The Chain of Destiny by Betty Neels Page A

and Mrs van Beuck was looking sad. ‘We went together to the family solicitor,’ she ruminated. ‘I had a lovely hat—grey tulle with pink roses,’ a remark which led to the two ladies talking at some length about long-forgotten toilettes. Suzannah sat between them an appreciative audience, until they went in to dinner.
    It was as they drank their coffee afterwards that Lady Manbrook said, ‘We shall miss you, Suzannah; you have worked so hard and I am sure you have made a splendid job of arranging those tiresome papers. Do you have any plans?’
    â€˜Not at present, Lady Manbrook. I think that I shall be finished in three weeks; the cataloguing will take a good deal of time, but I’ve almost finished looking through the letters and I left those until last.’
    â€˜I’m sure you will find something nice to do,’ observed Mrs van Beuck comfortably. ‘It must be very quiet for you here.’
    â€˜I’ve been very happy here, and I love the country.’ Suzannah excused herself presently and went to her flat, feeling anxious. It seemed to her that the two ladies were eager for her to finish, although they hadn’t said so. She sat down by the fire with Horace on her lap and studied the situations vacant column in the local paper; several pubs wanted barmaids, but even if she had known something about the work she doubted if anyone would consider her suitable; barmaids were usually pretty and buxom, and she was neither. There was a job for a home help to live in; five children in the family, must love dogs, be cheerful and prepared to assist a handicapped granny when needed; salary negotiable. Suzannah wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but she had a nasty feeling that she would come off second-best in negotiations of any kind. She folded the paper tidily and decided to go to the domestic agency in Marlborough on her next day off.
    It was almost the end of another week and she was sitting in the room Snow had made ready for her, carefully cataloging the last of the dance programmes, when the professor walked in.
    â€˜Still at it?’ he wanted to know, and went to stand in front of the small fire, effectively cutting off its warmth.
    Suzannah looked up from her work. ‘Good afternoon, Professor Bowers-Bentinck,’ she said pointedly, and waited for him to speak.
    â€˜If it will take the disapproving look off your face, good afternoon to you too, Suzannah. Almost finished?’
    Here was another one anxious for her to be gone. She said carefully, ‘Very nearly, I’m going as fast as I can…’
    â€˜Good. Have you another job to go to?’
    â€˜I have several likely…’ She caught his hard blue eyes boring into her. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘I haven’t really, but I’ve applied to three.’
    â€˜Any money?’
    She went rather pink. ‘Really, Professor, I hardly think that’s your business.’
    â€˜I asked you if you had any money, Suzannah. I can see no reason why you shouldn’t answer my question.’
    â€˜No, I don’t suppose you can.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘But let me tell you something. I’m not in your employ; you were kind enough when Aunt Mabel died, although probably that was bedside manner—I imagine you can put that on and take it off again whenever you want to—but I won’t be patronised…’
    Her calm voice had become a little shrill; she took another steadying breath and added, ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with my work…’
    She had been annoyed with him; she was even more annoyed now when he strolled away, closing the door gently behind him.
    There was no sign of him when she joined the two old ladies in the drawing-room that evening.
    â€˜Such a pity that Guy had to go back to his consulting rooms,’ observed Mrs van Beuck. ‘The dear boy works far too hard; it amazes me where these