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A Valentine for Daisy
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.Surely her heart realised he was totally unsuitable?Arrogant, overbearing and dictatorial! What was there to like about brilliant paediatrician Dr Valentine Seymour? Not much, Daisy Pelham had to admit.Yet, his small patients seemed to adore him… Daisy was mystified. She could only think that perhaps there was another side to him, one that he didn’t want her to see…


Surely her heart realized he was totally unsuitable?
Arrogant, overbearing and dictatorial! What was there to like about brilliant pediatrician Dr. Valentine Seymour? Not much, Daisy Pelham had to admit. Yet, his small patients seemed to adore him.… Daisy was mystified. She could only think that perhaps there was another side to him, one that he didn’t want her to see.…
“Have you seen any more of young Philip?”
He gave her a friendly smile and she quite forgot that she had no wish to be friendly, too. “Oh, yes, he came to see me the other evening. He met Sister Carter, though.… It was really very strange— I mean, they just looked at each other as though they had known each other all their lives. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but now I do.”
She glanced at him and saw the little smile and felt her cheeks grow hot. “Good night, Dr. Seymour,” she said coldly, and opened the door wide.
His “Good night, Daisy” was uttered with great civility and he said nothing else. She stood at the door, keeping still and not looking as he got into his car…. She had made a fool of herself talking to him like that. He would be sitting in his car, smiling that nasty little smile…. Her face was scarlet at the thought.
The doctor was indeed smiling, a slow, tender smile that made him look years younger.

About the Author
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, and her spirit and genuine talent live on in all her stories.
A Valentine for Daisy


Betty Neels




Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#ua4f61cc8-5a00-5896-9e23-1421b77720b8)
CHAPTER TWO (#u987469fa-c5ea-58c3-a149-bca4ea4a7153)
CHAPTER THREE (#u479769df-3317-5fe6-8d86-9012af33e548)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
THE hazy sunshine of a late July afternoon highlighted the steady stream of small children issuing from one of the solid Victorian houses in the quiet road. It was an orderly exit; Mrs Gower-Jones, who owned the nursery school and prided herself upon its genteel reputation, frowned upon noisy children. As their mothers and nannies, driving smart little Fiats, larger Mercedes and Rovers, arrived, the children gathered in the hall, and were released under the eye of whoever was seeing them off the premises.
Today this was a small, rather plump girl whose pale brown hair was pinned back into a plaited knot, a style which did nothing for her looks: too wide a mouth, a small pert nose and a determined chin, the whole redeemed from plainness by a pair of grey eyes fringed with curling mousy lashes. As Mrs Gower-Jones so often complained to the senior of her assistants, the girl had no style although there was no gainsaying the fact that the children liked her; moreover even the most tiresome child could be coaxed by her to obedience.
The last child seen safely into maternal care, the girl closed the door and crossed the wide hall to the first of the rooms on either side of it. There were two girls there, clearing away the results of the children’s activities. They were too young for lessons but they spent their day modelling clay, painting, playing simple games and being read to, and the mess at the end of the afternoon was considerable.
They both looked up as the girl joined them. ‘Thank heaven for Saturday tomorrow!’ exclaimed the older of the girls. ‘Pay day too. Ron’s driving me to Dover this evening; we’re going over to Boulogne to do some shopping.’ She swept an armful of coloured bricks into a plastic bucket. ‘What about you, Mandy?’
The other girl was wiping a small table clean. ‘I’m going down to Bournemouth—six of us—it’ll be a bit of a squeeze in the car but who cares? There’s dancing at the Winter Gardens.’
They both looked at the girl who had just joined them. ‘What about you, Daisy?’
They asked her every Friday, she thought, not really wanting to know, but not wanting to be unfriendly. She said now, as she almost always did, ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ and smiled at them, aware that though they liked her they thought her rather dull and pitied her for the lack of excitement in her life. Well, it wasn’t exciting but, as she told herself shortly from time to time, she was perfectly content with it.
It took an hour or more to restore the several play-rooms to the state of perfection required by Mrs Gower-Jones; only then, after she had inspected them, did she hand over their pay packets, reminding them, quite unnecessarily, to be at their posts by half-past eight on Monday morning.
Mandy and the older girl, Joyce, hurried away to catch the minibus which would take them to Old Sarum where they both lived, and Daisy went round the back of the house to the shed where she parked her bike. It was three miles to Wilton from Salisbury and main road all the way; she didn’t much like the journey, though, for the traffic was always heavy, especially at this time of the year with the tourist season not yet over even though the schools had returned. She cycled down the quiet road and presently circled the roundabout and joined the stream of homegoing traffic, thinking of the weekend ahead of her. She went over the various duties awaiting her without self-pity; she had shouldered them cheerfully several years earlier when her father had died and her mother, cosseted all her married life, had been completely lost, unable to cope with the bills, income tax and household expenses with which he had always dealt. Daisy had watched her mother become more and more depressed and muddled and finally she had taken over, dealing tidily with the household finances and shielding her mother from business worries.
In this she had been considerably helped by her young sister. Pamela was still at school, fifteen years old, clever and bent on making a name for herself but understanding that her mother had led a sheltered life which made it impossible for her to stand on her own two feet. She knew that it was hard luck on Daisy, although they never discussed it, but she had the good sense to see that there was nothing much to be done about it. Daisy was a darling but she had never had a boyfriend and it had to be faced—she had no looks to speak of. Pamela, determined to get as many A levels as possible, go to college and take up the scientific career she had decided upon, none the less intended to marry someone rich who would solve all their problems. She had no doubts about this since she was a very pretty girl and knew exactly what she wanted from life.
Daisy wove her careful way through the fast-flowing traffic, past the emerging tourists from Wilton House, and turned left at the centre of the crossroads in the middle of the little town. Her father had worked in the offices of the Wilton estate and she had been born and lived all her life in the small cottage, the end one of a row backing the high walls surrounding the park, on the edge of the town. She wheeled her bike through the gate beside the house, parked it in the shed in the back garden and went indoors.
Her mother was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, stringing beans. She was small like Daisy, her hair still only faintly streaked with grey, her pretty face marred by a worried frown.
‘Darling, it’s lamb chops for supper but I forgot to buy them…’
Daisy dropped a kiss on her parent’s cheek. ‘I’ll go for them now, Mother, while you make the tea. Pam will lay the table when she gets in.’
She went back to the shed and got out her bike and cycled back to the crossroads again. The butcher was halfway down the row of shops on the other side but as she reached the traffic-lights they turned red and she put a foot down, impatient to get across. The traffic was heavy now and the light was tantalisingly slow. A car drew up beside her and she turned to look at it. A dark grey Rolls-Royce. She eyed it appreciatively, starting at the back and allowing her eyes to roam to its bonnet until she became aware of the driver watching her.
She stared back, feeling for some reason foolish, frowning a little at the thin smile on his handsome face. He appeared to be a big man, his hair as dark as his heavy-lidded eyes…it was a pity that the lights changed then and the big car had slid silently away before she was back in the saddle, leaving her with the feeling that something important to her had just happened. ‘Ridiculous,’ she said so loudly that a passer-by on the pavement looked at her oddly.
Pamela was home when she got back and together they set about preparing their supper before sitting down in the pleasant little sitting-room to drink the tea Mrs Pelham had made.
‘Been a nice day; have you enjoyed it?’ asked Pamela, gobbling biscuits.
‘It’s not been too bad. The new children seem all right. I’ve got four this term—that makes fifteen. Two of the new ones are twins, a girl and a boy, and I suspect that they’re going to be difficult…’
‘I thought Mrs Gower-Jones only took children from suitable families.’ Mrs Pelham smiled across at her daughter.
‘Oh, they’re suitable—their father’s a baronet or something,’ said Daisy vaguely. ‘They’re almost four years old and I think they’ll drive me mad by the end of the term.’
Pamela laughed. ‘And it’s only just begun…’
They talked about something else then and after supper Daisy sat down at the table, doling out the housekeeping money, school bus fares, pocket money, and then she put what was over—and there wasn’t much—into the old biscuit tin on the kitchen mantelpiece. They managed—just—on her wages and her mother’s pension; just for a while after her father’s death they had got into difficulties and her mother had appealed to her for help, and ever since then Daisy sat down every Friday evening, making a point of asking her mother’s advice about the spending of their income. Mrs Pelham always told her to do whatever was best, but all the same Daisy always asked. She loved her mother dearly, realising that she had had a sheltered girlhood and marriage and needed to be taken care of—something which she and Pamela did to the best of their ability, although Daisy was aware that within a few years Pamela would leave home for a university and almost certainly she would marry. About her own future Daisy didn’t allow herself to bother overmuch. She had friends, of course, but none of the young men she knew had evinced the slightest desire to fall in love with her and, studying her ordinary face in her dressing-table mirror, she wasn’t surprised. It was a pity she had no chance to train for something; her job was pleasant enough, not well paid but near her home and there were holidays when she could catch up on household chores and see to the garden.
She was a sensible girl, not given to discontent, although she dreamed of meeting a man who would fall in love with her, marry her and take over the small burdens of her life. He would need to have money, of course, and a pleasant house with a large garden where the children would be able to play. It was a dream she didn’t allow herself to dwell upon too often.
The weekend went far too quickly as it always did. She took her mother shopping and stopped for coffee in the little town while Pam stayed at home studying, and after lunch Daisy went into the quite big garden and grubbed up weeds, hindered by Razor the family cat, a dignified middle-aged beast who was as devoted to them all as they were to him. On Sunday they went to church and, since it was a sultry day, spent the rest of the day in the garden.
Daisy left home first on Monday morning; Mrs Gower-Jones liked her assistants to be ready and waiting when the first of the children arrived at half-past eight, which meant that Daisy had to leave home an hour earlier than that. The sultriness had given way to thundery rain and the roads were wet and slippery. She was rounding the corner by Wilton House when she skidded and a car braked to a sudden halt inches from her back wheel.
She put a foot to the ground to balance herself and looked over her shoulder. It was the Rolls-Royce, and the same man was driving it; in other circumstances she would have been delighted to see him again, for she had thought of him several times during the weekend, but now her feelings towards him were anything but friendly.
‘You are driving much too fast,’ she told him severely. ‘You might have killed me.’
‘Thirty miles an hour,’ he told her unsmilingly, ‘and you appear alive to me.’ His rather cool gaze flickered over her plastic mac with its unbecoming hood framing her ordinary features. She chose to ignore it.
‘Well, drive more carefully in future,’ she advised him in the voice she used to quell the more recalcitrant of the children at Mrs Gower-Jones’s.
She didn’t wait for his answer but got on her bike and set off once more, and when the big car slid gently past her she didn’t look at its driver, although she was sorely tempted to do so.
She was the first to arrive and Mrs Gower-Jones was already there, poking her rather sharp nose into the various rooms. As soon as she saw Daisy she started to speak. The play-rooms were a disgrace, she had found several broken crayons on the floor and there were splodges of Play-Doh under one of the tables. ‘And here it is, half-past eight, and all of you late again.’
‘I’m here,’ Daisy reminded her in a matter-of-fact voice, and, since her employer sounded rather more bad-tempered than usual, she added mendaciously, ‘and I passed Mandy and Joyce as I came along the road.’
‘It is a fortunate thing for you girls that I’m a tolerant employer,’ observed Mrs Gower-Jones peevishly. ‘I see that you’ll have to make the place fit to be seen before the children get here.’
She swept away to the nicely appointed room where she interviewed parents and spent a good deal of the day ‘doing the paperwork’, as she called it, but Daisy, going in hurriedly one day over some minor emergency, had been in time to see the Tatler lying open on the desk, and she was of the opinion that the paperwork didn’t amount to much.
The children started to arrive, a thin trickle at first with time to bid a leisurely goodbye to mothers or nannies and later, almost late, barely stopping to bid farewell to their guardians, running into the cloakroom, tossing their small garments and satchels all over the place and bickering with each other. Mondays were never good days, thought Daisy, coaxing a furious small boy to hand over an even smaller girl’s satchel.
The morning began badly and the day got worse. The cook, a local girl who saw to the dinners for the children, didn’t turn up. Instead her mother telephoned to say that she had appendicitis and was to go into hospital at once.
Daisy, patiently superintending the messy pleasures of Play-Doh, was surprised when Mrs Gower-Jones came unexpectedly through the door and demanded her attention.
‘Can you cook, Miss Pelham?’ she wanted to know urgently.
‘Well, yes—nothing fancy, though, Mrs Gower-Jones.’ Daisy removed a lump of dough from a small girl’s hair and returned it to the bowl.
‘Mandy and Joyce say they can’t,’ observed Mrs Gower-Jones, crossly, ‘so it will have to be you. The cook’s had to go to hospital—I must say it’s most inconsiderate of her. The children must have their dinners.’
‘You want me to cook it?’ asked Daisy calmly. ‘But who is to look after the children? I can’t be in two places at once.’
‘I’ll stay with them. For heaven’s sake go along to the kitchen and get started; the daily girl’s there, and she can do the potatoes and so on…’
Daisy reflected that if she were her employer she would very much prefer to cook the dinner than oversee a bunch of rather naughty children, but she didn’t voice her thought, merely handed Mrs Gower-Jones her apron, advised her that the children would need to be cleaned up before their dinners and took herself off to the kitchen.
Marlene, the daily help, was standing by the kitchen table, doing nothing. Daisy wished her good morning, suggested that she might put the kettle on and make a cup of tea and said that she had come to cook the dinner. Marlene, roused from daydreaming, did as she was asked, volunteered to peel the potatoes and the carrots and then observed that the minced meat had just been delivered.
‘Beefburgers,’ said Daisy; mince, offered as such, never went down well—perhaps the beefburgers would. Marlene, brought to life by a mug of tea, saw to the potatoes and carrots and began to collect cutlery ready to lay the tables. Daisy, her small nose in and out of store cupboards, added this and that to the mince, thumped it into shape, rolled it out and cut it into circles with one of Mrs Gower-Jones’s best wine glasses, since there was nothing else handy. She would have liked to do chips but there wasn’t time, so she puréed the potatoes with a generous dollop of butter and glazed the carrots. By half-past twelve she was ready to dish up.
Mrs Gower-Jones took over then, drawing hissing breaths at the nicely browned beefburgers and the mounds of buttery potatoes. ‘And really,’ she protested crossly, ‘there is no need to put parsley on the carrots, Miss Pelham.’
Which was all the thanks Daisy got.
There was a temporary cook the next day, an older woman who spoke little English, and who, in Daisy’s opinion, didn’t look quite clean. She served up fish fingers and chips with tinned peas. Daisy thought that she wasn’t a cook at all but probably all Mrs Gower-Jones could get at a moment’s notice.
When she went into the kitchen the next morning to fetch the children’s mid-morning milk the sight of the woman preparing dinner in a muddle of dirty saucepans, potato peelings and unwashed dishes made her glad that Mrs Gower-Jones’s meanness stipulated that her assistants should bring their own lunches. Unwilling to disparage a fellow worker, all the same she went in search of her employer.
‘The new cook seems to be in a bit of a muddle,’ she ventured. ‘The kitchen…’
‘Attend to your own work,’ commanded Mrs Gower-Jones. ‘She is perfectly capable of attending to hers.’
The children ate their dinner—what Mrs Gower-Jones described as a wholesome stew made from the best ingredients, followed by ice-cream—and Daisy, Mandy and Joyce took it in turns to eat their own sandwiches before arranging the children on their little camp beds for their afternoon nap, a peaceful hour during which they prepared for the hour or so still left before the children were collected. Only it wasn’t peaceful; before the hour was up every child—and there were forty of them—was screaming his or her head off, clasping their small stomachs in pain and being sick into the bargain.
Daisy, rousing Mrs Gower-Jones from the little nap she took after lunch while the children were quiet, didn’t mince her words. ‘All the children are vomiting and worse—something they’ve eaten. They’ll have to go to hospital. I’ll phone…’
She sped away to dial 999 and then to join the hard-pressed Mandy and Joyce. The place was a shambles by now and some of the children looked very ill. They wiped hands and faces and comforted their wailing charges and had no time for Mrs Gower-Jones, who had taken a look and fled with her hands over her mouth, but she appeared again when the first of the ambulances arrived, asserting her authority in a shrinking fashion.
‘I shall have to notify the parents,’ she uttered to no one in particular. ‘Miss Pelham, go to the hospital and let me know immediately how the children are. Mandy, Joyce, you can stay here and clear up.’
It took some time to get all the children away; Daisy, squashed in with the last of them, looked down at herself. She smelt nasty for a start and the state of her overall bore witness to that fact; she felt hot and dirty and very worried. Food poisoning—she had no doubt that was what it was—was no light matter with small children; she remembered the new cook and shuddered.
Casualty was full of screaming children although some of them were too quiet. Daisy, making herself known without fuss, was led away to wash herself and remove the overall and then she was given a plastic apron to take its place. Feeling cleaner, she was handed over to a brisk young woman with an armful of admission slips and asked to name the children. It took quite a while for she stopped to comfort those who weren’t feeling too bad and bawled to her to be taken home. The brisk young woman got a little impatient but Daisy, her kind heart torn by the miserable little white faces, wasn’t to be hurried. The last two children were the twins, no longer difficult but greenish-white and lackadaisical, staring up at her in a manner so unlike their boisterous selves that she had a pang of fear. Disregarding her brisk companion’s demand for their names, she bent over the trolley where they lay one at each end.
‘You’ll be all right very soon,’ she assured them, and took limp little hands in hers. ‘The doctor will come and make you well again…’
Two large hands calmly clasped her waist and lifted her to one side. ‘He’s here now,’ said a voice in her ear and she looked up into the face of the owner of the Rolls-Royce.
Katie and Josh spoke as one. ‘Uncle Valentine, my tummy hurts,’ and Katie went even greener and gave an ominous heave. Daisy, a practical girl, held out her plastic apron and the man beside her said,
‘Ah, sensible as well as sharp-tongued.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Staff Nurse, these two are dehydrated; get a drip up, will you? Dr Sims will see to it. Where’s the child you told me couldn’t stop vomiting? I’ll see him next.’ He patted the twins on their sweaty little heads, advised Daisy in a kindly voice to dispose of her apron as quickly as possible and, accompanied by one of the casualty sisters, went away, to disappear into the ordered chaos.
The brisk young woman showed her where to dump the apron, took a look at her overall and found her another plastic pinny. ‘If I could have their names,’ she said urgently. ‘They called Dr Seymour Uncle Valentine…’
‘Thorley, Katie and Josh, twins, almost four years old,’ Daisy told her. ‘They live along the Wylye valley—Steeple Langford, I believe. If I could see one of the sisters just for a minute perhaps she could let me know if any of the children are causing worry. Mrs Gower-Jones told me to phone her as soon as possible so that she can warn the parents.’
Her companion gave a snort. ‘I should have thought it was Mrs whoever-it-is who should have come here with the children. Still, I’ll see if I can find someone for you.’
A nurse and a young doctor had arrived as they talked and they began to set up the saline drips, no easy task for the twins took exception to this, screaming with rage and kicking and rolling round the trolley.
‘Well, hold them still, will you?’ begged the doctor impatiently. ‘What a pair of little horrors…’
‘Well, they don’t feel well,’ said Daisy with some spirit, ‘and they’re very small.’ She leaned over the trolley, holding the wriggling children to her, talking to them in her quiet voice.
Dr Seymour, coming back to take another look, paused for a moment to admire the length of leg—Daisy had such nice legs, although no one had ever told her so. He said breezily, ‘They need a ball and chain, although I have no doubt they prefer to have this young lady.’ As Daisy resumed a more dignified position, he added, ‘Thanks for your help—my nephew and niece are handfuls, are they not?’ He ignored the young doctor’s stare. ‘You work at the nursery school? You may telephone the headmistress or whatever she is called and assure her that none of the children is in danger. I shall keep in some of the children for the night—Sister will give you their names. Run along now…’
Daisy, mild by nature, went pink. He had spoken to her as though she were one of the children and she gave him a cross look. If she had known how to toss her head she would have tossed it; as it was she said with a dignity which sat ill on her dishevelled appearance, ‘I’m not at all surprised to know that the twins are your nephew and niece, Doctor.’
She gave him a small nod, smiled at the children and walked away; fortunately she didn’t see his wide grin.
She was kept busy for quite some time; first getting a list of the children who would be staying for the night and then phoning Mrs Gower-Jones. That lady was in a cold rage; the nursery school would have to be closed down for the time being at least—her reputation would suffer—‘and you will be out of a job,’ she told Daisy nastily.
Daisy realised that her employer was battling with strong emotions. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said soothingly, ‘but if you would just tell me what you want me to do next. Shall I stay until the children are collected?’
‘Well of course,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones ungratefully, ‘I’ve enough to do here and Mandy and Joyce are still clearing up. I have never seen such a frightful mess; really, I should have thought you girls could have controlled the children.’
A remark which Daisy thought best not to answer.
She phoned her mother then went back to organise the children who would be fetched as soon as their parents had been told. Anxious mothers and nannies began arriving and in the ensuing chaos of handing over the children fit to go home Daisy lost count of time. They all, naturally enough, wanted to see Mrs Gower-Jones, and since she wasn’t there several of them gave vent to their strong feelings, bombarding Daisy with questions and complaints. No matter that they had already had reassuring talks with Sister; they could hardly blame her for their children’s discomfiture, but Daisy, unassuming and polite, was a splendid target for their indignation. She was battling patiently with the last of the mothers, a belligerent lady who appeared to think that Daisy was responsible for the entire unfortunate affair, when Dr Seymour loomed up beside her.
He had been there all the time, going to and fro with his houseman and registrar, making sure that the children were recovering, but Daisy had been too occupied to see him. Now he took the matter smoothly into his own hands.
‘A most unfortunate thing to happen; luckily, none of the children is seriously affected.’ He glanced down at the wan-faced small boy clutching his mother’s hand. ‘This little chap will be fine in a couple of days—Sister has told you what to do, I expect? This young lady is an assistant at the nursery school and is not to be blamed in any way. The matter will be investigated by the proper authorities but it is evident that the cause was either in the cooking or in the food. I suggest that you take the matter up with the principal of the school.’
Daisy, listening to this, reflected that he had a pleasant voice, deep and unhurried and just now with a hint of steel in it. Which might have accounted for the ungracious apology she received before the small boy was borne away.
‘The last one?’ asked the doctor.
‘Yes. Only I’m not sure if I’m supposed to stay—there are the children who are to remain here for the night; their mothers are here but they might want to ask questions—the children’s clothes and so on.’
‘What’s the telephone number of this nursery school?’
She told him, too tired to bother about why he wanted to know. She would have liked to go home but first she would have to go back and get her bike and very likely Mrs Gower-Jones would want a detailed account of what had transpired at the hospital. She yawned, and choked on it as Dr Seymour said from behind her, ‘Mrs Gower-Jones is coming here—she should have been here in the first place. You will go home.’ It was a statement, not a suggestion and he turned on his heel and then paused. ‘How?’
‘I have my bike at the school.’ She hesitated. ‘And my purse and things.’
‘They’ll be there in the morning; you can fetch them. The place will be closed as a nursery school at least for the time being. Did you come like that?’
She frowned. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll drive you to your home. Come along.’
Daisy, a mild girl, said, ‘No, thank you,’ with something of a snap. But that was a waste of time.
‘Don’t be silly,’ advised Dr Seymour, and he caught her by the arm and marched her briskly out of the hospital and stuffed her into the Rolls while she was still thinking of the dignified reply she wished to make. No girl liked to be told she was silly.
‘Where to?’
‘Wilton.’
‘Where in Wilton?’
‘If you put me down by the market square…’
He sighed. ‘Where in Wilton?’
‘Box Cottage—on the way to Burcombe. But I can easily walk…’
He didn’t bother to answer as he drove through the city streets and along the main road to Wilton. Once there, within minutes, he turned left at the crossroads by the market. ‘Left or right?’ he asked.
‘On the left—the last cottage in this row.’
He slowed the car and stopped, and to her surprise got out to open her door. He opened the little garden gate too, which gave her mother time to get to the door.
‘Darling, whatever has happened? You said the children were ill—’ Mrs Pelham took in Daisy’s appearance. ‘Are you ill too? You look as though you’ve been sick…’
‘Not me, the children, Mother, and I’m quite all right.’ Since the doctor was towering over her she remembered her manners and introduced him.
‘Dr Seymour very kindly gave me a lift.’
‘How very kind of you.’ Her mother smiled charmingly at him. ‘Do come in and have a cup of coffee.’
He saw the look on Daisy’s face and his thin mouth twitched. ‘I must get back to the hospital, I’m afraid; perhaps another time?’
‘Any time,’ said Mrs Pelham largely, ignoring Daisy’s frown. ‘Do you live in Wilton? I don’t remember seeing your car…?’
‘In Salisbury, but I have a sister living along the Wylye valley.’
‘Well, we don’t want to keep you. Thank you for bringing Daisy home.’ Mrs Pelham offered a hand but Daisy didn’t. She had seen his lifted eyebrows at her name; Daisy was a silly name and it probably amused him. She wished him goodbye in a cool voice, echoing her mother’s thanks. She didn’t like him; he was overbearing and had ridden roughshod over her objections to being given a lift. That she would still have been biking tiredly from Salisbury without his offer was something she chose to ignore.
‘What a nice man,’ observed her mother as they watched the car sliding away, back to the crossroads. ‘How very kind of him to bring you home. You must tell us all about it, darling—’ she wrinkled her nose ‘—but perhaps you’d like a bath first.’
When Daisy reached the nursery school in the morning she found Mrs Gower-Jones in a black mood. The cook had disappeared and the police were trying to trace her, she had had people inspecting her kitchen and asking questions and the school was to be closed until it had been thoroughly cleaned and inspected. A matter of some weeks, even months. ‘So you can take a week’s notice,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones. ‘I’ve seen the other girls too. Don’t expect to come back here either; if and when I open again parents won’t want to see any of you—they’ll always suspect you.’
‘I should have thought,’ observed Daisy in a reasonable voice, ‘that they would be more likely to suspect you, Mrs Gower-Jones. After all, you engaged the cook.’
Mrs Gower-Jones had always considered Daisy to be a quiet, easily put-upon girl; now she looked at her in amazement while her face slowly reddened. ‘Well, really, Miss Pelham—how dare you say such a thing?’
‘Well, it’s true.’ Dasiy added without rancour, ‘Anyway I wouldn’t want to come back here to work; I’d feel as suspicious as the parents.’
‘Leave at once,’ said her employer, ‘and don’t expect a reference. I’ll post on your cheque.’
‘I’ll wait while 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, wearing the kind of thin jersey dress that Daisy coveted.
‘Good morning. May we call you Daisy? Come on inside and have a look round. We’ve just finished breakfast but there’s coffee if you’d like it.’
Daisy declined the coffee, propped her bike against the porch and, with a twin on either side of her, went into the house.
It was as nice inside as it was out; comfortably furnished with some good pieces, a great many comfortable chairs, flowers everywhere and a slight untidiness which one would expect in a house where there were children and dogs. The nursery was on the first floor overlooking the back lawn, a large room with a low shelf around its walls to accommodate the various toys the twins possessed. There was a low table too and small chairs and also a comfortable chair or two for grown-ups.
‘They prefer to be out of doors,’ said their mother. ‘They’re very energetic, I’m afraid. I’ll show you the garden and then leave you, shall I?’ She led the way downstairs again. ‘The children have their milk about half-past ten and Jenny will bring your coffee at the same time. They have their lunch just after twelve, with me—and you, of course—and they have their tea at five o’clock before bed at six o’clock.’ Lady Thorley hesitated. ‘I’m sometimes out to lunch…’ She looked doubtfully at Daisy.
‘I’m sure Josh and Katie will keep me company when you are,’ said Daisy matter-of-factly and watched their mother’s face light up with relief.
‘The children had a nanny until quite recently,’ confided Lady Thorley. ‘She—she was very strict.’
‘I don’t know if I’m strict or not,’ said Daisy cheerfully. She beamed down at the children. ‘We’ll have to find out, won’t we?’
She spent the rest of the morning in the garden with the twins and Boots, pausing only long enough to drink her coffee while they reluctantly drank their milk. At lunch they were difficult, picking at their food, casting sly glances at their mother as they spilt their drinks, kicked the rungs of their chairs and upset the salt cellar. Lady Thorley said helplessly, ‘Darlings, do behave yourselves.’ She spoke in a loving voice which held no authority at all and they took no notice of her.
‘I wonder,’ observed Daisy pleasantly, ‘if it would be a good idea, Lady Thorley, if Josh and Katie were to have their lunch in the nursery for a few days—by themselves, of course…? I’ll sit in the room with them, naturally.’
Lady Thorley caught Daisy’s look. ‘What a good idea,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? We’ll start tomorrow.’
The twins exchanged glances. ‘Don’t want to,’ said Josh, and was echoed by Katie. They had stuck their small lower lips out, ready to be mutinous.
‘Well,’ said Daisy, ‘if you really don’t want to, will you eat your lunch like grown-up people with your mother and me?’
‘You’re strict…’
‘Not a bit of it. While you’re having your rest I’ll read whatever story you want.’
It had seemed a long day, thought Daisy as she cycled back home, but she had enjoyed it. The twins were nice children, spoilt by their mother and probably too strictly brought up by the nanny. She began to plan a daily regime which might, at least in part, correct some of that. They were very bright for their age; she would have to win their confidence as well as their liking.
By the end of the week she felt reasonably sure that she had done that; the twins were about the naughtiest children she had had to deal with while she had worked for Mrs Gower-Jones, and so charming with their large blue eyes and innocent little faces that it was sometimes difficult to be firm, but they seemed to like her and since she ignored their small tantrums she felt that she was making progress. She liked the job too, and enjoyed the cycle ride each day and the long hours spent out of doors with the children. The weather was delightful too, dry and warm with no hint of autumn. Of course, the ride wouldn’t be so nice in rain and wind, but she would be gone by then, although Lady Thorley hadn’t mentioned the likelihood of a governess yet.
Lady Thorley was going out to lunch, Daisy remembered as she pedalled along the quiet road, and since it was such a fine day perhaps she and the twins could have a picnic in the garden; she was good friends with the cook and the elderly housemaid and surely between them they could concoct a picnic instead of the usual meal indoors.
The twins were waiting for her with faithful Boots and she went up to the nursery with them for an hour’s playschool—Plasticine and wooden blocks, crayons and large sheets of scribbling paper—and they were tidying up when their mother came to say that she was going out to her lunch party and would be back by teatime. She looked elegant and pretty and Daisy had no doubt in her mind that her husband must adore her. The twins were kissed and told to be good, and Daisy was to be sure and ask for anything she might want. The three of them escorted her to the door and waved as she drove away in her smart little Mini, and Katie began to sniff sorrowfully.
‘Who’s coming to help get our picnic ready?’ asked Daisy, and whisked the moppet out into the garden with Josh and Boots. ‘Look, Cook’s put a table ready; let’s put the plates and knives and things on it and then we’ll go to the kitchen and fetch the food.’
She was leading the way back to the garden, laden with a tray of dishes—hard-boiled eggs, bacon sandwiches, little sausages on sticks and a mushroom quiche—when she saw Dr Seymour sitting on the grass leaning against the table. The children had seen him too; the dish of apples Josh had been carrying went tumbling to the ground and Katie, close behind him, dropped the plastic mugs she held as they galloped towards him with shrieks of delight. He uncoiled his vast person in one neat movement and received their onslaught with lazy good humour. ‘May I stay to lunch?’ he asked Daisy and, since he quite obviously intended to anyway, she said politely,
‘Of course, Dr Seymour. Lady Thorley is out but she’ll be back at teatime.’ She put down her tray. ‘I’ll fetch the rest of the food…’
She started back to the house and found him beside her, trailed by the twins and Boots. ‘Quite happy here?’ he wanted to know.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Pleased to see me again?’
What an outrageous man, thought Daisy, and what a colossal conceit. She said pleasantly, ‘Should I be, Dr Seymour?’
‘Upon reflection, perhaps not.’ They had reached the kitchen and found Cook, who had seen his car, cutting a mound of beef sandwiches. ‘You’ll be peckish, sir,’ she said comfortably. ‘Hard-boiled eggs and sausages on sticks aren’t hardly fitting for a gentleman of your size, if you don’t mind me saying it.’
He took a sandwich and bit into it. ‘When have I ever disputed an opinion of yours, Mrs Betts? And if I can’t finish them I’m sure Daisy will help me out.’
So she was Daisy, was she? And she had no intention of eating his beef sandwiches. She didn’t say so although she gave him a chilly look.
It was impossible to remain chilly for long; the twins, on their best behaviour because their favourite uncle was going to share their picnic, saw to that. The meal was an unqualified success; Josh ate everything he was offered and, since Katie always did as he did, the usual patient battle to get them to eat didn’t take place; instead, the doctor kept them entertained with a mixture of mild teasing and ridiculous stories in the face of which it was impossible to remain stand-offish; indeed Daisy enjoyed herself and found herself forgetting how much she disapproved of him. That was until he remarked, as the last of the lemonade was being drunk, ‘I hope Meg has got you on a long lease.’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘A long lease…?’
‘It would seem to me that you have all the makings of a family nanny, handed down from one generation to another.’
Daisy, a mild-tempered girl, choked back rage. ‘I have no intention of being anything of the sort.’ Her pleasant voice held a decidedly acid note.
‘No? Planning to get married?’
‘No, and if I may say so, Dr Seymour, I must remind you that it’s none of your business.’
‘No, no, of course it isn’t; put it down to idle curiosity.’
Josh, for nearly four years old, was very bright. ‘You’re not married either, Uncle Val; I know ’cos Mummy said it was high time and it was time you thought about it.’
His uncle ate a last sandwich. ‘Mummy’s quite right; I must think about it.’
Daisy began to collect up the remains of their meal. ‘Everyone carry something,’ ordered the doctor, ‘and no dropping it on the way to the kitchen. What happens next?’ He looked at Daisy.
‘They rest for an hour—I read to them.’
‘Oh, good. I could do with a nap myself. We can all fit into the hammock easily enough—not you, of course, Daisy. What gem of literature are you reading at the moment?’
‘Grimm’s fairy-tales; they choose a different story each day.’
She wasn’t sure how to reply to the doctor’s remarks; she suspected that he was making fun of her, not unkindly but perhaps to amuse himself. Well, she had no intention of letting him annoy her. ‘Perhaps you would like to choose?’ she asked him as, the picnic cleared away, they crossed the lawn to where the hammock stood under the shade of the trees.
He arranged a padded chair for her before lying back in the hammock with the twins crushed on either side of him. ‘“Faithful John”,’ he told her promptly.
She opened the book. ‘It’s rather long,’ she said doubtfully.
‘I dare say we shall all be asleep long before you’ve finished.’
He closed his eyes and the children lay quietly; there was nothing for it but to begin.
He had been right; Josh dropped off first and then Katie, and since he hadn’t opened his eyes she supposed that the doctor had gone to sleep too. She closed the book on its bookmark, kicked off her sandals and sat back against the cushions. They might sleep for half an hour and she had plenty to occupy her thoughts.
Dr Seymour opened one eye. He said very softly, ‘You don’t like me very much, do you, Daisy?’
She was taken by surprise, but Daisy being Daisy she gave his remark thoughtful consideration. Presently she said, ‘I don’t know anything about you, Dr Seymour.’
‘An indisputable fact. You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Yes, I have—I don’t know you well enough to know, do I?’
‘No? Personally, I know if I like or dislike someone the moment I set eyes on them.’
He would have disliked her on sight, she reflected, remembering the cold stare at the traffic-lights in Wilton and the short shrift he had given her, almost knocking her off her bike. She said primly, ‘Well, we’re all different, aren’t we?’
The mocking look he gave her sent the colour into her cheeks. The doctor, watching her lazily, decided that she wasn’t as plain as he had thought.
The twins woke up presently and they played ball until their mother came back. The twins fell upon her with shrieks of delight, both talking at once. ‘Val—how lovely to see you—I wanted to talk to you…’ Seeing Daisy, she turned to her. ‘Do go home, dear, you must be exhausted—I know I am after several hours of these two.’ She unwound her children’s arms from around her neck. ‘Take Daisy to the gate, darlings, and then go to the kitchen and ask Mrs Betts if she would make a pot of tea for me.’
Daisy got to her feet, reflecting that Lady Thorley’s airy dismissal had been both friendly and expected; she was the daily mother’s help and was treated with more consideration than she had ever had with Mrs Gower-Jones. All the same, she wished that Dr Seymour hadn’t been there.
Her goodnight was quietly said. ‘I’ll be here at half-past eight, Lady Thorley,’ and she left them without further ado, taking the twins with her.
The doctor watched her go. ‘What do you want to tell me, Meg?’ he asked.
‘Hugh phoned—such news—the man at the Hague is ill—jaundice or something—and he’s to replace him until he’s fit again. Hugh says there’s a lovely flat we can have and he wants us to go there with him—he’ll be home this evening but I wanted to ask your advice about the twins. I’ll go with Hugh, of course, but what about them? I did wonder if they had better stay here with Daisy—that is if she would agree to come…’
‘Why not take the children with you and Daisy as well?’
‘Well, that would be marvellous—she’s so good with them and they like her, but she might not want to come…’
‘Why not ask her and find out? What does Hugh say?’
‘He told me I could do whatever I thought was best as long as it won’t upset the twins—going to live somewhere else—foreign too…’
‘My dear girl, Holland is hardly darkest Africa, and it’s only an hour away by plane.’ He stood up. ‘I must go back to town. You’re quite satisfied with Daisy?’
‘Oh, yes. How clever of you to tell me about her, Val. She’s so sensible and kind—it’s hard to find girls like her. Plain, of course—such a pity for she’d make a splendid wife.’ She walked round the house to where his car was parked before the door. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t find the time to visit us while we’re at the Hague?’
‘Very likely—I’m lecturing at Leiden Medical School and there’s a seminar for paediatricians in Utrecht—I’m not sure of the dates.’ Lady Thorley tiptoed to kiss his cheek.
‘Lovely. I’ll talk to Daisy—better still I’ll get Hugh to do that.’
‘Why not? When does he go?’
‘Two weeks—at least, he’s to go as soon as possible; he thought it would take me two weeks to pack up and so on.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Oh, what shall I do about Boots? We can’t leave him here just with Mrs Betts…’
‘I’ll have him.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must go, my dear—give me a ring when you have things settled.’
Daisy, unaware of the future being mapped out for her, cycled home and thought about Dr Seymour. She wasn’t sure if she liked him but she was fair enough to admit that that was because he was a difficult man to get to know. He was splendid with the children, probably he was an excellent paediatrician, but he was arrogant and, she suspected, used to having his own way. Moreover, he had this nasty habit of mocking her…
She was surprised to find Sir Hugh at home when she reached Steeple Langford the next morning. He was still young but he had a serious manner which made him seem older.
‘If we might talk?’ he suggested, coming to the nursery where the twins were running riot with the Plasticine under Daisy’s tolerant eye.
Daisy’s heart sank. He had come to tell her she was no longer needed, a governess had been found, and she was mentally putting her name down at several agencies in Salisbury when he went on. ‘I’m about to be posted to Den Haag for a time; we wondered if you would consider coming with us to look after the children? I’m not sure for how long; I’m to fill in for a colleague who’s on sick leave.’
‘Me?’ said Daisy.
‘If you would. We’re to take over an apartment in the residential part of the city, with a garden, I believe, and there are parks close by, so I’m told, and of course it is close to the sea.’
‘I don’t speak Dutch,’ said Daisy.
He smiled faintly. ‘Nor do I. I believe that almost everyone speaks English—there are certainly a good many English people living there—there would be other children for the twins to play with, and I’m sure there are young Englishwomen living there—you wouldn’t be lonely.’ When she hesitated he added, ‘I’m told it will be for a month or six weeks.’
‘If I might have time to talk to my mother? I could let you know in the morning if that would do?’
‘Certainly, I shall be here for a good part of tomorrow.’ He got up. ‘My wife and I do so hope that you’ll see your way to coming with us! You’ll let me know in the morning?’
‘Yes, Sir Hugh. For my part I should like to come, but I must tell my mother first.’
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 beside the chauffeur, gazed her fill too; she mustn’t miss anything for she had promised to write every detail to her mother.
Presently the car left the busy streets around the airport and picked up speed along the motorway. There wasn’t much to see here—occasional patches of quiet meadows, but it seemed to her that there were a great many factories lining the road and she felt vague disappointment. Not for long, however; soon the factories dwindled and died away to be replaced by trees and charming houses, set well back from the road which in turn gave way to the outskirts of the city.
The streets were busy here and the chauffeur had to slow down, so that she had a chance to look around her. It looked delightful—old gabled houses, canals, imposing buildings, a splendid place to explore on her free days… They left the heart of the city, driving down a straight road with parks on either side and then large, solid houses, set well apart from each other, before they turned off into a side-road, wide and tree-lined. There were blocks of modern flats on either side and here and there town mansions in their own grounds. Halfway down they stopped before the wide entrance of a solid red-brick block of flats and the chauffeur got out, opened their doors and led the way across the pavement as a concierge came hurrying to meet them.
‘I do hope,’ said Lady Thorley, ‘that someone has put the kettle on; we need a cup of tea.’ She smiled at Daisy, ‘You must be tired; I know I am.’
Daisy had the twins by the hand, dancing with excitement. She thought it unlikely that she would have time to be tired until they were given their tea and put to bed, but that didn’t worry her. ‘I’d love one,’ she said cheerfully.
CHAPTER THREE
THE concierge led them inside, across a wide hall to an ornate lift. She was a tall, bony woman with a hooked nose and a cast in one eye and the twins stared at her with growing delight. ‘Is—is she a—?’ began Josh.
‘No, dear,’ began Daisy before he could utter the word, ‘this is the lady who looks after these flats…’
‘Juffrouw Smit.’ She ushered them into the lift which took them to the first floor. The landing was as wide as the hall below with a door on either side, one of which she now opened. ‘The apartment,’ she announced, and ushered them inside.
The flat was large, with lofty ceilings, large windows and a balcony overlooking a sizeable garden. There was a staircase at one end of it leading to the garden and Juffrouw Smit waved a generous arm. ‘It is yours, the garden.’
‘Oh, how nice,’ said Lady Thorley uncertainly. ‘The people in the flat below?’
Juffrouw Smit shrugged. ‘A very small apartment; he is but a clerk.’
Daisy peered over the balcony balustrade. There were iron railings separating the flat from the garden; it seemed hard on its occupant.
It was obvious that Juffrouw Smit was preparing another speech in her very basic English. ‘The cook and the serving maid wait in the kitchen.’
She led the way through two handsome reception-rooms, a small sitting-room and down a short passage and opened a door.
The kitchen was a good size and, as far as Daisy could see at a glance, well equipped. There were two women there, stoutly built and well past their first youth, with pleasant round faces and white aprons over dark dresses. They smiled and nodded, shook hands and said, ‘Welcome,’ several times. The elder of them pointed to herself. ‘Mien,’ she said and then pointed to her companion and said, ‘Corrie—we speak English a little and understand.’

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