Betty Neels - The Chain of Destiny

Professor Bowers-Bentinck was standing there, leaning against the wall watching her.

‘Well, well, this is a pleasant surprise.’ His voice had a silkiness she didn’t much like.

‘A surprise,’ she amended in her sensible way, ‘but I don’t know about it being pleasant.’

‘An outspoken young lady,’ he commented, ‘but I should feel flattered that you remember me.’

She was still kneeling, a handful of programmes in her hand, looking at him. She said matter-of-factly, ‘Well, I’d be silly if I didn’t—you’re much larger than most men, for a start, and you must know you’re good-looking; besides that, you came to see Aunt Mabel.’

‘Such an abundance of compliments,’ he murmured.

‘They’re not meant to be,’ said Suzannah prosaically, ‘just facts.’ She had a sudden alarming thought. ‘Lady Manbrook—she’s not ill? Or Mrs van Beuck? They were all right at lunch.’ She sprang to her feet. ‘Is that why you are here?’

‘Both ladies are in splendid health’, he assured her. He eyed her coldly. ‘You are very untidy and dusty.’

‘Of course I am, it’s dusty work, and I have to get down on to the floor—there’s more room, and anyway, I can’t see that it matters to you.’

‘It doesn’t. Tell me, why do I find you here? How did you find this job?’

‘It was advertised. I’ve been here a week, and I’m very happy.’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Do you mind telling me why you’re here?’

‘I’ve come to tea.’

Her lovely eyes grew round. ‘Have you really? How extraordinary that we should meet again…’

‘Yes, isn’t it? You don’t object?’

‘Object? Why should I? I mean, one is always bumping into people in unexpected places.’

‘How true.’ He eyed her frowningly. ‘Had you not better finish and wash your hands and tidy your hair? It’s almost four o’clock.’

She dusted her skirt and gave him a tolerant glance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make myself presentable. I usually have my tea up here on a tray.’ She added kindly, ‘You don’t need to fuss.’

His voice was as cold as his eyes. ‘I’m not in the habit of fussing—what a tiresome girl you are.’ He went through the door, closing it behind him, leaving her to gather up the programmes and then leave the attic after him. Undoubtedly a bad-tempered man, she reflected, and because of that to be pitied.

She told Horace all about him while she brushed her bright hair into smoothness, ready for tea.

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