A Christmas Wish

by Betty Neels

  Olivia shook the hand offered her, smiled, and heard herself saying something which must have been sensible because the little lady smiled and nodded before she went away with her small daughter.

  It can’t be true, thought Olivia, bustling the rest of the girls downstairs. Miss Cross would have told me. She followed more slowly, her thoughts in a turmoil, glad to see that almost everyone had gone.

  Not everyone. Nel and Mr van der Eisler were standing by the door. ‘Nel wants to say goodbye,’ he said smoothly, and then with an abrupt change of tone, ‘Olivia, what is the matter? Are you ill?’

  She managed a smile. ‘No, no—just a bit tired—it’s been a long day but everything was very successful, wasn’t it? Nel looked well as a fairy, didn’t she…?’ And when he didn’t speak, she added, ‘Are you going back to Holland straight away? I didn’t see Lady Brennon.’

  ‘She has had flu—over the worst now, but this would have tired her out. We’re going there now and crossing in a day or so.’

  ‘Mummy will be waiting for me,’ said Nel. ‘Uncle Haso says so.’

  ‘Splendid. You’ll have a gorgeous Christmas, I expect.’

  The child nodded. ‘Mummy’s got a new dress for me to wear; I’m to go to some parties.’ She peered up at Olivia. ‘You look sad…’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ said Olivia in a bright and brittle voice. ‘Just a bit tired.’ She took care not to look at Mr van der Eisler; she could feel his eyes on her. ‘I must be off, there is heaps of clearing up to do.’

  ‘If Mummy invited you, would you come and stay with me, Olivia?’

  ‘What a lovely idea, poppet, but I really must go home. You see, I’ve a mother and a granny, just like you.’

  ‘Next to Granny and Uncle Haso I like you, Olivia,’ said Nel, and lifted her face for a kiss.

  ‘And I like you…’

  ‘And Uncle Haso?’

  ‘And Uncle Haso.’ She still didn’t look at him. It was really quite difficult to bottle up the torrent of words she wished to utter. To tell him that she was to be given the sack, that she was desolate at the idea of not seeing him again, that she loved him…

  She held out a prim hand. ‘Goodbye, Mr van der Eisler.’ She addressed his chin to be on the safe side. If she looked at him, really looked, she might burst into tears.

  His handshake was brief, as was his ‘Goodbye, Olivia’ and a few moments later he had driven away with Nel beside him.

  She stayed where she was for a while, wondering what she should do. Very soon it would be supper-time and the staff would forgather for the end-of-term glass of sherry before the meal. That mother could have been mistaken, she reflected, she might be panicking about nothing at all. The sensible thing to do was to behave as though it was a mistake. She went and joined the others, exchanged comments about the play and the prize-giving, listened to plans for Christmas and ate her supper sitting between Miss Ross, whom she liked, and Matron, who as usual was laying down the law about the correct method of making beds.

  It was when the meal was over and they were going their separate ways that Miss Cross asked her to join her in her study. She wasn’t there long; it didn’t take long to give someone the sack, even if it was done with regret and kindness.

  Olivia went to the annexe and began to collect up her things. There was no hurry; she was to stay for another day to help in the general tidying up, label mislaid articles of clothing, make a list of any minor damage to bedlinen, towels and tablecloths. Only then could she get on the bus to take her to her train and so to her home.

  She had some money saved and Miss Cross had given her a splendid reference, and had even suggested that she should advertise for a similar post. ‘A smaller school,’ she had advised. ‘There are any number of good private schools around the country. Several of them do without a qualified Matron, and you would do very well in such a position where qualifications are not necessary. You have had experience here. But you should start looking at once. It is probably too late for the spring term, but there is always the possibility of starting at half-term. I’m sure that you have no need to worry, Olivia.’

  She worried none the less, most of the night and all the next day. She slept that night though, from sheer exhaustion. Since she had said goodbye to Miss Cross, and only the domestic staff were left now, she caught her bus and her train and, since every penny mattered now, another bus to Sylvester Crescent.

  Despite the fact that Christmas was only days away, there wasn’t a single Christmas tree to be seen in any of the windows shrouded in their net curtains; the only cheerful sight was Mr Patel’s corner shop, bright with coloured lights and a tree ablaze with coloured ornaments and tinsel, and a counter stacked with sweets and biscuits. Bless the man, thought Olivia, as the bus crawled past. I’ll go and see him tomorrow.

  The air was hardly festive in Mrs Fitzgibbon’s flat. True, there was a display of Christmas cards on the mantelpiece, but her granny evinced none of the Christmas spirit expected of everyone during the festive season. Olivia hugged her mother and went to kiss her grandmother’s cheek.

  ‘Back again?’ asked that lady unnecessarily. ‘In my day school holidays were short; education was considered important.’ She studied Olivia’s face. ‘You look your age, Olivia.’

  Olivia bit back the obvious retort, winked at her mother to show her that she didn’t mind, and took her cases into her bedroom. After a minute or two her mother joined her. ‘You don’t look a day older, darling,’ she said earnestly, ‘but you do look tired, love, and I think you’ve got thinner.’

  ‘The end of the term is always a wild scramble, Mother. But great fun. Has Granny any plans for Christmas?’

  ‘Well, some friends are coming for bridge on Christmas Eve…’

  ‘Good, you and I will go to the midnight service. Any plans for Christmas dinner?’

  ‘I think your granny is ordering a chicken.’ She added, ‘I bought a pudding from Marks and Spencer…’

  ‘Good. We’ll go to Mr Patel’s tomorrow and get a bottle of wine and a box of crackers.’ She added recklessly, ‘And after Christmas you and I will have a day out at the sales.’

  It was nice to see her mother’s eyes sparkle with pleasure. There was no need to tell her that she had left the school just yet; she would do it after Christmas, when she had put an advert in the papers Miss Cross had recommended.

  They went, she and her mother, to Mr Patel’s shop the next morning and bought the wine, the crackers, and some festive-looking biscuits, and Olivia added potato crisps, a variety of cheeses and some nuts. Her grandmother would deplore the extravagance but, as Mr Patel had pointed out, it was Christmas and a time of good cheer and goodwill, and to emphasise his point he added a small bottle of lemonade for free.

  They returned to the flat in good spirits, to have them dampened by the old lady’s disapproval. They were treated to a homily on the prudent spending of money which showed no sign of ending, so it was with relief that Olivia went to answer the doorbell.

  Mr van der Eisler and Nel stood there, the little girl almost hidden under an arrangement of flowers in a basket.

  Mr van der Eisler eyed Olivia keenly although his greeting was pleasantly casual. ‘Nel wants to give you a Christmas present,’ he explained, ‘and since we’re leaving in the morning we thought we should come today.’

  ‘How very kind.’ Olivia stood back to allow them to come in and added, ‘What a lovely surprise.’ She caught his eye and added quickly, ‘The flowers, I mean.’ She led the way to the sitting-room and ushered them inside. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee? I was just going to get ours, and I’m sure Nel would like some lemonade.’

  ‘Fizzy?’ asked Nel.

  ‘Very fizzy.’ Mr Patel didn’t sell any other kind. She handed their guests over to her mother and went to the kitchen. It was absurd how excited she felt just at the sight of him; it was a good thing he was going away tomorrow. There was no need to tell him that she wouldn’t be going back to school after Chris
tmas. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ said Olivia, and dropped the cup she was holding when Mr van der Eisler said, an inch or so from her ear, ‘A very misleading statement, I have always thought.’

  ‘Now look what you’ve done.’ She rounded on him and found him smiling down on her so that she mumbled, ‘Well, you startled me.’

  ‘Understandably.’ He was picking up the broken cup. ‘Not one of your grandmother’s best, I hope?’

  ‘Well, yes, it is, but I’ll tell her later…’

  ‘Could we not throw the pieces into the dustbin and say nothing?’

  She shook her head. ‘Granny counts everything from time to time. She’d notice at once.’

  She fetched another cup and set it on its saucer, wondering what to say next.

  ‘Why did you look like that the other day?’ he asked. ‘And why are you so sad now? And don’t, I beg of you, say that you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

  Something in his voice made her say at once, ‘I’m not to go back to the school; the governors want someone with proper qualifications… It was a bit of a shock. I had hoped that I could stay on, and Mother was going to come and live there with me.’

  He went to the stove and took the milk saucepan off just in time.

  ‘My poor girl.’ And when she turned her back so that he shouldn’t see her threatening tears he busied himself making the coffee, and then opened cupboards until he found a packet of biscuits and arranged them on a plate. ‘You haven’t told your mother?’

  She had turned round again, the tears swallowed. ‘No, I thought I’d wait and try and find a job after Christmas.’

  ‘Very sensible, but then you’re a sensible girl, aren’t you, Olivia?’

  ‘Thank you for making the coffee.’ She smiled a little. ‘You don’t look as though you could—what I mean is, I don’t suppose you have to do it very often in your own home.’

  ‘My housekeeper only allows me in the kitchen under her watchful eye, and you’ve met Becky—a tyrant if ever there was one!’

  ‘A very kind-hearted one…’

  He carried the tray into the sitting-room and sat down beside Mrs Fitzgibbon, charming her into good humour while Nel told Olivia and her mother just what a marvellous time she would have when she got to Amsterdam.

  ‘I’ve a new dress,’ she told them breathlessly, ‘and of course it’s Christmas, so Mummy won’t go to her office. I expect we’ll have a simply wonderful time.’ She looked around her. ‘You haven’t got a Christmas tree— Uncle Haso has. It’s in the window and people in the street can see it lighted up.’

  Mrs Harding replied suitably and Olivia went away to get more coffee. The visit lasted some time but Mr van der Eisler had nothing more to say to her other than a polite goodbye and good wishes. Whether they were for Christmas or for her uncertain future she had no idea.

  It was early evening and dark when she answered the doorbell again. Mr Patel stood on the doorstep with a large basket filled with tastefully arranged fruit, a large box of chocolates, and a charming floral arrangement of Christmas roses, miniature daffodils, hyacinths and jasmine.

  ‘A surprise for you, miss,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I myself arranged the basket and went to the market to buy the flowers which the gentleman wished you to have. You are pleased?’

  ‘Oh, Mr Patel, it’s magnificent—how beautifully you’ve arranged it. It must have taken you ages.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, but the gentleman was generous. It was a very splendid order. You will enjoy your Christmas now, miss, and may I remind you that my shop will be open until late on Christmas Eve in case you find yourself without essential food?’

  ‘I’ll remember that, Mr Patel—I expect my mother will be along to do some more shopping in the morning.’

  ‘Always welcome and goodnight, miss.’

  The cheerful little man went away and Olivia carried the basket into the sitting-room and put it on the table.

  ‘A gift for me?’ asked her grandmother.

  ‘Well, no, Granny—it’s for me,’ Olivia was reading the card tucked behind the pineapple. Mr van der Eisler wished her the compliments of the season in handwriting which was barely readable. He had signed it H v d E. The card had bright red roses in one corner, but she didn’t think that they signified anything.

  ‘How very kind,’ observed Mrs Harding, and looked pleased; the fruit would enliven their festive table very nicely but that wasn’t why she looked pleased. She had a beautiful daughter who deserved an admirer as handsome and delightful as Mr van der Eisler. Of course there was nothing in it—there was Nel’s mother, a very pretty woman and charming she had thought, although Nel had said one or two things… Of course, children did exaggerate.

  Christmas came; they exchanged small gifts, cooked the chicken, ate the fruit and made up the second bridge table unwillingly on Boxing Day, when Mrs Fitzgibbon’s friends came for the afternoon and evening. Olivia, who was as bad at bridge as her mother, sighed with relief as the last of them went home and she could clear the cups and glasses and plates. Their guests had eaten everything offered to them and Olivia was hungry. She did the glasses, filled a bowl with water to do the washing-up, and went to cut herself a slice of bread with a hunk of cheese on top. Her mother and grandmother had gone to bed and she didn’t hurry, there was nothing planned for the following day; she would pen an advert ready to post at the first opportunity.

  She finished her chores, took a chocolate from the box which her grandmother had offered round with a generous hand, and went to bed.

  She was making the early morning tea when the phone rang… It was still dark and very cold and the phone was in the hall. She pulled her dressing-gown tightly round her and padded along to see who it was. A wrong number, she supposed, and her hello was abrupt.

  ‘Have I got you out of bed,’ enquired Mr van der Eisler.

  ‘No. I’m getting the tea, and this is a fine time to phone, I must say.’

  ‘Only because I need your help, Olivia. Nel ran away from her home—I found her and she’s with me, but I must be at the hospital all day and every day for some time. She wants to go back to Lady Brennon but that has to be arranged. Bronger, who looks after my home, will fly over this morning and fetch you back here. He’ll have tickets and money—have you a passport? Yes, good. He’ll be with you by midday. Will you do this for me, Olivia? And for Nel? She asks for you continually.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will. What do I bring with me? Enough for a few days?’

  ‘Ten days—something warm. Thank you, Olivia.’

  She padded back to the kitchen. The kettle was boiling merrily and she made the tea and sat down to drink hers. She was, of course, out of her mind; he had only to ask her to do something quite preposterous and she agreed without even thinking about it. Her head needed examining. All the same, she would go. She reviewed her wardrobe mentally, thought about money, and took a cup of tea to her mother.

  ‘I heard the phone,’ said that lady, with just the hint of a question in her voice.

  Olivia explained. ‘Do you think I’m mad?’ she asked.

  ‘Certainly not, dear. I don’t imagine that Mr van der Eisler is a man to waste time on phone calls at seven o’clock in the morning unless he has good reason to do so. You do quite right to go. Poor child…!’

  Olivia settled on the end of the bed. ‘Only, I’m so sorry to leave you, Mother. We’d planned so much…’

  ‘Yes, I know, love, but you won’t be gone all that time, and I’ll come and stay with you again.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Olivia picked at the cotton bedspread. ‘Mother, I can’t not go. You see, I’m in love with him.’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Her mother sounded unsurprised.

  Olivia pulled at a loose thread and watched it unravel. ‘It’s silly, really. I think he’ll marry Rita—Nel’s mother—it would be so suitable; she’s his dead friend’s widow and Nel is devoted to him. Besides, she’s pretty and charming and amusing.’

  ‘None the
less you love him, Olivia. You must do whatever your heart tells you to do.’

  Olivia smiled. ‘Granny won’t like it.’

  ‘Granny has nothing to do with it, darling. Go and get dressed and pack a bag. I’ll get breakfast. Take your Granny a cup of tea first, and don’t say a word.’

  So Olivia was dressed, her bag packed, her passport found, money in her purse and her winter coat laid out on the bed ready to put on by the time her grandmother came out of her room.

  She looked at Olivia’s neatly turned-out person. ‘Why are you wearing that good skirt?’ she wanted to know. ‘There’s no money to buy you new clothes, you know.’

  Olivia handed her a cup of coffee and gave one to her mother.

  ‘I’m going over to Holland, Granny. I’ve been asked to look after Nel for a week or two.’

  ‘And where’s the money coming from to pay for your fare?’

  ‘I’m being fetched.’

  As if on cue the door-knocker was thumped, and she went to answer it. A short, stout man stood on the step, very spruce as to dress, with iron-grey hair and very blue eyes.

  ‘Miss Harding. I am Bronger, houseman to Mr van der Eisler; I am to take you to his house in Amsterdam.’ He held out a hand and crushed hers with it.

  ‘Do please come in, we’re just having coffee. Do we need to go at once or have you time for a cup?’

  ‘That would be good, miss.’ His English was fluent but strongly accented. ‘If we leave in half an hour, but no later.’

  She helped him off with his short, thick jacket. ‘How do we go?’

  ‘A car will come here for us, all is arranged. We fly to Schiphol and from there we drive to Amsterdam. I have left the car there.’

  ‘Well, do come in and meet my mother and grandmother.’

  He shook hands and bowed slightly, took a chair and drank his coffee, answering Mrs Fitzgibbon’s questions with politeness and telling her, in effect, nothing at all. A very discreet man, thought Olivia, liking him.