Year’s Happy Ending Page 10

  ‘I get around.’ He glanced at the children again. ‘These the permanent lot you were so keen on acquiring?’

  She said with dignity, ‘I am filling in for their nanny; she’ll be back tomorrow. I must go—it’s time for the children’s tea.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you.’ And he did, the whole way, firing questions at her as she went. ‘You’ll go back by train I suppose?’ And when she said yes: ‘The morning, I believe you said?’ And when she said yes again: ‘Remember it takes the best part of half an hour in the rush hour.’ Which led her quite naturally to tell him that she had arranged for a taxi already, ‘And it won’t be the rush hour; I asked at the cab rank and they said that twenty minutes was heaps of time, besides the eleven-forty’s never full and I’ve got my ticket.’

  ‘A sensible precaution.’ He bent his gaze on the child in the push chair. ‘Can’t this little chap walk?’

  ‘Of course he can. He is four years old; his mother prefers him to be wheeled around.’ She spoke in a neutral voice which said a great deal.

  ‘This is where the children live. Good-bye, Professor Beaufort. Please give my love to Eleanor.’

  He nodded. ‘I certainly will do that. Good-bye, Deborah.’ He stood on the pavement and watched until she had ushered her small party indoors. She was filled with vague sadness that he hadn’t said a word about seeing her again, although there was no reason why he should, was there?

  Naturally, when she took the children down to the drawing room after tea, they told their mother about the man who’d got out of a taxi and walked home with Nanny in an excited chorus. Their mother looked across the room to where Deborah was sitting. ‘I should have made it clear, Nanny, that I don’t allow followers unless you have a free day.’

  Deborah clasped her hands tightly together. She said very evenly: ‘Professor Beaufort is the brother of Mrs Burns, whose children I’ve been looking after, he was kind to enquire why I was in London. And I have no followers.’

  If the coldness of her tone was noticed, it wasn’t remarked upon, but: ‘Professor Gideon Beaufort? A charming man, I met him recently at some party or other. Such a pity—he could have come in for a drink. Oh, well—you can take the children, Nanny. Nanny Masters is back in the morning, isn’t she? Come and see me before you go and you can collect your wages.’

  How could anyone so beautiful to look at be so rude, thought Deborah, herding the three children back to the nursery, supper and bed.

  Nanny Masters arrived soon after breakfast, a thin stern woman in her forties, who waved away Deborah’s tentative sympathy and wanted to know if anyone had remembered to make appointments with the dentist for all three children.

  ‘Well, I haven’t for nobody asked me to,’ said Deborah, her usually mild temper slowly inflaming at Nanny Master’s pointed remarks about hair needing cutting and why was the four year old wearing grey socks with blue knickers. ‘Unless you want to talk about anything else, Miss Masters, I’ll go—I have a train to catch.’

  She said good-bye to the children which was a waste of time, and as for Nanny Masters her lips parted in an even thinner smile. ‘I daresay you’ll be quite good at your job when you’ve had my experience.’

  Deborah bit back rude words, muttered and went to her room. She was still in uniform and there was no time to change. She buttoned herself into her uniform coat, planted the no-nonsense hat on her sandy head, and went to collect her wages, handed over with a casual good-bye and no thanks.

  Well, it didn’t matter, she could forget her unpleasant week and the money was welcome. She picked up the case one of the maids had carried down to the hall, and since there was no one about, opened the door and hurried down the steps.

  The professor, sitting in his vintage Bentley, leaned over and opened the door and then got out and took her case, throwing it on to the back seat he shoved her gently into the front seat.

  ‘I’m going by train,’ protested Deborah. She had been unable to put up any kind of resistance to his large hand in the small of her back, but she sat upright, looking ready to spring out of the car at any moment.

  ‘No,’ said the professor, ‘I’m driving you down to Dorchester. I’m on my way home.’

  ‘Not if you go to Dorchester, you’re not.’

  ‘What I like about you, Debby, is your habit of not mincing your words. Now just relax and put up with the inevitable.’

  He drove in silence for some minutes. ‘Was it very bad?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Pretty awful. I think that the children weren’t loved enough. I never saw their father although he was often in the house—he didn’t come near the nursery and they spent an hour with their mother after tea each day. No wonder they were so anti.’

  ‘Poor little blighters. What is the nanny like?’

  ‘Stern and unbending, she disapproved of me. Isn’t Eleanor with you?’

  ‘No, I’d like to have her with me, but what would the child do all day while I’m tied up with work. If we were married of course, it would be different, you would come too and that would solve the problem.’

  Deborah said faintly: ‘There is Miss Timmis…’

  ‘Who has no interest in window shopping or Madame Tussaud’s or standing for hours outside a church were there a wedding to see. I can’t say I blame her at her age. Now you—you’re younger and would enjoy such things.’

  ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ observed Deborah in her severest voice.

  ‘No I am glad you realise that. Let’s stop for coffee.’

  They had their coffee in a wayside pub and drove on. ‘We should be back in nice time for lunch, that is if your mother lunches at half-past one.’

  ‘One o’clock. Would you like to stop at a phone box and I’ll ask her to wait until we get there.’ She added belatedly: ‘Will you stay for lunch?’

  ‘I was beginning to think that I wasn’t going to be asked.’

  Whatever Mrs Farley’s plans had been for the meal she had done wonders in the short time she had had. The cold joint had been ruthlessly minced, and was now a mouth watering cottage pie, Mr Farley’s early sprouts, just ready, lay piled in a dish and when he caught sight of them and opened an indignant mouth, he was silenced by a fierce look from his wife. Even the last of the cherished greenhouse tomatoes were on the table. Later he would have something to say about that, but now he greeted their guest politely, offered him a drink, engaged him in conversation and presently sat down to table.

  The professor enjoyed his meal and complimented Mrs Farley with such charm that she blushed. ‘Do have some more sprouts,’ she urged him, ‘my husband grows them you know—he’s a keen gardener.’

  Which gave him the happy cue to discuss gardening in all its aspects with his host. Deborah, almost silent, watched her father’s carefully concealed annoyance evaporate and winked at her mother, who gave her a little smile and a nod. When there was a pause in the conversation she asked: ‘You’ll stay home for a little while, love? You haven’t said much about these last people, but I don’t think you enjoyed it much, did you?’

  ‘Not really. Yes, I’d like to stay at home for a bit.’ She looked defiantly at the professor, who smiled gently and raised his eyebrows. She looked away quickly and he said: ‘I really must be going; I promised Eleanor I’d be home for tea. A delightful meal, Mrs Farley.’

  He shook hands, leaving Deborah to last, and letting her hand go almost before he had clasped it. She stood at the porch watching him get into the car and fought a fierce desire to nip into the seat beside him. She wanted to go with him, more—she wanted to stay with him. She never wanted to let him out of her sight again, and if this was love it was simply terrible, swamping one at a most awkward moment when it was quite impossible to do anything about it. The sensible thing to do would be to call him back and tell him that she’d changed her mind, but for one thing she was having difficulty with her breathing, and for another, one simply didn’t do things like that. Why couldn’t she have discovered it on their drive
down? She could have brought the conversation round to marrying him in a cool and collected way, and never let him know that she had fallen in love with him. One thing she knew: she would marry him. It would be difficult but not impossible to be the kind of wife he wanted, and surely she could be happy even if she did have to hide her love?

  She followed her parents indoors and did the washing up in a dream, hardly conscious of her mother’s cheerful talk; and presently, when she went upstairs to unpack, she sat on the bed instead and allowed dreams, quite impossible dreams, to take over.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DEBORAH REMAINED in a state of euphoria for the rest of the day, but with morning came common sense. She hadn’t changed her mind about marrying Gideon Beaufort—indeed her wish to do so was stronger than ever, but there was no use in pretending to herself that there was going to be any romance about it; that didn’t mean to say that she wouldn’t make a success of it. He wanted a mother for Eleanor and someone to fill the place of a wife even if he had no wish to get involved romantically. She dared to think that they might become good friends; he had said that he liked her and that was important and she loved him enough to want him to be content and free of worry about Eleanor. And miracles did happen. Who knew? He might, in time, fall a little in love with her.

  She thought about it all the next day, presenting a distraite manner to her puzzled parents and then, in the evening, asked her father if she might borrow the car.

  ‘Why?’ asked Mr Farley.

  It was as good a time to explain as any. ‘Well, Gideon has asked me to marry him—several times, and I’ve always said no, but I’ve changed my mind, and I promised him that if I ever did so I would go and tell him. So I thought I’d drive over to Tollard Royal tomorrow.’

  ‘Can’t you phone him?’ asked her father.

  Mrs Farley said sharply: ‘Really, Tom, that would be most unsuitable. You’re quite sure, darling? He’s a good deal older than you are, though I must admit that he is a remarkably handsome man, and should make a good husband.’ She added by way of explanation: ‘Nice manners, you know.’

  Deborah didn’t say anything and her mother went on: ‘You haven’t known each other very long, have you? Not that that matters; one can fall in love at first sight, and no one need tell me otherwise.’

  Neither of her companions contradicted her and presently Mr Farley said: ‘You would live at Tollard Royal, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, Father, but Gideon would like us—Eleanor and me—to go with him sometimes when he has to attend these conferences.’

  ‘H’m—well, Debby, you are old enough to know your own mind and you’ve shown you’re sensible enough to know what you want. Go and talk to Beaufort, but I hope that he’ll come and see me.’

  ‘I’m sure he will, Father. And may I take the car?’

  ‘Yes, certainly.’ He hesitated. ‘You’ll be happy with him, Debby?’

  She turned a suddenly happy face towards him. ‘Oh, yes, Father. I’m very sure of that.’

  She left soon after breakfast and drove without hurry, taking the smaller country roads. She had dressed with care in a dark green velvet jacket, a tweed pleated skirt and a cream silk shirt with a pie-frill collar. Her high heeled shoes were on the seat beside her because she couldn’t drive in them, but she would change the elderly lace-ups she was wearing when she reached the house.

  It was a crisp day, but the sun shone and the country was at its autumnal best; her spirits rose as she drove, she was going to see Gideon again and that was all that mattered.

  The village looked charming as she drove through it and presently turned in to the grounds of his house. The brickwork glowed in the hazy sunlight and there were a great many windows open, but the front door was closed. Deborah drew up carefully before it, got out and pulled the old fashioned bell. Mrs Buckle answered it almost at once.

  ‘Well, I never—Miss Farley. What a surprise. Eleanor’s at her lessons but the professor’s in his study working. Come in and I’ll let him know you’re here. Lucky that you came when you did, for he told Buckle he wanted the car after lunch.’

  She steamed across the hall with Deborah at her heels, but before she could tap on the study door Deborah said diffidently: ‘Mrs Buckle, would you mind very much if I surprised him? I…’

  The boot button eyes twinkled at her. ‘Of course not. It’ll be just the thing, he’s been sitting over his papers far too long for the last day or two.’

  Deborah waited until the housekeeper’s vast form had disappeared kitchenwards, then knocked on the door and went in.

  ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed,’ observed the professor without bothering to look up.

  ‘Well, yes—suppose I should have phoned you first but if I had you would have wanted to know why I should want to see you and I couldn’t explain over the telephone.’

  He put down his pen and got slowly to his feet. ‘Forgive me, Deborah—I wasn’t expecting you. What can I do for you?’

  His voice sounded friendly but hardly encouraging, only she had made up her mind and she wasn’t a girl to change it again. ‘I don’t think you can do anything for me,’ she told him. ‘It’s me that can do something for you. You asked me to promise to come and see you if I ever changed my mind. Well, I have, but if you don’t want to marry me I’ll quite understand…’

  ‘Why should I not want to marry you?’ He was quiet, smiling a little.

  ‘Well, people get fed up with waiting for answers, don’t they? And I’ve said no several times.’

  ‘Indeed. And why have you said yes now, Deborah?’

  ‘You said you’d not ask me my reasons.’ The fright in her face sent his eyebrows up, but all he said was: ‘You’re quite right, I did say that. I won’t ask a single question and I still want to marry you.’ He added lightly. ‘Shall I propose again, just to make sure?’

  She said seriously: ‘Oh, no there’s no need. There’s just one thing—I’m not marrying you because you’re rich, I mean I’d still marry you if you were poor. I’ve thought about it and I expect having a lot of money will make it much easier, won’t it?—you’ll be able to go off to wherever you go and leave Eleanor and me here.’ She stopped when she saw the thunderous look on his face, drew a breath and finished bravely: ‘That’s what you intended wasn’t it? For me to look after her while you were away?’

  ‘A masterly summing up, Deborah. You have the situation in a nutshell. Eleanor will be delighted, and so for that matter, am I.’ His mouth twisted in a wry smile, ‘I should have said that sooner, shouldn’t I?’

  She said in her sensible way: ‘No, why should you? If we’re to be friends then we mustn’t pretend, must we?’ She blushed brightly as she spoke because, of course, her whole life was going to be one long pretence from that moment.

  ‘Most sensibly spoken. When shall we marry? There’s no reason to hang around is there? I don’t suppose you want to glide down the aisle in white satin, do you?’ His eyes were fixed on her sandy locks and then studied her face, and the blush which was beginning to die down took fresh fire.

  She lied in a firm voice. ‘Oh no, nothing like that, but I would like to marry in church and I’d like my family and some of my friends to be there.’

  He said carelessly: ‘Why not? I’ll get a special licence—shall we say in three weeks’ time? Two weeks if you could manage it; I have to go to the Hague and we could take Eleanor with us—you two can amuse yourselves while I am working.’

  She tried to make her voice as businesslike as his and succeeded very well. ‘What a splendid idea. Two weeks will be ample time. Will you make the arrangements—we go to the parish church…’

  ‘We had better go together, hadn’t we? We’ll settle the details presently, I think. In the mean time shall we tell Eleanor?’

  She was sure of one thing, Eleanor was happy which helped to warm the rather chilly feeling she had inside her; it was going to take a great effort to remain as cool and offhand as Gideon, but she promised herself that s
he would cope. If she had patience he might discover that he loved her—she was a great believer in miracles. In the mean while she returned Eleanor’s ecstatic hugs warmly, received Miss Timmis’s delighted good wishes and accompanied Gideon to the kitchen, so that he could tell the Buckles.

  By then it was lunchtime and it was while they were having their drinks that Gideon observed it might be a good idea to phone her mother. ‘I should of course, like to have a talk with your father,’ he pointed out, and picked up the phone on a side table.

  ‘I told Mother and Father why I was coming here,’ said Deborah quietly, ‘I said I’d be home around tea time.’

  He smiled at her. ‘I’ll drive back with you in my own car.’ He dialled and in a moment said: ‘Mrs Farley—Deborah is here to speak to you,’ and held out the phone.

  Mrs Farley took the news with considerable calm, expressed her delight, agreed to tell her husband when he got home for lunch and invited Gideon to supper. ‘You’ll have a good deal to talk about,’ she declared, ‘and two weeks isn’t long.’

  ‘No, Mother,’ said Deborah, ‘we’ll talk about that when I get home. Here’s Gideon.’

  She had to admit that he said exactly the right things; she pictured her Mother’s pleased satisfaction as she rang off, she had known for some time that although her mother loved her dearly, she had never entertained much hope of Deborah getting married. She had been told bracingly so many times that she would make a splendid wife, and she thought, without conceit, that she would, but men liked a wife, however splendid, to have a modicum of good looks too. A good hairdresser, thought Deborah and she would splash out on one of the expensive brands of make-up. But what to wear? It was an awkward time of year…

  ‘What’s worrying you?’ enquired Gideon. It was a casual question and she answered just as casually: ‘Nothing important,’ smiling carefully. ‘Clothes and things.’