A Dream Came True

It was all go the next day. Lady Manderly, disappointed that Jemima should present herself exactly at nine o’clock, was inclined to be tetchy and had to content herself with the remark that she hoped that Jemima would continue to be punctual each morning. ‘As punctual as you were leaving yesterday evening,’ she added sourly.

Jemima agreed with her cheerfully and began sorting the post. She followed yesterday’s pattern exactly so that beyond a frustrated snort from her employer, nothing had to be said. It was fortunate that the paper reported at great length the wedding of a peer of the realm’s daughter. Jemima prudently earmarked it for reading, discarded the more gloomy titbits, studied the weather forecast, found an amusing story about a dog purported to play the piano, and held herself ready to receive Lady Manderly’s instructions.

There were a great many of them, and they kept Jemima occupied for the rest of the morning, so that, by the time they had had lunch and she had taken Coco for a long-delayed walk, it was time for the tea tray to be brought in, and since there was no Professor and no Gloria today, she was able to drink her tea in comparative peace, if she discounted Lady Manderly’s frequent demands for this that and the other to be done at once.

She left the house promptly, shared a supper of toad-in-the-hole with Shirley and her mother and then, unable to bear her little room after the spaciousness of Lady Manderly’s house, went for a walk. It was a cool evening and she walked fast, not noticing where she went and when she got back to her little room she was tired enough to go straight to bed and sleep, which was a good thing, for she was feeling utterly miserable.

But with the morning she felt better. Here she was half way through the week, and pay day within sight too. She presented a calm face towards Lady Manderly, carried out her manifold duties and went back to the flat that evening feeling that at least she was holding her own. And for the next couple of days she was busy enough not to have the time to mope, indeed she was surprised to find that she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. True, Lady Manderly never ceased to remind her that she had no qualifications of any sort and that a girl in her position should be able to type at the very least, but on the other hand, she was forced to concede that Jemima had a pleasant voice, good manners and didn’t answer back. On the whole, they were beginning to like each other, in a guarded way.

It was raining when Jemima left for work the next morning, with a mean little wind which hinted of winter ahead. She skimmed along into its teeth and was almost at the house when a car, driven too fast, forced her against the railings, checked momentarily, and then drove off.

Jemima looked at her mud-spattered legs. ‘The horrible wretch!’ she muttered with a good deal of feeling, and then repeated herself at the sight of the furry heap in the middle of the road. It mewed soundlessly and stared at her with beseeching eyes, and she went to it at once, kneeling down in the muddy road to touch it with a gentle hand. ‘Oh, my poor dear!’ She was so angry and upset she could hardly get the words out. ‘That devil! Let me take a look.’

The little beast lay still as she felt it carefully through its sodden fur, but it bared its teeth as she touched its hind legs. She would have to get it to a vet as quickly as possible. She stroked its head while she thought what was best to be done. Lady Manderly’s house was only a few doors away, she could at least telephone from there, but the thought of leaving the little cat in the road made her hesitate. If only someone would come…

She barely heard the car purring to a halt, but she looked round when the car door was slammed and someone came towards her. Professor Cator. She wasted no time. ‘Oh, good, I’m glad it’s you,’ she told him urgently. ‘Some fiend ran over this poor little beast not five minutes ago and didn’t stop. I think he’s broken his back legs, but I’m not sure. Would you mind telephoning a vet for me, I can’t leave him here.’

The Professor didn’t say anything, only crouched down beside her and looked closely at the animal. ‘Go and get into the car,’ he told her. ‘I’ll bring him over to you, he can lie on your lap—it’ll be much easier to take him to a vet straight away.’

She hesitated. ‘Yes, but won’t you hurt him?’

He said dryly: ‘Not intentionally, Miss Mason, and he can’t stay here.’

Jemima did as she was told then, getting into the front seat and leaving the door open. A Rolls-Royce, she noticed vaguely, gleaming and spotless and the acme of comfort. She sat with her head averted because she couldn’t bear to see how the Professor would manage, but in no time at all the little cat was on her knee and he was sitting beside her, reversing the big car and driving back the way he had came.

‘Is there a vet close by?’ she asked.

‘I’ve no idea, I’m taking him to my own vet.’ The tone of his voice didn’t encourage her to talk; she sat without speaking until he turned down a narrow street and pulled up before a small door in a high wall. ‘Wait here,’ he told her, and got out and went through the door, to return very shortly with a short thin man who nodded at her, eased the cat on to what looked like a miniature stretcher, and went back through the door. The Professor went with him and she was left sitting there, suddenly in a frightful state because she had remembered that she should have been at her desk all of twenty minutes ago. Probably she would get the sack, she thought unhappily, in which case she was entitled to a week’s salary? Or was she entitled to no salary at all?

When, after another five minutes, Professor Cator returned she turned to him with a worried face. ‘I’m so late…’ and then, because the little cat was really more important: ‘Can the vet do something? Will it be all right?’

The Professor got in beside her. ‘Yes, he’ll set the legs and look after the little beast until it’s fit to go to whoever will have it.’ He gave her a sideways look as he spoke. ‘You?’ he asked blandly.

She said at once: ‘Yes, of course. The fees…?’

‘The vet never charges for this kind of accident.’ He watched the relief on her face with detached amusement. ‘I telephoned my aunt and explained why you would be late.’

He was driving back the way they had come, showing no further interest in her.

‘Oh, did you? How kind—I was a bit worried. I mean, Lady Manderly likes me to be punctual, and I thought…that is, I was afraid she might have given me the sack.’

He said casually: ‘Yes, I was surprised she was so forbearing. You’ll only be half an hour or so late, though.’

‘Yes, and I can make it up this evening.’

‘You live close by?’

‘Yes, quite a short walk.’ She had no intention of telling him where. The little newspaper shop was hardly a good address; even as she thought it she felt mean. Mrs Adams and Shirley were kind and friendly and however poky her room was, it was her own while she paid the rent. ‘I’m very comfortable at the flat,’ she told him with a shade of defiance and a regrettable lack of truth, and was sorry she had said it, because he didn’t show any interest. She doubted if he was listening; he was probably bored stiff by the whole little episode.

She was left to face Lady Manderly alone. The Professor gave her a curt nod when they reached the house, leaned over and opened the door for her and drove off without a second glance.

‘Rather rude,’ muttered Jemima, and thumped the door knocker with unnecessary violence.

Belling admitted her and allowed a faint sympathetic smile to crease his bland features. ‘Lady Manderly is in the small sitting room, miss, if you would go up at once.’

Lady Manderly, empurpled with ill humour, received her coldly. ‘It is to be hoped,’ she uttered sternly, ‘that you will not make a habit of rescuing animals when you should be here working for me.’

‘It’s to be hoped that there won’t be any more animals to rescue,’ observed Jemima reasonably. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, Lady Manderly, but I couldn’t have left that cat lying there in the middle of the road…’

Her employer raised a majestic hand. ‘Spare me the details, Miss Mason, I do not wish to hear them.’

‘That’s the trouble, isn’t it?’ said Jemima equably. ‘People never want to hear about misery and pain, do they?’

Lady Manderly drew in a hissing breath, lifted her lorgnette and stared at Jemima through them, and then flung them back on to her generous front so fiercely that the chain snapped and the whole lot fell on to the carpet.

‘There, now see what you’ve done,’ said Jemima chidingly. ‘I told you that specs would be easier for you.’ She got down on her knees and picked up the broken chain. ‘I’ll get some thread and tie the links together until we can get it mended.’

Lady Manderly was opening and closing her mouth like a dying fish, struggling to get out words. At last she managed: ‘You are a forward girl…’

‘I don’t mean to be,’ said Jemima, and smiled nicely at the cross face.

‘Would you like me to read to you first this morning, there don’t seem to be many letters.’ She glanced at the unopened pile on the desk.

‘Very well,’ said Lady Manderly ungraciously, and then: ‘Really, I don’t know if you will suit, Miss Mason.’

Jemima’s heart sank, but she turned a calm face to her employer.

‘Would you like me to draft another advertisement?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

Lady Manderly bristled. ‘You don’t like your work here? You wish to leave?’

‘Me? Heavens, no! I’m very happy, you see I had an invalid mother to look after for a few years and I—I miss caring for someone.’

Lady Manderly’s rather protuberant eyes popped out still further and for once she had no answer. Jemima hadn’t expected one, she skimmed through the news, picking out the choicest bits. ‘Shall I start reading, Lady Manderly?’ she asked.

‘Yes, you may do so, Miss Mason. You say that you are happy here—that being so, I am prepared to overlook your lateness this morning. After all, my nephew seems to think that you are a good enough young woman.’

‘How very kind of him,’ said Jemima softly and her fine eyes sparkled with temper at the arrogance of it.

‘So you will stay?’ asked Lady Manderly, and Jemima detected the tiniest hint of wistfulness in the commanding voice.

‘Yes, I’d like to, Lady Manderly.’ She smiled at the lady and picked up the paper. ‘There is a report on the PM’s speech—shall I read it to you first?’

The morning went as usual after that, and at lunch time, Lady Manderly made gracious conversation, presumably offering an olive branch of sorts. Jemima was a good listener; they rose from the table in charity with each other and Jemima, having seen Lady Manderly safely tucked up in the drawing room, whisked herself out of the house with Coco, just as eager for a walk as she was.

It was almost six o’clock, and Jemima was just finishing the last of the letters when the phone rang.

‘You leave at five o’clock, do you not?’ asked the Professor into her ear.

‘No, I don’t, Professor.’ Remembering that he had called her a good enough young woman, she asked in a freezing voice: ‘You wish to speak to Lady Manderly?’

‘No, not particularly, I thought you might like to know that the little cat is recovering nicely. Have you attempted to find out if it belongs to anyone?’

‘How could I do that?’ she asked with a snap. ‘I’ve had no time at all. I’ll go round to every house this evening when I’m free to do so.’

‘If you hadn’t taken me up so sharply, I would have continued,’ said the Professor mildly. ‘The cat is obviously a stray, ill cared for and half starved. If I might suggest—without my head being bitten off—that she remains with the vet until she is quite well, then if you wish to have her you can do so, if not, we must find a good home for her.’

‘Oh, yes—well, that would be nice, but the vet won’t keep her for nothing? Will he? Could I have his phone number or his name—the bill, you know.’

‘I thought I had made myself clear already, Miss Mason. He doesn’t charge for emergency treatment, and I will settle the account…’

Jemima said suddenly: ‘You’re an endocrinologist, aren’t you? Belling told me. Do you use cats to—to experiment on? Because if that’s the reason…’

His voice cut through hers like cold steel. ‘Miss Mason, I do not, as you put it, use cats. I never have done nor do I intend to, but since you are determined to think the worst of me I suggest we end our conversation.’

He hung up before she could so much as draw breath.

She licked down the last envelope, wondering if she had hurt his feelings—or was he a man with feelings to hurt? Just his pride perhaps. In any case she would have to apologise. She picked up the letters to post and went along to the drawing room to wish Lady Manderly goodnight and went slowly out of the house and down the street.

‘Bother the man,’ she muttered, ‘I hope I never see him again!’ The thought was a little lowering for some reason; she brightened visibly when she remembered that she would have to in order to apologise.

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