This Time It's Love

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1943-1

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1943The old-fashioned doorbell pealed in the passage.

“One cupful of flour – one ounce of butter – ” Fenella repeated to herself.

The bell pealed again.

“Oh, bother!”

She walked to the kitchen door, wiped her hands on the towel hanging behind it and went to answer the bell.

As she reached the hall, Nanny appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Is that you, dearie?” she asked. “I was afraid no one had heard it.”

“It’s all right, Nanny,” Fenella called out. “Don’t come downstairs.”

“Good morning. Could I speak to the owner?”

The sunshine glittered in Fenella’s eyes, blinding her a little, so that it took her a moment to see who was standing outside the door. The voice was low and rather charming with a cool note of authority in it.

Fenella blinked and saw a tall man in uniform behind him and waiting in the drive was a camouflaged car with a uniformed driver at the wheel.

“Will you come in?” she asked after a moment’s hesitation.

“Thank you.”

The Officer walked past her and stood in the shade of the hall waiting, she fancied, a little impatiently for her to lead the way. She smiled at him and then seeing his expression realised that he had mistaken her for the maid.

It was not surprising, Fenella thought swiftly. She had been cooking all the morning and she was wearing a big enveloping white apron, now slightly stained and crumpled and her sleeves were rolled up above the elbow.

“This way,” she said demurely.

She led him into the small sitting room where the fire, lit only a short time ago, made the room somewhat dark and unwelcoming.

“I will tell Miss Prentis you are here,” Fenella said in what she hoped was a respectful retainer’s voice.

With that she closed the door on him.

‘I wonder what he wants?’ she thought. ‘Anyway, it will do him good to cool his heels a bit while I get ready.’

In her bedroom Fenella powdered her nose and smoothed the waves of her dark hair on either side of her forehead, pulled down the sleeves of her yellow jumper and slipped on the leaf-green cardigan that toned with her checked skirt.

‘Now I look more like the occupier,’ she told herself as she proceeded slowly and with some dignity downstairs to the sitting room.

She opened the door and saw that her guest had his back to her. He was standing looking down at the fire, his hands holding onto the mantelpiece and his coat and cap put tidily on a chair near the window.

He held the rank of Major she noted swiftly.

‘Good shoulders,’ Fenella thought to herself appraisingly and, as he turned, good looking,’ she added, ‘but it’s a hard face, hard and unyielding.’

“How do you do,” she said out loud. “I am Fenella Prentis. I think you wanted to see me.”

He stared at her for a moment before he smiled, a slow attractive smile that transformed his face.

“I must apologise,” he said coming forward and holding out his hand. “It was the apron that deceived me.”

“It was quite understandable,” Fenella said, “and if you took me for the servant you were quite right. It’s my job nowadays.”

“I hope you will forgive me,” he said releasing her hand. “And now, if I may introduce myself, my name is Ransome and I have called to ask if I may billet some of my Officers here.”

Fenella stared at him in dismay.

“But that’s impossible!” she cried. “Who would look after them?”

“I was going to ask you to do that,” he answered, “although I hope it will only be for a short time.

“We are building a camp the other side of the village as you may have heard. We expected it to be ready when we moved in, but unfortunately our expectations have not been realised. I can accommodate most of the men in the farmers’ barns, but there does not seem to be many houses in the village suitable for the Officers.”

“There are very few,” Fenella agreed. “What about Wetherby Court?”

“Sir Nicholas Coleby’s place?” Major Ransome asked. “I am afraid that is too far away. You see, we have to be on the spot and at the moment we are extremely limited with petrol.”

“But I don’t know how we can have anyone here,” Fenella said. “The house is tiny and my father comes home on leave fairly frequently so that I cannot offer you his room.”

“He is in the Services?” Major Ransome asked.

Fenella nodded.

“Yes, in the R.A.F., although not operational. He is in charge of the camouflage department at the Air Ministry.”

“Prentis,” Major Ransome repeated the name thoughtfully, “I suppose your father is not by any chance Simon Prentis?”

Fenella smiled.

“That’s right.”

“Good gracious! He’s a very famous person. I didn’t know he lived in this part of the world, I thought he had a studio in London.”

“Oh, he gave that up years and years ago,” Fenella said. “He could not bear the noise of the traffic and the feeling of being cramped, so he bought this house. It was only a farm then and he added on the barn to make himself a studio. It looks big from the outside, but that’s due to the barn and the rest of the house is really very small. But I’ll show it to you if you like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Major Ransome said. “You must understand, Miss Prentis, that I hate having to billet ourselves on reluctant civilians, but it has to be done. We have to sleep somewhere.”

“But of course.”

Fenella led the way from the sitting room into the small oak-beamed hall and then opened a door on the right.

The building that was Simon Prentis’ studio had been beautifully converted from a three century old barn using the oak beams wherever possible.

The windows that were let into both sides of it managed to admit the maximum amount of light without being unduly obtrusive.

The floor was polished and covered with soft-toned rugs and there was an open fireplace and plenty of big comfortable-looking armchairs and inviting sofas.

There was, as might be expected, a model’s throne and an easel, but otherwise the room was very unlike the usual artist’s studio.

“It’s charming,” Major Ransome exclaimed.

“My father is rather different from most painters,” Fenella said. “He likes to work with everyone around him.”

“It’s certainly a marvellous place,” Major Ransome said approvingly, “and I shall hope very much to have the privilege of meeting your father. I am a great admirer of his works, in fact I’m proud to say that I own one of his pictures.”

“Which one?” Fenella asked curiously.

“‘A Girl Laughing’. It was the picture of the year in 1936.”

“Oh, I remember it,” Fenella said. “Inez modelled for that one and it was painted just before Daddy married her.”

She spoke coolly and dispassionately, but Major Ransome gave her a quick glance before saying,

“She was certainly lovely. I have never seen hair of such a wonderful colour.”

“Yes, Daddy always chooses redheads as his models – but of course you know that.”

“I’ve always heard that was so,” Major Ransome replied, “but I didn’t know if it was just gossip.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite true,” Fenella answered. “Daddy only admires red-haired women. Moo and I are a great disappointment to him.”

“Moo?” the Major questioned.

“My sister. She is at school now, she comes home at teatime.”

“I had no idea that Simon Prentis had a family, hence my curiosity.”

“Oh, there’s quite a lot of us one way and another. Now perhaps you would like to see the bedrooms?”

Fenella led the way upstairs. As she had said, the house was very small although particularly charming. Nearly all the bedroom ceilings were sloping, the small-paned windows opening outwards under the gables that gave the house its name.

In the front of the house there was Simon Prentis’s room, far the largest and most luxurious of the bedrooms with a bathroom opening out of it.

There were also two others, smaller and inexpensively furnished, one used by Fenella and the other by her sister. At the back there were the two nurseries and a small bedroom decorated with photographs of football and cricket teams.

“This is my brother Raymond’s room,” Fenella announced. “He is at sea, so I suppose that if you must billet someone on us he could sleep here.”

“I wonder if Raymond would mind very much if I personally occupied his room.”

“You mean you would come here yourself?”

“If you will let me.”

“You will be very uncomfortable. You realise we have no servants at all now. There is only Nanny and me to do everything.”

“You cannot get any help?”

Fenella shook her head.

“Not locally. You see, they don’t approve of us in the village of Creepers, in fact,” she added, “if you want the truth I don’t suppose it will do your reputation any good to stay in this house.”

“I think my reputation will stand it,” he replied and his tone was as serious as hers, “but thank you for thinking of me. I appreciate it.”

“I am only warning you. You don’t know this part of the country, I presume.”

“Not well, but I expect it is like most other parts of rural England, a bit narrow-minded.”

Fenella laughed.

“Just a little, although Simon Prentis and family take a lot of swallowing, you know.”

“I thought all artists were allowed any amount of licence.”

“Not in Creepers.”

They shook hands and Rex Ransome said he would be back later.

*

“It’s no use, Nanny,” Fenella said wearily, “they can commandeer the entire house if they want to and after all, Major Ransome seemed quite a nice man. He will only be here for breakfast and dinner and he says he will send a batman up to do his room.”

“This used to be a free country,” Nanny grumbled.

“No country’s free in wartime,” Fenella replied.

“That’s obvious!” Nanny snapped, taking the hot plates off the range and carrying them into the dining room.

Fenella smiled a little ruefully to herself as she turned back towards the oven and drew out the shepherd’s pie, now browned crisply.

Few people realised that Simon Prentis had six children. Kay, it was true, his eldest daughter and the only child of his first wife Flavia did make the most of being Simon Prentis’s daughter when she went on the stage and later drifted into films.

Arline’s family, Simon had married her in 1920, were less spectacular, which was not surprising for Arline herself had hated the type of self-assertion that must feed its vanity on newspaper cuttings and photographs in the illustrated press.

The daughter of a respectable and wealthy Scottish family, she had defied her parents when she was only nineteen when they had refused to allow her to marry a man who was noted for his Bohemian unconventional ways.

Surprisingly enough they had been extremely happy. Arline, for all her youth and inexperience, was a strangely sensible and self-sufficient young woman.

She was content to accept Simon as he was, trying neither to change nor convert him to more conventional standards. If he was unfaithful to her during the twelve years of their married life, she never showed by word or deed that she was aware of it.

Arline had few friends and had no confidantes, but there were some wise people who wondered just how much of his success Simon owed to her.

For it was Arline who had the practical brain, who remembered to despatch the paintings once they were finished, who kept Simon in touch with the right critics and the fashionable exhibitions.

Yet, when she died, the vast public who adored Simon and who ate up every detail of his exotic Bohemianism hardly gave a thought to the passing of his wife.

Arline died when Moo was born. It was an unnecessary death brought on by sheer carelessness, by Simon insisting that they left their return from the Continent until the last moment and by crossing the English Channel in a violent storm and without bothering to reserve a cabin.

When Arline arrived back at their house in London and Simon handed her over to Nanny, she had already crossed the danger line. Pneumonia set in, Moo arrived with much unnecessary pain and difficulty and Arline released her never very strong hold on life.

It was doubtful if Simon realised at first what had happened to him. He was distraught with a grief that seemed slightly exaggerated and theatrical.

But it was a selfish grief and he showed it when he enquired of all and sundry what he, Simon Prentis, should do with four children on his hands, all of whom except perhaps the eldest were quite incapable of looking after themselves.

Kay by this time was just leaving school, but she had spent most of her childhood with her mother’s relations, somewhat flashy suburban people of whom Arline had never approved.

Simon did not really consider her one of his difficulties, but Raymond of eleven, Fenella aged seven and a baby a month old certainly had to be considered.