After dinner was over, James Mannering had excused himself, leaving her to Graham’s care. He had a business appointment, or so he said, and she had not liked to question Graham about his employer’s movements. Even so, she had been disappointed when he had not returned by ten o’clock, and Graham had suggested she retire for the night. As she had not then discovered the layout of the apartment, Graham had shown her round, and she had been suitably impressed by the large rooms with their fine appointments. It was a huge place, with four bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, as well as the lounge, dining-room and kitchen, and a compact study where Mannering worked at his typewriter. Graham occupied a self-contained bed-sitting room which adjoined the kitchen, and which had its own entrance from the corridor outside.
Domine’s own room was decorated in pastel shades of blue and green, with gold curtains and bedspread, and a bathroom with taps of beaten gold. There was a shower, too, and as she had never taken a shower in her life before she used it before getting into bed. Her cotton pyjamas seemed rather utilitarian beside the cream silk sheets, but she merely shrugged and turned out the light, glad of the anonymous darkness.
Up here, high above London, there was no sound of traffic, no intruding sense of the outside world, and she thought rather sleepily that it must be something like the cabin of a jet-liner.
It must be awfully late, she thought suddenly, when there was a slight sound outside her door, and she realized someone had entered the apartment. Leaning over, she switched on the bedside lamp and looked at her watch before hastily switching the lamp off again. It was after two o’clock! She lay back on her pillows staring up at the ceiling. It was very late for anyone to be conducting a business appointment, she thought reluctantly. Obviously, that had only been an excuse to escape from her presence for a while. Perhaps he had a girl-friend, some special woman he was hoping to marry. She frowned. Somehow, since meeting him, since having him take the time to come and collect her from the convent, she had begun to think of him in rather the manner she had thought of Great-Uncle Henry. Almost as though she was important to him, just as he was important to her. How silly she was to imagine that a man like James Mannering, rich, famous, powerful, and physically attractive should consider her anything more than a child he was temporarily responsible for, and who must indeed be nothing but a nuisance to him. Indeed, hadn’t he said earlier in the evening that she was just that?
With a grimace, Domine punched her soft pillow into shape and flung herself down upon it, wondering why the excitement she had felt earlier had somehow dissipated.
When she awoke, a faint filtering of light was trying to pierce its way into the room through the slats in the venetian blinds, but it was a dismal light, and from the steady beating against the windows she gathered it was still raining.
Sighing, she slid out of bed and padded to the window, pushing the slats of the blind apart and peering out. It was a grey morning, the sky still heavy and overcast, and as it was only late October she thought it was going to be a long winter if this was anything to go by. She shivered, but not with cold, the apartment was already warm and comfortable, but the apprehension she had felt the previous day had returned, and she wondered whether her opinion of James Mannering would undergo any changes today.
She glanced at her watch, and gasped. It couldn’t possibly be after eleven o’clock! She stared at the tiny pointers aghast. Good heavens, what would James Mannering think of her, sleeping till this hour? At the convent she would already have been up four hours!
She hastily entered her bathroom, sluiced her face and hands, cleaned her teeth, and with unsteady fingers unplaited her hair. Brushing it vigorously, she quickly re-plaited it again, and then went and dressed again in the uniform outfit she had worn the previous day. When she emerged from her bedroom, the lounge was deserted, and she looked about her doubtfully, wondering what she ought to do to attract attention to herself.
However, she was saved this anxiety, by the arrival of Graham. He was carrying a vacuum cleaner and looked rather disturbed when he saw Domine.
‘Good morning, Miss Grainger,’ he said, with a smile. ‘I’m sorry—did the vacuum wake you up?’
Domine smiled rather tremulously in return. ‘I don’t think so, Mr. Graham. At any rate, if it did, I’m glad! It’s terribly late! What must Mr. Mannering think of me?’
Graham shook his head. ‘First of all, my name’s Graham, just Graham, there’s no need for formalities,’ he said kindly. ‘As to the other—well, Mr. Mannering himself told me to let you sleep on. He said you would probably be tired. Overwrought, perhaps.’
Domine sighed. ‘But—but I thought Mr. Mannering wanted to drive up to Yorkshire today,’ she exclaimed.
‘So he does,’ replied Graham, frowning. ‘There’s plenty of time. 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