A Valentine for Daisy. Бетти Нилс

She thought about it a good deal during the day with mounting excitement; it would mean that she was sure of the job for at least another month besides the added pleasure of seeing something of another country. She would have to talk to Pam and make sure that she could cope with the various household demands. She wouldn’t be able to add to the housekeeping money each week while she was away, but there was enough in the bank to cover them and she could pay that back when she eventually returned. All in all she was sure that everything could be arranged with the minimum of trouble for her mother and sister.

       Her news was received with pleased surprise; there was no doubt at all, declared her mother, that they could manage very well while she was away. ‘It’s a marvellous opportunity,’ said Mrs Pelham happily. ‘Who knows who you will meet while you are there?’ she added enthusiastically. ‘Sir Hugh is something to do with the Foreign Office, isn’t he? There must be clerks and people…’

       Daisy said, ‘Yes, Mother, I’m sure there are.’ There was no harm in letting her mother daydream. Daisy, well aware of her commonplace features and retiring disposition, thought it unlikely that even the most lowly clerk would give her as much as a second glance.

       Not a girl to give way to self-pity, she spent the evening combing through her wardrobe in search of suitable clothes. The result was meagre; it was Pamela who remembered the raspberry-red brocade curtains some aunt or other had bequeathed to their mother. They were almost new; they spread them out on the sitting-room floor and studied them. ‘A skirt,’ said Pamela. ‘We’ll get a good pattern, and Mother—there’s that white crêpe de Chine blouse with the wide collar you never wear.’

       ‘But will I need them?’ asked Daisy doubtfully.

       ‘Perhaps not, but you must have something, just in case you get asked out. There’s your good suit and we can get your raincoat cleaned…’

       So when Daisy saw Sir Hugh in the morning she told him that she would go to Den Haag with the twins, and was rather touched by his relief. His wife’s relief was even more marked. ‘I hardly slept,’ she told Daisy, ‘wondering what we should do if you decided not to come with us; Josh and Katie will be so happy. I should warn you that I shall have to be out a good deal—there’s a lot of social life, Hugh tells me—you won’t mind, will you?’

       Daisy assured her that she didn’t mind in the least and Lady Thorley gave a sigh of relief. ‘You’ll have a day off each week, of course, though I dare say it will have to be on different days, and an hour or two to yourself each day. Hugh wants us to go in ten days’ time. We’ll see to the travel arrangements, of course. There’s just your luggage and passport.’ She smiled widely. ‘I think it’s going to be great fun.’

       Daisy agreed with her usual calm. Looking after the twins wasn’t exactly fun; she liked doing it but it was tiring and keeping the upper hand over two small children determined to be disobedient was taxing both to temper and patience. But she truly liked Lady Thorley, and the twins, naughty though they were, had stolen her affection.

       It was impossible not to be excited as preparations got under way for their journey: clothes for the twins, their favourite toys carefully packed, and a good deal of over-time because their mother needed to go to London to shop for herself. Daisy assembled her own modest wardrobe, wrapped the crêpe de Chine blouse in tissue paper, dealt with the household bills and with Pamela’s help made quite a good job of the skirt. Trying it on finally and eyeing it critically, she decided that anyone not knowing that it had been a curtain would never guess…

       It wanted two days to their departure when Dr Seymour turned up again. Lady Thorley was packing and Daisy and the twins, housebound by a sudden bout of heavy rain, were in the nursery. He came in so silently that none of them was aware of him until he spoke in Daisy’s ear.

       ‘An artist as well as a nanny?’ he wanted to know, studying the variety of drawings on the paper before her.

       Her pencil faltered so that the rabbit’s ear that she had been sketching didn’t look in the least like an ear. She said evenly, ‘Good afternoon, Dr Seymour,’ and rubbed out the ear while Josh and Katie rushed at their uncle.

       He pulled a chair up beside Daisy, picked up a pencil and added a moustache and beard to the rabbit.

       ‘Ready to go?’ he asked her.

       ‘Yes, thank you. Would you like me to fetch Lady Thorley?’

       ‘No. I came to see these two. Being good, are they? Not turning your mousy locks grey or causing you to lose weight?’

       How could he know that she detested her soft brown hair and was shy about her slightly plump person? A good thing she wouldn’t see him for at least six weeks for she didn’t like him.

       ‘No,’ said Daisy, ‘they’re good children.’ Which wasn’t in the least true but Katie, hearing it, flung her arms round her neck.

       ‘We love Daisy; we think she is beautiful and kind like a princess in a fairy-tale waiting for the prince to come and rescue her.’

       ‘And why not?’ said her uncle idly, getting up from his chair. ‘I’m going to see your mother but I’ll say goodbye before I go.’

       Josh climbed on to a chair beside her. ‘Draw a bear,’ he ordered. ‘I’m going to be just like Uncle Val when I grow up.’

       ‘So am I,’ said Katie, and was told not to be a silly little girl by her brother. Threatened tears were averted by Daisy’s embarking on a description of the party dress Katie, being a girl, would be able to wear when she was grown up.

       Josh curled his small lip. ‘Girls,’ he said scornfully.

       The doctor was still there when Daisy went home; she cycled past his car in the drive, unaware that he was watching her from the drawing-room window.

       Two days later she said goodbye to her mother and Pamela, gave Razor a cuddle and went to the gate where Lady Thorley and the twins were waiting in their car. Her case was stowed in the boot and she got in the back with the children. They were strangely subdued and their mother said, ‘Val came for Boots last night and they miss him—he’s to stay with my brother while we’re away.’

       So Daisy spent a good part of their journey explaining how very much Boots would enjoy a holiday. ‘And think of all the things you can tell him when we get back,’ she pointed out.

       ‘We wouldn’t let anyone else have him, only Uncle Val,’ said Katie tearfully.

       ‘Well, of course not. He’s family, isn’t he? And Boots knows that he belongs to all the family as well as you two. You might send him a postcard from Holland…’

       A suggestion which did much to cheer the children up.

       Sir Hugh had made sure that his family need have no worries on their journey. They were met at Gatwick, the car was garaged and they were guided through the business of checking tickets, baggage and Customs and seen safely aboard the plane. The children were a little peevish by now and Daisy was relieved to see lemonade and biscuits and, for herself, coffee.

       Lady Thorley was on the other side of the aisle and the first-class compartment was only half-full; Daisy drank her coffee while the twins munched and swallowed, grateful for the short respite. Afterwards there were comics to be looked at and the excitement of visiting the toilets, small enough at the best of times but needing a good deal of side-stepping and squeezing, much to the delight of the children.

       By then the plane was coming in to land, something the twins weren’t quite sure if they liked or not. Daisy wasn’t sure if she liked it or not herself.

       They were met by a well turned-out chauffeur at Schiphol and shepherded through Customs and into a gleaming, rather old-fashioned car and driven away. A little over an hour’s drive, the chauffeur told them, joining the stream of traffic.

       The twins, one on each side of their mother, on the back seat, stared out of the windows and had little to say beyond excited ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s. Daisy, sitting