Year's Happy Ending. Бетти Нилс

and told her mother and then made tea for them both, glancing with regret at the half weeded border she wouldn’t have the time to finish now.

      ‘I daresay it won’t be for long,’ she observed philosophically, ‘I mean, Mrs Burns’ mother will either get better or die, I hope she gets better, Mrs Burns sounds nice.’

      ‘I wonder what the children will be like?’ Her mother wanted to know doubtfully.

      ‘No worse than some I’ve had to deal with,’ Deborah said cheerfully, ‘and probably a good deal better. I’d better go and throw a few things into a bag.’

      Her father wasn’t best pleased, he had been looking forward to a quiet evening, reading the papers and watching the TV. He was a kind-hearted man inclined to be taciturn at his work, managing one of the banks in Dorchester, and good at his job, but at the end of the day he was glad enough to get home, potter in the garden if he felt like it, and enjoy the peace and quiet of the evening. He looked at his daughter with faint annoyance.

      ‘Really, Debby you are supposed to be on holiday.’

      ‘Father, dear, I know, but this Mrs Burns is desperate and as I explained to mother, I could take a temporary job after I leave there and then come home for Christmas.’ She kissed his cheek and smiled at him.

      So he got out the car again and she said goodbye to her mother and Thomas the cat and got in beside him. ‘It’s quickest if you go to Blandford,’ she suggested. ‘It’s on the Shaftesbury road then you can turn off to the right—I looked it up.’

      The village, when they reached it, was charming, with its duckpond and the nice old houses clustered around it. And the house was easy enough to find, across the green with the wide gate standing invitingly open.

      Mr Farley parked the car precisely before the door and they both got out. The house was stone built, square and Georgian, sheltered by old trees, its sash windows open. Deborah, her father beside her with her case, thumped the big brass knocker, not too loudly in case the children were asleep, and the door was flung open.

      The young woman who stood there wasn’t much older than herself, a good deal taller and very slim, with a short mop of fair curly hair and a pretty face. ‘Oh, golly,’ she breathed, ‘I could hug you—you are an angel. Come in…’ She looked at Mr Farley and Deborah said: ‘This is my father, he drove me here.’

      Mrs Burns smiled widely at him. She said earnestly: ‘Nanny will be quite happy here, I do assure you Mr Farley, there’s the housekeeper—she’s getting supper actually, and there is plenty of daily help—it’s just the children to look after. Come and have a drink…?’

      Mr Farley, quite won over, said that no, he wouldn’t as he had to drive back to Dorchester and his supper was to be waiting for him. He said goodbye to them both and got back into his car and drove off.

      ‘He’s nice,’ observed Mrs Burns. ‘My father died last year, he was nice too.’ She wrinkled up her nose engagingly. ‘You know—a bit fussy but always there. Of course, I’ve got Bill now, only he’s not at home. He’ll be back in a week or two though.’

      She led the way across the hall into a comfortable room and waved Deborah to an easy chair. ‘Do you mind if I don’t stay for supper? I’ll tell you as much as I can, then I’ll be off…I’ll leave my phone number so that you can ring every day. Mary—that’s our housekeeper, will see to the house and the food and so on, she is a dear soul, but getting on a bit so the twins are a bit much for her. If you could cope with them and the baby she’ll see to everything else.’ She handed Deborah a glass of sherry and sat down herself. ‘I’ll tell you the routine…’ She paused: ‘Do you drive?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Only I haven’t a car.’

      ‘Good. We all take it in turns to take the children to school. It’s about a mile out of the village, mornings only; it won’t be your turn until next week, anyway.’

      ‘The baby’s feeds?’ prompted Deborah.

      ‘Ah, yes.’ Mrs Burns then dealt with them. ‘And the baby’s name is Deirdre, but we all call her Dee. The twins are Suzanne and Simon.’ She added, with devastating honesty, ‘They’re awful, but not all the time.’

      ‘How long do you expect to be away?’ asked Deborah.

      ‘I haven’t an idea. A week, two…it depends.’ She looked so sad for a moment that Deborah said quickly: ‘Well, a week here or there doesn’t matter much. I’m between jobs.’

      Mrs Burns cast her a grateful glance. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Now here’s the twins’ routine…’

      Within half an hour Deborah had been told all she wanted to know, been introduced to Mary, toured the house, peeped in on the twins and the baby in the nursery and shown her room next to it. A very nice room it was too; pastel pinks and blues and a thick carpet with the sort of bathroom Deborah had so often admired in glossy magazines. But she didn’t waste time examining it instead she went back downstairs to where Mrs Burns was talking to Mary. She smiled as Deborah joined them.

      ‘I’m going now, Mary’s got your supper ready. There’s one thing I forgot, she’s going to a wedding in two days’ time and she’ll be away all day. Mrs Twist will be up from the village in the morning—could you cope for the rest of the day?’

      Mrs Burns was looking anxious again so Deborah said bracingly: ‘Of course I can, Mrs Burns, everything will be fine. I hope you find your mother better.’ She urged her companion gently to the door and into the Porsche parked in the drive. A lovely car but surely not quite the right thing for a mother with three young children. Her thought was answered as though she had uttered it aloud. ‘This isn’t mine—it’s Bill’s second car. I’ve got a small Daimler, it’s safer for the children he says. But I’m in a hurry now and they’re not with me!’

      ‘Go carefully,’ urged Deborah.

      Mrs Burns nodded obediently and shot off with the speed of light. Deborah watched her skid round into the road and went indoors, hoping that her employer was a seasoned driver. She ate her supper presently in the panelled dining room at the back of the house and then helped Mary clear away the dishes and wash up, and by then it was time to give Deirdre her ten o’clock feed. She sat in the day nursery with the baby on her lap; she took her feed like an angel and dropped off to sleep again as Deborah was changing her. It would be too much to expect the twins to be as placid, thought Deborah, climbing into her comfortable bed.

      It was. She went along, next morning dressed in her uniform and a nicely starched apron, to see if they were awake and found the pair of them out of their beds and on the night nursery floor, busy covering the hearth rug with a wild pattern, wielding their felt pens with enthusiasm. She knelt down beside them, wished them good-morning and admired their handiwork. They both peered at her, two small artful faces with the same bright blue eyes as their little sister.

      ‘You’re the new Nanny,’ said Simon without enthusiasm.

      ‘Yes, I am, and you’re Simon,’ she smiled at the little girl, ‘and you’re Suzanne.’

      ‘Is Mummy coming back soon?’ asked the moppet.

      ‘Just as soon as your granny is better. Mummy’s going to phone today so you’ll be able to speak to her.’

      ‘Where’s Daddy?’

      Deborah wasn’t sure if she’d been told—was it China or Japan? Anyway it was some far flung spot which would take a day or two to get home from, even if he started that very minute. ‘I don’t know exactly, you could ask Mummy, but I’m sure he’ll be home just as soon as he can. Will you start to dress while I change Deirdre?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Then if you’re going to stay in your nightclothes, you’d better go to bed, hadn’t you?’ said Deborah calmly, and went over to see if the baby was awake.

      ‘Will you tell Mummy if we’re