CHAPTER ONE
MISS MIMI CATTELL gave a low, dramatic moan followed by a few sobbing breaths, but when these had no effect upon the girl standing by the bed she sat up against her pillows, threw one of them at her and screeched, âWell, donât just stand there, you little fool, phone Dr Gregg this instant. He must come and see me at once. Iâm ill; Iâve hardly slept all nightâ¦â She paused to sneeze.
The girl by the bed, a small mousy person, very neat and with a rather plain face enlivened by a pair of vivid green eyes, picked up the pillow.
âShould you first of all try a hot lemon drink and some aspirin?â she suggested in a sensible voice. âA cold in the head always makes one feel poorly. A day in bed, perhaps?â
The young woman in the bed had flung herself back onto her pillows again. âJust do as I say for once. I donât pay you to make stupid suggestions. Get out and phone Dr Gregg; heâs to come at once.â She moaned again. âHow can I possibly go to the Sinclairsâ party this eveningâ¦?â
Dr Greggâs receptionist laughed down the phone. âHeâs got three more private patients to see and then a clinic at the hospital, and it isnât Dr Greggâheâs gone off for a weekâs golfâitâs his partner. Iâll give him the message and youâd better say heâll come as soon as he can. Sheâs not really ill, is she?â
âI donât think so. A nasty head coldâ¦â
The receptionist laughed. âI donât know why you stay with her.â
Loveday put down the phone. She wondered that too, quite often, but it was a case of beggars not being choosers, wasnât it? She had to have a roof over her head, she had to eat and she had to earn money so that she could save for a problematical future. And that meant another year or two working as Mimi Cattellâs secretaryâa misleading title if ever there was one, for she almost never sent letters, even when Loveday wrote them for her.
That didnât mean that Loveday had nothing to do. Her days were kept nicely busyâthe care of Mimiâs clothes took up a great deal of time, for what was the point of having a personal maid when Loveday had nothing else to do? Nothing except being at her beck and call each and every day, and if she came home later from a party at night as well.
Loveday, with only an elderly aunt living in a Dartmoor village whom she had never met, made the best of it. She was twenty-four, heartwhole and healthy, and perhaps one day a man would come along and sweep her off her feet. Common sense told her that this was unlikely to be the case, but a girl had to have her dreamsâ¦
She went back to the bedroom and found Mimi threshing about in her outsize bed, shouting at the unfortunate housemaid who had brought her breakfast tray.
Loveday prudently took the tray from the girl, who looked as if she was on the point of dropping it, nodded to her to slip away and said bracingly, âThe doctor will come as soon as he can. He has one or two patients to see first.â She made no mention of the clinic. âIf I fetch you a pot of China teaâweak with lemonâit may help you to feel well enough to have a bath and put on a fresh nightie before he comes.â
Mimi brightened. Her life was spent in making herself attractive to men, and perhaps she would feel strong enough to do her face. She said rudely, âGet the tea, then, and make sure that the lemonâs cut wafer-thinâ¦â
Loveday went down to the basement, where Mrs Branch and the housemaid lived their lives. She took the tray with her and, being a practical girl, ate the fingers of toast on it and accepted the mug of tea Mrs Branch offered her. She should have had her breakfast with Mrs Branch and Ellie, but there wasnât much hope of getting it now. Getting Miss Cattell ready for the doctor would take quite a time. She ate the rest of the toast, sliced the lemon and bore a tray, daintily arranged, back upstairs.
Mimi Cattell, a spoilt beauty of society, prepared for the doctorâs visit with the same care she took when getting ready for an evening party. âAnd you can make the bed while Iâm bathingâput some fresh pillowcases on, and donât dawdleâ¦â
It was almost lunchtime by the time she was once more in her bed, carefully made up, wearing a gossamer nightgown, the fairytale effect rather marred by her sniffs. To blow her nose would make it red.