by Betty Neels
But surprisingly, when she went to fetch the twins for their baths and bed, they went with her like lambs. Not so much as a peep out of them and so unnaturally good that Deborah wondered if they were sickening for something. She put a small capable hand on their foreheads and found them reassuringly cool and finally demanded to know what was the matter with them.
They exchanged glances and looked at her with round blue eyes, ‘Uncle Gideon made us promise so we won’t tell. Are we being good?’
‘Yes—and I can’t think why.’ She gave them a close look. ‘You’re not up to mischief, are you?’
Meekly they assured her that they weren’t. She tucked them into their beds, kissed them goodnight, and went to her room, where she did her face carefully, scraped her sandy hair back into a severe style becoming to a well-trained nanny, and went downstairs.
Professor Beaufort was stretched out on one of the out-size sofas in the sitting room, his eyes closed. She stood and looked at him; he was very good looking she conceded, and like that, asleep, he was nice; it was when he stared at her with bright blue eyes and spoke to her in that bland voice that she disliked him. She gave a faint yelp when he spoke.
‘You don’t look in the least like a nanny should.’ He observed and got to his feet in one swift movement, to tower over her, beaming.
She fought against his charm; saying severely: ‘I assure you that I am fully qualified.’
‘Oh, I can see that, you handle the twins like a veteran. Tell me—what is your ambition? To get a post with some blue-blooded family and stay with them all your life and then retire to an estate cottage?’
She felt rage bubble inside her. ‘I might possibly marry,’ she pointed out sweetly and choked at his bland: ‘He will be a brave man… Shall we have a drink? Mary told me that dinner would be ready in ten minutes or so.’
She accepted a sherry and wished that she had asked for something dashing like whisky or even gin and tonic. Just so that he would see that she wasn’t the prim, dedicated nanny that he had decided she was. But she did the next best thing; she asked for a second drink and he poured it without comment, only his eyebrows lifted in an amused arc which she didn’t see. She tossed it off smartly so that she was able to face their tête à tête meal with equanimity and a chattiness quite unlike her usual quiet manner.
Professor Beaufort quite shamelessly led her on, his grave face offering no hint of his amusement. She told him about her three brothers, her home in Dorchester, cousin Rachel and only just stopped herself in time from regaling him with some of the foibles she had had to put up with from various parents whose children she had taken care of. Finally, vaguely aware that she was talking too much, she asked: ‘And is your work very interesting, Professor? I’m not quite sure what you do…’
He passed his plate for a second helping of Mary’s delicious apple pie. ‘I study the production and distribution of money and goods.’
‘Yes, but don’t you work?’
‘Er—yes. I have an office and I travel a good deal as well as lecturing regularly.’
‘Oh—do people want to know—about money and goods, I mean?’
‘It helps if they do. The management of public affairs, the disposition of affairs of state or government departments, the judicious use of public money—someone has to know about such things.’
‘And do you?’ she queried.
‘One might say that I have a basic knowledge…’
‘It sounds dull. I’d rather have the children,’ said Deborah, still rather lively from the sherry.
He said slowly: ‘I think that possibly you are right, Nanny. I hadn’t given the matter much thought, but now that you mention it, I shall look into it. Do you suppose that Mary would give us our coffee on the patio? It’s a delightful evening.’
Somehow being called ‘Nanny’ brought her down to earth with a bump. She poured their coffee almost in silence and when she had drunk hers excused herself with the plea that Dee would be waking for her feed very shortly. She wished him goodnight, every inch the children’s nurse, and went upstairs. It was too early to feed Dee; she pottered round her room for half an hour, aware that she would have liked to have stayed and talked, and aware too that she had said too much anyway.
She gave the baby her bottle presently, turned the twins up the right way and tucked them in once more, and got herself ready for bed. It was very warm and she had taken too hot a bath; she sat by the open window for quite some time, brushing her hair and thinking about her future. The professor had been joking, supposing her to be content with a lifelong job with the same family and an old age in some cottage, but it held more than a grain of truth. She didn’t relish the idea in the least. She got up and went to look at herself in the triple mirror. No one—no man—was likely to fall for her; sandy hair was bad enough, sandy eyelashes were the utter end; the lovely green eyes she ignored and studied the rest of her face; the small straight nose and much too wide mouth above a determined chin; there was nothing there to enchant a man. She overlooked the fact that she had a pretty figure and nice hands and legs, all she could think of was curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes fringed by dark curling lashes. Her own lashes curled, but being sandy they were almost invisible. ‘I could of course dye them,’ she told her image, but perhaps that would make the rest of her face look odd. She got into bed, fretting about the eyelashes and fell asleep almost at once.
She awoke to pitch darkness and a whimper, thin as a kitten’s protest; by the time she was sitting up in bed to listen, the whimper had become a furious roar. One of the twins was having a nightmare; she shot out of bed and went on bare feet through the day nursery and into the adjoining room where the pair of them slept. It was Suzanne, half awake and bellowing with fright. Deborah plucked her gently from her bed, gathered her into her arms and sat down in the little arm chair by the window, half strangled by the child’s arms. It took a few moments to wake her up completely and twice as long to get her to stop crying. Deborah had soothed the sobbing to a series of sniffs and gulps when Simon woke, sat up in bed and demanded to know why Suzy was crying. The two of them were very close; he got out of his bed and came to join them, perching on the arm of the chair, demanding to know in a loud voice what the matter was.
‘Well, that’s what we are going to find out,’ said Deborah reasonably, ‘I expect it was a nasty dream, wasn’t it? But you are wide awake now and dreams aren’t real you know. You shall tell me about it and then you’ll forget it and when you’ve had a nice drink of warm milk, you’ll go to sleep again and wake up in the morning quite happy again. Now tell Nanny what made you cry, darling?’
Simon slid off the chair and she turned her head to see why. The professor was leaning in the doorway, huge and magnificent in a dazzlingly-striped dressing-gown. The little boy hurled himself at him and was swung into his arms, to be carried to his bed and sat on his uncle’s knee.
Deborah, her hair hanging in a clean, shining curtain on her shoulders and down her back, bare feet digging into the thick rug, gave the professor a passing glance, and turned her attention to Suzy; she had forgotten that she hadn’t bothered to put on her dressing-gown and there was nothing in his face to remind her of that fact. She bent her head to hear the child’s tearful whispering, tossing back her sandy tresses with an impatient hand. The telling took some time with a good deal of sniffing and gulping but she listened patiently and finally when the child had come to a halt said hearteningly: ‘There now—it’s all right again, isn’t it? You’ve told us all about it and although it was a nasty dream, you’ve forgotten it because we all know about it, don’t we? Now I’m going to get you some milk and then I’ll sit here until you’ve gone to sleep again…’
‘Let me have her here,’ suggested the professor, who went on: ‘I should put your dressing-gown on before you go downstairs.’ His voice was quite impersonal but she gave a horrified squeak and pattered out of the room without another word. Bundled into her useful saxe-blue robe, buttoned from ne
ck to ankle, she was glad of the few minutes it took in which to heat the milk. What must he have thought? She was no prude, after all she had three brothers, but children’s nurses to the best of her knowledge didn’t go prancing round in the dead of night in cotton nighties and nothing else when there were strangers around. And the professor was a stranger, and although she didn’t care a jot for his opinion of her, she squirmed at the idea of giving him something to snigger about…snigger wasn’t the right word, she conceded, give him his due, he wasn’t like that. All the same she dared say that he would have no hesitation in remarking on her dishabille if he felt like it.
She removed the milk from the Aga, poured it into two mugs, put them on a tray and bore it upstairs with a stiff dignity which caused the professor’s fine mouth to twitch, although he said nothing, merely took the mug she offered Simon while she sat Suzy on her lap and coaxed her to drink. The pair of them were sleepy now; the milk finished, she tucked them back into bed, refused the professor’s offer to sit with them until they were well and truly asleep and bade him a dismissive goodnight. Only he wouldn’t be dismissed. ‘I’m going to make us a hot drink,’ he informed her, ‘I’ll be in the kitchen when you are ready.’
He cast an eye over the two drowsy children. ‘Ten minutes at the outside, I should imagine.’
‘I don’t want…’ began Deborah and was stopped by the steely look he bent upon her. ‘You will have to be up soon after six o’clock for Dee—it is now a little after two in the morning; you will need to sleep as quickly as possible, a hot drink helps.’
He was right, of course, although it wouldn’t be the first time she had gone short of sleep, and he was right about the twins too, they were asleep within minutes of being tucked in. She waited for a good five minutes and then went downstairs to the kitchen, cosy and magnificently equipped, to find the professor pouring steaming milk into two mugs.
‘Cocoa,’ he said, barely glancing at her, and handed her one.
She sat down at the table and drank it as obediently as Suzy had done, and tried to think of something to say; but small talk didn’t come easily at the dead of night and anyway, her companion seemed unworried by the silence. She had almost finished when he observed: ‘It’s the twins’ birthday in two weeks’ time—I’m giving them a dog—a golden labrador puppy—he’ll keep them busy and sleep in their room, that should stop the nightmares.’
‘You approve of animals in bedrooms?’
He gave her a surprised look and then smiled thinly. ‘I suppose you have been trained to discourage it?’
‘Well yes, but personally I think there’s no harm in it. Our cat always sleeps on my bed when I’m at home.’ She drank the last of her cocoa. ‘We haven’t got a dog—at least he died last year…I don’t suppose you have much time for one?’
‘Very little, but I have three. Two labradors and a Jack Russell—there are cats too—my housekeeper has two and a constant supply of kittens.’ He put down his mug. ‘You had better go to bed Nanny.’
He had spoken so abruptly that she opened her green eyes wide, just for only a few moments she had forgotten that he didn’t much like her. She put her cup in the sink, said ‘Goodnight’ in a quiet little voice and went back upstairs. The twins were sound asleep, so was Dee; she got into bed and was asleep within two minutes.
She had fed Dee and was dressed and ready for her day before the twins woke, their disturbed night forgotten and bounding with energy, but she was used to them by now; they were sitting down to their breakfast no more than five minutes late, shovelling corn flakes into their small mouths by the time their uncle appeared, Mary hard on his heels with fresh coffee and toast. He bade the room a general good-morning, gave it as his intention to drive the twins to school and ate a huge breakfast with no more than a quick look at Deborah, sitting behind the coffee pot, clean and starched and severe. ‘In that case,’ she remarked, ‘I’d better phone Aunty Doris and ask her not to come.’
‘For God’s sake, do—that garrulous woman…’
‘Little pitchers have long ears,’ said Deborah sternly and then blushed because she had sounded like a prig.
‘What’s a pitcher?’ asked Suzy.
‘Doesn’t God like Aunty Doris?’ asked Simon.
‘You see what you’ve done?’ snapped Deborah and was answered by a great bellow of laughter.
The house seemed very quiet after they had gone, the three of them. Deborah bathed and dressed Dee and put her out in the garden in the pram before racing round making beds and tidying up.
‘It’ll be a nice roast chicken for lunch,’ said Mary. ‘Mister Gideon says he must go this afternoon—he’s partial to my trifle too.’
Deborah tried to think of something suitable to say to this; it was evident that Mary doted on the man and there was no point in offending the dear soul by saying what she thought about the professor; after all, she was unlikely to meet him again. She would forget him, just as she had forgotten a number of people she had met and disliked during the last few years.
Mary was looking at her, waiting for her to make some comment. She said brightly: ‘I’m sure he’ll love that—men like sweet things, don’t they?’
The housekeeper gave a rich chuckle. ‘That they do—never grow up, they don’t, not in some ways. Now Mr Burns, he likes a nice chocolate pudding.’
She watched Deborah collect an armful of small garments ready for the washing machine, and added comfortably: ‘Well, I’ll be off to my kitchen. I must say you’re a real help around the house, Nanny, not like some of those toffee-nosed au pairs Mrs Burns has tried out. Not a success they weren’t.’
Deborah looked up briefly. ‘I’m only here for a short time, Mary. I expect Mrs Burns will have other plans.’
‘Ah, well as long as they speak English,’ she sighed.
The professor appeared suddenly and almost silently, just as Deborah was settling Dee back in her pram after her morning feed. ‘Any coffee?’ he wanted to know.
‘Mary will have it ready, I expect.’ Deborah kicked the brake off, and began to wheel the pram across the lawn towards the drive. She usually had her coffee with Mary, this morning she would go for a walk first and leave the housekeeper to enjoy their visitor’s company.
But it seemed that the professor had other ideas. He laid a large hand on the pram’s handle so that she was forced to stop. He said smoothly: ‘You don’t have to run away you know, I don’t bite; we’ve had no chance to get to know each other.’
‘What would be the point?’ she wanted to know matter-of-factly. ‘We’re most unlikely to meet again; I go all over the place.’
He had steered the pram towards the patio, anchored it there and put his head through the open french window to shout to Mary. When he emerged he observed in a friendly way: ‘You must see quite a lot of life,’ and spoilt it by adding: ‘From the wings as it were.’
She said in a decidedly acid voice: ‘I daresay that’s more fun than being buried alive in economics.’
‘Ah, but when I’ve reduced high powered chaos to orderly statistics, I er—I enjoy myself.’
Mary came with the coffee and the three of them sat drinking it in the bright sunshine while the talk eddied to and fro between Mary and the professor, with Deborah not saying much. She was in truth, very occupied in wondering just how he enjoyed himself. In a room full of computers, perhaps? catching up on a little light reading in the Financial Times? entertaining some pretty girl to dinner, spending the evening—the night, with her? more than likely.
‘A penny for them,’ said the professor suddenly so that she went a bright and becoming pink. She mumbled something and Mary said comfortably: ‘Thinking about where she’ll go next, I’ll be bound. Isn’t that right, Nanny? For all you know it’ll be one of those Arab countries with gold bath taps and a horde of servants—much in demand our nannies are in that part of the world. Would you love to go there, dear?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ It was a great relief that she hadn’t
had to answer Professor Beaufort’s question.
‘But you do travel?’
‘Well, yes, but I’ve only been to the south of France and Brussels and Scotland. I’m quite happy to stay in England.’
‘But you don’t object to going abroad?’ The professor’s voice was very casual.
‘Not in the least. Children are the same anywhere.’ She put down her coffee cup and got to her feet. ‘I’ll take Dee for her walk.’ She glanced at her watch, but before she could speak: ‘I’ll fetch the twins, Nanny. Mary, may we have lunch just a little early so that I can get away in good time?’
As she wheeled the pram away Deborah took time to tell herself how pleasant it would be when he’d gone—quite quiet and a bit dull perhaps, but pleasant; he was a disturbing person to have around the house. ‘He may be your uncle,’ she told the sleeping Dee, ‘but I don’t like him. Him and his economics, indeed.’ She tossed her sandy head and marched smartly through the village and up the hill on the other side where presently she sat down with her back against a tree until it was time to go back and give Dee her orange juice.
Lunch was a boisterous affair which petered out into tears and tantrums from the twins because their uncle was going away again.
He swung them in the air in turn and hugged them briefly. ‘If you are very good and don’t howl in that frightful fashion and do exactly what Nanny tells you and eat your dinners without fuss, I’ll give you each a real bicycle. It had better be before Christmas otherwise I might get in Father Christmas’s way. Let’s see, shall we say the first of December?’
He left them with a brief nod to Deborah and a much warmer leave taking from Mary. If she hadn’t been kept so busy all the afternoon counting days on the calendar for the twins’ benefit, she might have had the time to feel annoyed about that. Although in all fairness she herself had pointed out that they were most unlikely to see each other again, and as far as she could see they had absolutely nothing in common.
