She heard Ross go upstairs, then heard him coming down fast. He appeared in the doorway, shrugging into his bulky tweed jacket, slipping a mackintosh over the top of that. 'I have to go out,' he said tersely.
Emma looked up, nodded without comment. He had that expression again, hard and sardonic. She felt his eyes condemn her, and wondered what crime she had committed now. What urgent summons had Amanda Craig issued to him? Was he needed in his professional capacity? Or in a more personal sense?
Half an hour later she herself went to bed, having banked up the fire behind its close-meshed guard. She looked in on the children, found them sleeping peacefully. Edie popped her head out of her little room, whispered goodnight once more and vanished. Emma smiled, went into the bathroom and had a slow, cosy bath, then went to bed. She could not sleep, however, so she sat up and did some preliminary sketches for her commission, from memory mostly, but supplemented by some postcards she had bought in Dorchester. Next time she went into the town she must do some serious work, she told herself.
She finally slid into sleep an hour later, but it was three hours after that she heard Ross come up the stairs. He stumbled over the top stair, cursing softly under his breath. Surely, she thought, he had not been drinking? She looked at her bedside clock, yawning. Two o'clock in the morning? Where on earth had he been until this hour? Amanda Craig certainly had some powers of persuasion!
It isn't my business, Emma told herself, settling back on her pillow. Let him stay out all night! He's the one losing sleep, not me.
Next morning, though, her feelings erupted. She had taken the children for a long walk through the wood, gathering blackberries, had made pastry and peeled apples; made blackberry and apple pie for lunch. Edie had spent the morning down at the inn, helping her sister. Ross had been working, but popped in unexpectedly for lunch as he was out that way.
Emma, just dishing up lamb chops and fresh mint sauce, gave a groan as he appeared in the doorway. 'Why didn't you say you were going to come in for lunch? I've only chops enough for four of us.' She threw a desperate eye at the larder. 'Would sausages satisfy you?'
'I can go on into Dorchester for lunch,' he said brusquely, turning on his heel.
'Don't be absurd,' she snapped. 'Now you're here, you'll eat lunch with us, of course, but it would be polite of you to give me warning in future. I hate to be caught like Mother Hubbard with nothing to offer.'
She rapidly fried some sausages, served them to him while the others had their chops, with creamed potatoes and carrots and peas. The pie came out of the oven to cries of delight. Ross gleefully accepted a plateful. 'I love free food,' he said. 'It would be a crime to waste hedgerows full of blackberries. One morning we'll go gathering mushrooms, kids, and I'll teach you which you can eat and which you can't.'
The children went out to play in the garden while Emma washed up. Ross lounged in the doorway, watching her, yawning. 'I'm tired.'
'Is that surprising?' she asked sarcastically.
'What's that supposed to mean?' He raised a brow inquiringly at her.
'If you will stay out with your girlfriend all night,' Emma said, then wished she had held her tongue. Oh, she thought—my tactless tongue! When will I learn?
There was a little silence. Silkily, he asked, 'What makes you think that? You were in bed when I got back.'
'If you fall up the stairs you must expect people to wake up,' she said tartly.
'Look, Miss Leigh,' he said very softly, 'you're here to look after the children, not put a twenty-four-hour watch on me. What hour I leave, what hour I return, is my business, and nobody else's. Understood?'
'Perfectly,' she said, her colour high.
'Good,' he returned, leaving fast. Emma heard him drive away, paused, her hands still wet, automatically wiped them on her apron and wanted to scream. He had made her feel like a prying prig, and the worst of it was that he was quite right…it wasn't her business what he did. Why had she said anything? Would she never learn to be discreet, to hold her tongue?
Later, she walked down to have tea with Mrs Pat, an invitation conveyed by Edie shyly but eagerly. The children, dressed in their best clothes, scampered ahead like joyful puppies, while Edie and Emma came more sedately behind them.
Outside the inn they were passed by the familiar, sleek shape of Leon Daumaury's car. The children stood, mouths open, staring. Edie made a gulping sound, like a fish out of water, her expressive countenance filled with horror and dismay. Emma frowned, wondering what to do, seeing the car slow and then stop. The old man in the back of the car sat, his withered hands folded on the gold knob of an ebony stick, staring at the three children.
Emma, joining them, laid a protective, bewildered hand upon Tracy's shoulders, sensing that of the three children she was the one most disturbed by this encounter. Remembering Tracy's voice when she saw the old man yesterday, Emma was prepared for anything. Could it be true that this was their grandfather? It would explain Amanda Craig's interest in Ross. Presumably, the absent archaeologist father was Leon Daumaury's son. Yet Judith had said that her husband had no living relatives, hadn't she? Had she lied, or merely preferred to forget? And if her husband was a Daumaury, why on earth should Judith call herself Mrs Hart? Well, that wasn't too difficult to fathom, was it? It was becoming very clear that there was some serious family quarrel involved. Presumably Judith's husband had changed his name to cut himself off from his family, and Emma could guess why he wanted to do that. A man as wealthy as Leon Daumaury might feel bitter enmity towards a son who married in the teeth of his opposition, and Emma suspected, looking at the icy pride of the old man's face, that this was a man who would certainly oppose his son if he wished to marry someone as cheerfully unpretentious as Judith.
Tracy was glaring at the old man, her small face obstinately set.
Suddenly Emma saw, in a flash of insight, a curious resemblance between them—something about the shape of the eyes, the set of the unyielding jaw, the line of mouth and nose. It was indistinct yet unmistakable.
A bubble of laughter arose in her chest. It was funny, really funny, to see the child and the old man confronting one another in that same fashion. Over sixty years lay between them, yet they had so much in common.
Robin, his head tilted to one side, asked in his calm, adult voice, 'Is that really my grandfather, Emma?'
As if terrified, or angered, the old man leant forward and without a word rapped on the chauffeur's back with his stick. The car purred away. The old man did not look back.
Emma looked down at Robin, then at Tracy. 'You must ask your uncle that, Robin.'
'Uncle Ross never talks about it,' Tracy said flatly.
'Why not?' demanded Robin.
'Because,' Tracy said, her voice uncertain.
'Because what?'
'Just because,' said Tracy obstinately.
Mrs Pat came out, her expression so carefully void that Emma was at once certain that she had been watching from a distance. 'There you are,' she cried cheerfully. 'Come along in and try my coffee cake, m'dear. I've made marble cake for the little ones.'
'Marble cake?' repeated Robin. 'What's that?'
'Ah, you'll like that,' said Mrs Pat, leading him by the hand. She winked at Emma over her shoulder. 'All the colours of the rainbow, that is.'
She was not exaggerating. The cake stood in the centre of the tea-table, in pride of place, covered with thick pink icing sprinkled with chocolate drops. When it was finally cut, it proved to be multi-coloured—steaked with green, pink, chocolate. Donna was enchanted. Robin was downright greedy. Even Tracy looked at it with eagerness.
Emma sat over yet another cup of tea, later, with Mrs Pat, watching the children playing in the garden, feeding the hens and skipping happily around the flower beds. She longed to ask Mrs Pat for the truth about Leon Daumaury's relationship to the children, yet she already knew enough of these quiet people to sense that any such personal question could only meet with a stone wall. They would resent her curiosity, and
in any case, refuse to satisfy it. Had Ross and Judith wanted her to know about Leon Daumaury they would have told her all about it themselves. Ross had had the opportunity yesterday. He had not taken it, and that, in itself, told her a great deal. Plainly, he wished her to remain in ignorance of the facts. It was a family matter, and she was not one of the family. She could understand that.
It was Edie who first noticed Donna's absence. Emma heard a little explosion of noise outside, glanced out and saw the two children and Edie staring from side to side. Two children? She jumped up, running out instinctively. Their voices called, 'Donna…Donna, where are you?'
Emma joined them. Tracy burst out, 'We were playing hide and seek…Donna hid and we can't find her!'
Edie was panic-stricken. 'I shouldn't have let them…I never should have let her go off on her own, a mite like that.' Anxiety made her quite articulate.
'She can't have gone far,' soothed Emma. 'We'll spread out, keep calling her.'
Would Donna, triumphant at having escaped finding so far, keep quiet in whatever hiding-place she found? She was so small that it would be hard to see her if she kept still.
They spread out, calling. Down the lane, calling at the other houses, going back as far as Rook Cottage, even penetrating the wood and searching it sketchily, without real hope of finding her there. Edie became progressively more alarmed, more tearful. Even Tracy was now worried. Emma began to wonder, secretly, if she ought not to ring Ross and get a more organised search party out, for it would soon be dark, and Donna was so small.
Then she saw her, in the centre of a field, unaware of anything but pleasure, picking dandelion clocks and blowing them to the four winds, chanting incomprehensibly to herself as she did so.
Relief swamped Emma. She shut her eyes, breathing a prayer of gratitude. When she opened them, relief turned to frozen terror as she saw something else—something she had not noticed at first, absorbed only in the sight of Donna unharmed.
On the other side of the field, his back to the playing child, stood a massive, barrel-ribbed bull, head lowered, staring across the fields towards the wood.
Emma bit her lip, thinking fast. She dared not call out to Donna. Any sound would certainly arouse the bull's attention, the last thing she wanted to do. She must go to get Donna herself, as softly as she could. She advanced to the gate. How had Donna got into the field? Slid through the bars? Or had she, too, climbed over?
Carefully, Emma negotiated the five-barred gate and began walking slowly and silently through the grass towards Donna.
She was almost at Donna's side when the child looked up. A cry of welcome rose to the child's lips, but Emma shook her head fiercely, her finger to her lips in silent warning. Donna's face lit up. She giggled. No doubt she thought it was an extension of the game she had been playing with Tracy and Robin. Emma picked her up, turned and began to tiptoe away towards the gate.
The malevolence of Fate struck a moment later, while she and Donna were still a long way from safety.
Two crows flew over, quarrelling. One gave a loud shriek of rage and defiance, and Donna laughed.
Emma gave a look of agony over her shoulder, and saw the bull slowly turn, saw the little red-rimmed eyes flare with incredulous offence as it took them in, the nostrils flare and steam, the great head lower.
She began to run, hampered by Donna's weight. Donna, unaware still of the danger behind them, giggled and patted Emma's face encouragingly. Fear accelerated Emma's pulse, gave unknown strength to her legs and lungs. She ran as she had never run before, clutching Donna protectively. Behind her came the bull, gathering speed as his massive weight thundered down upon them. Soon she could hear him.
His breath sounded agonisingly loud. Or was that her own breath, coming so painfully?
Clutched against her, Donna could not see the bull, but she suddenly seemed to become aware of the danger, perhaps in some peculiar telepathic leap between their two minds. The little body grew rigid. The little hands clutched fearfully.
'All right…' Emma panted reassuringly, feeling far from certain that they would reach the gate. 'Don't be afraid, darling.'
The gate blurred in front of her. She flung herself upward, Donna held forward out of all danger.
Afterwards she never could remember exactly how she climbed the gate. One moment she was on the wrong side, the bull bearing down upon her. The next she was falling forward, hands out in an effort to stop herself, but at least safely on the right side of the gate with the bull swerving away, angrily cheated, on the other side.
Head swimming, lungs rasping, she reached for Donna. 'Are you all right, darling?'
But Donna was laughing. 'Emma all dirty!'
A car screeched to a halt beside them. Dazedly, Emma saw Ross leap out, come at a run, his face pale. He knelt beside her, looked from one to the other, looked at the bull snorting and pawing the muddy ground in the field beyond.
'My God, what happened?'
'Don't ask…' Emma tried to laugh, wondering if that was really her own blood pouring down her sleeve, and where it could be coming from.
'You've cut your arm,' he said, raising it to inspect the wound.
'Only a graze,' she said, aware with astonishment that for some impossible reason it gave her a pang of pleasure to see his head bent to look at her, his eyes resting on her without hostility.
'The cow ran at us,' Donna said waveringly.
'Did it, indeed?' said Ross in grim tones.
Emma looked up at him, grimaced. 'My fault. I'm sorry—I should have stayed with her all the time.'
'I know how it happened,' he said. 'Mrs Pat rang me. I came back at once. It was nobody's fault—children will wander off, and no one can watch three children at once.'
'Emma's dirty,' said Donna, assuming disapproval now that Ross, the stern male, was present.
Emma involuntarily laughed. 'I'm naughty,' she agreed in a light voice.
Ross lifted her to her feet, his hands firm on her arms. 'I'll run you both home. I should think your legs are aching after a gallop across a field with Bonaparte after you!'
'Is that really his name?' Emma laughed, thinking how well it suited the bull.
'It is—they call him Nappy for short.' He cocked an eye at Donna, who giggled. 'Ah, here comes Tracy. She can be our little messenger and convey the good news to Mrs Pat and Edie. They're out of their minds with anxiety.'
Tracy gave Donna a cross, reproving stare. 'Where have you been? You'll get a smack. We've been looking for you for ages, and Edie's crying like a waterworks…' Becoming conscious of Ross's glance, she added primly, 'Mrs Pat said like a waterworks.'
'Skip back and tell them we've found Donna and she's quite safe,' Ross said. 'Ask Edie to bring you and Robin back to the cottage right away, will you? Time you three had a bath and were off to bed, I think. You've had a busy day again today.'
'Why is Emma all black?' Tracy asked, staring. 'Did she fall in a puddle?'
'Yes,' said Ross. 'Now, be off with you.'
Tracy ran off reluctantly. Ross handed Donna into the car, and Emma got in beside her, aware of a faintly distasteful odour.
'The cowshed fragrance stems from yourself, I'm afraid,' Ross told her, tongue in cheek, seeing her wrinkling her nose.
She looked down at her best black-and-red check dress, with its flared skirt and patent leather belt. A groan of horror and grief came from her as she saw what had happened to it when she fell, and then a groan of disgust as she realised what she had fallen into.
'I shall have to scrub myself until my skin is raw to get rid of this smell,' she said with anguish. 'My tights are ruined, and look at my shoes!' surveying them with dismay.
Ross chuckled. 'Never mind. Put it down to experience, and remember, you've had what you might call a baptism of fire.' His eyes twinkled at the wrath reflected in her face. 'Country living isn't as hygienic as life in town, you know. We aren't all plastic-wrapped and tidy. The only smell in a town is the reek of petrol fumes, I think.
Personally, I prefer the smell of a horse or a cow, but tastes differ.'
'Emma ran and ran,' Donna said admiringly. 'Then we fell over the gate.'
Ross shot Emma a look in the driving mirror. 'Quite the little heroine,' he drawled.
She flushed. 'Oh, shut up!'
Ross took charge of Donna when they arrived. The child was unscratched, comparatively clean, since Emma had instinctively protected her from the fall without even knowing what she was doing. Ross stood her at the kitchen sink on a chair and let her play contentedly with the water in a plastic bowl. Emma went upstairs to take a bath.
Later, scrubbed clean and wearing jeans and a sweater, she came downstairs with her dirty clothes in a little parcel, rolled up together. 'I must do some washing. The sooner these are clean the better!'
Ross surveyed her with mocking amusement. 'Town dweller!'
'I notice you always wash thoroughly after you've been at work in a barn,' she snapped.
'A matter of common sense,' he shrugged. 'More hygienic.'
'Don't tell me you actually like the smell of manure,' she protested incredulously.
He grinned. 'Not on myself,' he admitted unashamedly.
'I thought so,' she tossed her head in triumph.
He moved closer, looked down at her face, at the clear, healthy skin, aglow with colour, at the wide, warm eyes the colour of chestnuts, at the generous pink mouth and rounded chin.
'You smell a lot nicer now,' he said, sniffing the fragrance of bath salts and talc. 'Like a garden.'
Emma was hypnotised, fixed by his unwavering grey eyes, held like a rabbit under their spell.
Kingfisher Morning Page 6