by Betty Neels
‘Father will fetch me.’
At the house there were a number of cars being loaded by the family on their way to the church, so Philly nipped out smartly. ‘Thank you very much—I hope you’ll have a lovely day.’
She whisked herself away and in through the open doors, and Sybil said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, let’s get to the church.’
Seedings, the butler, bade Philly a dignified good morning. ‘Miss Coralie would like you to go to her room, Miss Philly, as soon as you get here.’
So Philly went up the grand staircase and tapped on a door. She was admitted, to spend five minutes admiring the bride and the bridesmaids, before going up another flight of stairs to the nursery wing with Coralie’s sister.
‘Just like Nanny to become ill when she’s most needed. I’m very grateful, Philly.’ She opened a door. ‘Mother’s maid is with them…’
There were twins, not quite four years old, Henry and Thomas, Emily, almost two and the baby, a mere eight months. At the moment they looked like small angels, but it was still early in the day. Philly, though she liked small children, braced herself for the task ahead.
The wedding was at eleven o’clock. She heard the church bells pealing at the end of the service and presently the slamming of car doors as everyone returned to the house. There would be any number of guests, she knew. Friends and family would come from far and near to enjoy the occasion. She hoped that Coralie would be very happy; they could hardly be described as friends, they didn’t move in the same circles, but Philly had been at school with Coralie’s sister, the eldest of the three girls, so they were on friendly terms.
A maid brought the children’s lunch, and soon the baby was due for another bottle. Philly assembled her small companions round the nursery table and for the moment forgot about the wedding.
No one came, but she hadn’t expected anyone. She had told the maid to tell the children’s mother that everything was going well, and now she settled the eldest three little ones to an afternoon nap. She set about seeing to the baby, who refused to be settled but lay on her shoulder, bawling his small head off.
The opening of the door brought his crying to an abrupt halt. He burped, puked on her shoulder, and smiled at the Professor entering the room.
‘I’ll have him while you clean up.’
‘You can’t possibly—look at you in your best clothes. You ought not to be here.’
He grinned at her, wondering why it was that when he was with Philly he felt life was such fun. ‘I’m on an official visit,’ he told her. ‘I had the twins in for a few days with bad chests, and I’ve come to see if they’re fit and well again.’
‘They’re asleep.’ She nodded to where they lay, tucked up in one of the cots. ‘They’ve been as good as gold and they ate their lunch.’
The baby was taken from her. ‘Good. Go and wash while this monster’s quiet.’ He took the baby from her in the manner of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. But then he would, she reflected, scrubbing at her dress; he was a children’s doctor.
‘Was it a lovely wedding?’ she asked.
‘Yes. The bride looked beautiful, as all brides do.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at the reception?’
‘The cake’s been cut and toasts have been drunk, and everyone is standing around waiting for the happy couple to leave. How are you going home?’ he asked again.
He was sitting on the arm of a chair, the baby peacefully asleep against his waistcoat.
‘Father will come for me.’
‘Better still, we’ll drop you off as we go.’ He had a phone in his hand and was dialling a number. Philly, aware that she should remonstrate with him at such high-handed behaviour, said nothing, listening to him telling her father that she would be returning in about an hour or so.
‘I can’t go until someone comes to look after the children,’ said Philly, finding her voice.
‘There’ll be someone,’ he assured her, and smiled, handed back the baby and went away.
‘Well, really. I don’t know,’ said Philly to the baby, who stared back at her and went to sleep again.
Philly longed for a cup of tea, but she had no doubt that she had been forgotten with the house full of guests and everyone run off their feet. She drank some water and looked at the nursery clock; in less than an hour the children’s tea would be brought up, and then hopefully someone would come to take her place.
She worried a bit about the Professor giving her a lift. For one thing Sybil wouldn’t like it, and for another she might keep them waiting unless someone took over promptly.
The children woke up, and she washed their faces and hands, brushed their hair and sat down on the floor with them to play the nursery games she remembered from her childhood, thankful that the baby remained soundly asleep. Their teatime came and went, and after another ten minutes she picked up the phone. Just as she did the door opened and a maid came in with a tray.
‘Sorry I’m a bit late, Miss. Everything’s a bit rushed downstairs. The guests are leaving. Here’s a pot of tea for you.’
Philly beamed at her. ‘Thank you. I’m sure you are rushed off your feet. I expect someone’s coming to take over?’
‘I don’t rightly know, Miss.’
Which wasn’t very satisfactory. Philly sat the children at the table, put the baby’s bottle ready to warm and handed out mugs of milk and egg sandwiches, much cheered by the sight of the teapot, but before she could pour herself a cup the door opened and the children’s mother came in.
‘What a day! I’m exhausted, but it all went off splendidly. Are you ready to go?’
An elderly woman came in behind her. ‘We’ll see to the children now. Have they been good? We are so grateful, Philly. Now do run along; James and Sybil are waiting for you.’
They bustled her away. She bade the children a hurried goodbye, with a regretful look at the teapot, smiled away their mother’s thanks, and hurried down to the hall. The Professor was there, talking to a group of guests, but when he saw Philly he made his goodbyes and crossed the hall to meet her.
‘I’ve kept you waiting?’
He smiled down at her. She looked tired and dishevelled, and her hair badly needed a comb; he found it disturbing that she outshone all the attractive women he had seen that day. And that included Sybil.
‘The car is outside,’ he told her. ‘You must be tired.’
‘Well, a bit.’ She smiled in the general direction of everyone else there and walked to the door, feeling very out of place. At the door she was stopped by the butler, who handed her a neatly wrapped package.
‘Wedding cake, Miss—I was to be sure and give you a slice. For good luck, you know.’
She thanked him and got into the car, where Sybil said, ‘There you are at last. James, I’m exhausted…’
‘Not nearly as exhausted as Philly after most of the day spent with a handful of toddlers and a baby.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘All right? We’ll have you home in no time.’
Philly had settled on the back seat, bringing with her a strong whiff of baby talcum powder, milky drinks and soap. There were sponged stains on her dress, which from time to time gave off an unavoidable tang. Sybil gave an audible sigh and the Professor bit back a laugh.
No one spoke on the brief journey. At the Vicarage he got out and opened her door. Not sure if she would receive a snub, Philly offered tea.
‘I know Mother will be delighted…’
‘In that case we would be delighted; a cup of tea is just what I need. Don’t you agree, Sybil?’
She shot him a look which boded ill for the future, but she got out of the car and Philly ushered them into the Vicarage.
She took them not to the kitchen but into the drawing room, which was seldom used because it was always damp, even in the height of summer. It was a splendid room, with wide windows, and furnished with the good pieces her mother had inherited when her parents died. A fitting background for Sybil’s hat, thought Philly naughtily.
‘I’ll tell Mother,’ said Philly, and sped to the kitchen.
Mrs Selby, being a vicar’s wife, was unflustered by sudden demands on her hospitality.
‘Fetch your father,’ she said, and went to welcome her visitors.
Leaving the Vicar to entertain them, Mrs Selby hurried back to the kitchen, where Philly was putting cups and saucers onto a tray.
‘That’s the most extraordinary hat,’ she observed, getting a cake from its tin, and added, ‘She’s not at all suitable…’
Philly giggled, and then said, suddenly sober, ‘But she does look gorgeous, Mother.’ Adding matter-of-factly, ‘She doesn’t like me.’
‘No, dear. But of course that is only natural.’
Philly made the tea. ‘Is it? Why?’
Her mother didn’t answer. ‘Bring the teapot, dear. I’ll take the tray.’
The Professor had quite a lot to say about the wedding, but Sybil hardly spoke and refused Mrs Selby’s fruit cake with an, ‘Oh, God no,’ which made the Vicar draw a breath and bite back the rebuke on his tongue.
Mrs Selby filled an awkward moment by observing cheerfully, ‘I expect you had too much wedding cake. A wedding wouldn’t be one without it, though, would it?’ She turned an artless gaze onto Sybil. ‘Have you planned your own wedding? I dare say it will be a big one?’
‘Oh, I suppose so. We have very many friends. Though we don’t intend to marry yet…’ Sybil’s vague reply, from Mrs Selby’s point of view, was reassuring…
They didn’t stay long, but their departure was delayed for a few minutes by the arrival of Lucy and Katie, back from their schools. They wanted to hear about the wedding, and Katie remarked with all the candour of a teenager upon Sybil’s hat. It was fortunate that Sybil, confident of her splendid appearance, took Katie’s, ‘Now that’s what I call a hat…’ as a compliment.
Sybil said, in the voice she used to those beneath her notice, ‘I’m glad you like it. I had it specially made…’
The Professor, looking amused, shook hands all round and ushered her into the car.
Driving away, Sybil said, ‘I can’t think why you had to stop. There was no need to give that girl a lift—she smelled…’
‘Philly has spent most of the day looking after three toddlers and a small baby. They needed to be fed and washed and cuddled and amused. A hands-on job, Sybil, without regard to what one is wearing.’
‘You should have considered me. I hate anything like that…’
‘Would you even with your own children?’
‘We will have a highly qualified nanny—and anyway, I consider four children to be excessive. One is more than enough. Shall we be back in time to go out to dinner? A pity you can’t join me at the Reeves’ for lunch tomorrow. Really, you take your work too seriously, James.’
The Professor reflected that falling in love with a lovely face had been a mistake. One which he would have to rectify if he could think of a way of doing so.
Sybil didn’t love him; he had thought at first that she did, but now he realised that loving someone was very low in her priorities. There were things which mattered more: comfortable living, money, being popular amongst the society in which she moved, a husband with money to spend on her—and one who was at the top of his profession—and the leisure to enjoy her life without worry.
He said now, ‘It will be eight o’clock before we’re home, and I want to go to the hospital. And I’m sorry about tomorrow but there’s this meeting…’
‘How tiresome you are, James. But we’ll change all that when we’re married.’
‘Am I to give up my work?’
‘Don’t be silly, of course not. But you can give up all this hospital work and keep your private practice. Do some consulting work, if you must, but you’re well enough known to pick and choose.’
‘I’m a children’s doctor, Sybil, and that’s what I intend to remain.’
Sybil gave a little laugh. ‘Darling, I’ll change your mind for you.’
The Professor didn’t answer.
After leaving Sybil at her home, he drove straight to the hospital. There was a premature baby he wasn’t happy about, and he spent the next hour or so discussing treatment with his registrar.
It was ten o’clock before he got home and Jolly, coming into the hall as he let himself in, said, ‘There you are then, and high time too. It’s a good thing your dinner’s one that won’t spoil.’ He peered at the Professor. ‘Fed up with the day? Weddings, leastways anyone else’s but yours, aren’t much cop.’
The Professor had one foot on the stairs. ‘Give me five minutes to get into other gear. I could eat a horse, Jolly.’
‘Not in this house, you won’t. I don’t hold with horse-flesh!’
The professor laughed. Five minutes later he was back again, in casual trousers and a sweater, pouring himself a whisky.
No one looking at Jolly would have thought of him as being an excellent cook. But he dished up a splendid meal, and the Professor, whose large frame needed more than the bits and pieces usually offered at weddings, enjoyed every morsel of it.
‘That’s the ticket,’ observed Jolly. ‘Be in for lunch tomorrow, will you?’
‘As far as I know. I think I’ll drive down to the cottage in the afternoon. If you want to go out, leave something cold for me, Jolly. I’ll probably stay there for tea.’
‘Miss West going with you?’
The Professor said, ‘No,’ in a voice which warned Jolly not to say any more.
Sunday was a dry day, but cold under a grey sky. The cottage looked charming, with daffodils spilling from the banks around it and great clumps of primroses. There were early tulips in the flowerbed and forsythia in abundance. George was delighted to see him and Nanny, roused from an afternoon nap, bustled about getting tea. The Professor, greeting them both, wished that Philly was there, too. It was becoming increasingly evident to him that she fitted very nicely into the kind of life that he enjoyed…
Easter had been early and May Day wasn’t far away. Nether Ditchling was preparing for the annual children’s fête which would be held on Bank Holiday Monday. It was held in the village hall, lavishly decorated with balloons, and was an old-fashioned event, its traditions untouched by modern ideas.
There would be Punch and Judy, in the disguised persons of the primary schoolmaster and his wife, a bran-tub, presided over by Mrs Salter, a trestle table loaded with buns and ices, lemonade and bags of crisps donated by Lady Dearing, wife of the Lord of the Manor, and served by herself and her two daughters, while at the other end of the hall her son would be in charge of target shooting with toy rifles.
Since the children would have their mothers and fathers with them, the Vicar and his wife always took charge of a vast tea urn, rows of cups and saucers and a great variety of cakes. As for Philly and her sisters, they helped out wherever they were needed: consoling crying children, taking toddlers to the lavatory, clearing up after one of them had eaten too much. It was an event which never varied from year to year and no one would have wanted it otherwise. This year there was to be a fancy dress parade with prizes, which meant a good deal of searching in trunks and attics and a run on the crinkle paper which Mrs Salter had remaining in stock from Christmas.
The church was full on the Sunday before. The Lord of the Manor with his wife and family sat in their high-walled pew, and the Vicar’s wife and his five daughters were on the other side of the aisle. Rose and Flora had their fiancés beside them, and Lucy’s current boyfriend sat there too. Only Katie and Philomena were unaccompanied, and as usual the village craned its neck to see if Miss Philly had found a man yet. The nicest of the bunch, everyone agreed, but likely to die an old maid.
Philly, unaware of the village’s concern for her future, sat quietly, listening to her father’s sermon, while hidden away at the back of her mind she wondered what the Professor was doing.
He, just as she was, was in church. Sybil had gone to Italy for a week to stay with friends who ha
d a villa in Tuscany. It was an invitation she couldn’t ignore, she had told him. She had sounded regretful, peeping at him to see if he minded, but his face had told her nothing and she had been careful to beg him to go with her. ‘I see so little of you, darling, and we could have a lovely time. There’ll be several people we both know there, and there’ll be plenty of amusement.’
When he had said patiently that a holiday for him was out of the question she had made a charming little face and said, ‘Surely you can take a holiday when you want to?’
‘Perhaps a day now and then. I could manage to be free for a day or so. If you stayed here we could spend a few hours at the cottage.’
‘But there’s nothing to do there and no one to talk to—only Mrs Willett.’
He had wanted to tell her that if they loved each other there would be plenty to talk about, just the two of them: their wedding and their future together, and the delight of just being together.
He had said mildly, ‘Go and enjoy yourself, Sybil. Tuscany should be lovely at this time of year.’
And so Sybil had gone, with a case of new clothes and a rather careless goodbye, confident that James would be waiting for her when she came home, placid and tolerant of her demands upon his time.
He went early to the hospital on Bank Holiday Monday, and then, with the rest of the day free, went back to tell Jolly that he wouldn’t be home until the late evening.
He drove first to the cottage, where he persuaded Mrs Willett to put on her hat and spend the day with him. George was to come with them, of course, and the three of them set out in the best of spirits.
Mrs Willett asked, ‘Are we going somewhere nice?’
She peered at the Professor, in a sweater and casual trousers and looking years younger.
‘Remember I told you of that charming family who were so kind to Sybil and me in that freak snowstorm? And the baby who was so ill? A ward sister was telling me about a children’s fête to be held in the village where he lives. An old tradition, his mother told her, especially held for them on May Day. I thought we might go and have a look.’