Mistress of the House (6 page)

“Oh,” said Max drily, “so Aunt Hilda’s due again, is she?”

“Well,” said Jessica, “where are you going to put her? Miss Giles is in her room.”

Laurie looked up quickly.

“Oh,” she said, “I can move. I don’t mind at all.”

“It won’t be necessary,” said Mrs. Lorney. “There is plenty of room for everybody.”

“Well, Aunt Hilda isn’t going to like it if you put her in one of those little back rooms,
I
know.”

“I shouldn’t mind one of the back rooms,” said Laurie.

“You’re not moving,” said Mrs. Lorney. “I shall arrange things.”

“Aunt Hilda can have my room,” said Max. “It doesn’t matter two hoots to me where I sleep.”

“Oh, no, Max,” said Jessica, hurt.

“No, I couldn’t have that,” said Laurie.

He looked from one to the other of them. Then he smiled.

“For once,” he said, “I’m going to be master in this house, and do as I please. Aunt Hilda can have my room. It’s settled.”

They said no more, but both Laurie and Jessica looked mutinous and Mrs. Lorney looked worried.

Later, Laurie went to find Max in his office.

“Hallo,” he said. “There’s no typing. I’m just doing the books.”

“I haven’t come to type, and you know it.”

“What is it, then?”

“Look, Max, it’s about your room. I’m not going to have you turning out of your room for my sake. If I’m in Aunt Hilda’s room, I’ll change. I’ve told your mother so, and she says she can make one of the little back rooms very comfortable for me. I’m not going to upset the household.”

“Laurie, it doesn’t matter to me where I sleep. As long as I’ve got a decent bed, the rest can go hang. Good lord, all this fuss about a room.”

“But it matters to me, and Jessica is making an issue of it. She’ll never forgive me if I take your room, or Aunt Hilda takes it because of me. Look, Max, if you insist, then I shall move down into the village.”

“Don’t do that,” he said quickly.

“Well, sometimes I think it
would
be better. It isn’t right that I should cause strife.”

“There isn’t any strife.”

“Between Jessica and me there is. I don’t want it.”

“Don’t go away, Laurie.”

She stood in doubt. He rose and faced her.

“Don’t go,” he repeated.

She looked at him.

“
I
don’t want you to go,” he said. “The whole place is nicer for your being here. And it will be very dull if you go.”

“All right. I’ll stay—in the back room.”

“Obstinate,” he said. They laughed together. Laurie leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He flushed darkly. Then he caught her into his arms and held her there for a few brief seconds.

When she pulled herself away, he let her go at once. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and she laughed to make a joke of it. “I shouldn’t do such embarrassing things. You’re always so nice to me, Max, that you make me feel too much like one of the family.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I liked it.” But to have her cherishing a brother and sister fondness for him was the last thing he wanted.

Laurie, with a smile over her shoulder for him, went out to tell Mrs. Lorney that it was definitely settled. She would have one of the little back rooms. “You know,” said Mrs. Lorney, “I don’t like it at all. After all, you are a paying guest and you’re entitled to comfort. Aunt Hilda is not a paying guest—not that I mind that, of course—but it is as Jess says. She would be a martyr all the summer and never let us forget it. And, after all, we can make those little rooms comfortable if we try.”

It became obvious that Max did not intend to let Laurie get away with too complete a victory. When she came home from the Humphries next day, it was to find that Max had repapered the walls of her new room, and was busy with the paintwork. He had chosen a shade between peach and apricot, with the paintwork a little darker; and when she expressed her pleasure in the color scheme, he said: “It’s your color—warm and rich. It suits you. And anyway, it’s a north-west room and needs a little richness.” When the decorations were finished, a very pretty carpet found its way into the room from Mrs. Lorney’s, and some of the choicest pieces of furniture in the house followed it, some of them from Aunt Hilda’s collection. The Lorneys were showing their affection for her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Laurie sat in the study of White Lodge and looked out over the garden. Mr. Humphries had been called out to an important visitor, and she was about to start on a filling-in job until he returned; but for a few minutes she sat and looked out at the masses of daffodils that swayed in the wind among the trees. Her thoughts were turned exclusively upon Max—indeed, he had filled all her spare time for the last few days. She realized that she was becoming too fond of Max for her peace of mind. How foolish she had been the other evening to volunteer a kiss, however innocuous it might be. It had been such an irresistible temptation, and she had barely had the presence of mind to turn it into a little joke between them. A sudden temptation, too; as unexpected to Laurie as it was to Max; a sudden longing to touch him. Of course he would take her into his arms—he could hardly do otherwise than give her a hug. But it wasn’t a hug, she protested to herself. It was nicer than a hug, and now I keep wanting him to do it again.

She knew that it was on account of Max that she was anxious to stay at the farm. She liked Mrs. Lorney very much and found Roger agreeable, but they would never have outweighed Jessica’s hostility by themselves. She like the farm, too; and the comfortable farmhouse, but she would have tried to find as pleasant a place in the village, were it not for Max. She knew that she waited for him to come into the house, for tea or for supper, listening to every footstep for the one that limped unevenly. ‘Am I falling in love with him?’ she wondered, ‘or could it be just proximity? Might I forget him if I went back to London?’ She did not know. She only knew she was given to day-dreaming about him far too much.

The door of the study opened. Laurie started. This was unpardonable—she ought to be working. She turned round to find Diana smiling at her.

“I’m just off,” said Diana, who had two or three days’ leave from the research laboratory where she was working. “Came in to say goodbye to you.”

“It’s been very short,” said Laurie.

“Yes, my days at home always fly past Still, I shall be home, I hope, the weekend after next As far as we know, Neville will be home then; and he condescends to come so rarely that I don’t want to miss him. Where’s Daddy?”

“Somebody called to see him. He’s been gone some time.”

“Well, I’ve got a few minutes before I need start, so I’ll wait a little. How’s the opus getting along?”

“Slow, but very sure. It’s awfully interesting.”

“How’s everything at the farm? All going well?”

“I think so. Do you know Aunt Hilda? She’s due to arrive any day now.”

“Oh, yes, I know Aunt Hilda. She approves of us, because in her mind, we’re somebody. She likes anybody who is somebody.”

“Then I’m afraid she won’t like me.”

“Oh, she might. You look as if you’re somebody. But she’s unaccountable. Her variety of snobbishness is peculiar. She’s quite likely to disapprove of the Lorneys having a paying guest.”

“She’s like Jessica in that, then.”

“Don’t you get on very well with Jessica?”

“I haven’t a chance to get on well or otherwise. She dislikes me intensely and won’t have anything to do with me.”

“Is that because you are going to marry Max?”

“
I’m
going to marry Max?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Jessica spoke as if you were.”

“Jessica told
me
that
you
were going to marry Max—at least, she didn’t say so. She hinted it.”

“Oh dear, she isn’t very subtle, is she? So neither of us is marrying Max?”

“That’s how it looks,” said Laurie, and they laughed together.

“Poor Max,” said Diana. “Somebody ought to marry him. He’s much too nice to go unmarried, and I’m afraid he’s much too eaten up by his inferiority complex to ask anybody.”

“Why should Max have an inferiority complex?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? He thinks his lameness is enough to put any woman off.”

“Which shows he doesn’t know women very well.”

“But you see, you didn’t know Max before his accident. He was everybody’s idol—the more so because being an idol never spoiled him. Tall and good looking and good at everything. He had simply tremendous vitality. Up at the crack of dawn every day, working on the farm, with every single detail about it at his finger-tips: time for dancing and tennis and riding. We all used to sit about gazing at him adoringly and hoping he would ask us to dance; or partner him at tennis...”

“Not you,” protested Laurie.

“Yes, me too. Because he was always so thoroughly nice, you see. Not a bit swelled-headed, as handsome men usually are. He always had a very pleasing humility about some things. And then came the accident, and his weary months in hospital. And he was never the same again. For one thing, Roger was an ass and let his power go to his head. He made a mess of farming matters, so that Max had to concentrate on them. And for another thing, Max couldn’t dance or play tennis, and he kept away from such things and became a stay-at-home. Actually I think he gets more trouble with his foot than he will admit. I’ve watched him sometimes. And he thinks it excludes him from everything, whereas of course, half of us still adore him. But this is terrible, standing here gossiping, when I ought to be starting. I think I’d better interrupt Father to say goodbye, and be off. Goodbye Laurie—I shall see you again soon, I hope.”

“Goodbye Diana.”

Diana opened the door, but just before going through it, she turned back to look at Laurie.

“Don’t let Jessica put you off anything you want to do, she said. “She’s suffering from a plain case of jealousy.”

“Laurie sat still when Diana had gone, thinking of what she had said, and realizing that Max’s attitude all along had been a passive one. He was willing to be friends with her, even anxious to be, but she had to make the running. She was very thoughtful for the rest of the day.

She made her way home, as usual, through the little copse, and over the fields. When she emerged on to the farm lane, the clatter of buckets told her that the usual afternoon session of poultry feeding was in progress, and she glanced into the poultry field, expecting to see the figure of Jess, clad in breeches and jersey, busy at her work. But it was Max who came towards her, burdened with the food buckets. He did not see her for some time, and she waited for him, watching him. He had a seriousness in his face now that probably he had lacked in the old days, she thought; and a few lines that might have been put there by the accident, but they gave him character, and she thought that even handsomeness was enhanced by that air of gravity.

The gravity flew, however, when he saw her.

“I’m deputising again,” he said. “Jess and Mother have gone to town, to the pictures.”

“How frivolous of them,” smiled Laurie.

“They both need a little more frivolity,” said Max. “Have you seen Jess’s babies?”

“No. I feel I’m not very welcome in this part of the farm.”

“Come and see them now. They’re pretty things.”

She went and saw the many families of new chicks, pretty little things in their yellow feathers, being taught to scratch and feed by the mother hens. Then they went back to the house.

“Aunt Hilda arrives tomorrow,” said Max as they sat at the table together. “I think that’s why Mother and Jess went out today, enjoying their last day of freedom.”

“Is Aunt Hilda such a dragon?” asked Laurie, feeling that it was a pity that the peace of the farm should be disturbed by an element that none of the family seemed to welcome.

“Oh no. We mustn’t give you a wrong impression. She’s not a bad old thing. She’s my mother’s sister and only three years older than my mother. But you’d think she was considerably older, in spite of the fact that Mother works hard all the time and Aunt Hilda does as little as possible. She’s allowed herself to go soft. No, we don’t really dislike her, but we do find her trying at times.”

“Why?” asked Laurie.

“Well, chiefly, I suppose for her attitude to Mother. She has always considered that my mother married beneath her: they come from an old family with lots of good connections but nothing else. Well, Mother married where she wanted to, and had to work hard; but she’s had a happy life. Hilda scorned to marry beneath her and never married at all; and as she has no money, except a small amount which comes to nothing more than pocket money, she has to live on her relations ... She comes to us in the summer, when she can count on sunshine and fresh fruit and all the fat of the land. She sits out in the garden on fine days, and ornaments the sitting room on wet ones. In the winter, she goes to relatives and friends of hers, splitting up the time between them.”

“I feel rather sorry for her,” said Laurie. “It can’t be very nice to have no home of your own.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. She makes herself very much at home wherever she is. The trouble is that she tries to impose her standards on us—tries to improve us. And we do rather resent being improved.”

“She has a nerve if she tries to improve you,” said Laurie with a hint of impudence.

He laughed.

“Now you’re being unkind,” he said. “I don’t say that we don’t need it, but we don’t like it. I suppose we’re too pleased with ourselves as we are. Roger is her pet. She likes Roger, and she approves tremendously of Audrey. Audrey, as a matter of fact, is rather insolent to her, but Audrey’s family has lots of money.”

“Now you’re being unkind. I shall reserve judgment on Aunt Hilda until I know her.”

“Very sensible,” said Max. “But then you are very sensible, and level-headed; and it goes nicely with your air of helpless prettiness.”

“Oh Max, you’re in a thoroughly unkind mood.”

“Why?”

“Helpless prettiness. What an odious thing to say.”

“But I meant it nicely. You look small and very pretty and always charmingly dressed; and yet you’re competent and sensible and unbiased. I like the combination immensely.”

“All right,” said Laurie, “I’ll let it go.”

“You’ll have to let me go, too—for the milking.”

Laurie cleared away the tea things and washed up. Then she set the table for supper, picked some daffodils and pheasant-eyed narcissus for her room and went upstairs to arrange them.

She went down when they called her. Just as she entered the kitchen, Max came in from the scullery. They gathered round the big table.

“How was the film?” asked Max.

“Oh, it was very good. Well worth the journey to see it. We both thought so, didn’t we, Jess?”

“Would you like to go?” Max asked Laurie.

“Yes, I should. Very much.”

“All right, we’ll go tomorrow. What about you, Roger?”

“I’ve seen it. Audrey and I saw it when we stayed with her cousins in Gloucester.”

“Oh, well I’ll take Laurie.”

“But not tomorrow. I shouldn’t,” said his mother. “It will be Aunt Hilda’s first night here, and she’ll probably think it’s not very polite, if you go out.”

“The next night, then,” said Max, his eyes on Laurie.

“The next night,” she said, nodding her head.

From then on, she looked forward to going to the cinema with Max. It occurred to her early that Aunt Hilda might want to go with them, but she hoped that Max would arrange it without her. All next day, while she worked, the pleasant thought was at the back of her mind. Even when she walked back to the farm, curious about Aunt Hilda and wanting to meet her, Aunt Hilda was really taking second place to Max in all her thoughts.

Tea was laid in the kitchen as usual, but there was nobody in the room but Mrs. Lorney.

“Hallo, Laurie,” she smiled with genuine cordiality. “You’re the first today.”

“So I see. Hasn’t your visitor arrived?”

“Yes, she’s here. Upstairs in her room, resting.”

Laurie took off her jaunty little hat and her jacket “May I leave them down here?” she asked.

“Of course. Hilda will be down for tea. Roger isn’t coming in. He wants to finish the big field. He took some tea with him.” “Would you like to toast some scones for me, Laurie?”

“Surely.” She took the dish of scones and the long toasting fork and seated herself on a stool before the kitchen fire. The two of them talked pleasantly while they worked, Laurie at her toasting, Mrs. Lorney making sandwiches. Laurie reflected that it would be easy enough to live with Mrs. Lorney.

Max came in next. “What a pretty picture of domesticity,” he said. “Pretty Polly Flinders, that’s what you look like.”

“It’s in a good cause,” said Laurie calmly, “toasting scones for your tea.”

He stood and watched her, very gravely. She could not tell what he was thinking. His mother asked him to knock on Aunt Hilda’s door, but before he could do so, Aunt Hilda came into the room. Laurie did not see her immediately, seated as she was with her back to the room, but she heard a placid and cultured voice say pleasantly: “Ah, my dear Max. It’s a very long time since I saw you. How are you, my dear boy?”

Max kissed her dutifully, and asked after her health. He placed a chair for her near the fire and introduced her to Laurie. Laurie stood up, with a bright smile.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” said Aunt Hilda graciously. “I see that you are being very useful.” She sat down and looked carefully at Laurie. “My sister tells me that you are working on Mr. Humphries’s new book. That must be very interesting for you.”

“It is,” said Laurie. “Awfully interesting.”

“Such a charming man. He doesn’t parade his cleverness. Always has time for the little courtesies of life.” Max, standing beside his aunt’s chair, made a hideous grimace at Laurie, so that she found it difficult not to laugh. He implied that his aunt found such little courtesies missing at the farm.

“Max, my dear, do sit down. You have to walk about so much all day and it must be terribly tiring for you. Do sit down and rest your foot.”

Max flushed, looked a little angry and walked away towards the window.

“No,” he said curtly. “It isn’t tiring for me, thank you.”