Year’s Happy Ending

by Betty Neels

  There was no point in thinking about him; she dismissed him from her mind and bent to the task of keeping the twins occupied in a suitable fashion, making sure that they ate their food and acting as mediator when they quarrelled—which was often. What with the pair of them and baby Dee, who although no trouble at all, needed her attentions more or less round the clock, the next few days passed rapidly enough. But Mrs Burns gave no indication as to when she would return although she telephoned each day.

  It was four days since the professor had left, just as they were about to start a picnic tea on the lawn, that Mrs Burn’s racy sports car turned into the drive and stopped with a squealing of brakes before her front door.

  The children had seen of course, and were already racing to meet her as she got out of the car. They closed in on her and for a moment there was pandemonium; laughing and shrieks of delight and Mrs Burns explaining that she had come home, Granny was well enough to leave and Daddy was on his way back too. She crossed the lawn to where Deborah sat with Dee on her lap, beginning to explain all over again long before she reached her.

  ‘I should have phoned, Nanny, but I wanted to make sure that Doctor Wyatt was perfectly satisfied with my mother’s progress. There’s a nurse with her of course, but when he said that she was quite out of danger and that I need stay no longer, I just threw my things into a bag and came racing home. And Bill’s on his way back too; it’s all so exciting!’

  She held out her arms for the baby who smiled contentedly showing a good deal of gum. Her mother kissed the top of her head: ‘They all look marvellous. Have they been good? I know you said each day that they were giving no trouble, but I daresay you were driven out of your mind…’

  Deborah laughed. ‘No, indeed, I wasn’t—and they were good, really they were. Would you like tea here, or indoors?’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and tell Mary…’

  ‘No need, Nanny. I’m going to have tea here with you. I’ll borrow Simon’s mug and he can share with Suzy.’ She settled gracefully on the garden seat and patted it. ‘Come and sit beside me and tell me what you think of my family.’ She tucked Dee under her arm, told the twins to sit on the grass beside her, and watched Deborah pouring the tea, handing round mugs of milk and plates of bread and butter.

  ‘Gideon came?’ she said and there was a question behind the remark. ‘Yes,’ said Deborah equably, ‘The twins loved it—he took them to school…’

  ‘God doesn’t like Aunty Doris,’ shrilled Simon.

  Mrs Burns said calmly: ‘I suspect you’ve got it wrong, darling; Uncle Gideon’s been using grown up language and it doesn’t quite mean the same as the things we talk about.’

  ‘Nanny frowned at him…’

  Mrs Burns looked at Deborah. ‘He may be a professor, but he has his lighter moments—he can be very tiresome— I’m always telling him so, aren’t I, darlings?’

  With no effect at all, thought Deborah.

  Later, with the children in bed, over dinner with Mrs Burns Deborah gave a blow by blow account of her days. ‘So you see, they’ve been very good, and great fun too.’

  ‘Splendid. Don’t go rushing off, will you?’ Mrs Burns turned persuasive eyes on to Deborah. ‘Bill will be home late tomorrow; the children will go berserk, they always do, and they’ll need someone to make them eat and go to bed and so on, so please stay for a little longer—unless you’ve another job waiting?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t actually—and of course I’ll stay until you don’t need me.’

  ‘Oh, good! What a relief. My mother wants to see the children, I thought we might drive over after Bill gets home and let her see them for a few minutes. She dotes on them and it’ll do her good.’

  Mrs Burns suddenly looked very young and sad. ‘Oh, Nanny I was so frightened. I thought Mother wasn’t going to get better. Thank heaven Gideon came, he’s so sensible and always knows what to do, just like Bill, I mean he’d got everything organised within an hour of his getting there and he was so sure that Mother was going to get better that I believed him—he was calm and certain about it. He is such a dear, don’t you agree?’

  ‘He’s a marvellous uncle,’ said Deborah guardedly and Mrs Burns looked at her, a flicker of amusement in her eyes although she didn’t say anything.

  It was difficult to keep the children even moderately quiet the next day, by the time their father arrived they were in bed, wide awake, and since it was quite obvious that they had no intention of going to sleep until he had got home, Deborah sat between their beds, reading soothingly from Little Grey Rabbit and very relieved when at last they heard a car turn into the drive and stop before the house. There was no holding the twins; she got them into their dressing gowns, thrust wriggling impatient feet into slippers and led them downstairs. They broke free of her restraining hands once they reached the hall and flung themselves at their father standing in the drawing room doorway. Deborah waited where she was, not sure what to do; the children should have been in their beds, on the other hand they hadn’t seen their father for some weeks and from the look of it, he was delighted to see them again. He scooped them up and swung them round laughing and turned to smile at his wife. They all looked so happy that Deborah felt a pang of loneliness, instantly forgotten when Mrs Burns caught sight of her and said: ‘Bill, here’s Nanny, she’s been marvellous—I don’t know what I would have done without her—and she’s promised to stay a little longer.’

  Mr Burns smiled across at her. ‘Hullo Nanny—I’m glad to meet you and very grateful too. Once we’ve got these little horrors in bed again, come down and have a drink.’

  Deborah was on the point of making some excuse, but Mrs Burns said: ‘Yes, do—I know you’ve had the hell of a day with the children, but just come for a little while, please.’

  It was surprisingly easy to get the twins to bed now that they were satisfied that their father was really home; they were asleep at once and it wasn’t quite time for Dee’s last feed. Deborah tidied her hair, powdered her flushed and rather tired face and went downstairs.

  Mr Burns was sitting in an armchair, his wife perched beside him but he got up as Deborah went into the room, offered her sherry and poured it, and then waved her to a chair. ‘I can’t tell you what a relief it was to hear how well you’ve been coping—Gideon sent me a most reassuring cable—it made all the difference, I can tell you—all those miles away and unable to get home to poor Peggy. We thought we might go over to Bath tomorrow—we’ll take the children of course and if you would come too…?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Deborah in a quiet voice.

  ‘Good, just a brief visit, you know. I’m very fond of my mother-in-law,’ he smiled at his wife as he spoke, ‘I’m glad and relieved that she’s recovered. She wants to see the children and I want to see her, so if you could take charge of them for half an hour? There’s a nice garden there—Dee can stay in her Moses basket.’

  He was quite different from the professor, thought Deborah, listening to him; unassuming and reserved with a nice open face and kind eyes. ‘We’ll be quite all right, Mr Burns,’ she assured him: ‘Dee’s such a good baby and I’ll take something to amuse the twins. Shall we be going in the morning or later in the day?’

  ‘An early lunch?’ suggested Mr Burns to his wife and she nodded. ‘We can have tea there, and be back in good time for the twins to be put to bed.’

  Deborah put down her glass and stood up. ‘It’s time for Dee’s feed. Thank you for my drink, goodnight Mrs Burns, goodnight Mr Burns.’

  The twins naturally enough were enchanted at the idea of going to see Granny in Daddy’s car, but they were still more delighted to hear that since lunch was to be early they wouldn’t be going to school. Deborah took them for a walk; protesting loudly, rebellious hands holding on to the pram as she wheeled Dee off for the morning airing. ‘Just for an hour,’ coaxed Deborah. ‘So that your father can get the car ready for this afternoon.’

  They travelled in Mr Burns’ estate car, roomy enough to take them all
with the twins strapped into their seats and Deborah sitting between them with Dee on her lap. The weather was warm and sunny although the trees were showing the first early signs of autumn, although she was kept much too occupied to look around her.

  Mrs Burns’ mother lived in a nice old house a mile or two outside Bath and when they arrived Mrs Burns went in alone to make sure that her mother was feeling up to seeing them, then her husband joined her, leaving Deborah in the garden with the twins and Dee in her carry-cot. Luckily not for long, for they were impatient to see the invalid, and under dire threat not to so much as raise their voices, they were led inside with Deborah, Dee tucked under her arm, bringing up the rear.

  Mrs Burns’ mother was an elderly edition of her daughter and although she looked ill, she was still pretty in a faded way, but her eyes were bright and missed nothing. She was kissed carefully by the twins, admired Dee, and then turned her attention to Deborah. Not that she said much, but Deborah had the distinct impression that she was being closely examined, although she couldn’t think why. If she could have stayed behind instead of taking the children back into the garden she would have found out…

  ‘She’ll do very well,’ said Mrs Beaufort. ‘Have you said anything?’

  ‘Nothing, Mother—we thought we’d see what you thought, first, after all, you’ll see quite a lot of her for several weeks.’ She added, ‘Bill likes her…’

  ‘And Gideon,’ said her mother. ‘Which surprised me very much—you know what he’s like and she’s hardly his type. He says she unnerves him—probably all that sandy hair and those eyes. They are absolutely beautiful.’

  ‘She’s super with the kids.’ Mrs Burns stopped to kiss her parent. ‘Bill will talk to her tomorrow and get things settled. The doctors say another two weeks before you are fit to travel, that gives us time to get organised. Is Eleanor coming too?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Beaufort was looking tired but interested. ‘But for some reason best known to him, Gideon asks us not to mention that.’

  She and her daughter stared at each other for a long moment. ‘You don’t say,’ observed Mrs Burns, and then: ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’

  Deborah was under the trees at the end of the garden, making daisy chains for the twins while Dee slept. She would have liked a cup of tea and as if in answer to her thought, a stout woman came out of the house with a tray, and a moment or two later Mr and Mrs Burns came out too. They picnicked at leisure and presently Mr Burns carried the tray back indoors and they all got into the car once more and drove home. The children were sleepy by now and Deborah had a chance to mull over the afternoon; it was strange but she was unable to rid herself of the feeling that she had been on some sort of trial; perhaps they would tell her that she wasn’t needed any more. It seemed more than likely when Mr Burns said over his shoulder as they stopped before the door: ‘Nanny, I’d like to talk to you sometime. Tomorrow? Or perhaps this evening when you have some time to yourself?’ He smiled at her kindly. ‘After dinner if that suits you.’

  She agreed calmly, already composing a letter to the agency in her head as she bore Dee off to the nursery and bedtime.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DEBORAH HAD imagined that she would be summoned to the study during the evening, but the three of them had dinner without any mention of the talk Mr Burns had suggested, it was only after they had had their coffee in the drawing room that he glanced at his wife and said: ‘We should like to talk to you, Nanny. We hope that you haven’t another job lined up because we would be very glad if you could come with us on holiday in a couple of weeks’ time. We plan to take Mrs Beaufort away—a villa in the Algarve—where she can laze around in the sun and get really well again. Of course we shall take the children with us and we hope that you will come too. Three weeks or a month, and in the meantime if you would like to go home? Now that I am here, we can cope with the twins for a couple of weeks, but without you on holiday with us, I don’t think that we could manage. Will you think about it and let us know? It won’t be much of a holiday for you although we’ll see that you get time to have to yourself each day…’

  ‘We would be back in England about the end of October?’ asked Deborah.

  ‘Yes, but I can’t give you the exact dates just yet.’

  Deborah sounded matter-of-fact, but she was excited too. She liked the twins and Dee; compared with some of the children she had cared for, they were like angels. Besides, even though she would have her hands full all day, it would make a pleasant change. She didn’t give herself time to weigh the pros and cons; she said in her calm way: ‘Yes, I’ll come with you, Mr Burns. I should like to go home first as you suggest, but I can be ready whenever you want. I’ve nothing in view at the moment, and I only have to let the agency know.’

  ‘That calls for another drink,’ declared Mr Burns and presently, nicely glowing from a second sherry, Deborah went up to bed. She didn’t go to sleep at once; her usually sensible head was full of pleasant, excited thoughts. New clothes, suitable for the undoubtedly warm weather they would enjoy, a respite from going back to the agency and deciding which job she would take, there were usually several to choose from, and few of them so far, had been even bordering on perfection. Besides she had to admit to a feeling of faint discontent, not at all her usual self and as far as she could discover it came for no reason at all. She lay pondering this and since she couldn’t find an answer, sensibly went to sleep.

  She went home three days later, with the twins screaming goodbyes and come back soons at her, and with strict instructions to prepare herself for the journey. They were to travel in ten days’ time, flying from Bristol they would then stay in the villa Mr Burns had hired for three weeks. She was to go to Bristol Airport and meet them there not later than ten o’clock in the morning. Mr Burns drove her home, staying briefly to have coffee with her mother before he went again.

  ‘Such a nice man,’ observed Mrs Farley, ‘everything’s turned out very nicely hasn’t it darling? Let me see, it’s almost the end of September, you’ll be back home at the end of October, if you could get a temporary job until just before Christmas…then in the New Year you could find a nice permanent post!’

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ agreed Deborah, with no desire at all to do any such thing. She would have to, of course, a girl had to be independent, her brothers were costing a lot and, although she was barely twenty-three, no one had asked her to marry. She had friends enough, cheerful young men who called her Debby, poured out their problems about girl friends into her sympathetic ear and teased her in a kindly, offhand way. They all liked her, indeed, were fond of her, but not one of them had had the idea of marrying her. And why should they, she would tell her reflection as she wound her sandy hair into a tidy coil, she had no looks to speak of. All the same it would be nice to have a proposal…

  The faint, unsettled feeling was partly drowned in the fun of buying clothes; a couple of pretty cotton dresses, some skirts and tops, sandals and a swim suit and bikinis. No uniform, Mrs Burns had said, they so wanted to be in sun dresses or swim suits all day; even though she would be looking after the children, Deborah felt as though she was going on holiday. She packed with her usual neatness and wearing a sensible uncrushable two-piece, short sleeved, round necked and easy on the eye, she got into the car very early in the morning and settled herself beside her father, who hadn’t needed much persuading to take a day off from the Bank and drive her to the Airport. It was a glorious morning with a faint autumnal chill which would presently give way to the sun’s warmth. ‘You’ll come back as brown as a coffee bean,’ declared her father.

  ‘I go red, Father, and get covered in freckles—I shall have to wear a sun hat. I’ve packed lashings of Ambre Solaire though.’

  ‘As long as you enjoy yourself, my dear.’

  They had half an hour to spare at the airport, they drank a quick cup of coffee and then went to the reception area to look for the Burns family. They were already there, the twins sternly controlled by their father, Mrs B
urns carrying Dee and Mrs Beaufort in a wheel chair. They all looked a little gloomy, but when they saw Deborah the gloom lifted as if by magic.

  ‘Thank God!’ said Mr Burns, and meant it. ‘We should have fetched you over yesterday—we bit off rather more than we could chew. Still we’re here now.’ He beamed at her, shook hands with Mr Farley and edged away so that they might say goodbye. Mr Farley didn’t linger, Deborah was a sensible girl, quite able to cope with any situation and quite unruffled. He turned to wave once and she waved back and then took Dee under one arm, attached the twins (holding hands) to her free hand and watched while Mrs Burns picked up her overnight bag and Mr Burns gave orders about the luggage before leading the little party briskly to the end of the reception hall. It didn’t seem to be the same direction as everyone else was going but Mrs Burns and her mother, still in the chair being pushed by an airport attendant, looked quite unworried. Deborah, trailing the twins, brought up the rear.

  It took her a minute or two to realise that they were flying by charter plane. A sensible, if expensive way of getting an invalid lady, two boisterous children and a baby, not to mention the Burns and herself, to their destination. They embarked smoothly, with Deborah settled between the twins and with Dee on her lap; Mrs Beaufort on her own now, stretched out on the opposite seat; and the Burns sitting in front. The twins were ominously quiet, Deborah gave them each a book to look at, saw with relief that Dee had dropped off, and prayed silently for at least half an hour’s peace.

  The children took no notice of take-off, immersed in their picture books they flicked over the pages with the blasé air of big businessmen flying the Atlantic for the hundredth time. Deborah, anxious not to disturb the peace, sat quietly; she didn’t care for flying, but since her work took her among people who accepted it as a matter of course, she accepted it too. All the same, she was glad when they were airborne.

  The unnatural quiet came to an end, of course, Deborah handed out drinks and biscuits, played endless games designed to keep the children in their seats, fed Dee and then handed her over to a refreshed Mrs Burns while she had a drink herself. Mrs Beaufort had gone to sleep and Deborah envied her; it was by far the best way to fly she considered; wiping sticky little fingers, changing Dee and settling her to sleep again, beginning an endless story which lasted until they touched down at Faro Airport.