A Valentine for Daisy

by Betty Neels

  ‘Oh, yes. We’re at Steeple Langford—about three miles from here. Is there a bus?’

  ‘I have a bike.’

  ‘You’ll give it a try? Is half-past eight too early for you? Until five o’clock—that’s a long day, I know, but you would have Saturday and Sunday.’ She hesitated. ‘And perhaps occasionally you would sleep in if we were about to go out for the evening? We have some good servants but I’d rather it was you.’ And when Daisy hesitated she added, ‘I don’t know what you were paid by Mrs Gower-Jones but we would pay the usual rate.’ She named a sum which sent Daisy’s mousy eyebrows up. Twice the amount Mrs Gower-Jones had paid her; heaven-sent, although she felt bound to tell her visitor that it was more than she had earned at the nursery school.

  ‘By the end of the week you will agree with me that you will have earned every penny. You have only had the twins for a few days, diluted with other children. Full-strength, as it were, they’re formidable.’ She smiled charmingly. ‘You see, I’m not pretending that they’re little angels. I love them dearly but because of that I’m not firm enough.’

  ‘When would you like me to start?’ asked Daisy. ‘Only you’ll want references.’

  ‘Oh, never mind those,’ said Lady Thorley breezily, ‘Valentine told me that you were a sensible girl with an honest face and he’s always right.’

  Daisy blushed and Lady Thorley thought how pleasant it was to find a girl who still could, happily unaware that it wasn’t a blush at all, just Daisy’s temper, seldom roused, coming to the surface. Even if that was all he could think of to say about her, it would have been far better if he had kept quiet—honest and sensible indeed; what girl wanted to be called that?

  For a moment she was tempted to change her mind and refuse the job, but then she remembered the marvellous wages… ‘How kind,’ she murmured, and agreed to cycle over to Steeple Langford the next morning.

  Lady Thorley went presently and Daisy tore up her reply to the advertisement for a home help and then did cautious sums on the back of the writing paper. The job wouldn’t last forever—a month, six weeks perhaps—but the money would take care of the phone bill and the gas and electricity as well. There would be enough left over for her mother to have a pair of good shoes ready for the winter, and Pamela to have another of the baggy sweaters she craved, and she herself—Daisy sucked the end of her pen—torn between high-heeled elegant shoes she would probably never have the chance to wear and a pair of sensible boots; last winter’s pair had had their day and were beyond repair. She was still brooding over this when her mother and Pamela came back, and, much heartened by the news, Mrs Pelham fetched the bottle of sherry they hoarded for special occasions and they all had a glass. ‘I mustn’t forget Razor,’ said Daisy. ‘I’ll get some of that luxury catfood he enjoys and perhaps a tin of sardines.’

  The road along the Wylye was quiet, used mainly by local people, winding from one small village to the next one with glimpses of the river from time to time and plenty of trees. It was a splendid morning and Daisy cycled along it trying to guess what the job would turn out to be. Hard work, no doubt, but the money was good…

  The Thorleys’ house was on the further side of Steeple Langford, a roomy place typical of the area, with plenty of large windows, a veranda and a wide porch. It was surrounded by nicely laid-out grounds with plenty of trees and as she went up the short drive she could see ponies and a donkey in the small adjoining field.

  The front door was opened as she reached it and the two children and a black Labrador dog spilled out noisily. Daisy got off her bike. ‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully, ‘what’s your dog’s name?’

  ‘Boots. Have you got a dog?’ They had crowded round her, all three of them.

  ‘No, though we had one when I was a little girl. We have a cat; he’s called Razor.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s very sharp…’

  The twins hooted with mirth. ‘May we see him?’

  ‘Perhaps one day your mother will let you come and see him. We’ll see.’

  ‘Why do all grown-ups say “we’ll see”?’

  Daisy was saved from answering this by the appearance of Lady Thorley, wearing the kind of thin jersey dress that Daisy coveted.

  ‘Good morning. May we call you Daisy? Come on inside and have a look round. We’ve just finished breakfast but there’s coffee if you’d like it.’

  Daisy declined the coffee, propped her bike against the porch and, with a twin on either side of her, went into the house.

  It was as nice inside as it was out; comfortably furnished with some good pieces, a great many comfortable chairs, flowers everywhere and a slight untidiness which one would expect in a house where there were children and dogs. The nursery was on the first floor overlooking the back lawn, a large room with a low shelf around its walls to accommodate the various toys the twins possessed. There was a low table too and small chairs and also a comfortable chair or two for grown-ups.

  ‘They prefer to be out of doors,’ said their mother. ‘They’re very energetic, I’m afraid. I’ll show you the garden and then leave you, shall I?’ She led the way downstairs again. ‘The children have their milk about half-past ten and Jenny will bring your coffee at the same time. They have their lunch just after twelve, with me—and you, of course—and they have their tea at five o’clock before bed at six o’clock.’ Lady Thorley hesitated. ‘I’m sometimes out to lunch…’ She looked doubtfully at Daisy.

  ‘I’m sure Josh and Katie will keep me company when you are,’ said Daisy matter-of-factly and watched their mother’s face light up with relief.

  ‘The children had a nanny until quite recently,’ confided Lady Thorley. ‘She—she was very strict.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’m strict or not,’ said Daisy cheerfully. She beamed down at the children. ‘We’ll have to find out, won’t we?’

  She spent the rest of the morning in the garden with the twins and Boots, pausing only long enough to drink her coffee while they reluctantly drank their milk. At lunch they were difficult, picking at their food, casting sly glances at their mother as they spilt their drinks, kicked the rungs of their chairs and upset the salt cellar. Lady Thorley said helplessly, ‘Darlings, do behave yourselves.’ She spoke in a loving voice which held no authority at all and they took no notice of her.

  ‘I wonder,’ observed Daisy pleasantly, ‘if it would be a good idea, Lady Thorley, if Josh and Katie were to have their lunch in the nursery for a few days—by themselves, of course…? I’ll sit in the room with them, naturally.’

  Lady Thorley caught Daisy’s look. ‘What a good idea,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? We’ll start tomorrow.’

  The twins exchanged glances. ‘Don’t want to,’ said Josh, and was echoed by Katie. They had stuck their small lower lips out, ready to be mutinous.

  ‘Well,’ said Daisy, ‘if you really don’t want to, will you eat your lunch like grown-up people with your mother and me?’

  ‘You’re strict…’

  ‘Not a bit of it. While you’re having your rest I’ll read whatever story you want.’

  It had seemed a long day, thought Daisy as she cycled back home, but she had enjoyed it. The twins were nice children, spoilt by their mother and probably too strictly brought up by the nanny. She began to plan a daily regime which might, at least in part, correct some of that. They were very bright for their age; she would have to win their confidence as well as their liking.

  By the end of the week she felt reasonably sure that she had done that; the twins were about the naughtiest children she had had to deal with while she had worked for Mrs Gower-Jones, and so charming with their large blue eyes and innocent little faces that it was sometimes difficult to be firm, but they seemed to like her and since she ignored their small tantrums she felt that she was ma
king progress. She liked the job too, and enjoyed the cycle ride each day and the long hours spent out of doors with the children. The weather was delightful too, dry and warm with no hint of autumn. Of course, the ride wouldn’t be so nice in rain and wind, but she would be gone by then, although Lady Thorley hadn’t mentioned the likelihood of a governess yet.

  Lady Thorley was going out to lunch, Daisy remembered as she pedalled along the quiet road, and since it was such a fine day perhaps she and the twins could have a picnic in the garden; she was good friends with the cook and the elderly housemaid and surely between them they could concoct a picnic instead of the usual meal indoors.

  The twins were waiting for her with faithful Boots and she went up to the nursery with them for an hour’s playschool—Plasticine and wooden blocks, crayons and large sheets of scribbling paper—and they were tidying up when their mother came to say that she was going out to her lunch party and would be back by teatime. She looked elegant and pretty and Daisy had no doubt in her mind that her husband must adore her. The twins were kissed and told to be good, and Daisy was to be sure and ask for anything she might want. The three of them escorted her to the door and waved as she drove away in her smart little Mini, and Katie began to sniff sorrowfully.

  ‘Who’s coming to help get our picnic ready?’ asked Daisy, and whisked the moppet out into the garden with Josh and Boots. ‘Look, Cook’s put a table ready; let’s put the plates and knives and things on it and then we’ll go to the kitchen and fetch the food.’

  She was leading the way back to the garden, laden with a tray of dishes—hard-boiled eggs, bacon sandwiches, little sausages on sticks and a mushroom quiche—when she saw Dr Seymour sitting on the grass leaning against the table. The children had seen him too; the dish of apples Josh had been carrying went tumbling to the ground and Katie, close behind him, dropped the plastic mugs she held as they galloped towards him with shrieks of delight. He uncoiled his vast person in one neat movement and received their onslaught with lazy good humour. ‘May I stay to lunch?’ he asked Daisy and, since he quite obviously intended to anyway, she said politely,

  ‘Of course, Dr Seymour. Lady Thorley is out but she’ll be back at teatime.’ She put down her tray. ‘I’ll fetch the rest of the food…’

  She started back to the house and found him beside her, trailed by the twins and Boots. ‘Quite happy here?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Pleased to see me again?’

  What an outrageous man, thought Daisy, and what a colossal conceit. She said pleasantly, ‘Should I be, Dr Seymour?’

  ‘Upon reflection, perhaps not.’ They had reached the kitchen and found Cook, who had seen his car, cutting a mound of beef sandwiches. ‘You’ll be peckish, sir,’ she said comfortably. ‘Hard-boiled eggs and sausages on sticks aren’t hardly fitting for a gentleman of your size, if you don’t mind me saying it.’

  He took a sandwich and bit into it. ‘When have I ever disputed an opinion of yours, Mrs Betts? And if I can’t finish them I’m sure Daisy will help me out.’

  So she was Daisy, was she? And she had no intention of eating his beef sandwiches. She didn’t say so although she gave him a chilly look.

  It was impossible to remain chilly for long; the twins, on their best behaviour because their favourite uncle was going to share their picnic, saw to that. The meal was an unqualified success; Josh ate everything he was offered and, since Katie always did as he did, the usual patient battle to get them to eat didn’t take place; instead, the doctor kept them entertained with a mixture of mild teasing and ridiculous stories in the face of which it was impossible to remain stand-offish; indeed Daisy enjoyed herself and found herself forgetting how much she disapproved of him. That was until he remarked, as the last of the lemonade was being drunk, ‘I hope Meg has got you on a long lease.’

  She gave him a puzzled look. ‘A long lease…?’

  ‘It would seem to me that you have all the makings of a family nanny, handed down from one generation to another.’

  Daisy, a mild-tempered girl, choked back rage. ‘I have no intention of being anything of the sort.’ Her pleasant voice held a decidedly acid note.

  ‘No? Planning to get married?’

  ‘No, and if I may say so, Dr Seymour, I must remind you that it’s none of your business.’

  ‘No, no, of course it isn’t; put it down to idle curiosity.’

  Josh, for nearly four years old, was very bright. ‘You’re not married either, Uncle Val; I know ’cos Mummy said it was high time and it was time you thought about it.’

  His uncle ate a last sandwich. ‘Mummy’s quite right; I must think about it.’

  Daisy began to collect up the remains of their meal. ‘Everyone carry something,’ ordered the doctor, ‘and no dropping it on the way to the kitchen. What happens next?’ He looked at Daisy.

  ‘They rest for an hour—I read to them.’

  ‘Oh, good. I could do with a nap myself. We can all fit into the hammock easily enough—not you, of course, Daisy. What gem of literature are you reading at the moment?’

  ‘Grimm’s fairy-tales; they choose a different story each day.’

  She wasn’t sure how to reply to the doctor’s remarks; she suspected that he was making fun of her, not unkindly but perhaps to amuse himself. Well, she had no intention of letting him annoy her. ‘Perhaps you would like to choose?’ she asked him as, the picnic cleared away, they crossed the lawn to where the hammock stood under the shade of the trees.

  He arranged a padded chair for her before lying back in the hammock with the twins crushed on either side of him. ‘“Faithful John”,’ he told her promptly.

  She opened the book. ‘It’s rather long,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘I dare say we shall all be asleep long before you’ve finished.’

  He closed his eyes and the children lay quietly; there was nothing for it but to begin.

  He had been right; Josh dropped off first and then Katie, and since he hadn’t opened his eyes she supposed that the doctor had gone to sleep too. She closed the book on its bookmark, kicked off her sandals and sat back against the cushions. They might sleep for half an hour and she had plenty to occupy her thoughts.

  Dr Seymour opened one eye. He said very softly, ‘You don’t like me very much, do you, Daisy?’

  She was taken by surprise, but Daisy being Daisy she gave his remark thoughtful consideration. Presently she said, ‘I don’t know anything about you, Dr Seymour.’

  ‘An indisputable fact. You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘Yes, I have—I don’t know you well enough to know, do I?’

  ‘No? Personally, I know if I like or dislike someone the moment I set eyes on them.’

  He would have disliked her on sight, she reflected, remembering the cold stare at the traffic-lights in Wilton and the short shrift he had given her, almost knocking her off her bike. She said primly, ‘Well, we’re all different, aren’t we?’

  The mocking look he gave her sent the colour into her cheeks. The doctor, watching her lazily, decided that she wasn’t as plain as he had thought.

  The twins woke up presently and they played ball until their mother came back. The twins fell upon her with shrieks of delight, both talking at once. ‘Val—how lovely to see you—I wanted to talk to you…’ Seeing Daisy, she turned to her. ‘Do go home, dear, you must be exhausted—I know I am after several hours of these two.’ She unwound her children’s arms from around her neck. ‘Take Daisy to the gate, darlings, and then go to the kitchen and ask Mrs Betts if she would make a pot of tea for me.’

  Daisy got to her feet, reflecting that Lady Thorley’s airy dismissal had been both friendly and expected; she was the daily mother’s help and was treated with more consideration than she had ever had with Mrs Go
wer-Jones. All the same, she wished that Dr Seymour hadn’t been there.

  Her goodnight was quietly said. ‘I’ll be here at half-past eight, Lady Thorley,’ and she left them without further ado, taking the twins with her.

  The doctor watched her go. ‘What do you want to tell me, Meg?’ he asked.

  ‘Hugh phoned—such news—the man at the Hague is ill—jaundice or something—and he’s to replace him until he’s fit again. Hugh says there’s a lovely flat we can have and he wants us to go there with him—he’ll be home this evening but I wanted to ask your advice about the twins. I’ll go with Hugh, of course, but what about them? I did wonder if they had better stay here with Daisy—that is if she would agree to come…’

  ‘Why not take the children with you and Daisy as well?’

  ‘Well, that would be marvellous—she’s so good with them and they like her, but she might not want to come…’

  ‘Why not ask her and find out? What does Hugh say?’

  ‘He told me I could do whatever I thought was best as long as it won’t upset the twins—going to live somewhere else—foreign too…’

  ‘My dear girl, Holland is hardly darkest Africa, and it’s only an hour away by plane.’ He stood up. ‘I must go back to town. You’re quite satisfied with Daisy?’

  ‘Oh, yes. How clever of you to tell me about her, Val. She’s so sensible and kind—it’s hard to find girls like her. Plain, of course—such a pity for she’d make a splendid wife.’ She walked round the house to where his car was parked before the door. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t find the time to visit us while we’re at the Hague?’

  ‘Very likely—I’m lecturing at Leiden Medical School and there’s a seminar for paediatricians in Utrecht—I’m not sure of the dates.’ Lady Thorley tiptoed to kiss his cheek.

  ‘Lovely. I’ll talk to Daisy—better still I’ll get Hugh to do that.’

  ‘Why not? When does he go?’

  ‘Two weeks—at least, he’s to go as soon as possible; he thought it would take me two weeks to pack up and so on.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Oh, what shall I do about Boots? We can’t leave him here just with Mrs Betts…’