# Year's Happy Ending

Betty Neels

Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors.Could she settle for less than love? Professor Gideon Beaufort tried Deborah’s good nature severely. He scorned her future as a trained nanny destined to spend her life caring for other people’s children. Yet was his proposal any more enticing?All he wanted was a substitute nanny for his young daughter and nothing more. Deborah found herself wishing the sultry skies of Portugal’s exotic Algarve weren’t wasted on such a cynical widower and a dedicated nanny with stars in her eyes.

## “You asked me to come if I changed my mind.”

Deborah rushed on nervously. “Well, I have. But if you don’t want to marry me now, I’ll understand….”

“I still want to marry you.” Gideon smiled a little. “My daughter will be delighted, and for that matter, so am I.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I should have said that sooner, shouldn’t I?”

“Why should you? We mustn’t pretend, must we?” Deborah blushed brightly because, of course, her whole life was going to be one of long pretense from that moment.

“Most sensibly spoken. There’s no reason to wait. I don’t suppose you want to glide down the aisle in white satin, do you?” His eyes 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….”


Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

## Year’s Happy Ending. Betty Neels


## MILLS & BOON

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## CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

## CHAPTER ONE

THE SEPTEMBER SUN shone hazily on to the narrow garden. Its only occupant, who was busily weeding between the neat rows of vegetables, sat back on her knees and pushed her hair back from her forehead. Long hair, fine and straight and of a shade which could only be described as sandy. To go with the hair she had freckles, green eyes and long curling sandy lashes, startling in an otherwise ordinary face. She bent to her work once more, to be interrupted by her mother’s voice from the open kitchen door: ‘Your cousin Rachel wants you on the phone, Debby—she says it’s important.’

Mrs Farley withdrew her head and Deborah dropped her trowel and ran up the garden, kicked off her sandals at the door and went into the hall. She picked up the receiver warily; Rachel was a dear and they were the best of friends, but she was frowned upon by the older members of the family, they didn’t approve of her life. That she had held down a splendid job with some high powered executive was one thing, but her private goings on were something quite different. ‘Hullo?’ Deborah said, still wary, and her mother poked her head round the sitting room door to hiss:

‘She can’t come and stay—I have your Aunt Maud coming…’

But Rachel didn’t want to come and stay, she spoke without preamble: ‘Debby, you haven’t got another job yet, have you? You’re free…?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘You’ve heard me talk of Peggy Burns—you know, the girl who married some wealthy type with a house somewhere in Dorset? Well her mother’s ill and she wants to go to her, only Bill—her husband—is in the Middle East or some such place and can’t get back for a few weeks, and there are these kids—terrible twins, four years old, and the baby—just beginning to crawl. She’s desperate for a nanny and I thought of you. Marvellous lolly, darling, and a gorgeous house. There’s a housekeeper; rather elderly with bunions or housemaid’s knee or something, and daily help from the village.’

‘Where exactly does she live?’ asked Deborah.

‘Not far from you—Ashmore? Somewhere between Blandford and Shaftesbury. Do say you’ll help out, Debby. Have you got your name down at an agency or something?’

‘Well, yes—but I did say I intended to have a holiday before the next job.’

‘Oh, good, so you can give them a ring and explain.’ Rachel decided.

How like Rachel to skate over the bits she doesn’t want to know about, thought Deborah; the phoning and explaining, the packing, the getting there… ‘I haven’t said I’ll go,’ she said a bit sharply.

Rachel’s self-assured voice was very clear. ‘Of course you’ll go, Debby! Supposing it was your mother and no one would help you?’

‘Why can’t you go?’ asked Deborah.

‘I’m not a trained nanny, silly. Uncle Tom could run you over when he gets back from work; it’s Coombe House, Ashmore, and here’s the phone number so that you can ring and say you’re coming.’ Before Deborah could get her mouth open she went on ‘I’m so grateful, darling, and so will Peggy be—bless you. I must fly—I’ve a new boy friend and he’s taking me out this evening and I must wash my hair.’

‘Rachel…’ began Deborah, too late, her cousin had hung up.

Her mother said indignantly: ‘But you’ve only been home a week darling, and the boys will be back for half term and you’ll miss them. How like Rachel, arranging everything to suit herself without a thought…’

‘Actually, she was trying to help,’ said Deborah fairly, ‘And I suppose I could go if its only for a week or two. I could ask the agency for a temporary job when I leave Ashmore and then be home for Christmas. I’d like that.’

Her mother brightened. ‘That’s true, love, and you haven’t had a Christmas at home for a couple of years, have you? I don’t know what your father will say…’

Deborah said gently, ‘Mother, I’m twenty-three.’

‘Yes, Debby I know, but your father always thinks of you as a little girl even though you’re the eldest. He always will until you get married.’

‘Mother,’ said Deborah with faint exasperation. She would like to get married and have a husband and children and a home to run, but she considered her chances slight. She had plenty of friends for she had lived in Dorchester all her life, but most of them were married or thinking about it, and those who weren’t, girl and man alike, tended to regard her as a well-liked sister to whom they could confide their amatory problems.

She sighed and went back to the phone.

The voice at the other end was pleasant, tinged with panic, but hopeful. ‘Thank God,’ said the voice fervently, ‘Rachel said you’d ring, you’ve no idea…you’re like a miracle, I’d absolutely no idea what to do. I’m not usually such a fool, but I seem to have gone to pieces…’

Deborah heard a watery sigh and said hastily, ‘I’ll come just as soon as I can, Mrs Burns—my father will drive me over as soon as he gets home, that’ll be in about two hours. Can you go to your mother this evening?’

‘Yes, oh yes. She lives in Bath so I can drive myself. I’ll get all ready to leave shall I? And put the twins to bed and see to the baby. You’re an angel. I don’t know your name, at least I’m sure Rachel told me but I don’t think I took it in.’

‘Deborah Farley. Is your house easy to find Mrs Burns?’

‘Yes, oh yes. Facing the village green. There is a green gate that runs up to the side of the house, if you drive in and turn off to the front door.’

‘About half-past seven, Mrs Burns. Goodbye until then.’

Deborah hung up. She would have to pack; uniform and white aprons and sensible shoes. She decided to take some summer clothes with her as well, off duty seemed a little unlikely but she could change in the evenings when the children were in bed. She went 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 naughty?’ asked Simon.

‘I don’t tell tales,’ Deborah told him cheerfully, ‘that’s a nasty thing to do.’

‘We’ll get dressed,’ said Suzanne, ‘but I can’t do my hair but I can tie a bow knot in my laces.’

‘Clever girl. I’ll do your hair when I’ve seen to Deirdre.’

Breakfast, though noisy, was eaten in a friendly atmosphere, and as soon as it was finished the twins were collected by someone they called Aunty Doris and driven off to school, leaving Deborah to bath and dress Dee, put her in her pram and wheel it round to the back of the house into a sheltered corner while she nipped back indoors to make beds and tidy the nurseries.

Mary, watching her put a load of small garments into the washing machine, approved of her. ‘Plain she may be,’ she confided to Mrs Twist, ‘but she’s a lady, if you know what I mean, and the twins mind her as much as they mind anyone. Sitting there, telling them in that soft voice of hers to eat their breakfast and so sure she was they did too, like lambs! Pity we can’t have her here permanent like.’

The twins returned with a great deal of untapped energy; Deborah combing hair and inspecting hands, decided that a walk was essential after their dinner. She left the twins playing while she saw to the baby and then, with the infant tucked up in the pram and the children armed with small baskets in case they found any blackberries, set out.

They went through the village, stopping at the stores to buy sweets and then took a lane beyond the last of the houses. It led uphill and gave them a view of rolling countryside when they reached the top. Deborah, hot from pushing the pram, sighed with relief to find a splendid hedge of blackberries, an excuse to find a shady spot for the pram and join the twins.

They got home in time for tea, nicely tired and went happily to bed after they had talked to their mother on the phone. There was no change in her mother’s condition, Mrs Burns told Deborah, and she asked if everything was all right at home. Deborah said that everything was fine, that the children had been as good as gold and that Deirdre was a model baby, and would Mrs Burns like to talk to Mary?

A diplomatic gesture which earned her a pleased look, for Mary was delighted.

The next day followed the same pattern as the first, pleasant but filled with the many chores which went with three children. Deborah phoned her mother in the evening, assured her that she was completely happy and not in the least overworked and then went to bed early. The children had been very good, she thought sleepily as she curled up comfortably, and tomorrow there would be a respite because they were going to a friend’s birthday party at the other end of the village. She would take them there, with Dee in the pram and then go back and have tea in the garden. Mary would be going to her wedding in the morning and once Mrs Twist had gone she would have the house to herself. Only for an hour or two but it would be a small pleasure to look forward to.

They had their dinner earlier than usual so that Mrs Twist could wash up the dishes before she went home. Deborah coaxed the children into fresh clothes, fed the baby and set off with her little party. There was a good deal of noise coming from the house as they approached it; the windows were wide open and there was a CD player belting out the latest pop music. Deborah handed the twins over to a rather harassed woman at the door, promised to collect them at six o’clock, and went off with the pram and the sleeping Deirdre. Simon had muttered a gruff goodbye as they went, but Suzanne had flung her arms round Deborah’s neck and hugged her.

It was a glorious day; Deborah strolled along admiring the view, talking from time to time to Deirdre who chuckled and crowed and then dropped off to sleep. She was still sleeping when Deborah reached the house unlocked the door and carried her inside to finish her nap in her cot.

It was early for tea, but the prospect of half an hour in the garden under the open window of the nursery was very tempting. Deborah crossed the hall to go to the kitchen and put on the kettle and presently took her tray on to the patio under the nursery window. She could have spent the rest of the day there but the twins had to be fetched and Deirdre put back into her pram. Deborah whisked round the kitchen, getting things ready for the twins’ supper; she could feed the baby while they ate it. It was still pleasantly warm as she went unhurriedly through the village, collected the twins and walked them back smartly. They were over excited, over tired and peevish. The next hour or so tried her patience and her temper, but at last they were all sleeping and she took off her apron, pushed the hair back from her hot face and went downstairs. Mary wouldn’t be back until late and she had a key, mused Deborah, her mind pleasantly occupied with supper and the thought of an early night with a book as she reached the hall and started towards the kitchen. She was half-way there when the bell pealed, quite gently and only once. Not Mary, she would have let herself in, not any of Mrs Burns’ friends; they knew she was away—her husband? Deborah, who had a romantic mind, pictured him hot footing it half-way round the world to be with his wife and children as she went to the door and opened it.

Not Mrs Burns’ husband; she had seen a wedding photo, he was dark and not much above middle-height and had a moustache, the man on the doorstep was twice as tall and wide. Well, even allowing for exaggeration he was a very large man and solid with it. Besides, he had iron grey hair, bright blue eyes and no moustache. She said enquiringly, ‘Yes,’ in a severe voice, while a host of unpleasant ideas about thieves and robbers and kidnappers seeped into her head.

‘My God,’ observed the man softly, ‘I thought the species was extinct.’ And when she looked nonplussed, ‘Nannies,’ he explained kindly, ‘that’s what you are, isn’t it? I thought you worthy aproned ladies had been swallowed whole by the au pair girls.’

Not only probably a thief thought Deborah, a trifle wildly, but also mentally unstable. ‘Be good enough to go away,’ she said in the firm no-nonsense voice she had been taught to use at the training college.

He leaned his elegantly clad person against the door frame and said equably: ‘I haven’t had a nanny for a long time; I never obeyed her anyway. I’m coming in.’

‘You are not!’ The two little terrors and baby Deirdre suddenly became very precious; he didn’t know they were in the house, of course, but once inside he might go anywhere.

He changed his tactics. ‘This is Peggy Burns’ house?’

She nodded.

‘Good, so I’ll come in…’

‘I don’t know who you are,’ she protested.

‘I don’t happen to have my birth certificate with me, would a passport do?’ He was amused still but impatient now. ‘You’re alone in the house?’

She didn’t answer and he tried again. ‘Is Mrs Burns at home?’

‘No.’

‘Chatty little thing, aren’t you? Where is she?’

Deborah was standing squarely in the doorway her small, rather plump person by no means filling it. ‘At her mother’s house.’

She watched his face change to become serious. ‘Is she ill?’

‘Her mother? Yes. Mrs Burns went yesterday—no the day before that. Now will you please go away?’

For answer she felt two large hands clasp her waist and she was lifted gently aside as he went past her and into the sitting room, where he picked up the phone. She closed the door and went after him, watching while he dialled a number, staring at the wall in front of him. He was a good looking man, in his mid-thirties perhaps. She wondered who he was; if he was an intruder she couldn’t do much about it now, but he looked different suddenly, serious and worried, his voice was different too, no longer casual and so amused. He got the number and asked for Mrs Burns and then said: ‘Peggy? what’s wrong? I got back a couple of days early and came to see you. There’s a small gorgon here, defending your children with her life’s blood…’

He stood listening while Peggy talked. ‘I’m coming over right away. No I didn’t get your cable—I’d already left. I’ll be with you in a couple of hours, maybe a good deal less.’

He listened again and turned to look at Deborah. ‘Coping very well, I should have said; starched backbone and a mouth like a rat trap. I’d hate to be in her bad books.’ And then ‘Hang on love, I’ll be with you in no time at all.’

He put the phone down. ‘Any chance of a cup of coffee and a sandwich?’ He smiled suddenly and she almost forgave him for calling her a gorgon, then she remembered the rat trap. ‘Certainly Mr…’ She gave him a steely look and he smiled again. ‘Peggy’s brother, Gideon Beaufort. And you?’

‘Nanny,’ said Deborah coldly and went away to the kitchen, where she made a pot of coffee and cut sandwiches, by now in a very nasty temper, not improved by his appearance through the door and the manner in which he wolfed the sandwiches as fast as she could cut them. She banged a mug and the coffee pot down in front of him, put milk and sugar within reach and said frostily: ‘Excuse me, I’m going upstairs to the children.’

She crept into the night nursery and found them asleep, their small flushed faces looking angelic. She tucked in blankets, went to close one of the windows a little and let out a soundless squeak as a large hand came down on her shoulder. ‘Nice, aren’t they?’ whispered their uncle. ‘Little pests when they are awake of course.’

Deborah had got her breath back. ‘I might have screamed,’ she hissed almost soundlessly, ‘frightening me like that, you should know better…’ She glared up at him. ‘I thought you were in a hurry to see your mother?’

He was serious again. ‘I am, but I missed lunch and tea and jet lag was catching up on me. I’m going now. You’re all right on your own?’

‘Mary will be back later, thank you. Besides I have a definitely starched backbone and a mouth like a rat trap, haven’t I? That should put the most hardened criminal off.’

‘Did I say that? Next time we meet I’ll apologise handsomely.’

They were in the hall, he gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder and opened the door. He went without another word, not even goodbye. She heard a car start up outside but she didn’t go to a window to see it. She never wanted to see the wretch again. Rude, arrogant, bent on scaring the hair off her head. She went to the dining room and gave herself a glass of sherry and then went round the house, locking the doors and shutting the windows. If anyone else rang the bell she had no intention of answering it. She got her supper, sitting over it reading a novel from the well-stocked bookshelves, and then fed Deirdre and settled her for the night. The twins were out cold, humped untidily in their beds. She tucked them in and dropped a kiss on their rosy cheeks and then went downstairs again to wait for Mary; somehow she didn’t fancy going to bed until that lady was back.

Mary came home just after eleven o’clock. It had been a marvellous wedding, she told Deborah, the bride had looked beautiful and so had the bridesmaids; she didn’t mention the bridegroom—a necessary but unnoticed cog in the matrimonial wheel. And lovely food she continued, accepting the coffee which Deborah thoughtfully put before her. The drink must have been lovely too; Mary was going to have a nasty head in the morning. It hardly seemed the time to tell her about Mr Beaufort, but Mary, revived by the hot drink, wanted to know what sort of a day she had had, and Deborah, skimming lightly over the gorgon and rat trap bits, told her.

‘Such a nice gentleman,’ observed Mary, still a bit muzzy, ‘I’ve known him for a long time now, always so polite and so good with the children.’

She looked at Deborah and smiled and Deborah smiled back; she would hardly have described Mr Beaufort’s manners as polite although she was fair enough to hold back her judgment on his avuncular affability. She gave Mary another cup of coffee and then urged her to her bed. However much they might want to sleep late in the morning, there would be no chance; the twins would see to that, and Deirdre, although a placid baby, was unlikely to forego her morning feed.

The twins, bursting with energy, made sure that Deborah was up early. There was no sign of Mary as Deborah made herself a cup of tea and debated whether to take one to the housekeeper, but decided to wait for another hour and feed Deirdre while the twins got themselves dressed. She thanked heaven for Deirdre’s placid disposition as she washed unwilling faces and squeezed toothpaste out on to brushes; the baby was already asleep again which would give her time to give the twins their breakfast, and with any luck, allow her to bolt a slice of toast herself. By some miracle they were ready when Aunty Doris arrived; Deborah handed them over clean, well fed and with shining faces and nipped indoors again to take a cup of tea to Mary.

‘I have a headache,’ said Mary predictably.

‘I brought you a couple of aspirin, if you take them now and lie still for ten minutes or so, it’ll go. Do you fancy breakfast? I’m going to make some toast presently, after I’ve bathed Dee and put her into the pram. I’ll make you a slice.’

They sat down together presently in the kitchen with Dee in her pram, banging a saucepan lid with a spoon. Rather hard on Mary.

Mrs Burns rang during the morning. Her mother was better, she told Deborah, and it had been wonderful to see her brother, ‘So unexpected—I mean I’d sent him a cable—I couldn’t phone because I wasn’t quite sure where he was, but I didn’t think he’d get here for a few days. He’s been marvellous; seen the doctors and found another nurse so that I don’t have to stay up at night and he’s going to stay until Mother’s well enough to go to a Nursing Home, and by then Bill should be home, so I don’t have to worry. You’re all right, Nanny, no problems?’

I have problems, thought Deborah, one of them is having a rat trap for a mouth, but out loud she said, with her usual calm, ‘No, none, Mrs Burns. The children are splendid and Dee is such an easy baby.’ Then added for good measure, ‘And Mary is super.’

‘Oh, good. Gideon seemed to think that you were managing very well. I think I’ll be here for at least a week, perhaps a little longer than that. Will you manage until then? Get anything you need at the village stores, I’ve an account there. Oh, and will you ask Mary to send on some undies and another dress? The grey cotton jersey will do—I’ve almost nothing with me.’

Deborah hung up and handed the message on, reflecting that it must be nice to have people to do things for you; she suspected that Mrs Burns had always had that from the moment she was born and kindly fate had handed her a doting husband who carried on the good work. Probably the horrible brother was her slave too, although, upon reflection, she couldn’t imagine him being anyone’s slave.

She had no time to reflect for long, however, Mary’s headache had gone but she was still lethargic so that Deborah found it prudent to do as much around the house as she could. At least dinner was almost ready by the time the twins were brought back, both in furious tears and looking as though their clothes hadn’t been changed for a couple of weeks. ‘They had a little upset,’ explained Aunty Doris with false sweetness, ‘they’re such lively little people.’

There was nothing for it but to be patient and put them into the bath, wheedle them into clean clothes and lastly load the washing machine once more, before sitting them down to a delayed dinner which they stubbornly refused to eat.

But after a long walk in the afternoon they cheered up, ate a splendid tea and went to their beds, looking too good to be true.

By the end of the next two days they had accepted Deborah as a great friend, a firm friend who didn’t allow them to have their own way, but who nevertheless was good fun. The days had settled into a routine, a rather dull one for Deborah but busy with washing and ironing and feeding and keeping the twins happy and amused. It was at the end of the first week when the twins, bored with being indoors all the morning because of the rain, started playing up. Providentially, the rain stopped after their dinner and, although it was still damp underfoot, Deborah stuffed small feet into wellies, tucked Dee snugly into her pram and went into the garden. There was a good sized lawn behind the house. She put the pram in a patch of watery sunshine, made sure that the baby was asleep and fetched a ball. But half an hour of kicking that around wasn’t enough for the twins, they demanded something else for a change. Deborah caught them in either hand and began to prance up and down the grass singing ‘Here we come gathering nuts in May’ and had them singing too, dancing to and fro with her.

Deborah didn’t know what made her turn her head. Gideon Beaufort was leaning on the patio rail, watching them, and even at that distance she took instant exception to the smile on his face.

## CHAPTER TWO

DEBORAH STOPPED her singing and prancing so abruptly that the twins almost fell over. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Beaufort,’ she said in a cold way which was almost wholly swamped by the twins’ ecstatic shrieks, although half-way across the grass Simon turned to shout: ‘He’s not a mister, he’s a professor,’ before flinging himself at his uncle.

‘Very clearly put,’ observed the professor, disentangling himself slowly. ‘Now you can do the same for me and introduce Nanny.’

His nephew eyed him with impatience. ‘Well, she’s just Nanny…’

‘No name?’

He looked at Deborah and she said unwillingly: ‘Farley—Deborah Farley.’

‘Charming—a popular name with the Puritans, I believe.’ His voice was so bland that she decided to let that pass.

‘What’s a puritan?’ asked Suzy.

‘A sober person who thought it wrong to sing and dance and be happy.’

‘Nanny’s not one,’ declared his niece. ‘We’ve been singing and dancing,’ she explained earnestly.

The professor nodded. ‘Yes, and very nicely too.’ He smiled at Deborah who gave him a cool look; the gorgon’s rat trap still rankled.

‘Is Mummy coming?’ demanded Simon.

‘Not today old fellow—Granny’s better but not quite well yet. I thought I’d drop in and see how things are.’ He strolled over to the pram and peered inside. ‘Dee’s asleep— I’ve never seen such a child for dozing off.’ He glanced, at Deborah. ‘She must be very easy to look after.’

‘No trouble at all,’ agreed Deborah airily.

‘In that case perhaps I might stay for tea without straining your work load too much?’ He smiled again with such charm that she only just stopped in time from smiling back in return.

‘Certainly, Professor, the children will be delighted, won’t you, my dears? Mary did some baking this morning, so there’ll be a cake.’

Mary’s welcome was warm and seemed even warmer by reason of Deborah’s brisk efficiency. She wheeled the pram under the nursery window so that she might hear if Dee wakened; removed the twins to be tidied and washed for tea, sat them down at the table, one on each side of their uncle, and went to help carry in the tea tray, the plate of bread and butter and the cake Mary had so providentially baked.

The tea tray was taken from her as she entered the nursery by a disarmingly polite professor. What was more he remained so throughout the meal, talking nothings to her when not engaged in answering the twins’ ceaseless questions. Deborah felt a certain reluctance when it was time to feed Deirdre, but she got up from the table, excused herself politely, cautioned the twins to behave and made to leave the room. At the door she hesitated: ‘I get Dee ready for bed once she’s been fed,’ she explained, ‘so I’ll wish you goodbye, Professor, please tell Mrs Burns that everything is just as it should be.’

‘Oh, I’m staying the night. Did I not tell you? I’m so sorry.’ He sounded all concern, but all the same she knew that he was laughing silently. ‘Mary said that she would get a room ready for me.’ He added silkily: ‘You don’t mind?’

‘I, mind? Certainly not. It is none of my business, Professor Beaufort. I daresay you’ve also asked Mary to cook extra…’

‘No,’ he told her gently, ‘she suggested it. Should I have asked you?’

Deborah went pink; on the whole she was a good tempered girl but today her good nature was being tried severely; besides she had been rude.

‘I’m only in charge of the children,’ she told him, ‘Mary runs the house. Besides I’m only temporary.’

As she dealt with the small Dee’s needs, she could hear the twins giggling and shouting and the occasional rumble of their uncle’s voice. ‘They’ll be quite out of hand—I’ll never get them to bed,’ she observed to the placid infant on her knee. ‘He’ll get them all worked up…’

But surprisingly, when she went to fetch the twins for their baths and bed, they went with her like lambs. Not so much as a peep out of them and so unnaturally good that Deborah wondered if they were sickening for something. She put a small capable hand on their foreheads and found them reassuringly cool and finally demanded to know what was the matter with them.

They exchanged glances and looked at her with round blue eyes, ‘Uncle Gideon made us promise so we won’t tell. Are we being good?’

‘Yes—and I can’t think why.’ She gave them a close look. ‘You’re not up to mischief, are you?’

Meekly they assured her that they weren’t. She tucked them into their beds, kissed them goodnight, and went to her room, where she did her face carefully, scraped her sandy hair back into a severe style becoming to a well-trained nanny, and went downstairs.

Professor Beaufort was stretched out on one of the out-size sofas in the sitting room, his eyes closed. She stood and looked at him; he was very good looking she conceded, and like that, asleep, he was nice; it was when he stared at her with bright blue eyes and spoke to her in that bland voice that she disliked him. She gave a faint yelp when he spoke.

‘You don’t look in the least like a nanny should.’ He observed and got to his feet in one swift movement, to tower over her, beaming.

She fought against his charm; saying severely: ‘I assure you that I am fully qualified.’

‘Oh, I can see that, you handle the twins like a veteran. Tell me—what is your ambition? To get a post with some blue-blooded family and stay with them all your life and then retire to an estate cottage?’

She felt rage bubble inside her. ‘I might possibly marry,’ she pointed out sweetly and choked at his bland: ‘He will be a brave man… Shall we have a drink? Mary told me that dinner would be ready in ten minutes or so.’

She accepted a sherry and wished that she had asked for something dashing like whisky or even gin and tonic. Just so that he would see that she wasn’t the prim, dedicated nanny that he had decided she was. But she did the next best thing; she asked for a second drink and he poured it without comment, only his eyebrows lifted in an amused arc which she didn’t see. She tossed it off smartly so that she was able to face their tête à tête meal with equanimity and a chattiness quite unlike her usual quiet manner.

Professor Beaufort quite shamelessly led her on, his grave face offering no hint of his amusement. She told him about her three brothers, her home in Dorchester, cousin Rachel and only just stopped herself in time from regaling him with some of the foibles she had had to put up with from various parents whose children she had taken care of. Finally, vaguely aware that she was talking too much, she asked: ‘And is your work very interesting, Professor? I’m not quite sure what you do…’

He passed his plate for a second helping of Mary’s delicious apple pie. ‘I study the production and distribution of money and goods.’

‘Yes, but don’t you work?’

‘Er—yes. I have an office and I travel a good deal as well as lecturing regularly.’

‘Oh—do people want to know—about money and goods, I mean?’

‘It helps if they do. The management of public affairs, the disposition of affairs of state or government departments, the judicious use of public money—someone has to know about such things.’

‘And do you?’ she queried.

‘One might say that I have a basic knowledge…’

‘It sounds dull. I’d rather have the children,’ said Deborah, still rather lively from the sherry.

He said slowly: ‘I think that possibly you are right, Nanny. I hadn’t given the matter much thought, but now that you mention it, I shall look into it. Do you suppose that Mary would give us our coffee on the patio? It’s a delightful evening.’

Somehow being called ‘Nanny’ brought her down to earth with a bump. She poured their coffee almost in silence and when she had drunk hers excused herself with the plea that Dee would be waking for her feed very shortly. She wished him goodnight, every inch the children’s nurse, and went upstairs. It was too early to feed Dee; she pottered round her room for half an hour, aware that she would have liked to have stayed and talked, and aware too that she had said too much anyway.

She gave the baby her bottle presently, turned the twins up the right way and tucked them in once more, and got herself ready for bed. It was very warm and she had taken too hot a bath; she sat by the open window for quite some time, brushing her hair and thinking about her future. The professor had been joking, supposing her to be content with a lifelong job with the same family and an old age in some cottage, but it held more than a grain of truth. She didn’t relish the idea in the least. She got up and went to look at herself in the triple mirror. No one—no man—was likely to fall for her; sandy hair was bad enough, sandy eyelashes were the utter end; the lovely green eyes she ignored and studied the rest of her face; the small straight nose and much too wide mouth above a determined chin; there was nothing there to enchant a man. She overlooked the fact that she had a pretty figure and nice hands and legs, all she could think of was curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes fringed by dark curling lashes. Her own lashes curled, but being sandy they were almost invisible. ‘I could of course dye them,’ she told her image, but perhaps that would make the rest of her face look odd. She got into bed, fretting about the eyelashes and fell asleep almost at once.

She awoke to pitch darkness and a whimper, thin as a kitten’s protest; by the time she was sitting up in bed to listen, the whimper had become a furious roar. One of the twins was having a nightmare; she shot out of bed and went on bare feet through the day nursery and into the adjoining room where the pair of them slept. It was Suzanne, half awake and bellowing with fright. Deborah plucked her gently from her bed, gathered her into her arms and sat down in the little arm chair by the window, half strangled by the child’s arms. It took a few moments to wake her up completely and twice as long to get her to stop crying. Deborah had soothed the sobbing to a series of sniffs and gulps when Simon woke, sat up in bed and demanded to know why Suzy was crying. The two of them were very close; he got out of his bed and came to join them, perching on the arm of the chair, demanding to know in a loud voice what the matter was.

‘Well, that’s what we are going to find out,’ said Deborah reasonably, ‘I expect it was a nasty dream, wasn’t it? But you are wide awake now and dreams aren’t real you know. You shall tell me about it and then you’ll forget it and when you’ve had a nice drink of warm milk, you’ll go to sleep again and wake up in the morning quite happy again. Now tell Nanny what made you cry, darling?’

Simon slid off the chair and she turned her head to see why. The professor was leaning in the doorway, huge and magnificent in a dazzlingly-striped dressing-gown. The little boy hurled himself at him and was swung into his arms, to be carried to his bed and sat on his uncle’s knee.

Deborah, her hair hanging in a clean, shining curtain on her shoulders and down her back, bare feet digging into the thick rug, gave the professor a passing glance, and turned her attention to Suzy; she had forgotten that she hadn’t bothered to put on her dressing-gown and there was nothing in his face to remind her of that fact. She bent her head to hear the child’s tearful whispering, tossing back her sandy tresses with an impatient hand. The telling took some time with a good deal of sniffing and gulping but she listened patiently and finally when the child had come to a halt said hearteningly: ‘There now—it’s all right again, isn’t it? You’ve told us all about it and although it was a nasty dream, you’ve forgotten it because we all know about it, don’t we? Now I’m going to get you some milk and then I’ll sit here until you’ve gone to sleep again…’

‘Let me have her here,’ suggested the professor, who went on: ‘I should put your dressing-gown on before you go downstairs.’ His voice was quite impersonal but she gave a horrified squeak and pattered out of the room without another word. Bundled into her useful saxe-blue robe, buttoned from neck to ankle, she was glad of the few minutes it took in which to heat the milk. What must he have thought? She was no prude, after all she had three brothers, but children’s nurses to the best of her knowledge didn’t go prancing round in the dead of night in cotton nighties and nothing else when there were strangers around. And the professor was a stranger, and although she didn’t care a jot for his opinion of her, she squirmed at the idea of giving him something to snigger about…snigger wasn’t the right word, she conceded, give him his due, he wasn’t like that. All the same she dared say that he would have no hesitation in remarking on her dishabille if he felt like it.

She removed the milk from the Aga, poured it into two mugs, put them on a tray and bore it upstairs with a stiff dignity which caused the professor’s fine mouth to twitch, although he said nothing, merely took the mug she offered Simon while she sat Suzy on her lap and coaxed her to drink. The pair of them were sleepy now; the milk finished, she tucked them back into bed, refused the professor’s offer to sit with them until they were well and truly asleep and bade him a dismissive goodnight. Only he wouldn’t be dismissed. ‘I’m going to make us a hot drink,’ he informed her, ‘I’ll be in the kitchen when you are ready.’

He cast an eye over the two drowsy children. ‘Ten minutes at the outside, I should imagine.’

‘I don’t want…’ began Deborah and was stopped by the steely look he bent upon her. ‘You will have to be up soon after six o’clock for Dee—it is now a little after two in the morning; you will need to sleep as quickly as possible, a hot drink helps.’

He was right, of course, although it wouldn’t be the first time she had gone short of sleep, and he was right about the twins too, they were asleep within minutes of being tucked in. She waited for a good five minutes and then went downstairs to the kitchen, cosy and magnificently equipped, to find the professor pouring steaming milk into two mugs.

‘Cocoa,’ he said, barely glancing at her, and handed her one.

She sat down at the table and drank it as obediently as Suzy had done, and tried to think of something to say; but small talk didn’t come easily at the dead of night and anyway, her companion seemed unworried by the silence. She had almost finished when he observed: ‘It’s the twins’ birthday in two weeks’ time—I’m giving them a dog—a golden labrador puppy—he’ll keep them busy and sleep in their room, that should stop the nightmares.’

‘You approve of animals in bedrooms?’

He gave her a surprised look and then smiled thinly. ‘I suppose you have been trained to discourage it?’

‘Well yes, but personally I think there’s no harm in it. Our cat always sleeps on my bed when I’m at home.’ She drank the last of her cocoa. ‘We haven’t got a dog—at least he died last year…I don’t suppose you have much time for one?’

‘Very little, but I have three. Two labradors and a Jack Russell—there are cats too—my housekeeper has two and a constant supply of kittens.’ He put down his mug. ‘You had better go to bed Nanny.’

He had spoken so abruptly that she opened her green eyes wide, just for only a few moments she had forgotten that he didn’t much like her. She put her cup in the sink, said ‘Goodnight’ in a quiet little voice and went back upstairs. The twins were sound asleep, so was Dee; she got into bed and was asleep within two minutes.

She had fed Dee and was dressed and ready for her day before the twins woke, their disturbed night forgotten and bounding with energy, but she was used to them by now; they were sitting down to their breakfast no more than five minutes late, shovelling corn flakes into their small mouths by the time their uncle appeared, Mary hard on his heels with fresh coffee and toast. He bade the room a general good-morning, gave it as his intention to drive the twins to school and ate a huge breakfast with no more than a quick look at Deborah, sitting behind the coffee pot, clean and starched and severe. ‘In that case,’ she remarked, ‘I’d better phone Aunty Doris and ask her not to come.’

‘For God’s sake, do—that garrulous woman…’

‘Little pitchers have long ears,’ said Deborah sternly and then blushed because she had sounded like a prig.

‘What’s a pitcher?’ asked Suzy.

‘Doesn’t God like Aunty Doris?’ asked Simon.

‘You see what you’ve done?’ snapped Deborah and was answered by a great bellow of laughter.

The house seemed very quiet after they had gone, the three of them. Deborah bathed and dressed Dee and put her out in the garden in the pram before racing round making beds and tidying up.

‘It’ll be a nice roast chicken for lunch,’ said Mary. ‘Mister Gideon says he must go this afternoon—he’s partial to my trifle too.’

Deborah tried to think of something suitable to say to this; it was evident that Mary doted on the man and there was no point in offending the dear soul by saying what she thought about the professor; after all, she was unlikely to meet him again. She would forget him, just as she had forgotten a number of people she had met and disliked during the last few years.

Mary was looking at her, waiting for her to make some comment. She said brightly: ‘I’m sure he’ll love that—men like sweet things, don’t they?’

The housekeeper gave a rich chuckle. ‘That they do—never grow up, they don’t, not in some ways. Now Mr Burns, he likes a nice chocolate pudding.’

She watched Deborah collect an armful of small garments ready for the washing machine, and added comfortably: ‘Well, I’ll be off to my kitchen. I must say you’re a real help around the house, Nanny, not like some of those toffee-nosed au pairs Mrs Burns has tried out. Not a success they weren’t.’

Deborah looked up briefly. ‘I’m only here for a short time, Mary. I expect Mrs Burns will have other plans.’

‘Ah, well as long as they speak English,’ she sighed.

The professor appeared suddenly and almost silently, just as Deborah was settling Dee back in her pram after her morning feed. ‘Any coffee?’ he wanted to know.

‘Mary will have it ready, I expect.’ Deborah kicked the brake off, and began to wheel the pram across the lawn towards the drive. She usually had her coffee with Mary, this morning she would go for a walk first and leave the housekeeper to enjoy their visitor’s company.

But it seemed that the professor had other ideas. He laid a large hand on the pram’s handle so that she was forced to stop. He said smoothly: ‘You don’t have to run away you know, I don’t bite; we’ve had no chance to get to know each other.’

‘What would be the point?’ she wanted to know matter-of-factly. ‘We’re most unlikely to meet again; I go all over the place.’

He had steered the pram towards the patio, anchored it there and put his head through the open french window to shout to Mary. When he emerged he observed in a friendly way: ‘You must see quite a lot of life,’ and spoilt it by adding: ‘From the wings as it were.’

She said in a decidedly acid voice: ‘I daresay that’s more fun than being buried alive in economics.’

‘Ah, but when I’ve reduced high powered chaos to orderly statistics, I er—I enjoy myself.’

Mary came with the coffee and the three of them sat drinking it in the bright sunshine while the talk eddied to and fro between Mary and the professor, with Deborah not saying much. She was in truth, very occupied in wondering just how he enjoyed himself. In a room full of computers, perhaps? catching up on a little light reading in the Financial Times? entertaining some pretty girl to dinner, spending the evening—the night, with her? more than likely.

‘A penny for them,’ said the professor suddenly so that she went a bright and becoming pink. She mumbled something and Mary said comfortably: ‘Thinking about where she’ll go next, I’ll be bound. Isn’t that right, Nanny? For all you know it’ll be one of those Arab countries with gold bath taps and a horde of servants—much in demand our nannies are in that part of the world. Would you love to go there, dear?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ It was a great relief that she hadn’t had to answer Professor Beaufort’s question.

‘But you do travel?’

‘Well, yes, but I’ve only been to the south of France and Brussels and Scotland. I’m quite happy to stay in England.’

‘But you don’t object to going abroad?’ The professor’s voice was very casual.

‘Not in the least. Children are the same anywhere.’ She put down her coffee cup and got to her feet. ‘I’ll take Dee for her walk.’ She glanced at her watch, but before she could speak: ‘I’ll fetch the twins, Nanny. Mary, may we have lunch just a little early so that I can get away in good time?’

As she wheeled the pram away Deborah took time to tell herself how pleasant it would be when he’d gone—quite quiet and a bit dull perhaps, but pleasant; he was a disturbing person to have around the house. ‘He may be your uncle,’ she told the sleeping Dee, ‘but I don’t like him. Him and his economics, indeed.’ She tossed her sandy head and marched smartly through the village and up the hill on the other side where presently she sat down with her back against a tree until it was time to go back and give Dee her orange juice.

Lunch was a boisterous affair which petered out into tears and tantrums from the twins because their uncle was going away again.

He swung them in the air in turn and hugged them briefly. ‘If you are very good and don’t howl in that frightful fashion and do exactly what Nanny tells you and eat your dinners without fuss, I’ll give you each a real bicycle. It had better be before Christmas otherwise I might get in Father Christmas’s way. Let’s see, shall we say the first of December?’

He left them with a brief nod to Deborah and a much warmer leave taking from Mary. If she hadn’t been kept so busy all the afternoon counting days on the calendar for the twins’ benefit, she might have had the time to feel annoyed about that. Although in all fairness she herself had pointed out that they were most unlikely to see each other again, and as far as she could see they had absolutely nothing in common.

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.