Free The Young Nightingales by Mary Whistler

She had been half afraid that the bed would be shrouded in lace curtaining and the windows difficult to approach because of voluminous draperies, but she need not have worried. The bed was a starkly simple affair covered with hem-stitched linen, and in place of a carpet the polished floor was strewn with off-white rugs. There was a deep, comfortable armchair with a foot-rest, a dressing-table with triple mirrors, and plenty of wardrobe space. And outside the main window there was, as there had been at the hotel, a wide and inviting balcony protected from the fierce glare of the sun by green sun-blinds.
    The first thing Jane did when she had expressed aloud her approval of the room was to step out on to the balcony and gaze with delight at the magnificent view of the lake which was hers. Florence, looking as if she had long ago got over the urge to rhapsodise about the scenery, sniffed and said shortly that she must return to her mistress, and lunch would be at half-past one, and all meals were served promptly at the villa.
    Jane turned round and smiled at her.
    “I’ll remember,” she said.
    Florence hesitated.
    “If there’s anything you want, miss ... Madame said you’re to be made as comfortable as possible. Just press the bell, and I’ll send up Freda, who comes daily from the town, to find out what it is. But I think I’ve thought of everything you’ll need.”
    Jane nodded.
    “I expect you have. This whole room is quite delightful, and I’m sure I’m going to love it.”
    Florence sounded mollified.
    “Ah, well, it’s had a thorough do out, I can tell you that. When I knew you were coming I set Freda on it for one whole day, and it’s sweet and clean. These Swiss girls are good workers, but they have to do the thing properly to please me.”
    She went out with a vague air of triumph as if she was aware that her qualities as a housekeeper were second to none, and as soon as she was alone Jane unpacked her cases and put away her personal possessions, and then, as it was still only a quarter to one, decided to go outside into the garden and discover for herself what it was like at close quarters.
    When she passed the conservatory she found that all the blinds were drawn and, despite open windows, the whole house h ad a faintly shrouded air as if it was cowering from the too fierce attentions of the sun. And it was certainly, on this day at least, a v ery hot sun, and the glare from off the lake seemed to increase the heat and also to offer a warning that if one stayed out in it too long the heat might become unbearable; and she was glad to plunge into the comparative coolness of shrubberies that skirted a well-kept lawn and a tennis-court, and eventually brought her out on to a kind of stone bridge or parapet that overlooked the lake and the trees that overhung it and the landing-stage.
    The trees were weeping willows, and their feathery branches all but caressed the cool waters of the lake. As Jane stared downwards fascinatedly into the placidly lapping water she was quite sure that the water of the lake was very cool indeed, for even as she leaned there she could feel the temperature lowering itself dramatically, and when she lifted her eyes to the snows on the farther shore she was not really in the least surprised.
    Melting flood water must remain cool for a long time after it was melted, and the lake was fed by those continuous trickles that found their way down from the snows. And the branches of the willows were reflected in the water, and so was the bridge on which she stood. She could see her own face gazing back at her, wavering gently in the lightest of summer breezes.
    She climbed down the slightly dangerous steps to the landing-stage, and went into the boat-house and inspected its contents. There was an old and obviously no longer seaworthy canoe, and a battered punt. The punt Mrs. Bowman had already mentioned to her was moored to the landing-stage, but it, too, looked a trifle derelict, and she