The Final Touch

by Betty Neels

  ‘You are knitting like one of the furies,’ said Tyco pleasantly. ‘What’s the matter, Charity?’

  She hadn’t known that he had been watching her for some minutes. She smiled at once. ‘The matter? Nothing. I’ve got to a difficult bit and I want to get it over as quickly as possible.’

  ‘You aren’t worried about your stepsister coming?’

  ‘No, of course not. She will be surprised…’

  He said kindly, ‘I look forward to meeting her. I shall be late tomorrow, by the way; there’s a consultants’ meeting at five o’clock.’

  ‘The children are having the van Erp girls round for tea; I’m bringing them back when I fetch the girls and someone will fetch them at six o’clock.’

  ‘Good. They’re happy, aren’t they?’

  ‘I think so. They’re doing so well at school.’

  She didn’t enlarge on that, for he had cast down the paper he was reading and got to his feet. ‘I must just phone the hospital and then dictate some letters on to a tape ready for tomorrow.’ He bent over her and touched her cheek lightly. ‘Goodnight, Charity.’

  She said goodnight cheerfully, aware that he was still looking at her intently.

  She took care to be cheerful at breakfast too. He didn’t get home until after seven o’clock that evening; she was in the drawing-room with the children on either side of her while she read Little Women to them and he paused in the doorway to look at them. Sitting there, with the girls curled up against her, the soft glow from the reading lamp lighting up her mousy hair and the soft blue of her dress, Charity looked charming. She paused, and they all laughed at something she had read and looked up and saw him there. She felt the colour rush into her cheeks and a sudden delight at the sight of him which took her by surprise, for there was nothing different in his usually placid expression. She said with unwonted briskness, ‘Here is your papa…’ and sat quietly while they ran to kiss him.

  He came over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Your stepsister telephoned as we expected and they put the call through to me. She had just arrived and naturally enough was surprised to hear that you were married. I told her our address and she will call to see you, probably not tomorrow but certainly on the day after.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ She spoke cheerfully, and all the while she wished most fervently that Eunice weren’t coming.

  They were dining out that evening; a rather grand occasion with the burgermeester as guest of honour, and what with getting the little girls to their beds and changing into one of her new dresses she had little time to think about Eunice. She had given much thought to what she would wear: honey-coloured chiffon over a silk slip with a full skirt, simply cut. She hoped that it would do justice to the occasion and went downstairs to join Tyco feeling rather uncertain about it. His smile of appreciation put her doubts as rest. ‘Exactly right,’ he observed in his kind way. ‘You have unerring good taste, my dear.’

  He picked up a jewellers’ box from the table beside him. ‘Perhaps you will wear this; my grandmother left it to me in the hope that I would give it to my wife some day.’ He saw her questioning look. ‘Some years after Miranda was killed,’ he added blandly. ‘Grandmother died last year and I am sorry that you never knew her or she you. You would have got on famously.’

  He had opened the box and lifted out a double string of pearls with a diamond clasp.

  ‘They’re beautiful…’

  ‘And very old—I’ve had them restrung.’

  He turned her round, fastened the pearls around her throat and stood back to look at her. ‘Quite perfect, you will have our burgermeester eating out of your hand.’

  Much to her astonishment she found that she did. He was a nice old man, very dignified as befitted his office, but he spoke excellent English and had a lively sense of humour. By the time she and Tyco were home again she was in a pleasant glow of satisfaction; she had felt at ease with the other guests and they had been friendly and, best of all, Tyco was pleased with her. Perhaps even a little proud of her. She hoped so, and went happily to bed.

  He wasn’t at breakfast. Jolly met her with the news that he had been sent for in the early hours of the morning—there had been a bad fire in the city and there were several badly burned victims. ‘I was to say that he might be gone all day mevrouw, and if you would like to see Mrs Jolly presently so that she could cook a dinner that wouldn’t spoil.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I’ll come as soon as I’ve taken the children to school. Luckily we aren’t going out this evening.’

  It was after seven o’clock that evening before he got home. Knowing that he would be tired, she had coaxed the children to have their baths and be ready for bed before their supper and once they had greeted him they went cheerfully enough upstairs, with the promise that they would be tucked up presently.

  Tyco didn’t say that he was tired but his face was lined with fatigue.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Charity briskly. ‘Would you like a drink or coffee?’

  ‘A drink—a strong one. I showered at the hospital but I wanted to come home.’

  He smiled at her and she said warmly, ‘You’ve had a dreadful day, haven’t you? Was it very bad? Do you want to talk about it?’

  She gave him his drink and poured herself a glass of sherry.

  ‘How fortunate I am to come home to a wife who is willing to listen and, what is more, understand what I am telling her. Yes. It has been a bad day. Six—three very serious—third-degree burns—all children. The fourth child will do, and so will the mother and father. Zuster Kingsma was magnificent—they all were, and Wim is a splendid colleague.’

  ‘You’re still worried about the three children?’

  ‘Yes—specially the youngest, a mere two years old.’ He began to tell her about it and she listened carefully until Jolly came to tell them that dinner was served.

  ‘First we must go and say goodnight to the children,’ said Tyco, and took her arm as they went upstairs to the bedroom the girls shared.

  He had been hungry; Charity was glad that she and Mrs Jolly had put their heads together and decided on just the kind of meal a tired man might eat; vichyssoise, tarragon chicken and a bread and butter pudding such as only Mrs Jolly could make. She had gone to the cellars too with Jolly, something she would never normally do, and on his advice had chosen a white burgundy. ‘1983 vintage,’ Jolly had told her. ‘An excellent wine.’

  Charity, who knew nothing about wines, but intended to learn fast, took his word for it.

  Back in the drawing-room they sat over their coffee, not talking much, she with her knitting—the sheep were finished; she was busy with the ducks now—and he with the day’s news. We must look like an old married couple, reflected Charity, content to sit together, hardly speaking but still needing each other. She sighed, and looked across at Tyco and found him watching her. Once again she had the agreeable sensation of pleasure, unable to look away from him.

  Tyco threw his paper down. ‘Charity—’ He was interrupted by Jolly.

  ‘Miss Pearson has called to see mevrouw,’ he stated in his dignified way.

  ‘Ah, your stepsister,’ said Tyco and got up as Eunice came in.

  Charity got up too and the pair of them watched as Eunice crossed the room to them. She stopped halfway and flung out her arms in a rather dramatic fashion. ‘Charity, just how did you manage it? You of all people getting married.’ Her lovely eyes took in Tyco’s good looks. ‘And to my ideal man, too.’ She laughed then and kissed Charity with a good deal more warmth than Charity would have expected and then turned to Tyco.

  ‘This is Tyco, Eunice. Tyco, my stepsister,’ said Charity, feeling somehow stuffy. Until that moment she had been feeling rather pleased with herself; her dress was pretty, she was nicely made up, her hair, simply dressed, shone with cleanliness
, and yet suddenly she felt dowdy.

  Eunice was enough to make anyone feel like that; her golden hair was arranged artlessly around her lovely face, her make-up was expertly done and her clothes were in the extreme of fashion: the briefest of skirts, a kind of cloak, dramatic in black velvet, thrown carelessly over one shoulder, which she threw off on to a chair, and a suede waistcoat over a chiffon blouse. Eye-catching, thought Charity waspishly, and Tyco’s eyes were caught…

  ‘Do sit down,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ll ring for coffee. Have you had a busy day?’

  Eunice sat down close to Tyco. ‘Oh, lord, yes, and I’d love coffee—I’d like a whisky too…’

  Tyco got her drink and sat down again, his face placidly welcoming, and when the coffee came Charity poured it while Eunice watched with an impish grin. ‘I can’t believe my eyes,’ she said, and looked at Tyco. ‘Are you something important? You were in the hospital when I phoned?’

  ‘I work there. Where are you staying?’

  ‘Oh, at the Hilton—a boring place; I’m here for five days—for the dress shows, you know.’ She smiled across at Charity. ‘If I stay a couple of days longer may I come here? I want to see something of the town and I could do with a break.’

  ‘Of course you may. We’ll be delighted, won’t we, Tyco?’

  ‘Certainly. The children will love to see a real live model—’

  ‘Children?’ Just for a moment Eunice looked nonplussed.

  ‘I have twin daughters by my first wife,’ said Tyco smoothly. ‘They’re devoted to Charity.’

  ‘So you’re a stepmother!’ Eunice laughed. ‘Let’s hope you make a better job of it than Mother made with you.’ She glanced at Tyco. ‘They never hit it off, my mother and Charity.’

  He said gently. ‘You do not live with your mother? You visit her frequently, perhaps?’

  Eunice shrugged. ‘Well, no. We don’t get on awfully well—she likes to live in France and I’m much in demand.’ She cast him a smiling glance. ‘But if I could find someone like you I’d settle down.’ Her eyes roved round the lovely room. ‘You live in style, don’t you?’ She laughed again. ‘You’ve fallen on your feet, Charity.’

  She was outrageous, thought Charity, but so lovely to look at that she would be forgiven for anything she said or did. Tyco had looked at her several times and it struck Charity that the peculiar feeling in her insides was jealousy. Ridiculous, she told herself severely; your own stepsister and she’ll be gone in a week. Out loud she said calmly, ‘I’m very happy. Amsterdam is a lovely place in which to live and I’m making a lot of friends. Are you living in London still?’

  ‘Off and on.’ Eunice turned to Tyco again; it was a waste of time to talk to Charity when this quiet handsome man was there to be charmed.

  She stayed till late and when at last she got up to go she said airily, ‘I’ll pop in whenever I’m free for an hour or two.’ She flipped her eyelashes at Tyco. ‘After all, I am family, aren’t I?’

  ‘We shall be delighted,’ he told her blandly, and Charity, not to be outdone, chimed in,

  ‘Yes, please do come.’

  It sounded inadequate and Eunice threw her a mocking glance as she went to the door. Sure of getting what she wanted, she had asked Tyco to ferry her back to the hotel and he had complied with what Charity crossly considered to be unnecessary willingness. The Hilton was some way from the centre of the city and it was late. She saw them off with smiles and hand waving and then went back to wait for Tyco to return. They could have called a taxi at that time of night.

  Jolly came to clear away the tray and she told him to go to bed. ‘You will have locked up?’ she asked him. ‘If the professor wants anything I can get it; I’ll wait up for him and he will lock the door when he comes in.’

  It seemed a long time before she heard Tyco go past the house to the garage. She gave the dying fire a poke and picked up her knitting once more. When he came into the room she said, ‘Thank you for taking Eunice back—you must be so tired.’

  He stood looking at her. ‘Oh, I am. She is very stimulating company, isn’t she?’ He strolled over to his chair. ‘And quite lovely.’

  Charity held down a wish to fling her knitting at his head and then went quite pale at the very idea. Eunice was lovely, he was quite right, and she was fun…

  She looked at him, sitting there, weary to his bones, his eyes closed. He looked every minute of his age; he had said that he was too old for her, but he wasn’t—he was just right and she had just discovered that she was in love with him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE shock of it made Charity feel quite peculiar. Her heart was thumping like a steam hammer and breathing had become difficult, but she made an effort to behave normally. ‘Would you like more coffee?’ she asked him. ‘I sent Jolly to bed; he’s locked up…’

  ‘Eunice is even more reviving than coffee. How is it possible that you can be stepsisters? But of course you are not related in actual fact, are you?’

  ‘No,’ snapped Charity, and softened that by adding, ‘She must have found it very dull when she and my stepmother came to live with us.’

  ‘She is making up for that now, I imagine—she must lead a very colourful life.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m—I’m glad you liked her.’ She almost choked on her own words.

  ‘I find her fascinating,’ said Tyco.

  ‘Oh, good.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say so she murmured something about being tired, wished him goodnight in a brisk manner and went to her room, where she gave vent to her feelings by throwing a pillow or two on to the floor, having a good cry and then lying for far too long in a very hot bath. If this was being in love then it was a very unsettling business; with hindsight she saw now that her infatuation for Cor had borne not the least resemblance to the strong feelings she now knew. The possibilities of forbidding Eunice to cross the threshold, rushing downstairs and telling Tyco that she couldn’t possibly live without him, or, alternatively, leaving the house forever, chased each other round and round inside her head, making an utter confusion. She crept into bed with the beginnings of a headache so that she slept badly, and got herself out of bed heavy-eyed and leaden-footed in the morning.

  Her wan appearance was seized upon the moment she entered the children’s room, ready to brush hair and advise on what to wear.

  ‘You look as though you’ve been crying,’ said Teile anxiously.

  ‘I expect I’ve caught a cold. Hurry up, love, or Papa will have finished his breakfast.’

  Her dread at seeing him again was needless. He wished her his usual placid good morning, remarked on the cheerless weather, reminded her that they were dining with the ter Appels that evening and embarked on a discussion about the school play with his daughters. It was just as he was on the point of leaving that Letizia said, ‘Charity’s got a cold—her eyes are all puffy.’

  ‘Ah, I wondered if that was the reason.’ He came round to her chair and bent to look at her. ‘Do you think you will be all right for tonight, or shall I cancel it?’

  ‘No, no.’ She sounded panicky. ‘I shall be quite all right, really.’

  ‘Good. I’ll do my best to get home early.’ He patted her shoulder and she didn’t look up. If she had done so she would have seen a gleam in his eyes, part amusement, part something else.

  When she got back at lunchtime with the children, it was to find Eunice sitting in the drawing-room, a glass in her hand.

  ‘Oh, hello, Charity. I told Jolly you had asked me to lunch—you don’t mind? I’ve a couple of hours to spare and I’m dying to get
to know that husband of yours.’ Her eyes lighted on the two little girls. ‘Are these the children?’

  ‘Letizia and Teile,’ answered Charity. ‘They come home for lunch each day. Tyco stays at the hospital.’

  ‘Just my rotten luck.’ She nodded carelessly at the children, who were staring at her, their eyes round. ‘Well, I could miss a party this evening, I suppose, and spend it with you.’

  ‘We’re dining out with one of the professors and his wife.’

  Eunice shrugged. ‘How dreary. Anyway, I’ve two more days’ work then I’m free and you did invite me to stay.’ She gave Charity a malicious glance. ‘Though I’m not sure that you want me…’

  ‘You are very welcome,’ said Charity untruthfully. ‘Run and wash your hands for lunch, my dears, and come straight down to the dining-room.’ When they had gone, still wordless, she took off her coat and hat, went back into the hall and laid them on a chair and then went back to Eunice. ‘Shall we have lunch? The children have to be back at school by half-past one.’

  Eunice followed her into the dining-room. ‘You live in style, don’t you? Pots of money, I suppose—you sly creature, Charity, how did you do it?’ She took the chair Jolly pulled out for her. ‘He can’t be in love with you…’

  It was fortunate that the children joined them and there was no need to answer. Charity, conscious of Jolly’s fatherly presence, launched herself on a series of questions about Eunice’s job which kept that young lady busy for the whole of the meal. As they left the dining-room she asked, ‘Which way are you going? We might as well walk together if you’re going our way…’