by Betty Neels
Which brought another flood of tears and a long, involved account from Anna. Her father listened silently, only coming to sit on the other side of the bed and take her on his knee. When she had at last finished and Julie’s sobbing had dwindled into sniffs and long sighing breaths, he said: ‘My dears, this is all my fault, I should have…’ he paused. ‘Miss Murch seemed such a good governess, you know, it wasn’t until you came to the cottage that I began to wonder. You must forgive me, it seems to me that I need someone to look after me more than you do. But Miss Murch is never coming back again, and that’s a promise, so you can forget her. And now do you know what we’re going to do? We’re all going to have a drink of nice hot cocoa and then we’ll go to bed, and tomorrow we’ll think of something exciting to do.’
He put Anna down and stood up. It couldn’t be all that late, thought Sadie, for he was still in his evening clothes, which reminded her that she was in her nightie, a very respectable garment, long-sleeved and high-necked but still a nightie. She said quickly: ‘I’ll get the cocoa. Mrs Woodley told me where it was this evening just in case I should need it.’ She unwound Julie’s arms from her neck. ‘I won’t be long.’ She kissed Julie’s wet cheek and padded to the door. Mr Trentham, watching her, had a look in his eyes which hadn’t been there for a very long time, but she wasn’t to know that. She slipped into her room, put on her dressing gown and slippers and went off to the kitchen.
The elaborate Cartel clock in the hall struck two o’clock as she pushed open the baize door which led to the kitchen and pantries. Just for a moment she allowed her thoughts to dwell on Mr Trentham’s evening, but she dismissed them at once; moping over impossibilities was a waste of time. She found the milk and the cocoa and put mugs on a tray and presently took it up to the children’s bedroom where she found Mr Trentham still sitting on the bed with a child on each knee. Whatever he had been saying to them had made them extremely cheerful and giggly. They drank their cocoa and got back into their beds, demanding to be kissed and tucked in, and would Sadie please keep the light on in the passage just for a little while.
‘We’ll leave it on all night,’ promised their father, and held the door for Sadie to go through. In the passage he took the tray from her. ‘I’ll see to that—go back to bed and go to sleep.’ He started to say something else, but sighed instead and only added a goodnight, and that in a voice suddenly austere.
Over breakfast next morning he suggested a good brisk walk across Hampstead Heath. ‘I’ve got to go out to lunch,’ he observed, ‘but we’ve time enough if we go as soon as we’ve finished breakfast.’
‘In a bus?’ demanded the children.
‘Why not? We can walk there and take a bus back.’
It was a cold clear crisp day and Highgate Village looked decidedly pleasant. Sadie would have liked to have lingered to examine the charming houses and peer into the small shops, but Mr Trentham hurried them all along until they reached the Heath where, much to her astonishment, he proceeded to run races with his small daughters and when she stood uncertainly watching, caught her by the hand and whirled her away too. And presently, breathless and glowing, they all walked on, taking paths which he must have known very well indeed, for he never hesitated until they emerged at length on the other side of the Heath and caught a bus back. They had to go on top because of the children’s urgent request to do so and sat squashed together on the back seat, with everyone pointing out various landmarks to her.
It had been a lovely morning, Sadie decided, combing small heads of hair and examining hands ready for lunch, only spoilt by the fact that Mr Trentham wasn’t going to be home for lunch; indeed, as they reached the hall they could hear the Aston Martin racing away, too fast as usual. She wondered who he was so impatient to meet and wished, for the hundredth time, that she knew something about his work and his friends and what he did with his time when he wasn’t bashing away at his typewriter.
She sighed so profoundly that Anna asked her if she was feeling quite well.
‘Never better,’ declared Sadie; after all, he’d be home for tea, or at worst dinner that evening.
But although he came home during the afternoon it was to go straight to his study where the phone rang non-stop until teatime, and then, just as Sadie had looked at the clock and decided that they might all go down to the sitting room for their tea, Teresa came to say that she would bring it up to the playroom because the master had visitors.
She passed him on the stairs later, as she was going down to fetch something from the kitchen. ‘I’ll say goodnight to the children now,’ he told her as he paused beside her, half way up. ‘I’ve told Mrs Woodley to serve your dinner after they’re in bed; I daresay you’ll enjoy that better. There’s a good play on television, you might like to watch it.’
Sadie thanked him quietly, wished him a pleasant evening and went on downstairs. She was beginning to regret coming to Highgate: at the cottage she had mattered, even if it was only cooking his meals and running the house; here she was of no more importance than yesterday’s newspapers. No wonder he needed somewhere quiet to write, for there was very little peace for him in London, but perhaps he had got bored when he wasn’t actually working…
But the next day was Saturday and they were to go to the pantomime in the evening. They all lunched together, then Sadie was dismissed kindly enough afterwards and told to go and look at the shops in the village for an hour while Mr Trentham drove the children to Hampstead to see some friends. So she helped the little girls into their coats and hats, found their gloves and made sure that their smart red shoes were clean, then sent them downstairs to their father. When they had gone, she put on her own coat and beret and set off to look around her. Almost all the shops were shut for the weekend, which was a blow, for she had some money still and longed to spend some of it. She had to content herself with a new lipstick and several pairs of tights, and then, because it was too early to go back to the house, she had a cup of coffee in a small café which despite its chic interior, looked forlorn because of its lack of customers. Saturday afternoon was, after all, a time when families were together at home, or out somewhere watching football or visiting grandparents.
She walked back presently and reached the gate just as the car drew up. She was immediately engulfed in the two children tumbling round her, talking at once so that there was no need to do more than give Mr Trentham a rather shy hello before going indoors.
They were to have supper early and since Mr Trentham was going out anyway, Sadie took the children upstairs to have their baths and put on their best dresses. They had several of these, she discovered, a little shocked at the extravagant row of expensive little dresses hanging in the cupboard. They chose sapphire blue velvet outfits finally, and then, quite ready themselves, begged to go with Sadie while she got ready herself.
There was no difficulty in choosing what she was to wear; the blue wool and the amber crêpe hung side by side in an almost empty closet, and of course it would have to be the crêpe. She had a shower and got dressed while the children sat on the side of the bed, telling her about their afternoon. ‘She’s a widow lady,’ explained Julie, ‘and she’s got a little boy a bit smaller than me, and a girl we don’t like. We had to play in the nursery while she and Daddy had tea. They laughed a lot.’
Just right, thought Sadie unhappily, a widow with two children; she’d be beautiful, of course, and exquisitely dressed and good with children and giving dinner parties and going to the theatre. She got into the blue crêpe and immediately felt better, because there was no doubt that it did something for her. She brushed her hair back and tied it with a matching ribbon, made up her face in a rather inexperienced fashion, and pronounced herself ready. Blow Mr Trentham and his lovely ladies! She was going to enjoy her evening.
They were ready and waiting by the time Mr Trentham came to fetch them. The little girls had been too excited to eat much and Sadie hadn’t wanted to eat at all, but she had done her best because of setting a good example. No
w they got into the car, Mr Trentham having duly admired their dresses and pronounced all three of them very smart indeed, and Sadie went scarlet when Anna said: ‘I think Sadie looks prettier than Mrs Wilcox, Daddy, don’t you?’ And luckily, not waiting for an answer: ‘She uses very strong scent, but Sadie smells nice.’
Fortunately, Mr Trentham made no answer other than a grunt which could have meant anything.
They had splendid seats, the middle of the front row of the dress circle, so that they missed nothing of what was going on on the stage. Sadie, quite carried away by the splendour of the theatre and the magnificence of the costumes and scenery, sat between the two children, as rapt as they were. Mr Trentham had provided a box of chocolates for them and in the interval ordered ices for them, although he went off to the bar. It wasn’t until the lights went up for the last time that Sadie had a chance to say how heavenly it had been. He was helping Julie into her coat and looked across at her, doing the same for Anna. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, Sadie,’ he said quietly. ‘I found it heavenly too.’
It was getting on for eleven o’clock by the time they got back. Sadie whisked the children upstairs and into bed in no time at all, and was leaving the room when Mr Trentham came in. He said goodnight to the sleepy little girls and followed Sadie out into the passage.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked her.
She was, although she hesitated to say so, not that it mattered, because he didn’t give her a chance to reply. ‘We’ll go somewhere and have supper. Teresa’s watching the late night film, so the children will be all right. Where’s your coat? Fetch it and we’ll go now.’
Sadie hadn’t uttered a word and now she saw that it would be useless to anyway. She got her coat and followed him downstairs and out to the car and sat without a word as they drove away. ‘A pleasant evening,’ he observed blandly. ‘Let’s see if we can make it still pleasanter.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY WERE driving back the way they had come, back towards London’s heart. After a few moments Sadie ventured: ‘Isn’t it a bit late for supper?’
Mr Trentham had been waiting for that. ‘This isn’t Chelcombe, Sadie, there are plenty of places open until the small hours.’ And when she didn’t answer! ‘You’re not tired?’
Of course she was tired, but she had no intention of saying so. She said primly: ‘Since I’ve been at the Highgate house, I’ve not done anything to make me tired.’
‘Good. We’re going to Kettners. Have you heard of it?’ and when she shook her head, ‘They take their last orders at one o’clock in the morning.’
‘How awful for the people in the kitchen,’ said Sadie, and Mr Trentham laughed with the faint mockery she disliked so much.
‘You and I see the world through different eyes, Sadie. If it comforts you at all, they get very good money. I hope it won’t spoil your appetite.’
‘No, I don’t think so, I’m really quite hungry.’
She was glad of the amber crêpe as he ushered her into Kettner’s restaurant. It was almost full and they had to walk through a crowded room to reach their table. Sadie walked to it behind the head waiter, her head held high, her plain little face serene, very anxious not to let Mr Trentham down.
The supper he had suggested wasn’t quite what she had envisaged. The menu was extensive and written in French. She worked out one or two items with inward shudders at the prices and then said in her quiet way: ‘Would you mind choosing for me, Mr Trentham?’
He ordered smoked Scotch salmon with brown bread and butter and lemon wedges, for them both, and then crêpes de volaille Florentine for her and a steak for himself. And when they had demolished the salmon and the crêpes arrived said with relief: ‘Oh, it’s pancakes with a chicken filling and spinach and cheese sauce.’
Mr Trentham agreed gravely and wished that the chef could have heard her. The pudding she chose for herself: Mont Blanc, a purée of chestnuts with whipped cream which she consumed with childish relish under Mr Trentham’s amused gaze while he toyed with a little Stilton.
He had laid himself out putting her at her ease, talking about nothing in particular and making no effort to persuade her to drink more than one glass of the excellent hock he had chosen for her. She had been a little surprised to find that he was drinking a red wine while hers was white, but she had sense enough to know that the choice of wines was quite outside her province, nor had she any intention of asking him; she could get a book and read it up for herself.
Coffee was brought and over it Mr Trentham began to talk about more personal matters, and Sadie, nicely relaxed by the hock, was only too eager to listen.
‘Sunday tomorrow,’ said Mr Trentham. ‘What about church?’
‘Well, yes, I’d like to go if it’s convenient.’
‘We’ll all go to St Paul’s, the evening service.’ He smiled at her.
‘I’d like that very much, but are you sure…’
‘Quite sure, Sadie. I thought that in the morning we might drive out to Pine Ridge Dogs’ Home, to see if we can find a puppy for the children. They’ll keep it for us until we go back to the cottage.’
‘The children will love that. Couldn’t we bring it back with us?’
‘Well, I suppose so, you’ll have extra work…’
‘But I haven’t any work,’ she pointed out. ‘I haven’t done a thing since we came to Highgate.’
‘You’ve looked after the children.’ He put down his coffee cup. ‘I feel guilty about them, Sadie. I thought that if they had a first class governess and everything they wanted, that that would be sufficient. I suppose that I wanted to forget the past and they were part of it. And now I begin to see what I’ve missed…’
She said, anxious to comfort him: ‘You mustn’t feel guilty, Mr Trentham. Miss Murch was clever, only the children knew what she was really like and she threatened them when they tried to tell you. You heard them the other night.’
‘I should have listened to them, not dismissed the matter lightly as though it was just a childish fantasy. I’m not much use as a father, I’m afraid.’
She said bracingly: ‘You will be if you practise hard enough!’ She went pink. ‘I’m sorry, I had no right to say that.’
He put down his coffee cup. ‘You’re almost too good to be true,’ he observed, ‘and much too good for me, Sadie.’ His tone held mockery and the pink became red.
She said gruffly: ‘I’m not good at all…’
He drank the brandy the waiter had brought him and lifted his hand for more, then continued just as though she hadn’t spoken: ‘A kind of nanny-cum-mother confessor. If I confess to you you won’t tell anyone, will you?’
‘Of course not, but I don’t think you should talk like this to me, Mr Trentham—I’m only your housekeeper.’
‘Ah, yes, but that’s the crux of the matter. You’re not only my housekeeper, Sadie—and don’t look at me in that enquiring manner, because I have no intention of explaining to you—not yet, anyhow.’
He leaned back in his chair for all the world as though he intended to sit there until breakfast time, and when she couldn’t help giving a quick look at the clock on the further wall of the restaurant: ‘Don’t worry, they won’t bring me the bill until I ask for it.’
It was half past one in the morning and she wanted to go to bed, but she guessed that even if she suggested that they should go home, Mr Trentham would ignore her. He wanted to talk and she would have to let him, for obviously he regarded her as someone in whom he could safely confide. She should be thankful for that, she reminded herself, even though he thought of her as a nanny. She poured herself another cup of coffee, black this time to keep her awake, and sat back quietly, her hands quiet in her lap.
‘You don’t wear any jewellery,’ observed Mr Trentham, surprisingly.
‘I haven’t any.’
‘I’ve never met anyone quite like you before,’ he smiled briefly. ‘The women I know spend a fortune on clothes and expect diamonds on their birthdays. I doubt if
any of them would know how to stop a child crying and they certainly wouldn’t get up in the night just for a few childish sobs.’ Just for a moment mockery twisted his firm mouth. ‘They wouldn’t wear flannel nighties either.’
‘Winceyette,’ said Sadie in a clear voice.
‘Is that what it’s called? I don’t think that my wife—Stella—would have known what it was. She had her things made to order by Janet Reger.’ And at Sadie’s questioning look: ‘A very expensive designer of women’s undies.’ He lifted a finger and a waiter brought more coffee and Sadie poured a cup for them both. ‘She liked only the best of everything. She didn’t want children, but it was the done thing to have a son. I suppose that’s why she didn’t love Anna or Julie—oh, she was fond of them for half an hour a day, clean and sweet-smelling and with Nanny waiting to take them away the moment time was up.’ He broke off. ‘Do you hate me for telling you this?’
‘No,’ said Sadie. She was sitting motionless, but her feelings showed plain on her face. ‘Only I don’t quite understand…did you love the children…?’
Mr Trentham considered the matter at some length, going off into a brown study from which he emerged to say thoughtfully: ‘I saw very little of them: my work took me away from home a good deal. Stella and I no longer loved each other and I think that prevented me loving Julie and Anna. The love was there, but it was somehow smothered. I doubt if you would understand that.’
‘Why not? I’m not a halfwit.’ She spoke so severely that he laughed.
‘Do you know that I have a very poor opinion of women?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, you’ve made it plain from time to time. Mr Trentham, I think we should end this conversation, you’re going to feel awful about it in the morning.’
‘I haven’t finished, and I never do things by halves.’ He went on almost casually: ‘Stella had a succession of boy-friends, you know. I did my best to understand at first—after all, I was away for weeks on end and she was young and very pretty and bored. Making a home and bringing up children were two things she couldn’t stomach. In the end she left me—us. Anna was four and Julie was two and a half.’ He drank the rest of his coffee. ‘Woodley and Mrs Woodley and Teresa were wonderful; they coped until Miss Murch came along, and she seemed the answer to everything. Stella was killed soon after she left me—in a power boat joy-riding off the California coast. I find it difficult to lie to you, Sadie, so I won’t tell you that I minded. I was sorry, in the way that anyone would be sorry to hear of the death of someone young and pretty, but that was all. Only a very few of my closer friends knew that she’d left me for good, and to escape the sympathy I didn’t need I chose work that would keep me away from England for weeks, sometimes months. It was a mistake, I know that now. I should have stayed at home, but—I’m not making excuses—I didn’t think that the children loved me.’ He added in a suddenly harsh voice: ‘Well, what have you to say to that?’