obviously labouring under strong feelings, and possibly she would regret her outburst later on.

‘You’re a good girl,’ said Nanny, ‘I’ve wanted to say all that to someone for weeks, and you’re the only person I’ve felt I could talk to.’

To Florina’s distress, Mrs Frobisher’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I had him as a baby,’ she said.

‘They’re not married yet,’ ventured Florina. She added, very thoughtfully, ‘It just needs someone to give fate a push and change things…’

Mrs Frobisher blew her nose, an awesome sound. ‘You’re a sensible girl as well as a good one, Florina.’

Florina dished up a splendid dinner: artichoke hearts with a sharp dressing of her own invention, lobster cardinal, medallions of beef with a wine sauce and truffles, and tiny pancakes filled with strawberries and smothered in thick cream.

When the coffee tray had gone in, she and Nanny sat down to eat what was left, before Nanny went away to see Pauline into bed. Mrs Deakin had come back to help with the clearing up, but all the same the evening was far gone, and Sir William seeing his guests on their way, by the time they were finished in the kitchen. Florina set everything ready for the morning, changed into her dress and, with Mrs Deakin for company, locked the kitchen door after her and started for home.

They were at the gate when Sir William loomed out from the shrubs alongside the short drive. ‘A delightful meal, Florina! My compliments, and thank you, and Mrs Deakin, for working late.’

Mrs Deakin muttered happily; she was being paid overtime, and generously, for any work she did over and above her normal hours. Florina said quietly, ‘Thank you, Sir William. Goodnight.’

He would go into his lovely house presently, she supposed, and Wanda would be waiting for him. Florina had caught a glimpse of her during the evening—a vision in scarlet chiffon. Enough to turn any man’s head, even that of the placid, good-natured Sir William.

She was making a salad the next day when Miss Fortesque, in a startling blue jersey dress and a great many gold bangles, strolled into the kitchen.

‘Hello, Cook, busy among your saucepans again? It’s really surprising that even in the depths of the country it’s possible to find someone who can turn out a decent meal.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘After town standards, you know, one hardly expects it.’

Florina shredded lettuce with hands which shook very slightly with temper, and said nothing.

‘That sauce last night,’ continued her visitor, ‘I fancied that there was a touch too much garlic in it. Sir William didn’t complain—he’s really too easy-going…’

‘When Sir William complains to me, Miss Fortesque, I shall listen to him,’ said Florina very evenly.

Wanda’s eyes opened wide. ‘Don’t you dare to speak to me like that, Cook! I’ll have you dismissed…’ She advanced, rather unwisely, too close to Florina, who had started to whip up a dressing for the salad. She increased her beating with a vigour which sent oily drops in all directions. The blue dress would never be the same again; a shower of little blobs had made a graceful pattern down its front.

Wanda’s breath was a hiss of fury. ‘You clumsy fool—look what you’ve done! It’s ruined—I’ll have to have a new dress, and I’ll see that it’s stopped out of your wages! I’ll…’

Sir William’s voice, very placid, cut her short. ‘My dear Wanda, if you hadn’t been standing so close, it wouldn’t have happened. You can’t blame Florina, you’ve only yourself to thank. Surely you know that cooks must be left in peace in their kitchens when they are cooking?’

Wanda shot him a furious glance. She said pettishly, ‘I’ll have to go and change. I hope you’ll give the girl a good telling-off.’

She flounced out of the kitchen and Florina began to slice tomatoes very thinly. Sir William spoke from the door. ‘I found the sauce exactly right,’ he said gently, and wandered away.

He took his fiancée back to town that evening, leaving behind a rather unhappy Pauline. He sought out Florina before he left, to tell her that for the next few weeks, while the child was on holiday, he would come down each weekend on Friday afternoons, and drive back early on Monday morning.

‘Nanny tells me that you may decide to move in with us. Your father doesn’t object to being alone?’

Her aunt had written to say that she would be arriving at the end of the week. She told him this, leaving out the details. He nodded pleasantly. ‘I’m sure it will give you more leisure. I hope you’ll be happy here. Pauline will be over the moon when you tell her.’

She thought wistfully that it would have been nice if he had expressed the same satisfaction, even if in a more modified form. She bade him a quiet good-night, more or less drowned by Miss Fortesque’s voice, pitched high, demanding that they should leave at once.

The week unfolded at a leisurely pace; Florina packed her things, got her room ready for her aunt and moved to the Wheel House. Her father bade her goodbye with no sign of regret, merely warning her again that she need not expect to go crying back to him when she found herself out of a job. She received this remark without rancour, aware that if he should fall ill again the first thing that he would do would be to demand that she should return home to look after him.

She enjoyed arranging her few possessions in her room at Wheel House, helped by a delighted Pauline. Once settled in, she found that she had a good deal more leisure. Cooking for the three of them took up only a part of her day; she helped Nanny with the ironing and the cleaning of the silver, took Pauline mushrooming in the early mornings, and, with Mrs Frobisher’s consent, started to give her cooking lessons. By the time Sir William arrived on Friday afternoon, there was a dish of jam tarts and a fruit cake, a little soggy in the middle but still edible, both of which Pauline bore to the tea table with pride. Sir William, a kind and loving parent, ate quantities of both.

The weekend was one of the happiest Florina had spent for a long time. For one thing, there was a peaceful content over the old home. Sir William insisted that they all breakfast together in the kitchen, a meal which Florina cooked with an almost painful wish to serve up something to perfection, just to please him. She succeeded very well; he ate everything put before him, carrying on a cheerful conversation meanwhile, even making Nanny laugh, something she seldom did. They were at the toast and marmalade stage on Saturday morning, when Pauline said, ‘I wish it could be like this always—just us, Daddy—you and me and Nanny and Florina. Must you marry Wanda? She wouldn’t sit at the kitchen table, and she’s always fussing about eating in case she gets fat.’

Florina saw the look on Sir William’s face. There was a nasty temper hidden away behind that calm exterior, and to avert it she got to her feet, exclaiming loudly, ‘Shall I make another pot of coffee? And how about more toast?’ At the same time she cast a warning glance at Pauline.

The child had gone very red and tears weren’t far off. She sighed and said, ‘I’m sorry, Daddy.’

His face was placid again. ‘That’s all right, darling. What are we going to do today?’

The pair of them went off presently, and Florina prepared lunch, decided what to have for dinner, made the coffee and went to help Nanny with the beds. The rest of the weekend was peaceful, and Florina, taking along the coffee tray to the patio where Sir William had settled with the Sunday papers after church, while Pauline fed the swans, thought how delightful life was.

She gave him breakfast the next morning, happily aware that he would be back on Friday afternoon. Wanda Fortesque had gone to stay with friends in the south of France, and Florina allowed herself the childish hope that something, anything, would prevent her from ever coming back from there!

The weather changed suddenly during the day, by the evening it was chilly and grey, and Pauline seemed to have the beginnings of a cold.

Nanny came down to the kitchen after she had seen Pauline to bed. ‘The child’s feverish,’ she declared. ‘I think I’d better keep her in bed tomorrow; these summer colds can be heavy.’

But when morning came, Pauline was feeling worse; moreover, she had a pinky, blotchy rash.

‘Measles,’ said Nanny, and phoned for the doctor.

He came from Wilton that morning, confirmed Nanny’s diagnosis, and observed that there was a lot of it about and that Pauline, having had an anti-measles injection when she was a little girl, would soon be on her feet again. ‘Plenty to drink,’ he advised, ‘and keep her in bed until her temperature is down.’ He patted Nanny reassuringly on the shoulder. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

All the same, Nanny telephoned Sir William in London, only to be told that he was at the hospital and would be there all day. She put the phone down, undecided as to what to do, when it rang again.

Florina, making iced lemonade for the invalid, heard her talking at some length, and presently she came back to the kitchen.

‘Sir William’s not at home and won’t be until the evening, but Miss Fortesque was there. She rang back when I told her I wanted him urgently, said she would tell him when he got back. I would rather have phoned the hospital, but that would be no use if he is in the theatre or the out-patients.’

By the time they were ready for bed, more than ready, for Florina had suggested that neither Mrs Deakin nor Mrs Datchett came to work until Pauline was better, for they both had children, there had been no word from Sir William. Nanny telephoned once more, only to be told by Miss Fortesque that he was still out.

Pauline was much better in the morning and Nanny, while still a tiny bit puzzled as to why Sir William hadn’t telephoned, decided that there was no need to bother him, not until the evening at any rate. She and Florina spent another busy day, for the house was large and there was a certain amount of work to get through, as well as pandering to Pauline’s increasing whims. Nanny had a headache by teatime, and Florina persuaded her to go to bed early.

‘Only if you telephone Sir William,’ declared Nanny.

Florina waited until she had taken up two supper trays, eaten a scratch meal of beans on toast herself, before dialling the number she had been given. Miss Fortesque answered. No, Sir William wasn’t at home and wasn’t likely to be for some time and was it urgent? He had had a busy day and needed his rest. She slammed down the receiver before Florina had got her mouth open.

Nanny had a rash in the morning, a high temperature, a terrible headache and a firmly rooted opinion that she was going to die.

‘Nonsense, Mrs Frobisher,’ said Florina robustly. ‘You’ve got the measles. I’m going to get the doctor.’

He wasn’t quite as cheerful about Nanny. It transpired that she had never had measles as a child, an illness, which he pointed out to Florina, that could be quite serious in anyone as elderly as Nanny. ‘Keep her in bed,’ he advised. ‘Plenty of fluids, and don’t let her read or use her eyes. Keep the blinds drawn and take her temperature every four hours. I’ll be out to see her again tomorrow.’ He added as an afterthought, ‘Can you manage?’

Sir William would be home on the next day, so Florina assured the doctor that, of course, she could manage.

It was hard work. Pauline had made a quick recovery, although she still needed looking after and had to stay in bed for another day or so, but Nanny, suddenly an old, ill Nanny, needed constant attention. Not that she was a difficult patient, but she was feverish, her head ached and she fretted at lying in bed.

Florina, trotting up and down stairs with trays and cool drinks, was tempted to telephone Sir William again, but it hardly seemed worth it since he would be home in less than twenty-four hours. She settled her two patients for the night at last, and went to the kitchen to make out a menu for Sir William’s dinner for the following evening. It would have to be something quick, and which could be left in the Aga to look after itself. She made a chocolate mousse and put it in the freezer, made a vegetable soup, and then decided that she would make a cheese soufflé—something which could be done at the last minute. She had picked some peas and beans earlier in the day, and there was plenty of fruit and cheese and biscuits. She went to take a last look at her two patients and then went to bed herself, to sleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

Doctor Stone came again the next morning, cautioned her that Pauline should stay in bed for another day or so, declared that Nanny was holding her own nicely, but that she would need careful nursing, accepted a cup of coffee and remarked that Florina was managing very well.

‘No need to send you a nurse,’ he told her, ‘and, since there isn’t one available at the moment, that’s a good thing. Is Sir William coming down for the weekend?’

Florina said that, yes, he was, and thought tiredly of all the extra cooking there would be. She was, after all, the cook, and he had every right to expect well prepared meals to be set before him. Doctor Stone went, and she made a large quantity of lemonade, then made herself a sandwich and started to get a light lunch for Pauline. Nanny didn’t want anything, but Florina made an egg nog and spent some precious time persuading her to drink it.

She spent more time settling Pauline for the afternoon. There was the radio, of course, and her cassette player, and since reading wasn’t to be encouraged, a sketch-book had to be found with coloured crayons. Florina, finally free to go to the kitchen, put on a clean apron, tossed her plait over her shoulder and started to shell the peas.

She was very tired; she let the sound of the stream, racing under the house and on into the garden, soothe her. She was disturbed five minutes later by a leisurely tread in the hall, and a moment later Sir William said from the kitchen door, ‘Hello! The house is very quiet.’

When she turned to look at him he saw her white, tired face.

‘What’s wrong, Florina?’

She heard the sudden briskness of his usually placid voice. ‘Measles,’ she said. ‘Pauline started on Monday and now Nanny has it… Yesterday—I’ve had the doctor. Doctor Stone, from Wilton.’

‘Why wasn’t I told?’

‘Nanny telephoned you on Monday night, and then again on Tuesday. I rang again on Thursday evening…’

Sir William didn’t answer. He went to the telephone on the wall by the Aga, and dialled a number. Florina went back to shelling her peas and listened.

‘Jolly? Get hold of our Shirley and bribe her to sleep in for a few nights with Mrs Jolly. Then pack a bag and drive down here as soon as you can. Take the Rover and make all speed. We have a problem on our hands. Measles, no less!’

‘On your own?’ he asked, as he put back the receiver.

‘Well, yes. You see, Mrs Deakin and Mrs Datchett have children.’

‘Very wise. I’m 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.

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