Bachelor's Family

by Jessica Steele

  'I think I'd better get up,' she stated instead, but already the pair were on their way out of the room.

  'Are you taking us to school please, miss?' Kitty turned to ask.

  'I expect so,' Fabienne replied. 'Call me Fabienne.'

  They went without another word and, while their general demeanour disturbed her slightly, she was not unduly worried until, showered and dressed in a short-sleeved collarless white linen shirt which she tucked into the belted waistband of a pair of white and pale green-striped trousers that suited her slim, long-legged figure, she left her room and found both children in one of the rooms along the landing which the housekeeper had pointed out as belonging to them the previous evening. Both children were dressed, after a fashion, and Kitty was rummaging around in a drawer for John's sweater. Where on earth was their mother? Their father for that matter? 'I expect you've had a wash,' she said calmly as the children suddenly became aware of her standing there.

  'Sort of,' Kitty replied, pulling a sweater from a drawer with relief, and Fabienne made a mental note to have things organised better for tomorrow if, as seemed likely, neither of the children's parents were very good at getting up in the morning.

  'What time do you have to be in school?' she asked, going over and re-buttoning John's shirt the right way up.

  She didn't get an answer for just then Vere Tolladine, business-suited and every bit as good-looking as she remembered him, came into the room. 'You found us, then?' he greeted her, though she was sure he already knew of her arrival.

  'I wasn't sure what time-' She broke off, realising from the hint she'd picked up from his tone that he'd expected her earlier. He had put her on the defensive. 'What time do we leave for school?' she asked instead. Grief, what was it about this man? He didn't have to say a word of rebuke, and already she was bridling!

  'Perhaps we should have breakfast first,' he drawled, and Fabienne could have hit him.

  Mocking swine. Thank goodness she wouldn't have to see him for the rest of the day. He waited for them and the four of them went down the stairs together-she in front with his niece, he behind with his nephew who, so far, Fabienne had not heard utter a word.

  Mrs Hobbs was bustling about the breakfast-room when they went in and she it was who-as though she did it every day-on this, Fabienne's first morning, attended to what the children wanted to eat.

  This gave Fabienne the chance to ask her employer quietly, 'Bearing in mind I haven't done this sort of thing before, what shall I do today?'

  'I'm sure you'll find something,' he replied, which in her view was not at all helpful. But, at her exasperated look, he condescended to suggest, 'Work something out with Rachel when you get back from taking the twins to school.' And before she could ask if Rachel was Mrs Hargreaves, his sister-in-law, he was asking, 'What sort of car do you have? Perhaps I should take a look at it before I go.'

  From that she gathered that she was taking his nephew and niece nowhere if her car was some clapped-out death-trap. 'Feel free,' she replied and, certain he had a duplicate garage key, 'It's parked in one of your garages,' she added.

  Her car was eighteen months old and in immaculate condition. 'Er-do you

  want to see my driving licence?' some imp of devilment pushed her to enquire.

  For her sins she was favoured with a considering and raised-eyebrow look from her unamused employer. 'It would appear,' he murmured, 'that I made the right choice in selecting you to look after the children.' And searing hot colour scorched her skin.

  'Thanks!' she huffed stiffly, not caring at all that he had just as good as told her that she was as childish as they had every right to be. His eyes lingered on her flushed cheeks, he seemed about to say something, then appeared to change his mind, but there was a definite hint of an upward curve to his mouth when, 'You're quick, I'll give you that,' he told her. And, that hint of a smile sternly suppressed, he placed his napkin on the table and stood up, towering over her. 'Don't be late for school,' he instructed all three of them and, as something in Fabienne found that remark funny, and she discovered that she was the one who was sternly repressing a grin, he said goodbye to the twins, nodded in her general direction, and left them to it. He was a pig, but he also had the ability to make her want to laugh. Fabienne was still trying to come to terms with the baffling mixture of the man, of how she reacted to the man, as she piled the children into her car and drove them to school.

  Because of all the other cars parked there, Fabienne had to park the car some way away from the school gates. 'Come along, sweetheart.' She helped Kitty out first and, wanting John to leave the car on the pavement side, 'Not that door, love,' she told him gently when he tried to open the door on the road side.

  With her two charges in tow, she walked with them to the school gates and, while exchanging smiles with the one or two 'mums' who stood there, she explained to both children why they must wait for her to open the car door for them. Neither of them said a word, and by then she was starting to wonder if John had a voice at all, for not so much as a peep had she heard out of him since she had lain eyes on him that morning..

  Then she found that he did have a voice. She checked that they both had their lunchboxes, which Mrs Hobbs had rushed out to the car for them-something which Fabienne admitted she hadn't given a thought to.

  Then, observing that there was a teacher in the playground generally keeping an eye on the children as they went in, she said goodbye to them and then saw that John appeared to have something on his mind. 'What is it, love?' she encouraged gently.

  He stared at her from his lovely, moist and worried blue eyes, and then, in a voice that was husky with anxiety, said, 'Will you be here to meet us after school?'

  Her heart went out to him. 'I certainly will,' she promised firmly, with a cheerful smile.

  He did not smile back, but seemed satisfied and walked into the playground with his sister. He turned round once; Fabienne waved reassuringly. Still he didn't smile, but he did wave-and Fabienne found the strength of a maternal instinct in her so strong that she wanted to protect that little boy fiercely and personally slay all his dragons. 'You're new?'

  Fabienne came away from her feelings about the young little chap she had only known for a few hours to find that a tall, lean man of about thirty had fallen into step with her. 'Who are you?' she enquired warily, not knowing if he was a parent or who he was, lurking by the school gates. 'Put your gun away,' he grinned. 'I've just brought my sister's kid to school. Name of Lyndon Davies, brilliant artist, only no one seems to have recognised it yet.

  Until they do, I'm living with my sister, name of Dilys Bragg, and in lieu of rent running her errands.'

  Fabienne decided he was harmless and that she liked him. 'Fabienne Preston,' she replied.

  'I saw you with the Hargreaves kids-are you related?'

  Fabienne couldn't see what her relationship had got to do with him, but thought, since he could be the village gossip for all she knew, that she would prefer not to discuss the family she worked for with him.

  'Let me put it another way,' he changed tack when there was no immediate answer forthcoming. 'Are you attached?'

  She wanted to laugh-he wasn't the village gossip; he was the village flirt! She shook her head.

  'Not even semi?' he pressed, as they reached her car and she halted by it.

  'Not even semi,' she responded. My word, they were sharp in this neck of the woods.

  'In that case, may I hope to show you the delights that Haychester restaurateurs have to offer one evening, as soon as you can make it?' And she just had to laugh.

  Haychester, she knew from the map she had studied when checking out her route to Sutton Ash, was the nearest town about six or seven miles away.

  She opened her car door and prepared to get in behind the wheel. 'You may hope, Mr Davies,' she replied, 'but I think it's unlikely that-'

  'Lyndon, please,' he requested.

  She got into her car, closed the door and, giving him a friendly wave, sh
e drove off. Most oddly, a minute or so later as she steered her car in the direction of Brackendale, Lyndon Davies was far from her mind and it was thoughts of Vere Tolladine that occupied her. He was, she suddenly realised, a most stimulating man. She had felt alive and on her toes at breakfast-even while having a few unpleasant names for him besides 'employer', she had felt charged, chirpy.

  She was in the middle of wondering if they had breakfast with him every morning, or...when she caught herself up short. Good heavens, what on earth was she thinking about? She had more important things to be dealing with here than with that man who could make an insult sound like a compliment without you realising it unless you were alert the whole time. Oh, how she wished she hadn't coloured up at his sardonic 'It would appear that I made the right choice in selecting you to look after the children'! Why she had, she would never know, for she hadn't blushed that she could remember in donkey's years. But-anyhow-she had more to think about than him. For a start, what were her duties this day?

  She parked her car round the rear of the house in front of the garage that had been allocated to her. Since she'd be going out later to be at the school gates by ten past three there was little point in putting it away. Fabienne entered the house by the rear door and hoped to run across Mrs Hargreaves, the lady she was there to assist, as she went from the smaller hall into the larger hall, up the exquisite staircase. She met no one but, thinking that perhaps she should attend to the children's laundry and tidy their rooms, she went first to the room she had been in earlier-John's room-and found her services were not required in that area.

  An overall-clad young matron had the laundry all collected in a large plastic bag, and already had the bed made and the room straightened.

  'Good morning--er-Ingrid,' Fabienne guessed. 'Is there anything I can help you with?'

  'Oh, no, thanks, miss. I've done in here and the little girl's room. I give them a big turn-out on Thursday, but a dust and a tidy is all they usually need until then.'

  Fabienne wandered back to her own room which she had tidied before breakfast. She did not want to be in the way, or slow anyone down by constantly asking if she could help in any way. They had their own Mrs Cooper back home who kept the house spick and span but who never minded if she occasionally lent a hand. But she had no wish to be thought intrusive. Where, oh, where was Rachel Hargreaves? Should she go down and find Mrs Hobbs and ask her? It did not seem right, somehow, that she should do that. So for the next hour Fabienne stayed in her room with her ears forever on the listen for the sound of the mother she was here to help coming to find her and to ask for her assistance.

  At half-past ten she went downstairs and into the drawing-room, of the view that, were it not for the sad expression on John Hargreaves' little face, she would be ready to throw in the towel on this workless job.

  At five to eleven, just when she was thinking that, in the absence of anybody else, she would buttonhole her employer that evening-for tonight she was having second thoughts about hoping he'd got a pied-d-terre in town-and pin him down to exactly what her duties were, suddenly a plainly distressed woman, approaching thirty, opened the door and came in.

  'I'm so sorry,' she apologised straight away. 'You must be Fabienne. I just...'

  Her voice started to tail off. 'I just-forgot.'

  'That's all right.' Fabienne forgave her instantly when everything about the thin, brown-haired woman spoke of nothing being right with her world. It was all there in the hunted look of those anxious blue eyes, so like her son's.

  'Did the children get off to school all right?' she asked and, in the same breath, 'Would you like coffee?'

  'I can get some in a minute if you like,' Fabienne answered calmly.

  'They're lovely children,' she added gently.

  'They're so good. Not a moment's trouble. Although just lately the poor darlings-' She broke off and, clearly not wanting to pursue that line of her thoughts, she glanced out of the window, seemed to notice that it was a glorious sunny day. 'Would you like to go for a walk? I could show you around the grounds.'

  'I'd love to,' Fabienne answered, and went to the door with her, doing a very rapid rethink on the duties of mother's help. Rachel Hargreaves needed help, certainly, but it wasn't the help in the kitchen or the housework kind of help that she needed, she was positive of that.

  She seemed better once they were outside, however, and, seeming to have taken to the person her brother-in-law had engaged, she apologised again for being so late down, explaining that she had a bit of a sleeping problem and had taken a few sleeping tablets.

  Very strong ones, too, Fabienne thought, if they'd knocked her out until gone ten in the morning-though of course it could be that she had not taken them until the early hours, when she'd given in to the knowledge that if she didn't take a pill she just wasn't going to get any sleep at all.

  'Think nothing of it,' she answered gently. 'The children and I had breakfast with Mr Tolladine, and then I drove them to school, and-'

  'You didn't mind?'

  'Driving them to school?'

  'Mmm,' Rachel Hargreaves agreed and, to Fabienne's horror, seemed on the point of tears.

  'Of course not,' she declared cheerfully, and wished she knew more about depression because, without having picked up a medical book in her life, she felt sure that depression of some sort was what Rachel Hargreaves was suffering from.

  'That's what I'm here for, to help you wherever I can,' she added sincerely, all earlier notions of but-for-John-Hargreaves-she-would-quit-this-non-job flying as a great compassion for the woman took her-she knew that she wanted to try and help if she could.

  Which was why, when she was not an overly chatty type of person, she chatted lightly about how pretty the mile-long run to the school was, and how friendly the mothers had seemed at the school gates. And, for good light measure, she told her of how she had made the acquaintance of Lyndon Davies and how, all in the space of three minutes, he had asked her to go for a meal with him some time.

  'That,' she ended with a laugh, 'is fast! Though I suppose there are men like that around who can't resist trying to make a conquest at the-' Fabienne abruptly broke off, again horrified when a strangled sort of cry left Rachel

  Hargreaves and, as if everything was just too much for her, she turned from her and went rushing back to the house.

  Fabienne's first instinct was to go rushing after her to try to find out what the matter was. But she checked. Somehow she had a feeling that something she had said had upset her. That upset and worried Fabienne, too. Then a light of determination suddenly lit her eyes. Until she knew what went on here, she would for the moment stay quiet. But find out what went on she most definitely would.

  Slowly she walked back to the house and went up to the children's rooms to check on their wardrobes, making sure that Kitty had a fresh dress for tomorrow and that John had a fresh shirt, and everything else that they would need. Tonight she would clean their shoes for tomorrow, but now to get back to today.

  She went down to the kitchen where the motherly Mrs Hobbs greeted her warmly and asked if there was anything special she would like for lunch. 'A sandwich, or a bit of something on toast will be fine,' she answered and, with the notion in her head to take her main meal with the children, 'What time do Kitty and John eat?' she enquired.

  'Unless Mr Tolladine's entertaining or has business people here, he dines early with the children. I think he wants them to feel wanted,' she confided, but, as if she felt she'd said a little too much, she hurried on, 'So, although they'll have a bit of a snack when they come in from school, Mr Tolladine tries to get home so they can all dine together at seven. You'll be dining with them, of course, Miss Preston.'

  'Fabienne, please,' she smiled and, having learned what she wanted to know, and not wanting to give the housekeeper extra work, 'I can make my own sandwich,' she volunteered-and found that the smiling Mrs Hobbs wouldn't hear of it.

  Fabienne saw not 'another sign of Rachel Hargreaves, and wen
t to collect the children from school to be standing exactly where she had been standing when she'd said goodbye to Kitty and John. At a minute after three-fifteen John came tearing round the corner, looking for her. He stopped the moment he saw her but she did not miss the look of relief on his face. Nor did she miss the shy way he put his hand in hers and held on to her as they waited for Kitty to join them. 'We usually have a drink and something to eat with Mrs Hobbs when we come home,'. Kitty hinted as Fabienne drew up round the rear of Brackendale.

  'Would you like to go and see her while I garage my car?'

  'Come on, John,' Kitty pressed, and, the more keen of the two, she led him kitchen-wards.

  By the time Fabienne joined them they were seated at a massive kitchen table drinking freshly squeezed orange juice and tucking into home-made cake. Afterwards they went upstairs and, while Fabienne went to investigate a room which Kitty told her was their playroom, the two children went off to see their mother.

  They joined her in the playroom in next to no time, however. 'Mummy's having a lie-down,' Kitty told her solemnly. 'Can we watch TV?' Things in this house were, to say the least of it, not normal, Fabienne mused. 'Yes, of course,' she smiled, turning to the set in the corner and tuning in to children's TV. Tomorrow she would organise matters a little differently. For today, there were a lot of questions buzzing around in her head-and one man whom she was hopeful to see at dinner that night to whom she would put some of those questions. In her view, it had been most unfair to throw her in at the deep end. The light of determination was in her eyes again. She wanted answers and tonight, even if he didn't come home and she had to ask Mrs Hobbs for his London phone number, she intended to have answers. In the event she did not have to ask Mrs Hobbs for Vere Tolladine's telephone number, because he strolled into the dining-room about a minute after she had got the children seated.