HAVE BOUGHT A HOUSE. LOVE. GWENDA.
“That’ll tickle him up,” said Gwenda to herself. “Show him that the grass doesn’t grow under my feet!”
2 WALLPAPER
A MONTH had passed and Gwenda had moved into Hillside. Giles’s aunt’s furniture had come out of store and was arranged round the house.
It was good quality old-fashioned stuff.
One or two over-large wardrobes Gwenda had sold, but the rest fitted in nicely and was in harmony with the house. There were small gay papier-mache tables in the drawing-room, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and painted with castles and roses. There was a prim little work-table with a gathered sack underneath of puce silk, there was a rosewood bureau and a mahogany sofa table.
The so-called easy chairs Gwenda had relegated to various bedrooms and had bought two large squashy wells of comfort for herself and Giles to stand each side of the fireplace. The large chesterfield sofa was placed near the windows. For curtains Gwenda had chosen old-fashioned chintz of pale egg-shell blue with prim urns of roses and yellow birds on them. The room, she now considered, was exactly right.
She was hardly settled yet, since she had workmen in the house still. They should have been out by now, but Gwenda rightly estimated that until she herself came into residence, they would not go.
The kitchen alterations were finished, the new bathrooms nearly so. For further decorating Gwenda was going to wait a while. She wanted time to savour her new home and decide on the exact colour schemes she wanted for the bedrooms.
The house was really in very good order and there was no need to do everything at once.
In the kitchen a Mrs. Cocker was now installed, a lady of condescending graciousness, inclined to repulse Gwenda’s overdemocratic friendliness, but who, once Gwenda had been satisfactorily put in her place, was willing to unbend.
On this particular morning Mrs. Cocker deposited a breakfast tray on Gwenda’s knees, as she sat up in bed.
‘When there’s no gentleman in the house,” Mrs. Cocker affirmed, “a lady prefers her breakfast in bed.” And Gwenda had bowed to this supposedly English enactment.
“Scrambled this morning,” Mrs. Cocker observed, referring to the eggs. “You said something about finnan haddock, but you wouldn’t like it in the bedroom. It leaves a smell. I’m giving it to you for your supper, creamed on toast.” “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Cocker.” Mrs. Cocker smiled graciously and prepared to withdraw.
Gwenda was not occupying the big double bedroom. That could wait until Giles returned. She had chosen instead the end room, the one with the rounded walls and the bow window. She felt thoroughly at home in it and happy.
Looking round her now, she exclaimed impulsively: “I do like this room.” Mrs. Cocker looked round indulgently.
“It is quaite a naice room, madam, though small. By the bars on the window I should say it had been the nursery at one time.” “I never thought of that. Perhaps it has.” “Ah, well,” said Mrs. Cocker, with implication in her voice, and withdrew.
“Once we have a gentleman in the house,” she seemed to be saying, “who knows? A nursery may be needed.” Gwenda blushed. She looked round the room. A nursery? Yes, it would be a nice nursery. She began furnishing it in her mind. A big dolls’ house there against the wall. And low cupboards with toys in them. A fire burning cheerfully in the grate and a tall guard round it with things airing on the rail. But not this hideous mustard wall. No, she would have a gay wallpaper. Something bright and cheerful.
Little bunches of poppies alternating with bunches of cornflowers…. Yes, that would be lovely. She’d try and find a wallpaper like that. She felt sure she had seen one somewhere.
One didn’t need much furniture in the room. There were two built-in cupboards, but one of them, a corner one, was locked and the key lost. Indeed the whole thing had been painted over, so that it could not have been opened for many years. She must get the men to open it up before they left. As it was, she hadn’t got room for all her clothes.