A Valentine for Daisy. Бетти Нилс

you write it, Mrs Gower-Jones,’ said Daisy mildly.

       She was already making plans as she cycled back to Wilton. She would have to get another job as soon as possible; her mother’s pension wasn’t enough to keep all three of them and Pamela had at least two more years at school. They paid the estate a very modest rent but there were still taxes and lighting and heating and food. They relied on Daisy’s wages to pay for clothes and small extra comforts. There was never any money to save; her father had left a few hundred pounds in the bank but that was for a rainy day, never to be spent unless in dire emergency.

       Back home, she explained everything to her mother, carefully keeping any note of anxiety out of her voice. They would be able to go on much as usual for a week or two and surely in that time she would find a job. It was a pity she wasn’t trained for anything; she had gone to a good school because her father had been alive then and the fees had been found, although at the cost of holidays and small luxuries, and since she had done well the plan had been to send her to one of the minor universities, leading to a teaching post eventually. His death had been unexpected and premature; Daisy left the university after only a year there and came home to shoulder the responsibilities of the household and take the job at the nursery school.

       Her mother reassured, she went out and bought the local paper and searched the jobs column. There was nothing; at least, there was plenty of work for anyone who understood computers and the like and there were several pigpersons wanted, for pig breeding flourished in her part of the world. It was a great pity that the tourist season would be over soon, otherwise she might have enquired if there was work for her in the tearooms at Wilton House. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go into Salisbury, visit the agencies and the job centre.

       It was a bad time of year to find work, she was told; now if she had asked when the season started, no doubt there would have been something for her—a remark kindly meant but of little comfort to her.

       By the end of the week her optimism was wearing thin although she preserved a composed front towards her mother and Pamela. She was sitting at her mother’s writing desk answering an advertisement for a mother’s help when someone knocked on the door. Pamela was in her room, deep in schoolwork; her mother was out shopping. Daisy went to answer it.

      CHAPTER TWO

      DAISY recognised the person on the doorstep. ‘Lady Thorley—please come in. The twins are all right?’

       ‘Quite recovered,’ said their mother. ‘I wanted to talk to you…’

       Daisy led the way into the small sitting-room, nicely furnished and with a bowl of roses on the Georgian circular table under the window, offered a chair and then sat down opposite her visitor, her hands folded quietly in her lap, composedly waiting to hear the reason for the visit. It would be something to do with the nursery school, she felt sure, some small garment missing…

       ‘Are you out of a job?’ Lady Thorley smiled. ‘Forgive me for being nosy, but Mrs Gower-Jones tells me that she has closed the place down for some time at least.’

       ‘Well, yes, she has, and we all had a week’s notice…’

       ‘Then if you are free, would you consider coming to us for a while? The twins—they’re a handful, more than I can cope with, and they like you. If you hear of something better you would be free to go, but you would be a godsend. There must be other nursery schools, although I don’t know of any. I thought that if you would come while I find a governess for them…only I don’t want to be hurried over that—she will have to be someone rather special. Would you give it a try?’

       ‘I could come each day?’

       ‘Oh, yes. We’re at Steeple Langford—about three miles from here. Is there a bus?’

       ‘I have a bike.’

       ‘You’ll give it a try? Is half-past eight too early for you? Until five o’clock—that’s a long day, I know, but you would have Saturday and Sunday.’ She hesitated. ‘And perhaps occasionally you would sleep in if we were about to go out for the evening? We have some good servants but I’d rather it was you.’ And when Daisy hesitated she added, ‘I don’t know what you were paid by Mrs Gower-Jones but we would pay the usual rate.’ She named a sum which sent Daisy’s mousy eyebrows up. Twice the amount Mrs Gower-Jones had paid her; heaven-sent, although she felt bound to tell her visitor that it was more than she had earned at the nursery school.

       ‘By the end of the week you will agree with me that you will have earned every penny. You have only had the twins for a few days, diluted with other children. Full-strength, as it were, they’re formidable.’ She smiled charmingly. ‘You see, I’m not pretending that they’re little angels. I love them dearly but because of that I’m not firm enough.’

       ‘When would you like me to start?’ asked Daisy. ‘Only you’ll want references.’

       ‘Oh, never mind those,’ said Lady Thorley breezily, ‘Valentine told me that you were a sensible girl with an honest face and he’s always right.’

       Daisy blushed and Lady Thorley thought how pleasant it was to find a girl who still could, happily unaware that it wasn’t a blush at all, just Daisy’s temper, seldom roused, coming to the surface. Even if that was all he could think of to say about her, it would have been far better if he had kept quiet—honest and sensible indeed; what girl wanted to be called that?

       For a moment she was tempted to change her mind and refuse the job, but then she remembered the marvellous wages… ‘How kind,’ she murmured, and agreed to cycle over to Steeple Langford the next morning.

       Lady Thorley went presently and Daisy tore up her reply to the advertisement for a home help and then did cautious sums on the back of the writing paper. The job wouldn’t last forever—a month, six weeks perhaps—but the money would take care of the phone bill and the gas and electricity as well. There would be enough left over for her mother to have a pair of good shoes ready for the winter, and Pamela to have another of the baggy sweaters she craved, and she herself—Daisy sucked the end of her pen—torn between high-heeled elegant shoes she would probably never have the chance to wear and a pair of sensible boots; last winter’s pair had had their day and were beyond repair. She was still brooding over this when her mother and Pamela came back, and, much heartened by the news, Mrs Pelham fetched the bottle of sherry they hoarded for special occasions and they all had a glass. ‘I mustn’t forget Razor,’ said Daisy. ‘I’ll get some of that luxury catfood he enjoys and perhaps a tin of sardines.’

      The road along the Wylye was quiet, used mainly by local people, winding from one small village to the next one with glimpses of the river from time to time and plenty of trees. It was a splendid morning and Daisy cycled along it trying to guess what the job would turn out to be. Hard work, no doubt, but the money was good…

       The Thorleys’ house was on the further side of Steeple Langford, a roomy place typical of the area, with plenty of large windows, a veranda and a wide porch. It was surrounded by nicely laid-out grounds with plenty of trees and as she went up the short drive she could see ponies and a donkey in the small adjoining field.

       The front door was opened as she reached it and the two children and a black Labrador dog spilled out noisily. Daisy got off her bike. ‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully, ‘what’s your dog’s name?’

       ‘Boots. Have you got a dog?’ They had crowded round her, all three of them.

       ‘No, though we had one when I was a little girl. We have a cat; he’s called Razor.’

       ‘Why?’

       ‘He’s very sharp…’

       The twins hooted with mirth. ‘May we see him?’

       ‘Perhaps one day your mother will let you come and see him. We’ll see.’

       ‘Why do all grown-ups say “we’ll see”?’

       Daisy was saved from answering this by the appearance of Lady Thorley,