Authors: Susan Barrie
Stacey looked almost horrified by her words, and a sudden, vivid color mounted in her cheeks.
“Oh, if you think I did the wrong thing in coming here
...
?”
“Not at all,” Miss Hunt reassured her soothingly, actually smiling this time with her eyes; “but I think you would be making a grave mistake if you remained here very long, to say nothing of inconveniencing Dr. Guelder, who, as I say, is quixotic. And that’s why, although I’m really terribly busy, I’ve come haring off here this afternoon to put a proposition to you which will not only solve your immediate problem but, if you accept it, will probably lead to better things for you in the future—much better things than banging a typewriter and answering a telephone could ever possibly lead you to!”
Stacey’s eyes were large with curiosity, although she was still rather hot about the neck as a result of that direct accusation of having thoughtlessly placed the reputation of a man of Martin Guelder’s eminence in jeopardy. It had never occurred to her that his offer of bringing her to his flat was a trifle unconventional, and it had apparently not even occurred to Mrs. Elbe—although it had obviously rather shocked Miss Hunt! But doubtless Miss Hunt was a rather close and particular friend of Dr. Guelder’s!
“I have a little gown shop in Bond Street,” Miss Hunt explained, “and although I wasn’t thinking of taking on anyone new to help at the moment, I’m perfectly willing to give you a trial job if it will help Dr. Guelder—and you, of course! As you’re quite inexperienced you would have a great deal to learn, and at first you might be more useful to me merely serving in the shop and perhaps lending a hand with the accounts and so forth, but in time you would be permitted to model clothes—and I expect you’re interested in clothes, aren’t you?” with a doubtful glance at the rather faded summer cotton dress Dr. Guelder’s
protégée
was wearing, and the distinctly shabby white sandals. “And you could live with me in my flat—at least for a time—and I’d pay you a sort of pocket money
...
”
Stacey drew a long breath.
“It sounds as if it might be—very nice,” she said, because she was quite sure that that was what was expected of her.
Vera Hunt rewarded her with a slightly superior smile, and lighted another cigarette, this time placing it in a very long and unusual turquoise and silver holder.
“Of course, my dear, it’s up to you! But there are heaps of girls of your age who would simply jump at such a chance, and since you want to live in London
—
”
“I came to London to get a job,” Stacey admitted.
“What sort of job?”
“Oh, nothing in particular—I know I’m not trained for anything
—
”
“And most girls do train for something nowadays! You’re a little behind the times, my dear.”
“I’m afraid I’ve lived in a rather behind-the
-
times country village,” Stacey told her, as if it was something to feel slightly ashamed of. “And my father needed a housekeeper, so I had to remain at
home.”
“Well, I’ve no doubt you were quite a good little housekeeper,” Vera answered with that mirthless smile. “But what do you say to my offer? At the risk of seeming repetitive I do want you to understand that it is not
quite
the right thing for you to stay on here in this flat, and I promised Dr. Guelder
to do my best to help you, and
—
Well, what do
you say? I don’t suppose you’ve very much luggage, so if we call a taxi we can remove you straight away without difficulty, and Dr. Guelder can come back here tonight with a clear conscience. I’m quite sure we shall get along very well together”—trying to infuse a friendly note into her voice.
“Then you want me to come with you immediately?” Stacey asked, looking almost perturbed.
“Of course, my dear. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come hurrying here like this.”
“I see. No; of course, I suppose you wouldn’t.”
“And Dr. Guelder
does
know about my visit”— with emphasis.
Once again Stacey’s ready color rose.
“Don’t
think
I like keeping him out of his flat!— of course I shall be only too happy for him to be able to come back, but I’d like to be able to thank him.”
“You can thank him on the telephone—from my flat!”
“Yes—yes; I suppose so”—doubtfully.
“And I expect you’ll see him some time—sometimes he looks in at the shop, when he’s taking me out to lunch or dinner. And in any case I can thank him for you.”
Stacey realized that there was no way of escape. “Very well, then,” she said. “I’d better get my things packed.” She paused. “And thank you very much, Miss Hunt,” she added, hoping she sounded sufficiently grateful. “It’s good of you—very good of you to offer me a job when you know practically nothing about me.”
“That’s quite all right, my child,” Miss Hunt assured her, with her smile which was quite brilliant when it was not merely confined to her lips. And she added: “And don’t forget that I am also offering you a home!”
Stacey went away to pack her things and take her last look at Martin Guelder’s slightly monastic bedroom with the feeling that somehow she had been caught up in a web, and although Vera Hunt was a very elegant spider she was a very insignificant fly.
CHAPTER THREE
She f
elt more insignificant than ever when they arrived at Miss Hunt’s flat. The furnishings were nothing short of exquisite, and somehow they reflected the coolness and the composure of Miss Hunt’s personality.
Ice blue walls in the dining room, and unstained oak furniture, a black carpet in the lounge, silvery net curtains cascading on to the floor like miniature waterfalls, and exquisitely painted panels representing birds and flowers let into the walls. Miss Hunt’s own bedroom was all white, even to the bedside lampshade and the quilted bed-head, and there was a little room which was really no more than a slip room which contained a divan covered in pale lime chintz, a bookcase, a dressing table and an armchair, which was handed over to Stacey, and wherein her unpretentious suitcase was deposited.
Stacey felt utterly strange as she stood looking round this room and wondering whether for her it would ever have any feelings of warmth or welcome. As a bedroom it had advantages over one which might have been offered her in a hostel, but in some ways she thought she would have preferred the hostel.
Miss Hunt was dining out that night, and Stacey was invited to concoct herself a meal out of the contents of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and when it was over she sat in a kind of solitary state in the black and silver lounge and wondered how she would like it when she began work in the shop the following day. Her new employer had made no further reference to her ringing Martin Guelder to thank him for placing his flat at her disposal as he had done, and explain why she had left without waiting to thank him personally, but she had promised that a message would be conveyed to him, as a result of which he would be reoccupying the flat that night. However, suddenly Stacey caught sight of the telephone on its rest and decided to put through a call herself, for she was not quite easy in her mind over the abrupt method of her departure.
But Mrs. Elbe, when she answered, told her that Dr. Guelder was also dining out, and she also sounded a little surprised because Stacey had not waited to say goodbye.
“It was nice having you,” she said unexpectedly. “I was hoping you were going to stay for a few days.”
“But Dr. Guelder
—
” Stacey began.
“Oh, the doctor often spends a few nights at his consulting rooms,” Mrs. Elbe informed her cheerfully, “and you were not really putting him out.
But if Miss Hunt is going to employ you I expect it will be nice for you to live with her.”
But Stacey, as she replaced the receiver, was not sure—she was very far from sure.
The next morning, shortly before eight o’clock, her breakfast was brought in to her on a tray by the elderly woman who came in daily to keep the flat in order for Vera Hunt. It was merely a pot of tea and a few thin pieces of toast, but Miss Hunt, she discovered later, began her working day on even less than that. In her case it was merely a cup of black coffee and a cigarette, or sometimes simply orange juice. But as her main preoccupation was the preservation of her slender figure this was not surprising.
The little shop in Bond Street was one of those tiny, tucked-away, unimposing-looking establishments, but inside it was a poem in orchid mauve and cool dove grey. There were orchid mauve velvet hangings and a grey carpet into which the feet sank as if they were sinking into sand, and a spiral gilt staircase curled upwards to the unseen workrooms above. Fragile gilt and satin-covered chairs were scattered about like toys on the carpet, and a great bowl of yellow roses stood on a little escritoire at which Miss Hunt sometimes sat and dealt with correspondence.
Stacey was introduced to a young woman with magnificent red hair who answered to the name of Irmgard, who modelled for the Hunt establishment, and took over entire control when Miss Hunt was absent. She it was who set Stacey small tasks such as sorting a box of flower ornaments for the fussier type of evening gown, checking invoices and restoring some sort or order to a muddled filing system. She was also asked to type a few letters during the course of her first day, interview a customer when her employer and Irmgard were both occupied, and pack up a wonderful confection in satin and biscuit-colored lace which had been promised for unfailing despatch that evening.
During her lunch break she was permitted to take a short stroll down Oxford Street, and at tea time she was regaled with a cup of straw-colored China tea and a fancy biscuit. Back at the flat that evening she was again invited to produce her own meal—this time out of even less tempting leftovers which were all that she could discover in the refrigerator—while Miss Hunt hurried to change her dress and keep an engagement for the evening.
Altogether, the amount of conversation she had with her employer during the day was practically none at all, and by the time they had known one another for forty-eight hours she still did not know whether Dr. Guelder had accepted her abrupt departure from his flat as quite the sort of thing he would have expected from her. When she ventured to ring him again at his consulting rooms his secretary said he was at the hospital, and at his flat Mrs. Elbe still said he was out. So thinking it the best thing she wrote him a little note of thanks and explanation, to which he returned no answer—or she never received one.
The days passed, a week passed, and her duties at the shop were still much the same. She grew rather tired of trying to fill in odd moments sorting lengths of ribbon and lace, and even welcomed being sent out on small, unimportant errands. For one thing, when released into the street, she was able to satisfy her craving for something more to eat than the few fingers of toast at breakfast time, the hurried cup of coffee and a roll at lunch time, and the scrambled egg or egg on toast which was the nearest she came to a solid meal in the evening, and a large proportion of her “pocket money” began to go on bars of chocolate and buns at a near-by confectioners. And since she was a girl who had lived all her life on wholesome country fare this resulted in a decidedly hungry gleam in her eyes and a quite noticeably reduced waistline.
One day, after she had been with her a fortnight, Miss Hunt summoned her from the room behind the shop and requested her to display a model for a customer. The customer was a young girl of about her own age and figure, the daughter of an important client, and the dress was a filmy evening gown of palest pink tulle over rustling taffeta, with a corsage trimmed with tiny pink rose buds. For the first time in her life Stacey saw herself in a full-length mirror attired in a way she had often dreamed about, but never believed she would achieve, and the customer saw her as something almost too delicately beautiful to be true, with heavy violet eyes in a pale oval face from which every evidence of country tan and freckles had now fled, a fragile slenderness that was so very young it was almost pitiful, and a natural grace and poise which matched the gown.
The customer was so delighted that she bought the frock without seeing another one tried on, and Vera Hunt was so pleased with Stacey that she actually offered her afterwards a word of praise.
After that Stacey was often called upon to model dresses, and when Irmgard was away for a few days with influenza Stacey found herself with little time on her hands to sort lace and ribbon. She began, however, to feel the effects of the confinement and the standing and the long hours which sometimes spread themselves out until well past the official closing time. If a customer was difficult it might be eight o’clock before she arrived back at the flat, and an oppressive heat wave made the atmosphere sticky and clammy and enervating. She longed for a breath of country air, and she longed, too, for a little relaxation sometimes.
Miss Hunt went out every night to dinner parties, theatres, supper parties, but Stacey stayed in the flat, mending her own and her employer’s stockings, rinsing out their underwear and afterwards ironing it, doing little jobs about the flat which the daily woman overlooked. Sometimes when she went to bed at last she was so tired that she could not sleep, and it was as much as she could do to rouse up in the mornings to be on time for the shop.
One day at lunch time the telephone rang, and she answered it because there was no one else there to do so. Her heart gave a kind of queer little jolt when she heard Martin Guelder’s voice, asking for Miss Hunt.
“I’m sorry, but she’s out,” she said, hoping her voice sounded quite normal. (Why was it, she wondered, that the sound of his voice after all this time made her feel suddenly strange, as if she had been running upstairs and was breathless?) “But I can give her a message if you care to leave one.”