Mr Dutt hovered over Miss Efoss with his sherry decanter. He filled her glass and his wife’s. He said:
‘Well, Miss Efoss, what do you think of us? Can you accept the occasional evening in this room, watching our television and listening for the cry of our child?’
‘Naturally, Miss Efoss, there would always be supper,’ Mrs Dutt said.
‘With sherry before and brandy to finish with,’ Mr Dutt added.
‘You are very generous. I can quite easily have something before I arrive.’
‘No, no, no. It is out of the question. My wife is a good cook. And I can be relied upon to keep the decanters brimming.’
‘You have made it all so pleasant I am left with no option. I should be delighted to help you out when I can manage it.’
Miss Efoss finished her sherry and rose. The Dutts rose also, smiling benignly at their satisfactory visitor.
‘Well then,’ Mr Dutt said in the hall, ‘would Tuesday evening be a time you could arrange, Miss Efoss? We are bidden to dine with friends near by.’
‘Tuesday? Yes, I think Tuesday is all right. About seven?’
Mrs Dutt held out her hand. ‘Seven would be admirable. Till then, Miss Efoss.’
On Tuesday Mr Dutt opened the door to Miss Efoss and led her to the sitting-room. His wife, he explained, was still dressing. Making conversation as he poured Miss Efoss a drink, he said:
‘I married my wife when she was on the point of entering a convent, Miss Efoss. What d’you think of that?’
‘Well,’ Miss Efoss said, settling herself comfortably before the cosy-stove, ‘it is hard to know what to say, Mr Dutt. I am surprised, I suppose.’
‘Most people are surprised. I often wonder if I did the right thing. Beryl would have made a fine nun. What d’you think?’
‘I’m sure you both knew what you were doing at the time. It is equally certain that Mrs Dutt would have been a fine nun.’
‘She had chosen a particularly severe order. That’s just like Beryl, isn’t it?’
‘I hardly know Mrs Dutt. But if it is like her to have made that choice, I can well believe it.’
‘You see my wife as a serious person, Miss Efoss? Is that what you mean?’
‘In the short time I have known her, yes I think I do. Yet you also say she relishes a joke.’
‘A joke, Miss Efoss?’
‘So you remarked the other evening. In relation to a slip in her speech.’
‘Ah yes. How right you are. You must forgive me if my memory is often faulty. My work is wearing.’
Mrs Dutt, gaily attired, entered the room. ‘Here, Miss Efoss,’ she said, proffering a piece of paper, ‘is the telephone number of the house we are going to. If Mickey makes a sound please ring us up. L will immediately return.’
‘Oh, but I’m sure that’s not necessary. It would be a pity to spoil your evening so. I could at least attempt to comfort him.’
‘I would prefer the other arrangement. Mickey does not take easily to strangers. His room is at the top of the house, but please do not enter it. Were he to wake suddenly and catch sight of you he might be extremely frightened. He is quite a nervous child. At the slightest untoward sound do not hesitate to telephone.’
‘As you wish it, Mrs Dutt. I only suggested –’
‘Experience has taught me, Miss Efoss, what is best. I have laid you a tray in the kitchen. Everything is cold, but quite nice, I think.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Then we will be away. We should be back by eleven fifteen.’
‘Do have a good evening.’
The Dutts said they intended to have a good evening, whispered for a moment together in the hall and were on their way. Miss Efoss looked critically about her.
The room was of an ordinary kind. Utrillo prints on plain grey walls. Yellowish curtains, yellowish chair-covers, a few pieces of simple furniture on a thick grey carpet. It was warm, the sherry was good and Miss Efoss was comfortable. It was pleasant, she reflected, to have a change of scene without the obligation of conversation. In a few moments, she carried her supper tray from the kitchen to the fire. As good as his word, Mr Dutt had left some brandy. Miss Efoss began to think the Dutts were quite a find.
She had dropped off to sleep when they returned. Fortunately, she heard them in the hall and had time to compose herself.
‘All well?’ Mrs Dutt asked.
‘Not a sound.’
‘Well, I’d better change him right away. Thank you so much, Miss Efoss.’
‘Thank you. I have spent a very pleasant evening.’
‘I’ll drive you back,’ Mr Dutt offered. ‘The car is still warm.’
In the car Mr Dutt said: ‘A child is a great comfort. Mickey is a real joy for us. And company for Beryl. The days hangs heavy when one is alone all day.’
‘Yes, a child is a comfort.’
‘Perhaps you think we are too careful and fussing about Mickey?’
‘Oh no, it’s better than erring in the other direction.’
‘It is only because we are so grateful.’
‘Of course.’
‘We have much to be thankful for.’
‘I’m sure you deserve it all.’
Mr Dutt had become quite maudlin by the time he delivered Miss Efoss at her flat. She wondered if he was drunk. He pressed her hand warmly and announced that he looked forward to their next meeting. ‘Any time,’ Miss Efoss said as she stepped from the car. ‘Just ring me up. I am often free.’
After that, Miss Efoss babysat for the Dutts many times. They became more and more friendly towards her. They left her little bowls of chocolates and drew her attention to articles in magazines that they believed might be of interest to her. Mr Dutt suggested further words she might care to look up in the Encyclopaedia and Mrs Dutt wrote out several of her recipes.
One night, just as she was leaving, Miss Efoss said: ‘You know, I think it might be a good idea for me to meet Mickey some time. Perhaps I could come in the daytime once. Then I would no longer be a stranger and could comfort him if he woke.’
‘But he doesn’t wake, Miss Efoss. He has never woken, has he? You have never had to telephone us.’
‘No. That is true. But now that I have got to know you, I would like to know him as well.’
The Dutts took the compliment, smiling at one another and at Miss Efoss. Mr Dutt said: ‘It is kind of you to speak like this, Miss Efoss. But Mickey is rather scared of strangers. Just at present at any rate, if you do not mind.’
‘Of course not, Mr Dutt.’
‘I fear he is a nervous child,’ Mrs Dutt said. ‘Our present arrangement is carefully devised.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Miss Efoss said.
‘No need. No need. Let us all have a final brandy,’ Mr Dutt said cheerfully.
But Miss Efoss was sorry, for she feared she had said something out of place. And then for a week or so she was worried whenever she thought of the Dutts. She felt they were mistaken in their attitude about their child; and she felt equally unable to advise them. It was not her place to speak any further on the subject, yet she was sure that to keep the child away from people just because he was nervous of them was wrong. It sounded as though there was a root to the trouble somewhere, and it sounded as though the Dutts had not attempted to discover it. She continued to babysit for them about once every ten days and she held her peace. Then, quite unexpectedly, something happened that puzzled Miss Efoss very much indeed.
It happened at a party given by some friends of hers. She was talking about nothing in particular to an elderly man called Summerfield. She had known him for some years but whenever they met, as on this occasion, they found themselves with little to say beyond the initial courteous greetings. Thinking that a more direct approach might yield something of interest, Miss Efoss, after the familiar lengthy silence, said: ‘How are you coping with the advancing years, Mr Summerfield? I feel I can ask you, since it is a coping I have to take in my own stride.’