'But do you know anything about children?' Judith asked. 'Mine aren't angels, I'm afraid. They can be perfect terrors when they're in the right mood. Do you think you really want to take on such a responsibility?'
'It would make me feel a lot easier,' Emma said frankly. 'I've been feeling terribly guilty since it happened. It would ease my mind.'
'Then there's my brother,' Judith said, with the air of one who means to be absolutely fair. She looked at Emma meaningfully. 'Not to put too fine a point upon it, he's a male chauvinist of the worst sort. He isn't married, and never will be, I suspect, because he has such a high standard, and no mere woman could ever reach it.' She grimaced. 'Ross and I never got on, to be honest. He doesn't understand why I should want to get back to archaeology. He thinks I should stay with the children. He only agreed to take them when Tim talked to him about it.'
Emma squared her slim shoulders and drew a determined breath. 'I shall cope with your brother, don't worry.'
Judith looked at her, torn between hope and misgiving. 'Oh, it would be wonderful…but I don't know…'
'Is there anyone else who could take the children? Your mother?'
Judith sighed. 'Dead. And I have no aunts or other relatives suitable. Tim has two very ancient aunts in Lincolnshire, but they could never take on three lively kids.' She looked pathetically at Emma. 'To be frank, I've been lying here worrying about the children. I've thought and thought and no one springs to mind.'
'Then it's settled,' Emma said firmly. 'I'll drive the children down to their uncle's cottage and sort it out with him. I'll be glad to do it, truly.'
Judith looked up at her, saw warm brown eyes, like chestnuts shining glossily on an autumn day; hair which matched in shade and was brushed until it gleamed, a creamy skin and oval face, with delicately formed features. She liked what she saw. It gave her comfort. She sensed that her children would be in safe hands. Emma had such a solid, reassuring look about her.
The ward Sister came back, her brow faintly wrinkled in concern. 'We've rung your brother again, Mrs Hart, but there's still no reply. Is there anyone else we could try?'
Judith frowned. 'He must be out on his rounds.'
'Rounds?' repeated the Sister. 'Is he a doctor?'
'A vet,' Judith said.
'Oh, I see. That explains it. Then I'll keep trying.'
'I'll take charge of the children,' said Emma. She and Judith explained what had been decided, and the ward Sister gave Emma a mildly approving smile. Judith was visibly looking better, more cheerful and relaxed, and the Sister was pleased by this change in her patient.
Emma went out to find the children. She wanted them to see their mother before they left. It would reassure them to know that their mother was in good hands, and that she approved of their temporary guardian.
The eldest jumped up as Emma came and asked eagerly, 'How's Mummy?'
'I'm going to take you to see her in a moment,' Emma told her, smiling down and taking her by the hand. 'I'm Emma. What's your name?'
'Tracy,' said the child flatly. She looked round at her little brother who was trying to listen to his own heart with a stethoscope he had found in a box on the desk. 'Robin, stop that! Put it back.'
Robin was small and round and rosy, with bright dark eyes and a mischievous grin. He was, Emma guessed, about four years old, but sturdily built for his age. He was wearing a red sweater and neat blue jeans.
The third child was asleep, leaning against the wall, her cheek curled up against her hand, her thumb in her mouth. Emma felt tenderness well up within her at the softness of that baby cheek, the golden down of the pink skin, the long curled lashes lying on the cheek. 'Who's the sleeping beauty?' she asked Tracy lightly.
'Donna,' Tracy said. 'She's only three and she sleeps a lot.' Her tone was disparaging. Emma bit back a smile.
She bent and gently lifted Donna into her arms, the heavy little head flopping against her shoulder. A warm feeling grew inside Emma. How wonderful it felt to hold this soft little body, to feel the trustful yielding, the weight of the small head against her.
'Shall we go and see Mummy?' she asked Tracy.
'Then what are we going to do?' Tracy had an almost adult way of speaking. Her eyes were intelligent as she studied Emma. 'Will Uncle Ross come to fetch us?'
'I'm going to take you to him,' Emma promised. 'As soon as we've seen your mother.'
Half an hour later she pulled up at a remote crossroad and stared hopefully at the dark countryside. Judith had given her a sketchmap of the route. This was definitely the crossroads marked on the map, so the road to the left must be the one to take. But if it was, where was the village marked on the map? She saw no lights, no houses anywhere? Had she taken a wrong turning at some point on the way?
She drove slowly along the road. In the darkness it was impossible to see a thing. Then, suddenly, from behind a belt of trees she saw the lights of a house. She gave a sigh of relief. At last!
She counted the houses. One, two, three…then another gap. Just as Judith had warned her. Three cottages close together, then a copse. Two fields lay between the copse and the next little clump of houses. Then she saw the small, whitewashed inn marked on the map. She turned off past the inn and drove up a very narrow, sandy lane, parked on the grass verge outside the final house in the village.
Her heart sank as she saw that there were no lights on in the building. The three children were all asleep now, curled up beneath a tartan rug in the back of the car, like puppies.
Emma left them in peace while she explored. She found the white gate and pushed it open, followed the winding garden path. The scent of roses, night-scented stock, lavender and other unidentifiable flowers came to her nostrils. She groped her way to the front door, knocked loudly, knocked again. No sound disturbed the house within. She lifted the letterbox flap and listened. A deep-throated ticking came from the hall. Nothing more. She groaned. Was there no one in at all?
Suddenly a sound made her jump. She swung round, heart thumping. Tracy materialised out of the darkness, slid her small warm hand into Emma's cold one and smiled up at her.
'I woke up. We're here. Isn't Uncle Ross in?'
'Apparently not,' said Emma, trying to sound cheerful. 'We shall have to break the window to get in, I think.'
'Isn't the key under the flowerpot?' Tracy asked.
Emma stared at her. 'What?'
'Uncle Ross always leaves it there,' Tracy said simply. 'If he and Mrs Climp are out.'
'Mrs Climp?' Emma connected the name with the housekeeper after a moment. 'Which flowerpot, do you know?'
'Of course,' Tracy said scornfully. 'I've stayed here before, haven't I? Last summer. For a week, just me on my own. It was great.' She led the way round to the back of the cottage, bent and turned over the third pot in a little row beside the kitchen door. She straightened triumphantly with a key in her hand.
Emma sighed with relief. She kissed Tracy warmly. 'Good girl!'
Tracy wriggled, embarrassed. 'It fits the kitchen door,' she said.
Emma tried the key and was enchanted when it turned in the lock and the door swung open. Tracy slid past her and switched on the light. Emma blinked, half blinded by the sudden transition from dark to light. The kitchen was compact, modern, scrupulously clean and tidy.
'I'm starving,' Tracy declared, rummaging in the large white refrigerator.
Emma was alarmed. 'Do you think we should? As your uncle is out?'
Tracy stared at her. 'He can't expect us to go to bed starving… Beefburgers… great! And spaghetti!'
Emma gulped. 'At this hour? I could boil some eggs. I'm sure Robin and Donna would prefer them.'
Tracy giggled. 'Are you kidding? Robin loves spaghetti.' She tossed back her dark head. 'I'll grill the beefburgers and open the spaghetti while you fetch them from the car.'
Emma stared at her, stunned by this efficiency from one so young. Tracy was carefully arranging the beefburgers on the grill, her face absorbed, her fingers deft. T
hen she turned and began to open the tin with a wall can-opener. Emma shuddered, turned and went out to get the other two children.
They were still asleep. She wrapped Donna in the rug, lifted her over one shoulder and Robin woke up. 'I can walk,' he said sturdily.
They found Tracy busily arranging knives and forks on the table. A kettle hummed on the stove. Tracy had made toast with an electric toaster and Emma obediently buttered it at Tracy's suggestion. Her sense of humour made her want to laugh, but she firmly folded her lips together. Tracy was so very adult as she gave her orders. It would not do to undermine her sense of dignity.
Robin and Donna vanished briefly upstairs to the bathroom. They returned and took their places at the table. Emma made tea, found cups and milk, and Tracy began to serve the meal, her expression comically complacent.
Emma did not feel she could manage any spaghetti, but to appease Tracy's affronted feelings she had a beefburger and some toast. The children ate heartily and seemed to enjoy their meal. Tracy smirked when Emma congratulated her.
'I like cooking.'
'You like eating, you mean,' said Robin, his mouth full.
Tracy kicked him under the table and he yelped.
'I think you ought to turn in now,' Emma said hastily.
Tracy nodded. 'I know which rooms we were going to have—Uncle Ross said in his letter that I could have the one I had last year, and Donna could share with me. Robin's room is the boxroom and you can have Nanny's room, I suppose.'
Upstairs they found the beds already made up. Hotwater bottles lay on the bedspreads, so Emma went back downstairs to fill them, while Tracy helped Donna get into her pyjamas. When Emma returned she found all three ready for bed.
She bent to kiss the two girls goodnight. Tracy permitted her to kiss her cheek without enthusiasm, but Donna gave her a warm hug. She was a contented, cuddly little creature, eager for affection.
'Do you want me to leave the bedside lamp on?' Emma asked Tracy gently.
Tracy looked scornful again. 'Of course not! I'm not a baby.'
Donna was already half asleep, curled with her thumb in her mouth, her hair over her face.
Robin was right under his bedclothes when Emma went into his room. She hesitated, then went over to the bed. 'Goodnight, Robin,' she said.
His rosy face poked out, a bright round eye surveying her. He grinned silently. She gave him a quick kiss on his button nose, and he burrowed back under the bedclothes at once. She laughed, switched out his lamp and went out.
For a moment she stood on the landing. The children could be heard breathing in the silence— rhythmic, contented breathing, she decided with relief.
She had got them here safely! They were warm and well fed, tucked up in bed. Now that she relaxed she realised how nervous she had been. It had been quite a night.
She went down to the kitchen and began to do the washing up. When the kitchen was once more restored to its original pristine order she made herself a cup of cocoa and sat down with it, yawning. Then she washed up her cup and saucer, looked round the room once more, and turned to go up to bed. She switched out the light at the door and made her way to the stairs, then realised she had left her handbag in her car.
She went out of the kitchen door and walked through the dark garden. The wind stirred the trees behind the house. The night breathed softly, almost menacingly. She shivered. It was a very remote and lonely place.
She began to walk faster, her heart beating hard. A dark shape loomed up in front of her. She swerved aside, giving a stifled cry, but hard hands caught and held her in a steely grip.
'Let me go!'
'Oh, no, you don't…' grunted the man.
She kicked at him fiercely, struggling.
'Keep still, damn you, and let me take a look at you,' he commanded.
She felt him shift his grip a little, then a torch shone straight into her face. She blinked, turning aside.
'Who the devil are you?' her captor demanded.
She had already realised who he must be. Once her first panic fear had subsided, her mind worked a little better. This was the male chauvinist brother himself! She gave a little groan. 'I'm in charge of your sister's children,' she said, on a stifled laugh.
'You aren't their French nanny,' he said disbelievingly.
'There's been an accident,' she explained. 'Oh, your sister isn't badly hurt, but the nanny was, and I offered to bring the children here to you.'
'Then you can just take them back again,' he said forcefully. 'My housekeeper has given in her notice and left. I can't possibly have them here now. You'll have to take them back to their mother.'
CHAPTER TWO
'That's out of the question,' she said in dismay, and he shone the torch on her face once more.
'Why is it?' he demanded. She flinched away from the light, feeling her own anger rising inside her. He was all that his sister had warned, and more!
'Please, stop blinding me with your torch! Are we to stand here all night in this cold wind? Can't we go back inside the cottage?'
'Why were you wandering around in the dark, anyway?'
She explained, and he escorted her to her car and waited with barely concealed impatience while she found her handbag in the glove compartment. An owl hooted derisively as they walked back, and Emma jumped, startled.
He gave a brusque bark of laughter. 'Town-bred, aren't you?'
She disdained a reply.
At the back door he carefully removed his muddy Wellingtons and placed them on a rubber mat behind the door, ready to be cleaned later. She followed him into the kitchen. He walked quietly in his thick woollen socks. She studied him curiously.
Although he had his back to her she got a clear idea of him from the aggressive width of the shoulders beneath his old tweed jacket, the arrogant tilt of his dark brown head, the thick healthy hair wind-tossed but glossy. He was just over six foot tall, slim and spare of build, but muscled; a man who spent his life in physical activity, not a man who liked a sedentary life.
He turned suddenly, the teapot in his hand, and gave her a quick, all-seeing stare which swept from her glossy brown head to her feet. 'Tell me about my sister,' he commanded.
She drew a breath made harsh by mounting anger. Who did he think he was, giving orders left, right and centre? Her voice was clear and undisguisedly scornful. 'Sure you want to hear? I wouldn't want to bore you.'
His grey eyes narrowed menacingly. 'You won't bore me, Miss…?'
'Leigh,' she said, nervous under that icy gaze. 'Emma Leigh.'
'Well, Miss Emma Leigh, you jump to unwarranted conclusions, let me tell you. From what you said originally I gathered that my sister was not hurt in this crash…'
'I said she was not badly hurt,' Emma emphasised. 'She has two broken ribs and slight concussion. They're keeping her in hospital for the time being. The nanny is there, too, with worse injuries. There's nobody to look after the children, which is why I offered…'
'How did you come into it in the first place?' he inquired coolly. 'Are you a friend of my sister?'
She flushed. 'Well, no. I…I was the other driver.'
His glance assessed her, suddenly sharp with interest. 'The other driver? Expound, if you please.'
'I braked because a dog ran out into the road in front of me, and your sister's car ran into the back of mine.' She flung the words at him hotly, angry because she was embarrassed.
'And so your Good Samaritan act was, in fact, a cover for guilt?' he finished for her drily. 'You have a nerve, giving me those scornful, accusing looks!'
Her cheeks were burning. There was some justice in his remark, after all. 'I admit I offered to look after the children because I felt guilty about having been the unwitting cause of their mother's accident,' she said in a low voice. 'But I hope I would have wanted to help even if I hadn't been involved like that! I would certainly not turn away three children who needed help, especially…' She broke off, biting her lip.
'Especially if they wer
e your sister's children?' He gave her a hard smile. 'I lead a busy life, Miss Leigh. I'm totally occupied already. Without a housekeeper, how do you suggest I care for the children? They barely know me. The youngest is only three, the eldest only seven. I can't leave them alone in the house at night if I'm called out on an emergency, nor is it practical to take them with me. Before you start building me up as a selfish ogre, try considering the practical difficulties.'
'You could…' she began, but he cut her off crisply.
'Find another housekeeper? I've been trying all day, to no avail. People don't want to live in isolated places, especially if there are young children to look after.'
'I was going to say you could try me,' she said when he ended.
He did a double-take, his grey eyes filling with incredulity. 'You? You'd be prepared to run this house?' Then his glance narrowed, hardening. 'Oh, no. No, thank you. Out of the question.'
'I'm perfectly capable of looking after the children,' she said indignantly.
'That was not what I meant,' he said.
'Then…?'
His eyebrows rose. 'Surely you can't be so unsophisticated? This is a quiet, country district. Everyone knows everybody's business. Do you imagine your arrival went unnoticed? Even though it's pitch dark out there the village will be aware that a car has arrived at my house, that there were children and a young woman in it…they'll believe you're my sister until tomorrow morning, and then the tongues will begin to wag. They'll have us in bed together by tomorrow night, and on the point of marriage before the week's out. They love to gossip, and since they have so little to gossip about they make the most of what they get.'
She was bright pink, flustered and angry. 'How ridiculous!'
He began to laugh, and she glared at him. 'What's so funny?' she demanded.
'Your face,' he said, his own expression totally changed by a fierce amusement.
'I think you would be weak-minded if you allowed village gossip to stop you looking after your sister's children,' she said tartly. 'But as you're so sensitive, I'll take them to a hotel tomorrow. That is, if you can put up with us under your roof for one night? Or will your reputation be ruined by such reckless behaviour?'
Kingfisher Morning Page 2