Suddenly there were bright tears in Judith's eyes, and she turned her head hurriedly aside. Emma was appalled. She looked out of the window for inspiration, saw an ice-cream van standing beside the back gate of the hospital. 'Goodness, look! An ice-cream van! When we leave, we'll stop and buy one, shall we? Oh, dear, here's Sister, coming to turn us out, I'm afraid. You must all kiss Mummy goodbye. She'll be coming home soon now, so it won't be for long.'
Judith hugged them all, under Sister's approving eye, and Emma gave her a quick, apologetic smile. Judith's eyes were still damp and she looked pale.
'Thanks,' she whispered again as Emma left.
That evening, when the children were safely tucked up, Emma looked across the sitting-room at Ross, nodding sleepily over the detective story he was reading.
After their chat recently, she felt less apprehensive about bringing up the subject, but it was still not an easy one for her to broach. She did not know all the circumstances, but she felt that someone ought to say something.
'When we were at the hospital today—' she began uneasily.
Ross looked up. 'Hum…? Yes?'
'Robin mentioned Leon Daumaury to Judith and she began to cry. Isn't there anything to be done about that situation? It seems a pity for a family to be split like this.'
'So you do listen to gossip, after all,' he said unpleasantly, standing up abruptly.
'No,' she protested. 'It's just that…'
'Just that like most women you can't help interfering in things that don't concern you! Well, I'll thank you to keep out of my affairs, and that includes my sister's life, too. You're here to look after the children, not play the social worker and solve old problems. You know nothing of the background, you know nothing of the people involved. So mind your own business, Miss Leigh!'
He strode out of the room, snatching his jacket from the hall and banging out of the house.
Emma stared at the fire, her face flushed and full of wrath. Really, he was impossible! How dared he speak to her like that! She had only meant to… She sighed. The road to Hell was supposed to be paved with good intentions, wasn't it? Perhaps she had been rather presumptuous in imagining that she could solve an old family quarrel overnight.
All the same, there was no need for Ross to speak to her in that brutal fashion. He was a beast. I detest him, she told herself. I really detest him.
CHAPTER SIX
Each morning the children walked down to chat to two donkeys, Barnaby and Jessie, and feed them sugar lumps. Jessie was all big-eyed eagerness, gentle and nuzzling. Barnaby was pushy, greedy and determined to get more than his fair share. Emma loved to watch the children with them, seeing how the animals revealed their true nature, seeing how the children reacted instinctively to it.
Mrs Pat often said, 'I don't know why I keep them, eating their heads off…but I haven't the heart to sell them. I won them in a raffle at the village fete a few years back. The donkey farm up along had given the Vicar two donkeys to raffle. I bought a ticket because I never win raffles, but blow me down if I didn't win this one…now in the old days it would have been a pig. We always had a pig at the village fete—bowled for it, we did. Winner got the pig. Useful animals, pigs. You can eat every bit of them.'
'Oh, Mrs Pat,' said Tracy reproachfully. 'How horrid!'
'Horrid, indeed! Who loves a bacon sandwich for her tea?' Mrs Pat teased.
'But that isn't a pig,' Tracy said in a muddled way. 'Not a pig I know, I mean. Not one I've won at bowling. That comes from a shop and I didn't know it.'
They all laughed gently at her. 'I know just what you mean,' Emma agreed. 'When I was five years old I won a chick at a fair. They were giving them away instead of goldfish. I put it in a drawer from my mother's kitchen cabinet. I lined it with straw and put it by the kitchen stove where the chick would be nice and warm. My father said it would die, but it didn't. It grew and grew until it had to move out into the garden with the other hens. But it always was tamer than the others, more friendly. I called it Clara Cluck. But next Christmas my father sold the hens to a butcher in the village, and I cried all night. I knew, of course, that a hen isn't a real pet, not like a dog or a cat, but Clara Cluck was a person to me…I wouldn't eat chicken for months.'
Ross watched her, his expression baffling. 'Just as well your father wasn't a farmer,' he said.
'Talking of fairs,' said Mrs Pat, watching them both with interest, 'there's one at Moscombe Down this week.'
'Oh, can we go?' Tracy flared into white-faced excitement. 'Oh, please, Uncle Ross, Emma…I love fairs. If we go I can have a ride on the roundabout with the horses…I love to ride them and go up and down and round and round.'
'I like fairs!' Donna cried, clapping her small hands and jumping up and down on tiptoes.
Robin looked intensely at his uncle, as if silently begging him to agree.
Ross laughed. 'Why not? I enjoy a good fair myself.'
'When? Tonight?' demanded Robin, always desiring certainties.
Ross shrugged. 'Is it open?'
Mrs Pat nodded.
'Then tonight it shall be,' Ross nodded, smiling at Robin.
The fair was small but noisy. As they approached it in the car they could both see and hear it—the vivid flare of the electric lights over the stalls, the coloured bulbs winking around the rides, the bright painted colours of the horses and ostriches on the merry-go-round—and the loud swirl of the music blaring out from the various mechanical organs.
It was set up in a field at Moscombe Down, just outside the village itself, and many cars were parked in the next field. A farmer's son sat wrapped in an old black duffel coat taking a few pence from each car as it slowly drove into the temporary car park.
They parked and walked back to the fair. Already it was pretty crowded. Vans selling ice-cream, candy floss, hot-dogs and tea stood on the perimeter of the field. Then came an inner circle of stalls—coconut shy, darts, rifle booth, plate smashing, a rather shabby Ghost Train and a Haunted House, and a large amusement arcade tent already thronged with teenage boys busily throwing away their pennies on clanging pinball machines. In the very centre stood the main attractions, the dodgem cars, the big wheel, the Chair-o-Plane, the merry-go-rounds. There was one for small children with cars, buses and stage coaches going round. There was a bigger one with blue and silver horses and bright yellow ostriches going round. There was another one with very up-to-date space rockets circling.
The aisles were crowded, the grass already torn and trampled back to mud. Children scampered along with bright, rosy faces in which the lights of the stall were reflected like fireworks. Emma and Ross firmly restrained the three small children. 'It's easy to get lost in this crowd, so stay close to us, and if you do get separated, go to the dodgem car stand and wait there until one of us comes. Do you understand?'
All three nodded, half listening, eyes wide and filled with brightness.
Ross grinned. 'Well, OK, let it rip…which do you want to go on first…?'
Three different answers came, all panted eagerly. Emma laughed. 'I'll take Donna on the little merry-go-round. You take Tracy and Robin on the horses.'
Donna proudly took her seat in a big red London bus, seized the driving wheel and noisily clanged the bell rope which hung down beside her. The music started. The merry-go-round began to turn slowly.
Emma stood and waved. Behind her she heard the music of the other one. She glanced over her shoulder. Ross was riding a bright yellow ostrich, holding the slippery barley-sugar pole with one hand while the other held Robin in front of him. Tracy sat raptly on a shimmering silver-blue horse whose white mane flowed like moonlight in the lights.
Ross looked across at her and winked. She smiled back. She envied the children. They were lost in wonderland, bright-eyed in the land of dreams. She could remember how it felt, but she could no longer quite share that old enchantment. She still loved the fair, but faith no longer sealed her eyes against the realisation of how shabby the stalls were, how tawdry th
e paints and gildings on the merry-go-round. Adulthood made one too critical, perhaps.
When she had helped Donna off the bus, Ross joined her, holding Robin's hand. 'How about some candy floss?' he suggested.
The children eagerly acclaimed the idea. Later, gingerly nibbling at the fluffy aureole of the pink cloud she held, Emma felt a bubble of laughter welling up in her throat. I'm happy, she thought. I'm deliriously happy! I was never this happy with Guy! Then her mind pulled up with a jerk. What am I saying? What am I thinking?
She looked at Ross. He was already half-way through his candy floss. Some had stuck to his nose, leaving a sugary pink streak across it. He looked at her, grinning.
'There's pink sugar on your nose,' she said.
'Does it suit me?' he asked cheerfully.
She considered. 'I think it does, rather. Makes you less grim, less the ogre.'
'Ogre?' He flipped a derisive eyebrow. 'Was I ever that?'
'From the first second,' she said firmly.
'What does that make you?' He pretended to study her, his grey gaze thoughtful on her glowing pink cheeks, warm brown eyes and windblown hair. 'The good fairy?' He shook his head. 'You look more like Brown Owl.'
'Hoot hoot…' offered Donna helpfully.
They all laughed.
The dodgem cars were popular, but Emma found them a little too violent, and Donna soon grew tense, so she and Donna were glad to retire to the sidelines to watch the others from a safe distance, hearing Robin shriek with glee at each tremendous bump, hearing Tracy shout fiercely, 'Bump him, Uncle!'
They had a go on each stall, each ride, before they finally agreed to call it a day and leave for home. As the evening wore on the crowds grew thicker. People had come from miles away. There was so little entertainment in the country, one had to seize one's chances of a little fun while one could.
When they left it was pitch dark. They edged their way out of the car park and headed for home. Donna was fast asleep on Emma's comfortable lap. Robin was sleepily curled up in the circle of her arm. Tracy sat beside Ross, chattering to him, still keyed up with excitement over her evening.
When the children were in bed Emma made supper. Edie had gone down to the pub to help her sister for an hour or two, by special arrangement, and wouldn't be back until ten o'clock. Emma fried eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and bread. Ross made the tea and laid the table in the kitchen. 'Cosier, as there are just the two of us,' he said.
They sat companionably opposite each other, both quite hungry after the hours in the cold night air. The smell of the food was ambrosial. Ross sighed.
'I've never been so ravenous! You're a born home-maker, Emma.'
She felt her cheeks glow with pleasure.
They had just finished their meal, leaning back with sighs of contentment, when Amanda appeared in the doorway. Her sapphire-blue glance skimmed the room, the loaded table, their faces, the intimacy of the setting.
'Am I interrupting anything?' she asked icily.
Ross looked at her lazily. 'You just missed the meal of the century,' he said. 'Simple but utterly satisfying.'
'How nice.' Her voice was glacial. She looked at the plates and a grimace of distaste twisted her lovely features. 'Fried food? How fattening! I detest it.'
'Perhaps if you have a tough job of work to do you would grow to like it,' Ross said calmly. 'I put in a solid day's work, so I need a good solid meal when I get home.'
'I work!' Amanda looked furious. 'I'm by no means idle.'
'You arrange flowers in a bowl, you choose dinner menus, you make phone calls,' said Ross in lightly disparaging tones. 'You don't call that work, do you?'
She was tight-lipped now, her cheeks sporting a hard red coin of colour. 'That isn't all I do! And anyway, I think it's wrong to take on a job if you don't need to do so—you're taking bread out of other people's mouths. What would be the point of me working at some boring nine-to-five job for a few pounds a week,? I don't need the money and other people do.' She gave Ross a long, reproachful glare. 'I don't know how you can do what you do, Ross. I really don't.'
'I do a useful job of work and I get paid accordingly. That satisfies my independence and my pride,' he said.
She looked at him from under her long lashes. 'Oh, your pride,' she said softly.
He flushed and stood up abruptly. Emma watched them with a sense of uneasiness. She sensed something behind this brief exchange, something she did not understand. Ross might make unpleasant remarks about Amanda, he might pretend to avoid her and distrust her, but whenever she saw them together she was struck by an intimacy, a silent understanding which ran below the surface of their talk.
'I'll help you wash up, Emma,' he said, turning towards her.
'No,' Amanda said quickly. 'Ross, why don't I help you wash up while Emma takes a well-earned rest? She deserves it, I'm sure. She looks tired.'
Ross surveyed Emma's face. 'Yes,' he said, in surprise, 'you are looking a trifle worn. Amanda's right.'
Emma smiled with difficulty. 'Thanks,' she said. 'I'll go up to my room, if you're sure…'
'Of course,' he said, watching her leave the room with some bewilderment. 'Funny! She looked fine earlier.'
'Really?' Amanda smiled sweetly. 'It caught up with her, though. Those children can be exhausting.'
'Yes.' But Ross looked concerned still.
Emma sank down on her bed and looked at herself grimly in the dressing-table mirror. You look like death warmed up, she told herself. You look like a girl who just found out she was in love again, and in love with the wrong man again, to boot. Honestly, Emma Leigh, you are a fool! How could you be so stupid as to fall for Ross?
In the mirror her brown eyes looked wearily at her, astonished yet strangely resigned. In love with Ross? Was she? Really? She groped for memories of Guy and found them elusive, misty, like dissolving shadows. She had never been in love with Guy at all. There had been a brief enchantment, compounded of summer sunshine, laughter and shared fun—the way she felt about Ross bore no comparison with how she had felt about Guy.
She grimaced at herself. Who was kidding whom? Perhaps in a few weeks she would wonder what all the fuss was about…she would grope for memories of Ross and find them gone.
Am I a sort of emotional dodgem car? she asked herself. Bouncing on the rebound from man to man?
She heard Ross's voice outside in the garden: deep, serious, endearingly concerned. Emma winced. The brown eyes looked at her from the mirror gravely. Oh, I'm in love this time, she thought miserably. There's no heady summer sunshine magic about this…it's far too painful, far too real.
There was one common factor, though—once more she had fallen in love with a man who only had eyes for another girl. Whatever it was that came between Ross and Amanda, one thing was pretty clear—Ross was unable to break away from her. He might despise her for her attitudes, mock her wealth, her flower-arranging, her snobbishness; but he was trapped in a net and he knew it. Amanda could always make him come when she whistled.
If that isn't love, what is? Emma asked herself. Then, with a sigh, she turned away from her reflection and began to get ready for bed.
Over breakfast, Ross said, 'A fine brisk autumn morning…I feel like riding.' He looked at Emma with challenge in his eyes, a faint, mocking smile on his mouth. 'What about you? Care to try a canter?'
'Is there a riding stable near here?' She glanced at the three children, intent upon their meal. 'What about the children? Do any of them ride?'
'Edie can take them down to Mrs Pat for the day,' he said.
She looked doubtful. 'It might not be convenient for Mrs Pat. I wouldn't like to ask too much of her. She's been so kind, I would hate her to begin to resent me.'
'I've already talked it over with her,' Ross said indulgently. 'You ought to get away from the children now and again. Everyone needs a break. Mrs Pat offered voluntarily, I promise you. In fact, it was her idea that you should have some relaxation. The horse riding was mine.'
Emma smiled. 'You're both very kind. Then I would love to go, in that case.'
'We can ride on Barnaby and Jessie one day if we're good,' said Robin, adding thoughtfully, 'If we want to. If we don't fall off.'
'Cautious little man, aren't you?' Ross teased him.
Robin dimpled. Donna said dreamily, 'Ride Jessie…' Clearly the idea appealed to her, despite Robin's wary reservations. Tracy, munching buttered toast, looked up and said crisply, 'Donna's too little. It will just be Robin and me. I'll ride Barnaby, Robin can ride Jessie.'
Donna began to cry with the full-throated abandon of babyhood. Emma flashed Tracy a cross look and cuddled the smaller child to her lovingly. 'Donna shall ride Jessie if she wants to…a few moments round the field won't hurt her. Ross can hold her on! Jessie will walk for Ross.'
'Thanks,' Ross said cheerfully. He looked at Donna's wet-eyed appeal. 'All right, dumpling! Uncle Ross will take you to ride on Jessie tomorrow morning!'
Donna gave Tracy a triumphant, damp smile, and Tracy finished her toast in silence.
Trying to placate her, Emma asked her to help with the washing up. Ross vanished with the other two children. Tracy's stiff-necked silence only held out for a short while against Emma's coaxing. A little judicious praise, a smile or two, and Tracy was cheerful once more, eager to demonstrate her skill with the tea-towel. They put the breakfast things away together in all amity.
Mrs Pat was pleased to see the children. As usual, her garden was alive with flapping washing, the hens were contentedly scratching and squawking and her small black kitten was perched on a low branch above the fence, arching and spitting as it eyed a stray dog which was barking at it from the lane.
'There's so much to do at Mrs Pat's,' Tracy said with a sigh of content, racing up the garden with Robin and Donna in her wake.
Mrs Pat beamed at Ross and Emma. 'Off to ride, then?' She looked with approval at Emma's sturdy blue jeans. 'That's right, you enjoy yourself. Worked well with the children, hasn't she, Ross?' And her gaze challenged him to hesitate with his response.
He grinned. 'What am I expected to say? Of course she's worked well with them. A proper tower of strength, as you've said before, Mrs Pat. I'm sure Judith is very grateful.'
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