‘We did, Daddy, but they have to go,’ Samantha said.
‘But you will come again?’ His thin, clever face had bright, squirrel eyes. The greyish hair that grew thickly on the long head had the aspect of a squirrel’s pelt.
‘If we need help with the project,’ Sister Joan said. ‘As I was explaining to your wife the idea is for the children to produce work that can be mounted in a small school exhibition. Nothing very elaborate.’
‘It sounds charming.’ The squirrel eyes moved slowly over her. ‘Doesn’t it sound charming, Julia?’
‘We’ll certainly give Samantha all the encouragement we can,’ his wife said.
‘Fine. Then we won’t detain you any longer.’ Sister Joan turned away slightly from the probing, stripping gaze. ‘Samantha seems to be settling down in school very well.’
Nobody had asked but she thought she might as well throw in the information.
‘Samantha is infinitely adaptable,’ her father said. ‘Aren’t you, darling?’
‘Yes, well — thank you again,’ Sister Joan said, wondering what exactly she was thanking them for. ‘Sister Margaret?’
‘Good evening.’ Sister Margaret, who had stood dumbly, gazing round, came to life again.
‘I’ll see you out.’ Mrs Olive moved, thin and graceful, to the door.
At the back of the hall a long passage stretched past the wide staircase, presumably to the kitchen quarters. Sister Joan, glancing back, saw someone standing there. She caught a glimpse of hair so fair that it looked almost white, a classical profile, a lean, athletic body clad in jeans and sweatshirt. Then Mrs Olive turned her sleek head, saying in a raised voice, ‘In a moment, Jan.’
A side door was opened and closed. The nuns came out to the front step.
‘Au pairs can get so bored in the country when there isn’t anywhere to go,’ Mrs Olive said deprecatingly.
‘But I thought — I assumed that your au pair was a girl,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Oh, Kiki got bored too and left us. Jan was recommended through the same agency so I’m hoping that the same pattern won’t repeat itself,’ Mrs Olive said.
‘Through a local agency?’ Sister Joan asked.
‘One in Bodmin — Foreign Companion Helps — something like that. So far he seems to be settling down, but one can never tell.’
The car that picked up Samantha from school always stopped at some distance. She had never bothered to look closely at who was driving it. Not that it was any of her business if the Olives chose to fill their house with male au pairs. Handsome male au pairs, Sister Joan amended, and rebuked herself for being narrow minded.
‘Next time you must stay longer,’ Julia Olive said. The languidness was back in her voice.
‘It would be most interesting to see something of such an old house,’ Sister Joan agreed.
‘Most of it is in very bad repair,’ Mrs Olive told her. ‘The basement is very damp and the foundations quite unstable. It will require a lot of work on it before it can be put right, I’m afraid. Good evening again, Sisters.’ Without waiting to see them into the car she turned and went back into the house.
‘We shall have to hurry or we’ll be late for chapel,’ Sister Joan said. ‘We’ve missed recreation already.’
‘So we have.’ Sister Margaret gave herself a little shake and got hastily into the car.
‘You were very quiet in there, Sister. Was anything wrong?’ Sister Joan glanced at her companion as the latter started the engine.
‘I was looking at the dirt,’ Sister Margaret said, ‘and wishing that I had a bucket of hot soapy water and a scrubbing brush. Of course one cannot blame the poor lady. It is an enormous house to clean.’
‘It didn’t strike me as particularly dirty,’ Sister Joan said, puzzled. ‘A bit faded and some of the furniture didn’t suit the room too well, but hardly dirty.’
‘Very dirty,’ said Sister Margaret with unusual firmness and gripped the wheel as the engine sprang into life.
Whatever occupied her mind had at least emptied it of the desire to break speed records, Sister Joan reflected, as they rode home at a moderate speed. Her own mind was a ragbag of impressions which she would have to sort out later.
‘I’ll put the car away, Sister. You hurry on into chapel,’ Sister Margaret said as they swept up to the convent.
Chapel, Sister Joan thought, is exactly what I need. This round of visits has muddled me terribly.
She walked briskly to the side door and let herself in, the thought crossing her mind that the habit of leaving the door open was not perhaps a very wise one. Anyone from the laity who wanted to pray in the middle of the night was scarcely likely to come all the way out to the convent in order to gratify their wish. On the other hand a thief or a prowler could easily get in. It might do no harm to have a quiet word with Mother Dorothy on the subject.
‘Oh, there you are, Sister! Did you have a pleasant evening? Pleasanter than mine, I’m sure.’
Sister David, snub nose twitching violently as was her habit when agitated, met her at the door of the chapel.
‘Is something wrong, Sister?’
‘The holy water in the stoup has all dried up,’ Sister David said plaintively. ‘It is always refilled on Wednesdays as you know and now there isn’t a drop left. I can’t for the life of me understand it. I checked the stoup for cracks but there aren’t any, and in any case the floor would have been wet had it leaked. It looks as if someone actually drank it all up and that’s too ridiculous to contemplate.’
‘What have you done about it?’
‘Fortunately there is sufficient for the blessing and tomorrow morning we must ask Sister Margaret to take
