Never too Late. Бетти Нилс
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perhaps. She was very pretty, and Prudence looked around to find her husband. He was high up on the wall, near the desk; it might have been Benedict with a flowing moustache and side whiskers. Their child would be there too, somewhere on the crowded wall, but she really hadn’t the time to look. She sat down on the leather armchair behind the desk and made her call—a rather lengthy one, for her father had to be fetched from his study and her mother wasn’t content with Prudence’s rather sketchy description of the house and the people in it.
‘I’ll write,’ promised Prudence. ‘I’ll post it tomorrow and you’ll get it in a day or two—and I’ll give you a ring once a week.’
And after that the evening passed pleasantly enough. While Benedict saw his patients, Prudence supervised Sibella’s supper, then helped her bath and when she was ready for bed, went downstairs with her to the drawing room where Benedict was sitting, with Henry across his feet, reading the paper. He put it down as they went in and Sibella climbed on to his knee with the speed of time-honoured custom, so Prudence murmured gently and left them together. Dinner was at eight o’clock and there was still half an hour to go. She changed out of her suit and put on a thin wool dress, did her face and hair and got out her writing pad. She was halfway through her letter when she judged it time to go in search of Sibella and was rewarded by Benedict’s look of approval.
‘Did you know this infant goes to bed at ten minutes to eight, or was it a clever guess?’
‘A guess—not very hard, because I did know that dinner is at eight o’clock,’ she smiled. ‘Is there anything special about going to bed? Does Sibella say goodnight here or do you go up…?’
‘Oh, here, unless I’ve been held up and not got home early.’ He kissed his small daughter and submitted to a throttling embrace. ‘Come down as soon as you’re ready,’ he added. ‘We can talk over dinner.’
The dinner table was elegant with lace mats, shining silver and sparkling glass. Ork served them with soup, roast pheasant and a chocolate mousse and poured claret for them to drink. Benedict lived in some style, but despite that, Prudence thought, the house had the casual well lived in comfort of home. It wasn’t until they had gone back to the drawing room that he abandoned the gentle flow of small talk and said briskly: ‘Now let’s get down to business, shall we? I’ll tell you what I would like you to do and you can find fault and make alterations when I’ve finished. We get up early— seven o’clock; surgery starts at eight o’clock, and I have to drive there. Sibella has breakfast with me at half past seven, and you will too, and then take her to school; it starts at half past eight. You will fetch her again at a quarter to twelve—she doesn’t go in the afternoons. During the morning would you make yourself useful. Do the flowers, see to Sibella’s clothes, open the post—I’ve got a secretary at my surgery, but a good deal of post comes here. Sort it out and let me have it when I get in. I’ll skim through it and deal with the English letters if there are any. You’ll have the afternoon with Sibella—with variations, of course; she goes to play with friends and they come here. You’ll have precious little time to yourself, for while Sibella’s at school you can fit in the letters. If you don’t have time then, it’ll have to be in the evening after dinner.’ He paused and looked at her thoughtfully.
‘Too much for you?’ he asked.
‘Certainly not. What else?’
‘I’ve thought about your free time—how about Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning? We might have to change from time to time, though.’
‘That will do nicely.’ Prudence gave him a bright smile. She was going to earn every penny of her salary, as far as she could see she would be on the go from morning to night. But that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? A job, something to do, something useful and demanding so that she could fill the hole Tony had left. She had done the right thing, she told herself silently, leaving the placid shelter of her home, where she might have stayed for the rest of her life if she hadn’t made a push to change things. Perhaps she hadn’t expected quite such a stern routine as Benedict had outlined in such a businesslike manner. It behoved her to be businesslike too and accept his challenge. She looked up and saw that he was watching her narrowly. Probably he expected her to wilt at the prospect he had set out before her; a young woman who had led a pleasant, easygoing life in a comfortable home. Her green eyes shone; she would show him—a challenge was just what she needed!
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