Storm In A Rain Barrel. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ Mr. Mannering doesn’t need the whole day to drive up to Hollingford.’ He began to walk towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll just put these away,’ he nodded at the vacuum cleaner and dusters, ‘and then I’ll see about getting you some breakfast.’

      ‘Oh, no!’ Domine put out a hand protestingly. ‘I—I’m not hungry, thank you.’

      Graham looked at her slim figure. Although she was above average height she was very slender and privately he thought she needed plenty of good food inside her. He bit his lip, and then said: ‘You must have something. Lunch won’t be ready for a couple of hours yet. How about a nice light omelette? Or some toast—or pancakes?’

      Domine shook her head definitely. ‘Oh, no, really. Per—perhaps a biscuit—and some coffee.’

      Graham sighed. ‘All right. Sit down, make yourself at home. I’ll bring you a tray.’

      ‘In here?’ Domine glanced round expressively at the elegance of it all.

      ‘Of course.’ Graham gave a slight chuckle. ‘Don’t be so conscious of your surroundings!’ His eyes were gentle. ‘Mr. James often has a snack in here, when he’s working on some manuscript or reading.’

      Domine inclined her head, and after Graham had gone to see about the coffee, she walked over to a low table where a selection of the day’s papers were strewn rather carelessly. She chose one at random, and sat down on a low chair by the wide window. The view was quite fantastic, although the rain was causing a faint mist to cover the city and she couldn’t see far in the poor light. She concentrated on the paper, flicking through its pages without a great deal of interest. She wondered where James Mannering was this morning. Obviously, he was a very busy man, and she wondered how he could find the time to drive her up to Hollingford.

      Reaching the theatre page of the paper, she scanned the plays currently being shown in the West End almost disinterestedly. Then his name caught her eye. A play of his called The Inventory was being shown at the Royal Duchess theatre. She folded the paper and read the description with avidity. Not that it told her much. It was simply a précis of what several newspapers had thought of the play, without any real criticism being involved.

      She sighed, and turned the page almost reluctantly, wondering whether indeed the play was being a success. According to the article, it had good reviews, but that could mean everything or nothing, that much she knew. She tried to remember the name of the play she had seen with Great-Uncle Henry in Brighton, but her memory failed her. After all, that had been almost a year ago now, during the Christmas holidays. One thing was certain, it had not been The Inventory.

      Graham returned with a tray on which was a jug of coffee, a jug of hot milk, some buttered scones and a selection of savoury biscuits. Thanking him, she took the tray to a low table and seating herself, said:

      ‘Where is Mr. Mannering this morning?’ in as casual a tone as possible, hoping Graham wouldn’t sense her nervousness.

      Graham stood regarding her solemnly. ‘He’s at the television centre,’ he replied. ‘They’re putting out a play of his in a couple of weeks and he has some last-minute rewriting to do. The medium is different, you see. What is acceptable on stage is not necessarily acceptable on television, and vice-versa.’

      Domine listened with interest, and asked: ‘Is this important for him? I mean—is it good to have a play on television?’

      ‘Well, it rather depends,’ replied Graham, warming to his subject. ‘You see, a play going out nation-wide on a television channel reaches a hell of a lot of viewers and consequently having a play transmitted can kill it stone-dead, so to speak, theatre-wise.’

      ‘I see.’ Domine nodded slowly, taking a bite of a scone which was still warm and oozed with butter. ‘And this play of Mr. Mannering’s? Will this spoil it for the theatre?’

      ‘No, not in this case. Actually, lately he’s been doing quite a lot of writing for television for series work and so on. This is a play written several years ago which didn’t have a great impact on the stage. The producer seems to think it will do better without the confines of stage production.’

      Domine poured herself a second cup of coffee and nodded again. Obviously, Graham was intensely conscious of his employer’s immense talent and took pride in his own knowledge of his work. She thought that she, too, might find his writing fascinating.

      ‘Are—are you coming up to Yorkshire with us?’ she asked now.

      Graham shook his head vigorously. ‘No, Miss Grainger. This is my domain. At Grey Witches they have quite enough staff as it is.’

      Domine frowned. ‘I thought perhaps—as you are sort of—well, what was it Mr. Mannering called you? A gentleman’s gentleman!’ She smiled. ‘I mean—I thought perhaps you accompanied him everywhere.’

      Graham looked rather amused. ‘Mr. James is not the kind of man to take kindly to too much attention,’ he replied. ‘My previous employer, Lord Bestingcot, used me as his valet, but I’m afraid Mr. James won’t submit to attentions of that kind.’

      Domine finished her coffee and sighed with pleasure. ‘That was delicious, Graham,’ she said gratefully. ‘I didn’t realize I was so hungry.’

      Graham looked pleased and lifted the tray. ‘Well, it’s almost twelve,’ he said. ‘Mr. James shouldn’t be long. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see about lunch.’

      ‘Of course.’ Domine nodded. ‘I’ll go and make my bed—’

      ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ exclaimed Graham, horrified. ‘That’s my job. You take it easy. Look, there’s the stereogram over there and plenty of records. Play that! Or find yourself a book to read. There’s plenty on the shelves.’

      Domine compressed her lips and allowed him his way. But she didn’t like to admit that she didn’t know how to work the stereophonic equipment, so she examined the books on the bookshelves, searching for something to take her interest.

      There was a predominance of reference books among the hardback covers, but in the paperbacks there were thrillers and espionage stories, as well as several best-sellers which she glanced at rather tentatively, remembering what the other girls had said about novels that became best-sellers and their contents.

      Then the telephone began to ring. It was a very modern affair in ivory, and as she had never answered a telephone before without being asked, she allowed it to go on ringing. However, after several moments, when it appeared that Graham either could not hear it or alternatively expected that she would answer it, she lifted the receiver and put it to her ear rather nervously.

      ‘Hello,’ she said softly. ‘Who is that?’

      ‘Is that Belgrave 04041?’ asked a woman’s imperious voice.

      Domine hastily examined the number on the centre of the dial. ‘Y-yes,’ she stammered, ‘that’s right.’

      ‘Then to whom am I speaking?’ questioned the woman sharply.

      Domine hesitated. ‘Er—my name is Domine Grainger. I’m Mr. Mannering’s ward,’ she replied. ‘And if you want Mr. Mannering, I’m afraid he’s not here.’

      There was silence for a moment, and then the woman said: ‘I see. Do you know when he’ll be back?’

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