by Betty Neels
What a stuffy creature he must think her. Deborah said quietly: ‘I think it’s a marvellous idea. I’ll get Dee’s basket and the swim suits.’ She paused: ‘If you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the twins for a minute?’
He reached out and took Dee from her. ‘Eleanor’s got to put on something—it’s too late for the children to go into the water. I’m afraid you’ve missed your time off Deborah.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’d have been petrified if I’d been on my own, anyway.’ She looked up at him gravely. ‘I’m a coward about storms, I’m sorry.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You don’t have to apologise to me, my dear. We all have our Achilles’ heel.’
He hardly spoke to her again, but ran races with the children at the water’s edge while she sat with Dee. They were returning to the house when Mr and Mrs Burns and Mrs Beaufort returned and the next ten minutes were taken up with rather excited talk on the part of Mrs Burns, and very exaggerated accounts of bravery on behalf of the twins. Deborah led them away presently, gave them their supper, saw to the baby and put them to bed. She had been afraid that after all the afternoon’s excitement they wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of sleep, but they gave her no more than ten minutes of tantrums before falling asleep with welcome suddenness, leaving her free to go as quickly as she could to her room, at last free to change her dress and do things to her face and hair. It hadn’t been much of a day she reflected, pinning her sandy tresses back rather severely, the storm had been bad enough, but having to admit to near panic in front of the professor was far worse. He must think her a spineless creature. Not that that mattered in the least; she couldn’t care less what he thought of her, although she had to admit to a strong desire to do something which would take that tolerant, faintly mocking smile off his handsome face.
She went downstairs presently and found everyone on the patio sitting in the cool of the evening over their drinks. She accepted Mr Burns’ offer of a long, cool drink without enquiring as to what he intended to put into it, and sat down in the chair Mrs Burns was patting.
‘Such a dreadful afternoon,’ said that lady, ‘I’ve never been so terrified in all my life. I’m still shaking…’
Deborah took a look; her employer looked as cool and unruffled as a newly scooped ice cream, moreover she looked very pretty in a vividly patterned cotton dress that Deborah hadn’t seen before.
‘How lucky for you that you were here,’ went on Peggy Burns. ‘Nice and safe in the house and the children seemed to have behaved splendidly. Sorry about your free time though—we’ll have to make it up to you…’
The professor, lolling back in a wide cane chair, spoke: ‘I don’t know about Deborah, but I thought I’d stroll along as far as the village after dinner; there’s a café there where someone sings fado, perhaps she’ll come with me.’ He added dryly: ‘The children are all tucked up and sleeping, so she can leave them with a clear conscience.’
‘Splendid!’ cried his sister not giving Deborah a chance to say a word. ‘A lovely little outing for her and, as you say, the children won’t disturb me—I really am too exhausted to cope with them until I’ve had a good night’s sleep…’
No one, Deborah reflected, had asked her if she wished to go out with the professor. She felt like a hungry dog offered a bone, but unlike the dog, not over keen to take it. The matter was decided for her: ‘We can walk along the beach path,’ said Professor Beaufort, ‘enjoy the fado and come back along the lane.’ He yawned, ‘Or the other way round. It doesn’t really matter.’
This stung Deborah into speech. ‘So kind of you to suggest it,’ she said with slight waspishness, ‘but I think I’m too tired…’
She was overruled; even Mr Burns, who seldom took part in any argument, was against her. She ate her dinner meekly while inwardly fuming.
It was a splendid night when they set out to walk along the beach path; a romantic night, with a full moon slowly turning everything to a silvery day, and the faintest of breezes stirring the warm air.
They discussed the storm at some length, with the professor going into rather boring details about weather and so on—deliberately she thought. Well, it made something to talk about anyway. But once they were sitting at a small table at the casa de fado everything was different. Deborah hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the black clad fadista pouring out her melancholy song of regrets and sadness, absorbed her whole attention. She drank whatever the professor ordered, ate the bits and pieces he offered her from time to time and sat enraptured, her melancholy almost as deep as the singer’s, but somehow more pleasurable.
The singer went away presently and the professor asked mildly: ‘Enjoying it Debby?’
‘Oh, yes, very much. I’ve never heard anything like it before, though I suppose you have. Is it a kind of folk song?’
‘Yes, and very old. There are two kinds—the traditional, which you hear in and around Lisbon and this one, the Coimbra Fado—I suppose you would call it regional.’
They stayed late, with Deborah unaware of the time and the professor watching her with a faint, amused smile. When at last she glanced at her watch he answered her horrified squeak of surprise with a reasonable: ‘Well, there’s no need to fuss—Peggy’s quite able to feed Dee for once and I imagine that the twins won’t stir until morning. You don’t have to look so guilty, you spend long hours with the children and never complain.’
‘But it’s my job.’
‘So you have reminded me on several occasions. Would you like to be free, Debby?’
She had had a little too much to drink and her tongue was running riot. ‘Yes, oh, yes. To do what I want to do—have a huge garden and dogs and cats running in and out and buy lovely clothes just whenever I wanted to and travel.’ She stopped suddenly ‘That’s just pipe dreaming—I expect everyone has those, but that’s not real life, is it?’
He didn’t say anything but got up when she did and walked beside her out of the café and into the village street, taking her arm, which, actually, she was glad of because the fresh air after the stuffiness of the café and all the wine she had drunk, was making her a little dizzy.
‘We’ll go back the way we came,’ he said. ‘It’s much prettier and the moon is still up.’
They walked in silence for some time until Deborah, finding it awkward, said the first thing which came into her head: ‘The moon makes it very romantic, doesn’t it?’
‘Indeed, yes. Are you romantic, Deborah?’
‘Only sometimes, mostly I’m too busy… My last reference said that I was a sensible, level-headed girl with a realistic attitude to life. That’s not romantic, is it?’ She sighed, ‘And I daresay it’s quite true too!’
Their stroll had come to a halt and he turned her round to face him.
‘Will you marry me, Deborah?’ asked the professor. And at her look of utter astonishment: ‘Oh, there’s no question of romance and love. I like you enormously, for your reference is correct, you know and over and above that you’re kind and serene and quiet and Eleanor is very fond of you; in time I think that she could love you. She needs someone like you—Miss Timmis is all that a governess should be, but she’s no longer young and she has never aspired to the maternal. She’ll remain with us, of course, probably for the rest of her life in some capacity or another, but she will be the first to agree that Eleanor needs a mother—you are a little young perhaps, but all the same you have become very dear to her. I am away from home from time to time, but life won’t be dull for you—you will have your garden and your dogs and cats—a couple of donkeys and a pony too, and I can promise you that you may buy all the clothes you want. The question is: what should I be depriving you of? Perhaps there is someone who wants to marry you?’
She shook her head silently.
‘Or you might wish to wait for a more romantic proposal?’
She shook her head again. ‘That’s not very likely.’
‘You would like children of your own, and not other people’s?�
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She looked away from him, to the smooth moonlit sea with the lights from the fishing boats reflected in the water. ‘Yes, it would have to be a very special reason for me to—to accept. I’m sorry, it’s very kind of you to ask me.’ She added slowly: ‘I didn’t know you liked me even.’
‘I’ve already said that I do.’ His voice was pleasantly bland with no sign of what he really thought. ‘Do you like me, Deborah?’
‘It’s a funny thing; I didn’t at first—you called me a gorgon, you know and you laughed at me a lot, but then when we came here and I met Eleanor, I began to like you—yes, I suppose I like you now.’
‘Well, that’s something. All the same, you are refusing me?’
Deep down inside her she felt regret. ‘Yes, you see I’d like to have a husband who loved me and whom I loved, otherwise I’d just as soon stay as I am.’
He turned her round and took her arm again. ‘Well, at least you’re honest. I’m sorry, Debby—I really believe that you would have made life very happy for Eleanor. I can’t pretend to love you, or even hold out the hope that I could do so in the future—you see, I’m being as honest as you. I think I’ve forgotten how to love, and I’m not sure that I want to fall in love again—there are plenty of girls around who come easily and go just as easily—perhaps I’m getting too old.’
‘You’re not even middle aged. Perhaps if you go on looking, you’ll find someone.’
‘Oh, very likely.’ His voice was light; she felt that he was already putting the whole episode behind him and presently would forget it completely. For some reason that annoyed her. The idea of all those girls rankled too. She dismissed it smartly and asked: ‘Will Eleanor go back with you—to your home, I mean or does Miss Timmis fetch her?’
‘I’ll take her back. I have to attend several meetings, all of them in Europe.’ He stopped again. ‘I suppose that you wouldn’t consider going to see Eleanor once she’s home again? It would give her something to look forward to?’
‘I could go on my way home from Mrs Burns if it’s not too out of the way.’
‘Tollard Royal—the other side of Shaftesbury, quite close to Peggy, as it happens. Someone can come over and fetch you from Peggy’s—perhaps you could stay for the night?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Deborah cautiously, not to be hurried into an answer. ‘I’d like to see her again.’
‘Good we can talk about that later.’ He took her arm once more and they walked up the drive to the villa, quiet and gleaming in the moonlight. He opened the door and she went past him into the hall which was dimly lit by a candle lamp.
She waited while he locked the door. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening. I’m sorry about—about not feeling I can marry you…’
‘Don’t give it another thought, Debby.’ He had come to stand by her, now he bent his head and kissed her gently. ‘Sleep well, I enjoyed the evening too.’
CHAPTER FIVE
DEBORAH DIDN’T sleep well; no man had ever asked her to marry him before and even though she had refused, it was something to mull over at great length. Just before she finally dropped off she wondered if she should have given such an important matter more thought. She had said no without hesitation…anyway, she thought sleepily, it was too late to do anything about it now, only meeting him in the morning was going to be a bit awkward.
She need not have worried; when she and the children got down to breakfast it was to find him casually friendly, offhand almost, giving her the faint, half-mocking smile she so disliked. He stayed that way and the days slipped by in a carefree routine of beach, picnics, bathing and pleasant evenings doing nothing on the patio after dinner, and, although Deborah had another day off at the end of the week, there was no offer to take her into Lagos—anywhere else for that matter. Not that the professor didn’t remain friendly; but he was aloof too. Only to be expected, she supposed, probably his pride was hurt, but since he had solemnly assured her with what she considered with hindsight was rather brutal honesty, his feelings weren’t involved in the very least, so that left her with the unwelcome thought that he had already dismissed the whole episode from his mind.
Eleanor, on the other hand, hardly let her out of her sight; and when, at the beginning of the third week, the professor announced that he would have to return on the following day to attend some important meeting and that she would be going with him, the child burst into tears and cried so hard that Deborah found herself promising to go and see her before she went home from the Burns family. She felt reluctant about it, for it seemed to her that the sooner she ceased to see the professor, the better it would be. She found him disquieting; she never quite knew what he was thinking or what he would say next; he could be unexpectedly charming and kind and without warning say something cutting. She hoped, quite passionately, that he would be away from home when she went to see Eleanor.
It seemed quiet when they had gone the next day. The twins bereft of a playmate, were peevish and almost unmanageable by turns, Mrs Beaufort without her son’s company was plainly miserable, even Mrs Burns, not one to notice anything amiss, remarked on his absence, and confessed herself upset, then persuaded her husband to drive her along the coast to Albufeira, leaving Deborah to mind the children and keep Mrs Beaufort company. That lady, nicely recovered by now, spent the day with them reminiscing about the professor at great length, so that Deborah got to know quite a lot about him. ‘Such a clever boy,’ Mrs Beaufort confided. ‘Brilliant in fact, just like his father. A great pity that his marriage was such a disaster. Too young of course. He needs to marry again for Eleanor’s sake.’ She shot a glance at Deborah but her face was almost hidden under the sun hat. ‘He’s still young enough to enjoy life again—family life—I mean. All this travelling is so unsettling…’ She gave Deborah a second look. ‘What will you do when you leave us, my dear?’
‘Go home for a week or two, then go back to the agency and get another job, Mrs Beaufort. I’ve enjoyed being here though; the twins are darlings and so is Dee; It’s been a marvellous holiday.’
Mrs Beaufort gave a delicate snort. ‘Hardly a holiday for you, Deborah—three children to care for and precious little time to yourself! but there, I suppose you will tell me that’s why you are here.’
Packing up was a sad business even though Deborah did a little here and there so that the children wouldn’t notice too much, and on the last day she got up extra early and they went down to the beach in the cool of the morning, parking Dee in her basket where she could see her, and romping in the water with the twins before hurrying back to the house to get ready for breakfast. They left immediately after the meal, and drove to the airport to board their chartered plane and Deborah had no chance to take a last look round, which was perhaps just as well.
They drove back to Ashmore in Mr Burns’ car, rather squashed, what with the luggage, Deborah, the twins and Dee on the back seat and Mrs Burns squashed in with them, so that Mrs Beaufort could sit in comfort in front. It was a cool, overcast day and Mrs Burns, usually the most good natured of young women, was disposed to find fault with everything. It was a relief to get into the house and whisk the children up to the nursery to give them their tea and then get them to bed early. Deborah, busy seeing to Dee and then starting on the unpacking, was grateful for the tray of tea Mary brought up to her. She sat drinking it wishing she was back once more by the sea. A silly waste of time, she reminded herself; it had been marvellous but there was no reason to mope about it. She went back to her unpacking.
At dinner, with Mrs Burns cheerful once more, Mr Burns interrupted himself during a rambling résumé of their holiday to ask: ‘You’ll stay for a day or two, Nanny? Three or four days just while Peggy adjusts and we get the twins back to Nursery School and everything back in place once more. I’ll be home for several months and Mary has a niece in the village who will come every afternoon and take over the children for a couple of hours. It’s just a question of getting them settled in again.’
She wanted to go home and
tell her mother about the villa and the children and Mrs Beaufort—she might even mention the professor, but she saw that she would have to postpone that for a little longer.
‘Yes, of course I’ll stay—would four days do? If I could leave on Friday…?’
‘I’ll drive you back, shall we say directly after lunch?’
The four days went quickly; besides coping with the twins: getting them to school each morning, taking them walking in the afternoon with Dee, helping Mary in the evenings after the girl from the village had gone home, Deborah had a mass of small garments to wash, iron, and lay tidily away and since Mrs Burns had the reins of the household to pick up once more, and Mr Burns had to spend a day at the head office of his firm, she spent what free time she had (which wasn’t much), by herself. Inevitably, she passed the time mulling over her stay in the villa, wondering about Eleanor, and unwillingly wondering about the professor too. He would be deep in his economics, she supposed, offering other learned men the benefit of his expert advice.
On her last day before leaving Mr and Mrs Burns had gone to dinner with friends and she had her supper on a tray and had then gone to sit in the nursery to finish the mending before she went to bed. She had packed, washed her hair and slapped a face mask guaranteed to turn her into a beauty overnight, on to her freckled face; so now she sat with her hair in shining tresses hanging down her back, her beautiful face unmade-up, plying her needle and thinking. She hadn’t meant to think about the professor, but somehow sooner or later he seemed to take over in her head. He would be in Brussels perhaps, or the middle East or America. She bit off the thread only half hearing a car stop in front of the house. Where else did high powered economists go?