Storm In A Rain Barrel

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.’