‘Yes,’ Mrs Beaufort was looking tired but interested. ‘But for some reason best known to him, Gideon asks us not to mention that.’
She and her daughter stared at each other for a long moment. ‘You don’t say,’ observed Mrs Burns, and then: ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’
Deborah was under the trees at the end of the garden, making daisy chains for the twins while Dee slept. She would have liked a cup of tea and as if in answer to her thought, a stout woman came out of the house with a tray, and a moment or two later Mr and Mrs Burns came out too. They picnicked at leisure and presently Mr Burns carried the tray back indoors and they all got into the car once more and drove home. The children were sleepy by now and Deborah had a chance to mull over the afternoon; it was strange but she was unable to rid herself of the feeling that she had been on some sort of trial; perhaps they would tell her that she wasn’t needed any more. It seemed more than likely when Mr Burns said over his shoulder as they stopped before the door: ‘Nanny, I’d like to talk to you sometime. Tomorrow? Or perhaps this evening when you have some time to yourself?’ He smiled at her kindly. ‘After dinner if that suits you.’
She agreed calmly, already composing a letter to the agency in her head as she bore Dee off to the nursery and bedtime.
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