attempted to make sense of this. She decided Anne was just being difficult.
Downstairs the front door slammed shut and a moment later they could hear the smart click of Mr Wallis’s shoes on the front steps.
‘Anyway, it’s too late, Daddy’s already left,’ Anne pointed out, gazing down at the street below where Mr Wallis’s rapidly retreating figure could be seen.
‘Well. It’s high time we got ready for school,’ Jean countered, feeling that she had somehow been out-played by the child.
‘We? Oh, are you coming too, Nanny?’ Before Jean could reply to this Anne returned to her bed and sat down heavily, placing a weak hand to her forehead. ‘Anyway, I shan’t be able to go to school today, I’m afraid, as I don’t feel well.’
Jean was about to reply that Anne was clearly well enough to get up out of bed and go and stand by the window, but stopped herself. What would a nanny do in such a situation?
‘Oh poor lamb,’ she said. ‘Yes, you do look a little poorly. Let me get you into bed,’ and Anne submitted to having her forehead felt and a thermometer placed beneath her tongue, lying perfectly still until Jean had removed the thermometer and studied it for a while with narrowed eyes, holding it up to the light and twisting it this way and that.
‘Oh. Can’t you read a thermometer, Nanny?’ asked Anne, sounding less wan than she had a few moments ago.
In the end, Jean went to fetch Mrs Wallis.
Mrs Wallis, it appeared, was about to go out. She was standing in the hallway pulling on her gloves and she looked blankly at Jean as Jean related the news of her daughter’s illness to her. Mrs Wallis picked up a spotted black and white silk head scarf and paused before the hallway mirror.
‘And in your opinion, Nanny, is it real or is she faking?’ she enquired.
Jean was a little nonplussed.
‘I took her temperature,’ she replied carefully. ‘But these things, well, you never can tell—’
‘Yes, quite.’ Mrs Wallis replaced the scarf on the hall table and followed her. Upstairs, Anne lay curled up on her bed.
‘Anne, dear, what is it?’
‘Don’t feel well,’ Anne replied feebly.
‘Well, is it your head? Your throat? Your stomach?’
‘My … head,’ Anne replied after a moment’s consideration and she delicately touched that afflicted part of her anatomy.
Mrs Wallis nodded as though she had expected this.
‘I suppose you had better stay home from school.’ The patient nodded meekly at this suggestion. ‘Nanny, please telephone the school and notify them that Anne will not be in today.’ And with that she turned and left the room.
Jean followed her out and back down the stairs.
‘Are you going out, then, Mrs Wallis?’
‘Yes. I have an appointment,’ she replied, clearly surprised at the question.
‘Dr Rolley’s number is in the address book downstairs on the telephone table should Anne’s medical condition … deteriorate.’
Mrs Wallis had now reached the hall mirror. Jean watched from her position on the stairs as she tied the scarf over her head and reached for a coat. ‘And of course Mr Wallis’s number at the office is in there too, should there be any kind of emergency,’ and she put on the coat, picked up her handbag and left.
Jean went back upstairs and found Anne standing by the window, absorbed by something down below. She spun around as Jean came in, her eyes flew wide open and she raced back over to her bed.
‘I think it’s rude to come into a person’s room without knocking first,’ she declared from the safety of her bed.
‘Do you? And I think it’s rude to lie about being ill,’ and Jean marched over to the window.
‘I’m not lying! I am ill!’ Anne insisted, curling into a ball on her bed.
Outside, Mrs Wallis could be seen walking purposefully along the opposite pavement. She wore gloves and a long raincoat and her face was almost hidden behind a pair of enormous sunglasses. She walked with her head down and her arms folded
Downstairs the front door slammed shut and a moment later they could hear the smart click of Mr Wallis’s shoes on the front steps.
‘Anyway, it’s too late, Daddy’s already left,’ Anne pointed out, gazing down at the street below where Mr Wallis’s rapidly retreating figure could be seen.
‘Well. It’s high time we got ready for school,’ Jean countered, feeling that she had somehow been out-played by the child.
‘We? Oh, are you coming too, Nanny?’ Before Jean could reply to this Anne returned to her bed and sat down heavily, placing a weak hand to her forehead. ‘Anyway, I shan’t be able to go to school today, I’m afraid, as I don’t feel well.’
Jean was about to reply that Anne was clearly well enough to get up out of bed and go and stand by the window, but stopped herself. What would a nanny do in such a situation?
‘Oh poor lamb,’ she said. ‘Yes, you do look a little poorly. Let me get you into bed,’ and Anne submitted to having her forehead felt and a thermometer placed beneath her tongue, lying perfectly still until Jean had removed the thermometer and studied it for a while with narrowed eyes, holding it up to the light and twisting it this way and that.
‘Oh. Can’t you read a thermometer, Nanny?’ asked Anne, sounding less wan than she had a few moments ago.
In the end, Jean went to fetch Mrs Wallis.
Mrs Wallis, it appeared, was about to go out. She was standing in the hallway pulling on her gloves and she looked blankly at Jean as Jean related the news of her daughter’s illness to her. Mrs Wallis picked up a spotted black and white silk head scarf and paused before the hallway mirror.
‘And in your opinion, Nanny, is it real or is she faking?’ she enquired.
Jean was a little nonplussed.
‘I took her temperature,’ she replied carefully. ‘But these things, well, you never can tell—’
‘Yes, quite.’ Mrs Wallis replaced the scarf on the hall table and followed her. Upstairs, Anne lay curled up on her bed.
‘Anne, dear, what is it?’
‘Don’t feel well,’ Anne replied feebly.
‘Well, is it your head? Your throat? Your stomach?’
‘My … head,’ Anne replied after a moment’s consideration and she delicately touched that afflicted part of her anatomy.
Mrs Wallis nodded as though she had expected this.
‘I suppose you had better stay home from school.’ The patient nodded meekly at this suggestion. ‘Nanny, please telephone the school and notify them that Anne will not be in today.’ And with that she turned and left the room.
Jean followed her out and back down the stairs.
‘Are you going out, then, Mrs Wallis?’
‘Yes. I have an appointment,’ she replied, clearly surprised at the question.
‘Dr Rolley’s number is in the address book downstairs on the telephone table should Anne’s medical condition … deteriorate.’
Mrs Wallis had now reached the hall mirror. Jean watched from her position on the stairs as she tied the scarf over her head and reached for a coat. ‘And of course Mr Wallis’s number at the office is in there too, should there be any kind of emergency,’ and she put on the coat, picked up her handbag and left.
Jean went back upstairs and found Anne standing by the window, absorbed by something down below. She spun around as Jean came in, her eyes flew wide open and she raced back over to her bed.
‘I think it’s rude to come into a person’s room without knocking first,’ she declared from the safety of her bed.
‘Do you? And I think it’s rude to lie about being ill,’ and Jean marched over to the window.
‘I’m not lying! I am ill!’ Anne insisted, curling into a ball on her bed.
Outside, Mrs Wallis could be seen walking purposefully along the opposite pavement. She wore gloves and a long raincoat and her face was almost hidden behind a pair of enormous sunglasses. She walked with her head down and her arms folded
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