by Betty Neels
‘So must I; shall I have it with you?’
He had spoken to the children and their shouts had drowned anything she might have wanted to say. Not that he would have taken any notice. He went into the play-room with them and found Corrie there, putting boiled eggs into egg-cups. She received the news that he was breakfasting with his nephew and niece with smiling nods, laid another place at the table and went away to get more eggs and toast. She came back presently with a plate of ham and cheese, a basket of rolls and croissants and a very large pot of coffee.
Daisy sat the children down, tied their bibs and poured cereal and milk into their bowls while the doctor leaned against a wall, watching, before pulling out her chair for her and seating himself opposite.
Daisy, pouring coffee and beakers of milk, had to admit to herself that he was good with children. They were, she suspected, a little in awe of him, and upon reflection she supposed that she was too but she found herself at ease and laughing with the children over the outrageous stories he was telling them. Daisy stopped abruptly at his quiet, ‘You should laugh more often, Daisy, it turns you into a pretty girl.’
She went very pink. ‘If that’s meant to be a compliment I can do without it, Dr Seymour.’
‘No, no, you mustn’t misunderstand me; I was merely stating a fact.’
He spoke mildly and she felt a fool, her face reddening at his assured smile.
He passed his cup for more coffee. ‘I had a talk with young Keynes—a sound young man—pity he’s caged up behind those iron railings. Did you enjoy your afternoon with him, Daisy?’
‘Yes, he knows where everything is…how did you know?’
‘Well, I saw you, didn’t I? Besides, I asked him this morning.’
Her small nose quivered with annoyance. Before she could speak he added, ‘None of my business, is it? How do you like being a nanny?’
She said sedately, ‘Very much, Doctor.’ She got up to wipe the twins’ small mouths and untie their bibs. ‘And now if you will excuse us…?’
‘Being put in my place, am I?’ He got up too, tossed the children into the air, promised them sweets next time he came and made for the door, to turn and come back to where Daisy was standing, lift her firm little chin in his hand and stare down at her, his eyes, half hidden by their lids, studying her face.
‘Kiss Daisy goodbye,’ shrieked Katie, who, being female, was romantic even at four years old.
‘Not this time,’ said her uncle, and went unhurriedly from the room.
Daisy swallowed all the things she would have liked to utter; the twins were remarkably sharp for their age and they might repeat them to their mother and father. She urged the children along to the bathroom to wash teeth, faces and hands, vowing silently that if she saw Dr Seymour again she would run a mile, or at least go as quickly as possible in the opposite direction. Perhaps there would be no need to do that; hopefully he would be going back to England soon.
It was with relief that she heard Lady Thorley tell her that her brother had gone to Utrecht; she wouldn’t have felt that relief, though, if Lady Thorley had added that he would be with them again that evening.
She spent the day on the beach with the children; there wouldn’t be many more days in which to do that, she reflected. There was a distinct nip of autumn in the air now; October wasn’t more than a few days away and already the beach kiosks and little seaside shops selling buckets and spades and postcards were putting up their shutters. Then it would be the park and, should they still be there, carefully planned hours to be spent in the play-room. She doubted, though, if she would be called upon to do that; long before then she would be back in Wilton, and if a governess had been found she would be looking for another job.
She took the children home in time for tea, and they had it with their mother in the play-room, and, much to Daisy’s astonishment, Lady Thorley asked her if she would dine with them that evening. ‘Just us,’ she said. ‘It will be nice to have a quiet evening. There’s a reception tomorrow evening so we shall be out again—you’ve been very good and patient, Daisy, staying with the children; I’m sure I don’t know what we should have done without you. Mrs Perry was telling me about Katwijk-aan-Zee—it’s no distance away and she says it’s so much nicer than Scheveningen—I thought I might drive you and the children there before it gets too chilly. I don’t think I can spare the time to stay all day, but I could pick you up during the afternoon.’
Daisy agreed because she saw that Lady Thorley expected her to. One of the girls she had met in the park had told her it was a nice little seaside town and it would make a change.
She put the children to bed, read to them until they were sleepy and then changed into the blouse and skirt, did her face and hair with rather more care than usual and went on to the balcony to wait for the dinner-gong. It had been another fine day, now fading into a golden dusk, and the garden below looked inviting. She leaned on the balustrade and wondered if she had time to go down there, and decided against it just as Dr Seymour ranged himself alongside her.
He ignored her gasp of surprise. ‘A delightful evening,’ he observed pleasantly. ‘There’s a great deal of wide sky in Holland, isn’t there?’
‘Haven’t you gone back to England yet?’ asked Daisy, not bothering with the sky.
‘Now that’s the kind of encouraging remark I suppose I should have expected from you, Daisy.’
He turned his head to smile at her and she thought how very good-looking he was and so very large. ‘You surprised me,’ she told him.
‘I’m relieved to hear that.’ He smiled and this time it was kind. ‘You’re looking very smart this evening—Margaret tells me that you’re dining with us.’
He had seen the beautifully washed and pressed blouse, certainly not new and decidedly out of date, and the skirt—a pretty colour which suited her and made, unless he was much mistaken, from what looked suspiciously like a curtain…
‘Yes, Lady Thorley invited me, but perhaps now you’re here—I mean, if she didn’t know you were coming…’
‘Oh, but she did—it will be an opportunity to talk about the twins; they seem very happy and they’re fond of you.’
‘They’re very nice children.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so that the faint sound of the gong came as a relief.
They went down together and he waited for her while she went to take a quick look at the twins, and, to her surprise, once they were downstairs sipping sherry before they went in to dinner, she forgot to feel shy, happy to find that Lady Thorley was wearing a blouse and skirt too—rather different from her own—oyster satin with a filmy black skirt and a jewelled belt. All the same Daisy felt at ease because she was wearing the right clothes.
They dined splendidly at a table covered with white damask, shining silver and gleaming glass; lobster bisque, guinea fowl with sautéd potatoes, artichokes and asparagus followed by profiteroles with a great deal of cream, all nicely helped along with a white Bordeaux and then a sweet white wine she didn’t much like to go with the pudding. There was brandy served with the coffee but she declined that. It seemed to her that nannies shouldn’t do that; anyway, she wasn’t sure that she would like brandy. She had maintained her part in the conversation very well and, since she was a good listener, Sir Hugh declared after she had said goodnight and gone upstairs that she had been a much more interesting table companion than Mevrouw van Taal. ‘Nice manners too,’ he observed. ‘Do you agree, Val?’
‘Oh, indeed, you have found yourselves a treasure—if a temporary one.’
‘That reminds me,’ said his sister, ‘I was talking to Mrs Ross today—her husband’s been posted to Brussels and her governess wants to go back to England. It seems she’s a marvellous woman, splendid with small children and able to give lessons until they’re old enough for school. Would it be a good
idea if I found out a bit more about her? Personal recommendation is so much better than advertising.’
‘That sounds promising,’ Sir Hugh agreed. ‘Make quick work of it, darling—I’ll be here for another month at the outside; this paragon could take over when we get back home.’ He paused. ‘I’ll be sorry to see Daisy go.’
‘So shall I; she’s so nice and gentle and kind. She should get a good job, though; I’ll give her a splendid reference.’
To all of which conversation the doctor listened without saying a word; and, as for Daisy, blissfully unaware of what the future held in store for her, she put her head upon the pillow and went to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
DAISY woke with a pleasant feeling of excitement which, upon investigation, and to her surprise, was due to the fact that she would see the doctor again. She expected him to come and say hello to the twins—perhaps stay to breakfast—but there was no sign of him, nor did Lady Thorley mention him when she came to wish her children good morning after that meal. It wasn’t until lunchtime, after she had taken the twins for a walk in the Scheveningse Bos, where there was plenty of open space in which they could tire themselves out, that Lady Thorley mentioned that her brother had gone back to England. ‘He works too hard,’ she complained. ‘I tell him that he should marry, but he says he has no time for that. Such nonsense; one day he’ll fall in love and then he’ll find the time.’
As long as he didn’t fall in love with someone like Mevrouw van Taal, reflected Daisy, and wondered why she disliked the idea so much; after all, she still wasn’t sure if she liked him and he was surely old and wise enough to take care of himself.
The days unrolled themselves smoothly, each one rather like the last, until it was Wednesday again and Daisy, released from her duties, took the tram into the Hague. She had seen Philip Keynes on the previous evening and he had arranged to meet her at four o’clock for tea and then take her to the cinema. She was looking forward to it and now that she had some money in her pocket she would spend the morning looking for something for her mother and Pamela. Coffee first, she thought happily, as the tram deposited her at the stop nearest to the Bijenkorf.
She found a silver brooch for her mother and a silk scarf for her sister, both costing rather more than she could afford, so that her lunch was sparse, but in any case, she reminded herself, eating took up precious time and she planned to spend the afternoon, map in hand, getting some idea of the town. She lingered for some time along the Korte Vijverberg and the Lange Vijverberg, admiring the old houses with their variety of gabled roofs, and from there she walked to Lange Voorhout, pleasantly broad and tree-lined with its small palaces and embassies and luxurious Hotel des Indes. It must be pleasant working in such surroundings, she decided, thinking of Philip, even in the capacity of a clerk. She looked her fill at the patrician houses around her—a far cry from her own home; the thought of it made her feel homesick for a moment; it would be nice to see her mother and Pam again, but not just yet. Each week she was adding to her small nest-egg; a month, six weeks even, would allow her to put by more money than she had earned in months of work at the nursery school.
She strolled back to the café where she found Philip waiting for her. His pleasure at seeing her added to her enjoyment of her day and he was an easy person to talk to. They drank their tea and ate the rich creamcakes so temptingly displayed and then made their way to the cinema.
It was a good film and there was time for a quick cup of coffee before they boarded the tram for home. Saying goodnight in the entrance to the flats, Daisy reflected that she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for a long time. Philip was the kind of man she would like to marry: easy to get on with, not given to sarcastic remarks and quite lacking in arrogance—unlike Dr Seymour, the sight of whose well-tailored appearance caused her instant annoyance.
She went indoors, spent ten minutes with the Thorleys describing her day and then went to her room, wondering if it was too late for her to get some supper. Tea had been delicious and the coffee after the cinema equally so but her insides were hollow.
She hadn’t been in her room five minutes before Mien tapped on the door, bearing a tray. Soup in a pipkin, ham and a salad and coffee in a Thermos jug. A most satisfactory end to her day, she thought, gobbling her supper and then, after a last look at the twins, tumbling into her bed.
The weather changed, a mean wind blew and there was persistent rain. The twins reacted as might have been expected—tantrums, a refusal to do anything asked of them and a steady demand to go to the beach.
Lady Thorley finally gave way to their persistent small rages. ‘Could you bear to go with them?’ she asked Daisy. ‘Perhaps if they went just once and got soaked they wouldn’t want to go again—just for an hour or two?’
So Daisy buttoned them into their small mackintoshes, tied their hoods securely, stuffed their feet into wellies and then got into her plastic mac, tucking her hair under its unbecoming hood. They took a tram to the promenade and then, with buckets and spades, went down to the beach. Deserted, of course, and in a way Daisy liked it. The sea was rough and coldly grey and the wide sky was equally grey with the sandy shore below stretching away on either side as far as the eye could see. Lonely and magnificent and a bit frightening…
Daisy dispelled such a fanciful thought and got on to her knees the better to help build the sandcastle under Josh’s shouted instructions.
They were to go back home for lunch, Lady Thorley had said, but there was time enough to build a dozen sandcastles. Daisy, fashioning a wall around the last of them, was startled by Katie’s piercing shriek. The two children, shouting with delight, were hurtling up the beach towards Dr Seymour, making his leisurely way towards them. She got to her feet then, dusting the sand off her damp knees, looking just about as unglamorous as it was possible to look; the hood, never flattering, had slipped sideways so that a good deal of damp hair had escaped and her face was as damp as her knees.
She watched him coming towards her, a twin on either hand, wished him a good morning and stood quietly under his scrutiny, aware that she looked an absolute fright and hating him for it.
He smiled at her. ‘Hello, Daisy, what marvellous sandcastles—I haven’t made one for half a lifetime.’ Unnoticing of the drizzle, he squatted down to inspect their work, fashioned a drawbridge, added an imposing tower, invited Daisy to admire them and got to his feet.
‘Want a lift back?’ he wanted to know. ‘It’s a bit early for lunch, but you’ll all need a wipe down first, won’t you?’ His glance swept over Daisy and she lifted her chin. If he dared to smile… But he didn’t. They went back up the beach to the promenade with the children happily hopping and skipping between them, making so much noise that there was no need to talk. A good thing, for she could think of nothing at all to say.
The Rolls was at the kerb and sitting in it was Mevrouw van Taal.
‘You know each other, don’t you?’ observed the doctor easily as he stuffed the children into the back of the car. ‘Hop in between them, Daisy.’
Mevrouw turned an elegant shoulder to look at them. ‘What a very strange way in which to spend the morning,’ she said acidly, ‘but of course I suppose it doesn’t matter to you when you do not need to bother with your appearance.’
Daisy thought of several things to say and uttered none of them; it was the twins who yelled rudely at her, protesting that the beach in the rain was the nicest thing they knew of, a sentiment echoed by their uncle, who had got into the car, taken a quick look at Daisy’s outraged face and smoothly taken the conversation into his own hands, so that the twins, hushed by Daisy, subsided, allowing him to carry on a desultory exchange of remarks with Mevrouw van Taal. When they arrived at the house she whisked them upstairs to be washed and tidied for their lunch, and they were so pleased with the idea of their uncle having lunch with them that they forgot all about Mevrouw
van Taal. But, when they were led into the dining-room, faced with the sight of that lady sitting by their uncle, sipping sherry, their small faces puckered into scowls.
‘Why—?’ began Josh, and was hushed by Daisy.
‘Tell Mummy about the castles we built this morning,’ she urged.
He went obediently but his lower lip was thrust out in an ominous manner. It was Katie who spoke in her shrill voice. ‘I thought Uncle Val was having lunch with us, not with her,’ she observed.
‘Well, we are all having lunch together,’ observed Daisy. ‘Do tell Daddy about that crab you found.’ She caught the doctor’s eye and saw that he was laughing silently. Let him, she thought savagely, and looked away from his mocking glance.
Mien came to the door then to announce that lunch was ready, which was a good thing—the children had a look on their faces which boded no good. She prayed silently that they would behave themselves at table.
The prayer wasn’t answered; it was unfortunate that Mevrouw van Taal was seated opposite them, and Daisy, sitting between them, knew without looking that they had fixed their large blue eyes upon her and at any moment would say something outrageous…
‘Which reminds me,’ said Dr Seymour apropos of nothing at all, ‘I have something for you two—you may have it after lunch if your mother says you may, on condition that you’re extra-good.’
Daisy let out a relieved breath and then drew it in again sharply when the doctor winked at her from a bland face. Really, the man was simply impossible. She busied herself attending to the children and was thankful that they were behaving like small angels. Their father paused in the middle of a sentence to ask if they were sickening for something. ‘You must have performed a miracle on them, Daisy,’ he said kindly. ‘Let us hope…’ he caught his wife’s eye ‘…that it lasts,’ he ended tamely. He had forgotten for the moment that Daisy hadn’t been told that the new governess would be taking over very shortly—something which would have to be broken to the children at the proper time, which wasn’t now.