Dorothy Eden (53 page)

Guy’s eyes followed Prissie and rested on her with interest.

‘But why this girl, Fergus?’ Was his voice more pointed than it need have been? Was he suggesting that Fergus need not have selected such an oddly attractive girl? But where Uncle Saunders was openly joyously bawdy, Guy made those not quite pleasant remarks with underlying meanings. It was just a habit he had, Brigit told herself, a defence against the world which had always frightened him a little. As an older sister she knew a great deal more about her brother than he suspected.

‘Yes, why so suddenly?’ Aunt Annabel inquired. ‘Shouldn’t Brigit have interviewed her in the usual way? This is so out of order. And she looks far too young.’

‘Why should one run one’s life like a committee meeting?’ Fergus asked good-naturedly. ‘Brigit and I always like the same people. Anyway, it was to be a surprise. Prissie understands that she’s here on approval. She’s quite happy about the idea.’

He looked baffled for a moment and Fergus baffled was endearingly young himself. He had thought this would be such a unique and wonderful present. She couldn’t disappoint him even if she was, obscurely, not quite happy about Prissie’s so sudden advent. She put her hand in his.

‘Prissie is my birthday present, Aunt Annabel. I think she’s going to be a priceless one. Think of all the spare time I will have at last. I can really do things with the garden. Oh, and—’ She stopped suddenly, remembering that the baby was still a secret. It would be so wonderful to have help now that there was going to be a new baby. Fergus must have had an intuition. Suddenly she couldn’t wait any longer to tell him. She tugged at his hand.

‘Darling, come inside and help me with drinks.’

‘Guy will help,’ said Aunt Annabel. ‘I want Fergus to talk to me. He never has time. Always rushing off to catch a plane. And he might know what to do for fur falling out.’

‘Fur!’ Fergus echoed.

‘Cat’s fur, dear. My latest find, that poor sweet marmalade.’

Brigit firmly pulled her husband away.

‘I want Fergus, Aunt Annabel. He mixes a better martini than Guy.’

‘Can they afford martinis as well as mother’s helps?’ Uncle Saunders’s voice boomed after them as they went hand in hand across the lawn.

‘Mummy, Prissie is teaching us a new game,’ Nicky shouted.

So he was being friendly with Prissie, Brigit thought. That was a good thing, because Nicky could be difficult. There had been a baby-sitter with whom he had behaved very badly. It would have been a pity if he had behaved badly with Prissie because one could see at once that she was going to be an absolute treasure.

‘Well,’ said Fergus in the hall. He knew she wanted to tell him something. His thick fair eyebrows were raised, his eyes quizzical.

Brigit said breathlessly, ‘Darling, we’re going to have another baby,’ and then went into his arms and cried.

His hands stroked her hair. ‘Biddy, that’s wonderful. But why the tears?’

‘B-because it’s my b-birthday, and I’m only t-twenty-eight. By the time I’m sixty—I won’t be able to b-bear it—I get happier every year.’

‘So do I,’ said Fergus simply, and kissed her, not lightly in deference to the people watching, but deeply and completely. There was sunlight in the hall, and a smell of potpourri. A massed bowl of dahlias that she had grown herself stood on the table beside her. The house was beautiful, and her own, and she was so happy it was true that she could scarcely bear it.

A slight sound made her stir in Fergus’s arms. She turned her head and saw Prissie in the doorway, hesitating as if she had just come—or as if she had watched for long enough…

Had she been watching? And should one mind?

Without giving herself time to ponder Brigit moved decisively out of Fergus’s arms.

‘Prissie! Do come in! I’m being an awfully bad hostess. You’d think Fergus and I had been separated for years. We’re always crazy like this, I’m afraid.’

Prissie’s lashes hid her eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I just wondered if I could help with anything.’

‘You can, but not until you’ve had tea. Come and I’ll show you your room. We’ll have a talk later on.’ Suddenly, because she had a sensitive impression that Prissie felt shut out and lonely, and because she was always kind, she went on impulsively, ‘We are being a little extra foolish today because I’ve just been telling my husband that we’re going to have another baby. I hope that that won’t frighten you away.’

Fergus grinned broadly at the girl in the doorway.

‘Of course it won’t frighten her away. She likes babies, otherwise she wouldn’t be here. Isn’t that so, Prissie?’

The girl lifted her heavy lashes and looked straight at them. Her gaze was wide and full of that attractive eagerness.

‘It seems like fate I came, doesn’t it?’

Later Fergus told Brigit the story of how he had come to bring Prissie home. She had been flying with him for a month, he said, but he had not realized before yesterday the strain each trip was on her. They had encountered storms half an hour out of Rome, and just before circling to land the plane had been struck by lightning. There had been no damage done, but everyone had got a fright and one or two of the passengers had been panicky. Prissie had done her job efficiently, and it was not until they had landed and everyone had disembarked that she had collapsed. Fergus had found her white and trembling and virtually unable to leave the plane unassisted.

She had been very ashamed of herself, and confessed that she had never been able to get over her tendency to be both air-sick and scared to death. She was afraid she would lose her job if anyone found out. Anyway, she didn’t care much. She had stuck to the job because the aunt who had brought her up was so proud of her and liked to boast about her and show her off when she came home in uniform, but what she really wanted was a quiet place in the country, perhaps looking after children. She adored children, and looking after air-sick adults didn’t really compensate. She had made a face, wrinkling her absurd nose, and in that moment Fergus had known that she belonged to them. She was Nicky’s and Sarah’s, and Brigit’s and the new baby’s—only he hadn’t known about the new baby then…

‘And yours?’ Brigit asked, smiling teasingly.

‘And mine,’ Fergus agreed. ‘She’s a cute little thing, and she’s going to be invaluable in assisting with the Gaye dynasty.’

‘Anyone who assists with that,’ said Brigit, ‘will be welcome in this house. But seriously, she is sweet. Even Aunt Annabel thinks so. Just think, a thunderstorm and out of it a soft little thing like Prissie. It must really be fate.’

B
EFORE PRISSIE UNPACKED THE
single bag she had brought she took out a writing pad and began quickly to write a letter.

I got the job, so I won’t be home for a few days. If I stay here it means I’ll be stuck in the country but I’ll arrange about week-ends. They like me, so I’ll soon be able to ask favours. The house isn’t my idea of comfort, those low doorways where you’re always cracking your head, and stairs like corkscrews. The family’s town house is the one I want to see. Later, perhaps. Or not perhaps. You know me. But her family! They’re shockers. Not her herself, she’s like any other girl, as you would expect. Crazy about her husband, but you can hardly blame her considering what he looks like. By the way, don’t write to me here. I’ll let you know in a few days whether I intend to stay or not—

Someone was coming up the stairs. Prissie hastily slipped the letter inside her writing pad and closed it.

When Brigit came into the room she was taking clothes out of her suitcase and shaking them out. She turned with her glowing smile and said, ‘Did you want me for something, madam?’

‘Prissie, don’t call me madam. If you stay here we must be friends.’ Brigit didn’t know why she suddenly had the impulse to speak in that manner, except that Prissie looked so small and somehow defenceless. Not very much bigger than Nicky. Was that how Fergus thought of her—as someone to be protected?

‘But, tell me, are you sure you want to stay here? It’s very quiet. Fergus is away a great deal and there’s only me and the children. After your interesting life.’

‘Interesting!’ Prissie broke in. ‘When I could never get over being scared. I can tell you, this will be heaven.’

Brigit sat on the low bedside chair. This was her second guest-room but she was quite glad for Prissie to have it. The girl seemed to fit in here, with her quick grace and her neatness. Almost as if the rose-patterned chintz and the warm red rugs had been chosen for her.

For a single moment Brigit had a queer feeling of timelessness, as if, when she had furnished this room, she had known Prissie would occupy it, as if Prissie had always been in her mind… But why?

It must be her condition, she told herself, shaking herself out of her momentarily fey mood. For the first two or three months of pregnancy she was always in this dreamy other-worldish state.

‘Have you given notice?’

‘Yes, I did when I got back today. I was due for leave, anyway, so I just said I wouldn’t be back.’ She sat on the floor in front of Brigit and sighed. ‘Oh, if you knew how happy I feel!’

Brigit smiled involuntarily. ‘Do you like your room?’

‘It’s heaven. These lovely chintzes. And silk sheets, really silk. I looked,’ she said naïvely.

‘Oh, those were a wedding present. When they’re worn out there won’t be any more.’

‘Why not?’ Prissie asked, fingering the monogram on the corner of the sheet.

‘Because my husband and I can’t afford luxuries like that.’

‘But your family—’

Brigit eyed her coolly.

‘What do you know about my family?’

‘Oh, everyone’s heard of the Templars.’

‘Yes. Unfortunately.’ Brigit looked at the girl again, and decided that she had spoken innocently. She changed the subject.

‘What will your aunt say about your changing jobs like this?’

Prissie’s eyes flickered slightly.

‘She’ll be disappointed, but she’ll get over it. She was worried about me losing weight, anyway.’

‘Where does your aunt live?’

‘In Putney.’

‘Then you’d like week-ends off now and then to go and see her.’

Prissie looked up eagerly.

‘Oh, Mrs Gaye, that would be wonderful.’

Brigit looked again at the small attractive person sitting on the floor in that attitude of grace. Everything Prissie did would be graceful. She was small-boned and supple. Her head was poised exquisitely on a delicate little neck. Her hands were thin-fingered and almost miniature size. Her face, without animation, would be plain, but one couldn’t imagine it unanimated. It was so mobile and alive.

She could make anyone do anything, Brigit thought slowly. Just as she had made Fergus bring her here. But why had she done that? Why choose them? Had it been because Fergus happened to be on the spot, or had she other motives? Why did she have this sudden desire to be a mother’s help? Brigit thought more soberly. Certainly she might love children, but soon enough she could have them of her own. All men must find her attractive.

‘Tell me about yourself, Prissie,’ she said.

Prissie looked up with her appealing wide-eyed candour. ‘There isn’t much to tell. I’m an orphan. I never knew my father and my mother died when I was very small. Aunt Maud brought me up. She did her best for me, but she only had the money she earned as a nurse. Ever since I was a kid I had to earn enough to pay for my education. Aunt Maud wouldn’t have worried about it, but I was crazy to get a good education. I used to go hop-picking in the holidays and mind babies after school, and when I was a bit older I got holiday jobs in guest houses, washing dishes and waiting on tables. Aunt Maud thought I was mad. She wanted me to get a nice respectable job in a shop, selling buttons or trimming hats or something, when I was fourteen, but I wouldn’t. I
had
to learn things.’ The glowing eyes fixed on Brigit gave her the most extraordinary feeling that she was hearing her own story, that she had been that thin energetic child, pushing baby carriages, waiting on tables, plunging her childish arms into sinks full of dirty dishes. Not having time for any youthful fun… The girl should have been an actress.

‘And you did learn things?’ she asked.

Prissie’s quick grin that gave her face its elfin quality flashed out.

‘Oh, yes. I learned things. Even Aunt Maud had to admit that.’ She began to finger a slender gold chain and locket round her neck. ‘When I got the job with the air-line Aunt Maud was as proud as a peacock. She thought the whole thing was due to her. Poor old darling, after all she had given me a home and fed me and been terribly kind. I was glad she was proud of me.’

Brigit felt her eyes stinging with sudden tears. It was
she
who had pleased an old lady by making good… What an extraordinary way this girl had of projecting her personality on to one.

‘Of course I had to be decently educated,’ Prissie went on, speaking half to herself. ‘I owed it to my parents.’ Then she sprang up in a nervous way as if afraid she had been talking too much.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘show me the children’s things and what I am to do for them.’

‘You must call me Brigit,’ Brigit said, almost as if compelled to do so. ‘You’re not here as a servant. We’ll be friends. After all, I’m an orphan, too, although I can remember my parents.’ She thought fleetingly of her mother, and the hard unhappy reflection that perhaps Prissie was lucky not to have any memories of her mother passed through her mind.

‘You’re so sweet to me,’ Prissie was whispering. Her eyes were bright, as if with tears, and Brigit, moved by the girl’s emotion, said lightly:

‘Not at all. You’re my birthday present, remember? Come and I’ll show you the nursery. By the way, you seem to have got round Nicky. He can be rather difficult at times.’

‘He’s not sure yet,’ said Prissie. ‘Why is he so nervous?’

‘I don’t know. He always has been.’ (Had it been her prenatal fears that had made Nicky such a nervous and sensitive baby? Sarah, about whom she had worried much less, was so much more placid.)

‘But, Prissie, tell me,’ she said abruptly, ‘when you made such efforts to get a good education why should you be content to do a job that any girl can do?’