A Christmas Wish

He had phoned ahead and they met as old friends, for both of them had been charged with the care of Nel during term-time. Lady Brennon was a youthful sixty, living in a charming little Georgian villa on the edge of the village, busy with her garden and her painting, her dogs and the various village committees on which she sat.

‘So nice to see you, Haso.’ She looked sad for a moment. ‘It seems a long time since Rob’s wedding and your coming here as his best man. I miss him still, you know. Thank heavens we have little Nel.’

They went into the house together and he asked, ‘Is she here for the weekend?’

‘Yes, she’ll be here on Saturday. There’s no chance of your staying until then?’

‘I’m afraid not. I’ll try and get down before the Easter holidays. In fact, I might be able to arrange things so I can drive her over to Holland.’

‘That would be splendid.’ Lady Brennon poured their coffee. ‘The child’s very fond of you. Rita phoned this week; she said that you had been to see her when you were in Holland. Was she happy?’

‘I believe so. She likes her work and she has her friends. She misses Nel, but she wants to carry out Rob’s wishes.’

‘Of course. Probably she will change her mind and come to live here later on.’

‘Perhaps.’ He put down his cup. ‘Lady Brennon, did you know a Mrs Fitzgibbon—oh, it would be some years ago? I believe she lived somewhere near Bradford-on-Avon.’ He dredged up the bits and pieces of information that Olivia had let drop. ‘I believe her daughter married a man called Harding—rather a grand wedding in Bath Abbey…’

‘Fitzgibbon? The name rings a bell. You know her? She is a friend of yours? Rather an elderly one…’

‘No. No. I have never met her.’

‘Then I can tell you that she was a most disagreeable woman—I remember her very well—bullied her daughter, a rather sweet little thing. Married against her wishes, I believe. I met her several times. The daughter had a little girl—the husband died, I believe, it was in the Telegraph a few years ago. Dear me, it must be almost thirty years since we met.’

She gave Haso an enquiring look. ‘May I know why you are interested in her?’

‘I have met her granddaughter—she was working at Jerome’s as a filing clerk, got made redundant and can’t find work. She and her mother live with Mrs Fitzgibbon and I gather are not happy there. Olivia has said very little about herself, and I am barely acquainted with her, but she got herself sacked so that the girl she worked with, who desperately needs the money, could keep her job, and I wondered if you knew of anything…’ He smiled then. ‘I have no personal interest in her; it is only that I feel that she deserves a better chance.’

‘Is she educated?’

‘Yes. Intelligent and well-mannered, speaks well, very level-headed, I should imagine. She is lacking in the essentials—typing, shorthand, computers—all that kind of thing. She had no need to work until her father died.’

‘Is she very young?’

‘I should guess her to be in her late twenties.’ He frowned. ‘I think she would make a good governess if they still have such people.’

‘Not to any extent, I’m afraid. She might get a post in a private school, with the smaller children perhaps, or even taking drama classes for the older girls. What do you want me to do, Haso?’

‘I’m presuming on your kindness, Lady Brennon. If you should hear of something which might suit Olivia, could you possibly find a reason to write to Mrs Fitzgibbon, mention the job, and say how you wished you knew of someone suitable to fill it? It is most unlikely, I know, but a kindly fate does occasionally step in. I don’t wish her to know that I have had anything to do with it.’

‘I will be most discreet. It would certainly be an ideal solution, and since it would appear to Mrs Fitzgibbon that it was through her good offices that Olivia should hear of the job she might present no difficulties. I’ll ask around, my dear. There are any number of schools around here, you know.’

They talked about other things then, and Olivia wasn’t mentioned again, and later, as he drove himself back to London, Mr van der Eisler’s thoughts were of the week ahead of him—Liverpool and then Birmingham, then back to Holland…

It was three weeks before he returned to his London home. It was late at night on the first day of his return before he had the leisure to sit down and read his post. A good deal of it he consigned to the wastepaper basket and then put the rest aside while he read the letter from Lady Brennon. She had telephoned him, she wrote, and Becky had told her that he was away so it seemed best to write. By the greatest good fortune, she went on, Nel had told her on her half-term holiday that Miss Tomkins, who it seemed was a Jill of all trades at the school, had left suddenly and there was no one to take her place. Lady Brennon had acted with speed, recommended Olivia to the headmistress on the strength of his recommendation, and written to Mrs Fitzgibbon, using the excuse that a friend of hers had seen Olivia’s mother when she was in London and that that had prompted Lady Brennon to write to her. A lie, of course, she had put in brackets. The letter continued:

‘The upshot is, Haso, that your protégée is at Nel’s school, working out the rest of the term, and if she proves satisfactory she is to be taken on on a termly basis and allowed to live in a small annexe of the school. Very poky, so Nel tells me, but there is room for her mother if she cares to go and live there. The salary is barely adequate but, as it has been pointed out, she has no qualifications. I hope this news will relieve you from further feelings of responsibility towards Olivia who, from Nel’s account, is well-liked and apparently happy. Do phone when you can spare the time, and tell me how Rita is. Still as pretty as ever, I’m sure, and such a delightful companion. I hope you found time to see something of her.’

He smiled as he put the letter down, aware that it was Lady Brennon’s dearest wish that he should marry Rita. What could be more suitable? They knew each other well, her husband had been his closest friend and he had a strong affection for Nel. It was all so suitable, and he supposed that it would be a sensible thing to do. His thoughts strayed to Olivia; when he went to school to collect Nel he would make a point of seeing her. He supposed his interest in her had been heightened by the injustice of her dismissal. Now that she was settled he could dismiss her from his mind, where she had been lurking for the past few weeks.

Lady Brennon’s letter had reached Mrs Fitzgibbon at an opportune moment; there had been another letter in the post that morning, for Olivia, regretting that the post of assistant in a West End florist’s had been filled. Olivia, listening to her grandmother’s diatribe on the inability of young women to find suitable employment, allowed most of it to flow over her head—she knew it by heart now. Instead she wondered about Mr van der Eisler. Back in Holland, she supposed, and best forgotten.

A silence from her grandmother made her look up. The old lady was reading the letter in her hand, and when she had finished it she re-read it. She spoke. ‘It is a good thing that I have a number of connections with those of a good background.’ She put the letter down. ‘This is a letter from an old friend who by some remote chance has written to me—you need not concern yourself as to the details.’ She waited for Olivia to say something but, since she had no intention of concerning herself, she went on writing a note for the milkman and remained silent. ‘There is a position at a girls’ school outside Bath—making yourself useful, as far as I can see. The current holder has had to leave for some family reason and the headmistress is anxious to find someone suitable at the earliest possible moment. She suggests that you telephone and make an appointment. The headmistress is coming to London—let me see—tomorrow.’

Olivia felt her grandmother’s beady eyes fixed on her. ‘Just what kind of a job is it, Granny?’

‘How should I know? You must bestir yourself and go and find out for yourself.’

‘After I have talked to Mother. She’ll be back presently, we can talk about it then.’

Mrs Harding thought it might be quite nice. ‘Of course I shall miss you, love, but you’ll have the school holidays.’

‘Yes, Mother. If it were possible, would you come and live there if I get the job—I dare say we could rent a small house nearby.’

‘Oh, darling, that would be lovely, to live in the country again.’ They were in the kitchen with the door shut but all the same she lowered her voice. ‘I’m sure Granny would like to have the flat to herself again. Do go and see this lady.’

So Olivia went, and since it was a fine day and quite warm she wore her jersey dress—like most of her clothes not the height of fashion but still elegant. She hoped the headmistress would like her, for although she didn’t like leaving her mother she would be able to send her money and they might even take a holiday together. Her grandmother, she felt sure, would be only too glad to be rid of them both.

The headmistress, Miss Cross, was middle-aged, plump and good-natured and, when Olivia explained that she had no experience of any sort other than filing documents, waved this aside. ‘Come and see how you get on,’ she suggested. ‘There are still several weeks of this term—almost a month. If you like the work and we like you, then I’ll employ you on a termly basis. You’ll live in, of course—there’s a small annexe you’ll have to yourself. I don’t know if you have a dependant? I’ve no objection to a mother or sister living with you. The salary is fair, I consider, and you get your meals while you’re on duty. You’re not married or anything like that?’

‘No, Miss Cross.’

‘Then you ought to be, a lovely creature like you! Start on Saturday. Let me know what time your train gets to Bath; I’ll have you met.’

Coincidence, good luck, fate—call it what you will, reflected Olivia, now something or someone had allowed her to fall on her feet. She had been at the school for two weeks and she was happy. She wasn’t sure just what she could call herself, for no two days were alike, but being a practical girl she took that in her stride. She plaited small heads of hair, inspected fingernails if Matron was busy, played rounders during the games hour, took prep with the older girls, drove Miss Cross into Bath whenever she needed to go, washed the same small heads of hair, comforted those who had grazed knees and in between these tasks filled in for anyone on the staff who happened to be absent for any reason. It was a good thing that she had been good at games at school, for she found herself on several occasions tearing up and down the hockey pitch blowing her whistle. She had enjoyed it too.

The annexe had been a pleasant surprise. It was small, certainly, but there was a living-room with an alcove used as a kitchen, a shower-room and, up the narrow staircase, two bedrooms just large enough to contain a bed, a chest of drawers and a chair. Whoever had had the place before her had been clever with orange boxes, disguising them as bedside tables, bookshelves and an extra seat with a cushion neatly nailed on to it.

If Miss Cross was to keep her on then there was no reason why her mother shouldn’t come and stay with her, even live with her. The school was in the country, but there was a good bus service into Bath from the village.

Olivia, on this particular Saturday morning, was rounding up the smallest of the girls ready for their weekly swimming lesson in the heated swimming-pool in the school’s basement. The sports mistress would be in charge but Olivia was expected to give a hand, something she enjoyed, for she was a good swimmer and teaching the sometimes unwilling learners was a challenge. She marched them through the school and down the stairs to the basement, saw them into their swimsuits, counted heads, and handed them over to Miss Ross, a small woman with a powerful voice, before going off to get into her own swimsuit.

While Miss Ross got on with the actual teaching Olivia patrolled the pool, swimming slowly, making sure that the children were under her watchful eye, encouraging the faint-hearted to get their feet off the bottom of the pool and applauding those who were splashing their way from one side to the other. Once they were all out of the water she wrapped herself in a robe and went round checking that each child had showered, finding mislaid garments and then collecting up the sopping wet swimsuits. Only when they were all once more dressed and handed over to Miss Ross could she shower and dress herself, before hurrying back to the school to the recreation room where she was expected to dispense hot cocoa and biscuits. It should have been her half-day but the junior housemistress had gone to a wedding, which meant that Olivia would have the charge of fifteen little girls until they were in bed and hopefully asleep. On Sunday it was her turn to shepherd the whole school, under the guidance of Miss Cross and two of the senior teachers, to the village church.

Getting ready for bed that night she owned to being tired but not unhappy. The pleasure of sitting in one’s own small home, drinking a last cup of tea before getting into bed, was by no means overrated. Perhaps she was a born old maid? She dismissed the idea. ‘I shall be quite honest,’ she told herself, since there was no one else to tell, ‘I should like to marry and have a kind and loving husband and a handful of children. Never mind if there isn’t enough money, just enough to live on comfortably, and keep a dog or two, and cats of course, and perhaps a donkey…’

She put down her mug and took herself upstairs to bed.

There was the opportunity to think quietly the next morning; the Reverend Bates’ sermons were long and soothing, a fitting background for her thoughts, and since they were simple and blameless she didn’t suppose that God would mind. The end of term was approaching, she reflected, and she would go back to Granny’s flat for almost three weeks. During that time she would have to see what her mother thought of coming to live with her, always providing Miss Cross decided to keep her. The letters from her mother had been cheerful; Olivia thought that without her her mother and grandmother lived fairly amicably together. All the same, it would be nice if her mother was to pay a visit.

She glanced down the row of childish faces under the school straw hats. Perhaps she had found her niche in life. She sighed and a small hand crept into her lap and caught at her fingers, and she made haste to smile down at the upturned little face. It was Nel, a nice child whose Granny lived not too far away. She had confided in Olivia one day that her daddy had died and Mummy lived in Holland, but she was here at school because her Daddy had wanted her to be educated in England. ‘I’m half-Dutch,’ she had said proudly, and instantly Mr van der Eisler’s handsome features had swum before Olivia’s eyes. She had wiped him out at once and suggested a game of Ludo.

With the end of term so near now there was an air of bustle and excitement at the school. Regular lessons gave way to exams, an expedition to the Roman Baths in Bath, while Miss Prosser, who taught history and geography, recited their history, and finally the school play, with its attendant rush and scurry behind the curtains, and then the last morning, with all the little girls—dressed, cases packed, forgotten articles sought for and found—waiting anxiously to be collected.

The first parents arrived soon after breakfast and after them a steady stream of cars. Olivia, finding stray children, tying shoelaces and straightening hats, remembered that she was to drive Miss Cross into Bath that afternoon. When she got back she would be able to pack her own things and by then she would know if she was to return…

Half the children had gone when Nel, standing beside her, gave a squeal of delight. ‘There’s Mummy and Uncle Haso.’ She gave Olivia a poke to make sure that she was listening. ‘We’re going to Holland…’

‘How nice,’ said Olivia, and allowed her lovely mouth to drop open. Mr van der Eisler, accompanied by an elegantly dressed woman with fair hair cut in a boyish crop, was coming towards her.

Her surprise was so absolute that she could think of nothing to say, but Mr van der Eisler, whose surprise wasn’t surprise at all but actually looked genuine, nodded in a friendly way. ‘Olivia—who would have expected to see you here?’

He suffered a hug from Nel and turned to his companion. ‘Rita, this is a young lady who worked at Jerome’s. Nel’s mother, Olivia—Mrs Brennon.’

‘How nice,’ said Mrs Brennon, which could have meant anything. She didn’t shake hands but kissed her daughter and said, ‘Shall we go, Haso? Lady Brennon will be expecting us…’ She smiled briefly at Olivia. ‘Goodbye. I do hope that Nel has been good.’

She didn’t wait for an answer but took Nel’s hand and went to the car.

Mr van der Eisler paused just long enough to ask if she was happy.

‘Oh, very, thank you.’ Just in case he hadn’t been listening, she added, ‘I have never been so happy.’

His, ‘Splendid,’ was uttered in a detached manner, as was his goodbye.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WELL, what did you expect?’ Olivia asked her face in the looking-glass in her bedroom. ‘I dare say he had a job to remember you—she was very attractive, and he’s fond of Nel.’

She started to pack in a half-hearted way, filling in time until Miss Cross was ready to go into Bath.

In Bath she was told to park the car and return in two hours’ time, which meant that she had the leisure to look at the shops and have a cup of tea. On the way back to the school Miss Cross, who had hardly spoken, said, ‘Come to my study before supper this evening, Olivia. You will be returning home tomorrow?’

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