The Final Touch

by Betty Neels

  Jolly had heard her; he offered Eunice her coat to clinch the matter.

  ‘Oh, well, there’s no point in my staying,’ said Eunice. ‘I can get a taxi from the end of the street, I suppose?’

  ‘Easily,’ Charity spoke cheerfully. ‘I do hope you enjoy your party.’

  They parted on the pavement, going in opposite directions, and Teile said, ‘I don’t like her and nor does Letizia, do you, Letizia?’

  ‘No, she didn’t shake hands, and she laughs too much when it isn’t funny.’

  Charity agreed with silent fervour, but all she said was, ‘Well, she leads a very glamorous life, you know, with lots of pretty clothes and friends.’

  ‘You’ve got friends and pretty clothes too and you’re not a bit like her,’ said Teile.

  ‘Well, I’m not pretty, my dears. I dare say when you’re as lovely as Eunice, you get used to being admired and—and…’ She paused and Teile finished for her,

  ‘And having your own way.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She stooped to kiss the two small faces and then watched them run into the school, turned with a sigh and went back home.

  The children were ready for bed and she was dressed ready to go out when Tyco got home. She was wearing a silvery grey dress with long tight sleeves and a slim skirt, and it gave her an unwonted air of elegance.

  ‘I do like that,’ he said, looking up from hugging his daughters. ‘Is your cold better, my dear?’

  ‘I don’t think it is a cold, just early morning stuffiness. Have you had a very busy day again?’

  He nodded, but before he could say anything more Teile said urgently, ‘Papa, Eunice invited herself for lunch—we didn’t ask her, she just came while we were coming home from school. She wanted to see you, she said.’

  ‘I’m flattered. Now off to bed, liefjes. Charity and I mustn’t be late for our dinner party; I’d better change—give me fifteen minutes.’

  He went away and she saw the children into their beds and then went to sit in the drawing-room, the picture of serenity—which she wasn’t—and she pondered Eunice’s visit. A couple of days, she had said, but, knowing her stepsister, the two days could be stretched to a week. She sat staring into the fire and Tyco, coming in, observed, ‘You’re looking sad. Is anything the matter?’

  ‘No, nothing.’ She thought wildly for the right answer. ‘I was thinking about tomorrow’s meals.’

  She blushed as she spoke, because it was a silly excuse that he probably would not believe. He didn’t, but he said nothing, only smiled at her as he sat down in his chair. ‘Ten minutes before we need to leave,’ he observed, and closed his eyes.

  He came home for lunch the following day, something which she hadn’t expected. The dull day became all at once full of promise, a promise to be wiped out by his observation over lunch that Eunice had telephoned the hospital and invited herself for dinner that evening. ‘I’ll pick her up when I leave the hospital,’ he went on. ‘We should be home about six o’clock.’

  ‘How very nice,’ said Charity insincerely. He turned to speak to Teile and she cast him a loving look; it was wistful, too.

  It was half-past six before they arrived that evening. The children were just about to have their supper in the schoolroom and she had nipped away to change into something which had a chance of competing with Eunice’s appearance. She got into a silk jersey dress, made short work of her face and hair and went back to the schoolroom. She hadn’t been there five minutes before Jolly came to tell her that the professor was home and the young lady with him and would she join them in the drawing-room.

  Tyco was in his chair and Eunice was sitting on its arm, swinging a leg and laughing. He got up as she went in and crossed the room and kissed her; not his usual peck but lingering and light, and she smiled up at him with the delight of it before greeting Eunice.

  Eunice said hello in a sulky voice. ‘I’ve had a ghastly day—one show after the other. You have no idea how tired I am. One more day… I can’t wait to come and stay with you.’

  Tyco was pouring drinks. ‘Well, we don’t lead a very exciting life, you know, but we’re quite central if you want to do some sightseeing.’

  Eunice pouted. ‘I can’t sightsee on my own. I was counting on you to show me around, Tyco.’

  He handed her a glass. ‘I’m a working man, Eunice, but Charity knows all of Amsterdam quite well now; she can take you to the museums and churches that you will want to see.’

  ‘Oh, she will be far too busy looking after the house and children.’

  ‘Er—not as busy as all that,’ he answered mildly, and smiled across at Charity. ‘Are we promised to anyone for the next day or so?’

  ‘Dinner with the van Tromps the day after tomorrow; Wim’s wife is coming for coffee and one or two others—oh, and the children have their art exhibition…’

  ‘Ah, yes. We must go to that without fail.’

  Eunice got off the chair and wandered round the room, looking at the portraits on its walls. ‘Well, if you can find time to look at a lot of childish drawings you can find a teeny-weeny hour or two to take me out.’ She gave Tyco a bewitching smile. ‘To a night-club perhaps. I love dancing.’

  ‘My dancing days are over,’ said Tyco suavely; a remark which made Charity blink. Only a few nights ago they had danced together after dining with some friends of his who had thrown back the rugs and invited their guests to dance to some of the latest tapes. He had exhibited no signs of middle age then and he had danced to perfection…

  The memory cheered her enormously; she was beginning to think that Eunice was having it all her own way. Her satisfaction was short-lived.

  ‘Oh, well, I’m not surprised; Charity was always a flop at parties. Still, she’ll be splendid at looking after the kids, I dare say.’

  ‘Indeed she is.’ His voice was quiet but it had an edge to it. ‘She is also much sought after in our circle of friends. Now I will go and see how Teile and Letizia are—it’s their bedtime.’ He looked across at Charity. ‘You will be up presently, darling?’ he asked deliberately…

  ‘Ten minutes,’ said Charity happily; he had called her darling although it had only been for Eunice’s benefit.

  ‘I shall come tomorrow,’ said Eunice when he had gone. ‘I’m in no hurry to go back; I can pick and choose for whom I’ll work now.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Charity mildly. ‘You must see a lot of the world.’

  ‘It’s boring after a while, and I’m fed up with my men friends—they’re all so young.’ She glanced at Charity. ‘I think I’ll have a shot at annexing Tyco—it shouldn’t be too difficult.’

  ‘You can always try,’ said Charity serenely. Her insides shook at the mere possibility; Eunice was so beautiful and she had learned to be charming, a dangerous combination. She stood up. ‘I’ll just go up and make sure the children are in bed. Do give yourself another drink if you want one. We shan’t be long.’

  Tyco was sitting cross-legged on Teile’s bed with a small daughter on either side of him and they were all laughing as she went in.

  ‘I’m being told about this art exhibition,’ he said. ‘We’re to be there at three o’clock sharp and you are to wear that hat we all like, and, for some reason which I am unable to
fathom, high heels.’

  Charity sat down on Letizia’s bed, facing them. ‘I know—the brown leather with the petersham bows. They are very smart, but I teeter a bit.’

  ‘I’ll hold you up; we mustn’t disappoint the children. Unless some really dire emergency crops up, my dears, Charity and I will be there to admire everything.’

  ‘Don’t let Eunice come,’ said Letizia in a small voice. ‘She laughs a lot, but it is never funny.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she won’t come,’ said Charity comfortably, ‘and she only laughs at different things from us—you see, she’s very—very fashionable and witty…’ She had to stop and explain what witty was. ‘You see, we aren’t all the same; I dare say we laugh at things which don’t amuse her at all.’

  ‘We’re sorry,’ said Teile, ‘but we don’t like her, Charity.’

  ‘She is a guest in our house, liefjes,’ said Tyco, ‘so please remember that.’

  Teile didn’t give up easily. ‘Do you like her, Papa?’

  ‘She is a beautiful and charming young lady; I should imagine that she never lacks for dates.’ It was an evasive answer and didn’t satisfy Charity at all. The children said their prayers, got into bed, were kissed goodnight, and tucked in. When Charity and Tyco had gone, Teile said quietly, ‘All the same, I hate her. Don’t you, Letizia?’

  ‘Yes. She’s coming to stay…’

  Eunice stayed late again. She had subtly changed her image, though. She was soft-voiced and there were no snide remarks. She evinced great interest in the hospital and wanted to know just what Tyco did. ‘Of course, Charity did quite well when she trained,’ she observed. ‘You must miss her working for you.’

  ‘No, not really,’ said Tyco blandly. ‘I have her at home instead, which is so very much nicer.’

  He might not mean it but it did Charity’s heart good to hear it. All the same she wasn’t happy about Eunice’s sudden niceness. It didn’t ring true somehow, but she had no doubt that it might prove irresistible. Tyco had said that she was stimulating company; now she was being all admiration, fluttering eyelashes and gentle smiles, not forgetting her almost motherly attitude to Charity. It wasn’t just motherly either, it held pity as well. ‘I must say you’re coping marvellously, Charity,’ said Eunice with just the right amount of doubt in her voice.

  Charity smiled, because there really wasn’t an answer to that.

  Tyco drove Eunice back to the hotel—it was a foregone conclusion that he would—and when he got back he made the disquieting remark that Eunice was probably hiding a sweet nature under her superficial manner.

  Charity agreed, otherwise he might think that she was being a bit malicious. She did her best to say so with suitable mildness but she sounded snappy all the same.

  There was no sign of Eunice on the following day but the day after that she phoned to say that she would be coming that evening.

  ‘Make it the day after,’ said Charity briskly. ‘We have to go out this evening. I’ll expect you for lunch shall I? The day after tomorrow.’

  She put the phone down quickly; it was much easier to be firm on the telephone. Perhaps she had been rather terse, she thought uneasily, and, when Tyco came home, told him about it. ‘I hope I didn’t sound inhospitable,’ she said worriedly, ‘I don’t mean to be, but we couldn’t take her with us this evening and I’m sure she wouldn’t want to be alone all evening…’

  Tyco was at his most soothing. ‘Don’t worry, Charity; I’m sure she will understand—we’ll take her out to dinner to make up for it. She will have to be on her own tomorrow afternoon, won’t she? While we are at the art exhibition.’

  They said no more about it, but separated to change and go to the supper party. What little time there was before they left was taken up by the children and on their return Tyco told her that he had some work to do and wished her goodnight. ‘You look very nice in that outfit,’ he told her, and kissed her cheek briefly.

  She went to bed a prey to any number of doubts and worrying thoughts, most of them highly exaggerated and all of them difficult to pin down to a level of common sense. In broad daylight they seemed silly, especially as Eunice telephoned to say that she wouldn’t be coming until the evening.

  The children were to have lunch at school the next day so that they could prepare the exhibition. Charity entertained several acquaintances to coffee, ate a quick lunch herself and dressed with care, anxious to satisfy the little girls. She was waiting when Tyco got home.

  ‘I hope I look like all the others,’ she told him anxiously. ‘Children do mind…’

  ‘You look exactly right. I see that you are wearing the shoes…’ he smiled at her from a tired face ‘…and the hat.’

  ‘You’ve had a busy morning; something went wrong?’

  ‘Not wrong, but rather more difficult than I had expected. I’ll tell you about it later.’

  The school courtyard was crammed with cars and parents, many of whom they knew, exchanging scraps of gossip as they went into the school hall to view the children’s work. Some of it was very good, some of it rather startling. Teile had painted a house surrounded by a colourful garden of improbable flowers, and Letizia had done a pen and ink drawing of Charity and her father. They were standing arm in arm, resembling a pair of matchstick people with black dots for eyes and upturned mouths. Charity was wearing a hat. It was a child’s drawing, unskilled, and yet it conveyed an impression of closeness. Charity found herself blushing for no reason at all and Tyco’s glance turned into a thoughtful stare.

  Letizia was hopping from one foot to the other with excitement. ‘It’s like you, isn’t it?’ she wanted to know anxiously. ‘And Teile drew a house like ours for you to live in—with us of course, and some babies.’

  ‘We like it very much,’ said Tyco warmly, ‘and what a very nice idea, drawing us together and giving us such a nice house.’

  ‘They’re the very best drawings in the whole room,’ said Charity. ‘Shall we be allowed to have them?’

  ‘Yes, yes, you can frame them and hang them in the drawing-room.’ So presently they all went home, the drawings clutched by the children, and Tyco stayed for tea before going back to the hospital. ‘And I’ll probably be rather late back, my dear; don’t wait dinner after eight o’clock, I’ll get a sandwich…’

  ‘There will be something for you when you come in,’ said Charity in a wifely voice. ‘A gobbled sandwich won’t go far.’ She added slowly, ‘Eunice will be here.’

  He nodded, kissed his children, patted her shoulder in an avuncular fashion and went on his way.

  Eunice arrived an hour later, bringing with her an astonishing amount of luggage. Jolly and the cabby carried it in and stacked it in the lobby and Charity, eyeing it, said doubtfully, ‘You won’t need more than a case or two will you, while you are here? If you tell Jolly which ones he’ll take them to your room.’

  ‘How can I possibly tell?’ Eunice sounded impatient. ‘I might stay quite a while…’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It rather depends on Tyco…’

  Charity, a mild-tempered girl, boiled silently. ‘Well, not really,’ she said. ‘You see, Tyco’s family are coming to visit us at the end of the week—it’s his birthday and we simply haven’t room for you, Eunice.’

  ‘Rubbish—a house this size…�
�

  ‘His parents, three sisters, two brothers, quite a few children, a couple of nannies, not to mention us. You did say a couple of days, Eunice.’

  ‘You’ll have to do something. Anyway, I’ll ask Tyco myself. Where is he?’

  ‘At the hospital—he’ll be late home.’ Charity ignored Eunice’s ill-humour. ‘Come upstairs and see the children.’

  Later, the children in their beds, she went downstairs to find Eunice in the drawing-room in a black silk sheath which stopped well above her knees and held in place by shoe-string shoulder-straps. She would have looked delightful in Vogue but in the comfortable, splendidly furnished drawing-room where the furniture had not been changed for a couple of hundred years she looked out of place.

  She glanced at the clock as Charity went in. ‘Tyco isn’t back yet?’ As she spoke the telephone rang and Charity went to answer it.

  It was Tyco—to say that he wouldn’t be back for another two hours at least. ‘A little girl,’ he told her, ‘wearing one of those inflammable nighties and standing too near a gas fire; third-degree burns—about thirty per cent, I should think. Don’t wait up. Is Eunice there?’

  ‘Yes. How dreadful, Tyco. I hope she’ll be all right—’

  ‘We shall do all that we can.’

  He rang off and Eunice asked, ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Tyco. They’re just admitting a badly burned child; he won’t be home for hours.’

  ‘Surely there is someone else to do the work? He knows I’m here, doesn’t he?’

  Charity bit back outrage. ‘Yes. Will you have a drink before we have dinner?’

  ‘Aren’t we going to wait for him?’