Storm In A Rain Barrel

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?’

Domine glanced round and saw with relief that Graham had entered the room behind her. Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she said: ‘It’s a woman. She wants Mr. Mannering.’

Graham frowned. ‘Do you know who it is?’

Domine sighed and grimaced. ‘Heavens, no.’

‘Then ask her.’

Domine bit her lip and removed her hand. ‘Who—who is calling, please?’ she asked uncomfortably.

There was a stifled exclamation, and then the woman said: ‘You can tell him it’s Yvonne,’ she said, rather angrily. ‘Is he there? Won’t he speak to me?’

‘No!’ Domine was horrified and replaced her hand over the mouthpiece again. ‘She—she thinks Mr. Mannering is here and I’m preventing her from speaking to him,’ she exclaimed.

Graham grinned. ‘It must be Yvonne Park,’ he said, knowledgeably, and Domine stared at him in surprise.

‘Yes, she said her name was Yvonne,’ she whispered.

‘Then give it to me.’ Graham held out his hand and Domine thankfully handed him the receiver, walking across the room to the window and trying not to take any interest in the remainder of the conversation. But it was difficult when she had already heard part of the conversation and wanted to know the rest.

Graham handled the situation beautifully, she had to admit, but from his replies it was obvious that this woman did not believe that James Mannering was not in the apartment. However, Graham appeared at last to have convinced her, and affirmed that he would give Mr. Mannering her message as soon as he returned. As he replaced the receiver, he glanced across at Domine ruefully and said:

‘That was unfortunate. However, Mr. James won’t be here later in the day if she takes it into her head to come to find him.’

‘Who—who is she?’ asked Domine, flushing.

Graham heaved a sigh. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Park Textiles?’

‘Park Textiles? You mean the manufacturers?’

‘Yes. Yvonne is the daughter of Alexander Park, the chairman of the combine.’

‘I see.’ Domine sounded awed. ‘Is—is she a friend of Mr. Mannering’s?’

Graham gave a wry smile. ‘You might say that. At any rate she’d like to be.’

‘You mean Mr. Mannering isn’t interested?’

Graham chuckled. ‘His interest waned about six weeks ago,’ he replied, walking towards the kitchen. Then he looked back at her almost compassionately. ‘There are a lot of things you have yet to learn, Domine.’

Domine didn’t object to his use of her Christian name. Instead, she sighed and dropped down into a low chair, cupping her chin on her hands. ‘I expect Mr. Mannering has a lot of—well, women friends,’ she murmured wistfully.

‘Men and women aren’t friends—they’re antagonists!’ remarked a lazy voice behind her, and she swung round to find that James Mannering had entered the apartment silently, and was standing leaning against the door jamb surveying her mockingly.

Graham chuckled, and withdrew, leaving Domine feeling at quite a disadvantage. She got awkwardly to her feet as he came into the room, and said hastily: ‘There—there’s been a call for you. From a woman called Yvonne Park.’

‘Has there indeed?’ Mannering flung himself into an easy chair and drew out his cigar case. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Did you hear what I said?’ asked Domine, frowning.

‘Yes, I heard,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Thank you for the message.’

‘Sometimes,’ she said, rather crossly, ‘you make me feel very childish! You needn’t act as though I wasn’t aware of the facts of life. Graham told me that you and this woman used to be—well, friends!’

‘Is that what he said?’ Mannering got to his feet. ‘How do you get along with Graham?’ He poured himself a glass of whisky at the cocktail cabinet and went on: ‘Don’t imagine I’m a hardened drinker, will you?’ he indicated the glass in his hand. ‘It’s just I’ve had rather an infuriating morning, and I’m not feeling exactly polite at the moment.’

Domine compressed her lips and turned away, sighing rather impatiently. He seemed determined to treat her as an infant.

Suddenly he said, rather surprisingly: ‘I think we’ll have to take you in hand, Domine.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked defensively. ‘If I’m not to discuss your affairs with Graham, then all right. You needn’t make a big thing about it.’

He smiled. ‘What an aggressive little thing you are, aren’t you? Or perhaps little is the wrong adjective.’ He surveyed her rather mockingly. ‘At any rate, I wasn’t referring to my affairs—I was referring to your appearance.’

‘My appearance?’ she echoed, her cheeks colouring. ‘What’s wrong with my appearance?’

‘There’s nothing actually wrong with it,’ he replied consideringly, ‘however, I don’t find a navy blue pinafore dress and a white blouse particularly inspiring. Nowadays there are plenty of decent, attractive clothes to choose from, clothes with style and colour, that would do something for a girl like yourself.’

Domine put a hand on her plait awkwardly. ‘Your father—Great-Uncle Henry, that is, didn’t approve of ultra-modern clothes.’

‘Nor do I!’ he exclaimed impatiently. ‘I’m not suggesting you should deck yourself out like some out-of-date hippie; nevertheless you do require something a little more decorative than school uniform to wear.’

‘I have other clothes,’ she retorted, somewhat shortly.

‘Have you? Then by all means find something different and wear it.’ He seemed to grow bored with the topic of conversation, for he poured himself a second drink and walking across the room, seated himself by the window with the pile of newspapers.

Domine compressed her lips, regarded the back of his head for several minutes, then turned and went into her bedroom, finding to her surprise that Graham must have entered through her bathroom, and her bed was made and the room was tidy again.

She opened her large suitcase and studied the contents without much enthusiasm. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she could wear, and although, as she had said, she had other clothes, they were all rather subdued garments, in dark colours, and without a great deal of style. Eventually she chose a dark green velvet dress, with a close-fitting bodice and a pleated skirt, the sleeves of which were long and buttoned at the cuff. The colour did not complement the olive colour of her skin, and without make-up she looked pale and uninteresting. She tugged the comb through her fringe and stared at herself gloomily. It was no good. She was not good-looking, and no amount of wishing would make her so.

When she emerged into the lounge, it was to find Graham there, talking to James Mannering, and as she closed the door, he said that lunch was ready. James Mannering stared at her with those piercing blue eyes, and then with an imperceptible shrug he allowed her to precede him into the dining-room.

During the meal he did not speak, and she could only assume that he was busy with his own thoughts. She supposed she ought to have discussed his morning’s work at the television studios with him, but when he did not speak, she found the silence between them growing into an actual physical thing, and very soon she would not have dared to try to bridge it. Instead, she picked at the fried chicken and golden rice, and merely tasted the lemon soufflé that followed.

They had their coffee in the lounge, and as Domine was obviously expected to preside over the tray, she did so with nervous intensity, spilling her own coffee into its saucer and dropping the sugar tongs with an ignominious clatter. It was about one-thirty by this time, and she was beginning to think he had changed his mind about taking her to Grey Witches today. After all, he was a busy man, that much was obvious, and if he found the time to take her to Yorkshire then she need not expect that he would spend much time there with her. But what would she do? Would she be left to the care of his mother? The thought frightened her a little. After all, if she knew nothing of James Mannering, she knew even less about his mother and she did not imagine that Mrs. Mannering would approve of her son’s new acquisition, an unwanted acquisition, some might say. She shrank within herself, leaning back in her chair feeling that awful sense of inadequacy assailing her again. All this, the apartment, her new surroundings, James Mannering himself, were a little too much for someone who had spent the last nine years in the cloistered atmosphere of a convent. Indeed she might have been better advised to take the faith and become a novice. At least it would not be a life alien to her.

James Mannering looked up from the papers he had been studying and regarded her rather impatiently, she thought. ‘Now what thoughts are running through that agile brain of yours?’ he questioned dryly.

Domine tried to appear nonchalant. ‘Why—nothing,’ she denied miserably.

He put the papers aside. ‘Don’t lie to me, Domine. Your face is as expressive as an open book.’

Domine lifted her shoulders. ‘Well, I was just wondering whether you’d changed your mind about leaving for Yorkshire today,’ she said jerkily.

He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘No, I haven’t changed my mind, why? Have you?’

Domine stared at him. ‘You know very well my wishes don’t count for anything,’ she said shortly.

Mannering looked taken aback. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Domine gathered strength from a rising sense of frustration. ‘It doesn’t occur to you, does it, that I might find the prospect of going to Yorkshire, of meeting your mother, rather terrifying!’

Mannering frowned. ‘Why?’

Domine bent her head, twisting her hands together in her lap. ‘Well, I’m not exactly used to a social round, Mr. Mannering. My days at the convent were very quiet ones, and the weeks I spent with Great-Uncle Henry followed a symilar pattern.’

‘And was it a pattern you enjoyed?’ he asked, rather tautly.

Domine shrugged. ‘Not—not exactly. Nevertheless, you can’t expect to uproot someone from that kind of existence and expect them to immediately fit in to every preconceived idea you might have of them.’

‘You don’t want to go to Yorkshire?’ he asked bleakly.

‘It’s not that,’ she denied uncomfortably.

‘Well, damn it, what is it?’

She sighed, her eyes shaded by the long lashes. ‘I—well, I’m only just getting used to you, and now you’re going to plunge me into an entirely different environment and expect me to get used to a whole lot of new people.’

He sighed exasperatedly. ‘What would you have me do with you? You can’t stay here!’ His tone was flat and brooked no argument, but she dared to defy him.

‘Why not?’ she asked, looking up. ‘At least—for a few days. Until I get used to everything. I—I could do some shopping. Great-Uncle Henry gave me a little money. I could use some of that and buy myself some clothes. I know you think I look a frump—’

‘I didn’t say that,’ he interrupted her impatiently.

‘You didn’t have to,’ she answered pathetically. ‘I could tell.’

Mannering rose to his feet and paced panther-like about the room. He ran a hand through his thick hair, and stared at her exasperatedly. Then he stopped and faced her. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘what’s frightening you about going to Yorkshire? My mother’s no ogre! Besides, I’ll be there.’

‘Will you? Oh, will you really?’ She got to her feet, clasping her hands together tightly. ‘I—I thought you would just be taking me there and leaving me I—I know you’re a busy man and I never dreamed you’d be taking time off to stay in Yorkshire, particularly as you have this television play coming off, and I know you said you’d had an awful morning when you came home before lunch, and then there’s that Miss Park who’s trying to reach you, and all your other friends, and naturally I thought you wouldn’t have time to bother with me….’ She bit her lip, realizing she was chattering on unnecessarily, and that very likely he would be growing bored with her enthusiasm.

Mannering studied her animated expression and shook his head ‘So that was your objection,’ he murmured. ‘Well, well, I appear to be in demand.’ He smiled rather sardonically as she flushed. ‘All right, all right, so you want to go to Yorkshire now, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Domine nodded slowly, not sure how to take his sarcasm.

‘Good. Then I suggest we begin to make a start towards that end. Are your cases still packed?’

She nodded again, and he walked to the kitchen door and summoned Graham and proceeded to give him minute instructions as to the manner of explanation he should give to people who would be likely to call. Obviously, from the explanations he was giving, he had told his immediate associates what was going on, and it was only a question of supplying information to uninformed business acquaintances. Yvonne Park’s name wasn’t even mentioned, and Domine puzzled over this. Then they carried their cases to the lift which transported them down to the basement which housed the cars belonging to the tenants who occupied the apartments. Graham left them here, wished them a good journey, and took the lift back upstairs.

The previous day Domine had been too overwrought to take a great deal of interest in her guardian’s car, but today she noted with interest that it was a sleek luxury sports car of a continental variety with a speedometer that climbed to alarming heights of speed. However, she climbed inside obediently, and smoothed the skirt of her gaberdine over her knees. She was intensely conscious now of the limitations of her clothes, and realized that the overcoat James Mannering was wearing was lined with real fur and not a nylon imitation.

They drove out of the garages up a ramp on to the main thoroughfare, and eventually headed north up the Edgware Road towards Hatfield. It was still raining steadily, and the windscreen wipers swished continuously, while the tyres hissed on the wet road. In the environs of Greater London, Mannering did not speak, concentrating on the road ahead, and controlling the powerful engine he had beneath the car’s bonnet. They stopped for traffic lights and occasionally he swore as another car swung dangerously across his path, but eventually they reached the motorway and he relaxed a little and gave the car its head.

He glanced at Domine, and said, ‘Not much of a day to see your new home, is it?’ and she shook her head.

‘Is it my new home?’ she asked curiously. ‘I mean—have you made any plans for my future?’

He shrugged, the wheel of the car sliding through his tanned fingers as he overtook a slow-moving furniture wagon. ‘Not exactly plans,’ he replied slowly. ‘To begin with, you look as though you could do with a holiday, a real holiday, I mean, not those stiff visits you made to Crompton’s Hotel.’

‘You knew about them?’

‘Sure. While you may have been kept in the dark about us, we were certainly not kept in the dark about you. You were my father’s redeeming duty. You were the force that was to alter the selfish pattern of his life hitherto.’

Domine frowned. ‘Tell me about your mother,’ she said.

‘What about her?’ His voice was less relaxed when he spoke of his mother, as though he expected some kind of repudiation of her actions.

‘Why didn’t she marry Great-Uncle Henry after his wife and her husband died?’

Mannering gave a harsh mirthless laugh. ‘My mother wouldn’t marry Henry Farriday!’ he exclaimed contemptuously. ‘Not after everything that had happened.’

‘What do you mean?’

He sighed. ‘Oh, you’ll learn soon enough, so I might as well tell you. My mother was not married when—when she became pregnant. She was working at Grey Witches then as a kind of assistant-housekeeper. Henry’s wife was still alive, as I’ve told you. She held the reins of household affairs, and my mother liked her. Unfortunately, she succumbed to Henry’s charm. Oh, he had charm all right, when he chose to exert it, and eventually the inevitable happened. I was the result!’ He glanced at her wryly. ‘It’s shocking to you, isn’t it? A kind of bitter pill to swallow, being made the ward of Great-Uncle Henry’s—’

Domine put her hands over her ears. ‘Don’t say it!’ she cried, half angrily. ‘It’s not your fault!’

He shrugged. ‘Well, anyway, when she found she was pregnant, she went to old Henry for help. Who else could she turn to? Who else was responsible? And do you know what he did? He turned her out! Just like that! Alone and friendless!’

‘Oh, no!’ Domine pressed a hand to her throat.

‘Oh, yes. If it hadn’t been for my father—for Lewis Mannering, that is—she’d probably have killed herself. As it was, Lewis married her, knowing all the facts of the case. My mother is nothing if not honest. I suppose in that respect I may take after her. I’ve never had any time for subterfuge.’ He drew out some cigarettes and dropped them in her lap. ‘Do you want one?’

Domine nodded, and lit one, her hands trembling a little as she used the lighter he handed her. Then he continued:

‘It wasn’t until years later that my mother became Henry’s housekeeper, and by this time his wife was dead, of course.’

‘But why did she do that?’ Domine was puzzled. ‘I don’t understand why she should have gone back to him after the way he treated her.’

‘Don’t you? Well, perhaps not. But you’ll learn as you go through life that there is such a thing as vengeance, and that was the reason why my mother went back. Old Henry didn’t suspect, of course, when he employed her. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw me that he realized why she had done it.’

Domine was still bewildered. ‘But where was your father?’

James Mannering sighed. ‘My father was a farmer. He only had a smallholding, but it was quite prosperous in its way, and when my mother married him she left Hollingford and went to live with him near Beverley. I doubt very much whether Henry Farriday realized she actually had the child, you see. But unfortunately my father contracted cancer of the throat, and he died when I was only fourteen. That was when we went back to Grey Witches.’

‘Oh, I see!’ Domine began to understand. ‘And Great-Uncle Henry recognized you.’

‘Oh yes. Unfortunately, although I resemble my mother in temperament, my physique is wholly Farriday. You can imagine the stir it caused in the village, our living there, at Grey Witches, and nothing old Henry could do about it.’

‘Why? Couldn’t he have dismissed your mother?’

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