by Liz Fielding
Faith, used to living alone, not expecting anyone to be about at such an early hour, had not stopped to consider the wisdom of coming down to the kitchen with nothing between her and the outside world but a pair of clinging silk pyjamas.
‘Fellowes’ choice were they?’ Harry asked.
He was definitely smiling now. It was a particularly irritating smile, one that made her fingers itch to slap him.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she said, meaning to put him firmly in his place, but the words came out all wrong. Not crisp and decisive at all. Breathy. Stupid.
Alice had turned to watch this exchange with interest. ‘I like your ’jamas, Faith. Don’t you like them, Uncle Harry?’ she demanded.
Faith didn’t want to know what Uncle Harry thought of her pyjamas, but he clearly took this as an invitation to give them his most careful consideration. As his gaze trickled slowly over the silk her skin began to prickle and the soft tips of her breasts leapt to attention against the flimsy cloth responding instinctively to the darkening of his eyes. ‘I like them very much, Alice. They are very...’
He raised his eyes to hers as Alice impatiently demanded, ‘Very what, Uncle Harry?’
Faith’s face flamed. She could see exactly what he thought — felt it in her response to a look that seemed to quicken her very blood — but she refused to back down, instead lifting her chin until her eyes clashed head on with the challenge of the blue.
‘Very—’ she held her breath as Harry considered his words carefully ‘—very revealing, sweetheart.’ She threw down a startled glance but her buttons were all safely fastened. ‘They tell me that beneath the cool, self-possessed façade that Faith has erected against the outside world exists a very different woman. The kind of woman who drives an Italian sports car, plays backgammon as if her life depends on it—’ he paused ‘—and wears scarlet pyjamas.’
Not understanding her uncle’s answer, Alice chose to ignore it. ‘Well, I’d like some red ’jamas,’ she said. ‘They’re pretty.’
Harry’s eyes lingered for the briefest moment upon Faith, clearly enjoying the dark patches of colour that he had brought rushing to her cheeks. ‘Yes, sweetheart, they are. Very pretty.’ Then he turned to the child. ‘Would you like some for your birthday?’
‘Red ’jamas and a kitten?’
‘The kitten isn’t for your birthday, Alice. I promised you should have him as soon as he was big enough to leave his mummy.’
Alice’s excitement subsided at this unwitting reminder of her own absent mother and instead of eating her cornflakes she began to stir them around her dish, slopping them over the edge but Faith didn’t have the heart to chastise her. By the time Harry had made tea and set coffee to filter she had finished feeding Ben and determined on a quick getaway she extended her hand to Alice.
‘Come along, Alice. Time to get dressed.’
‘Stay and have your tea, Faith, I’ll take them both for a walk around the garden. It’s a lovely morning.’ As he bent over her to lift Ben from her arms she caught the warm, musky scent of his skin overlaid with fresh early morning air. It stirred her senses, rang distant bells in her memory and jarred loose long buried desires.
She drew back. ‘Don’t jog him about, or he’ll be sick,’ she warned, keeping her eyes firmly on the baby.
‘I’ll be careful.’
‘And don’t go too far,’ she added, a touch too sharply as she channelled the dangerous charge of excitement into anxiety for her small charge.
‘I’m sure you’ll stop me if I do.’ His lips said one thing, his eyes as she foolishly looked up and met them inches from her own were saying something quite different. It was almost as if he knew how she was feeling and relished the power it gave him. ‘Why don’t you come with us and make sure?’ he invited.
She clutched at the opening of her pyjama jacket in a self-protective gesture. ‘I’m not dressed for a stroll in the garden.’
‘You’re not dressed at all,’ he pointed out, ‘but I don’t mind in the least.’
That was it. The teasing had gone quite far enough. Faith stood up, picked up her tea and headed for the door. ‘Thanks, but I’ll take my tea upstairs and get dressed before I inflict myself upon the day. Alice, if you’re not going to eat that please leave it alone.’ She caught herself. She was beginning to sound just like her aunt. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind looking after them for a few minutes?’ she asked Harry.
‘You can cook me some breakfast as a reward for my good deed,’ he replied. It was as if he got some kind of buzz from seeing her cheeks heat up. But she refused to play.
‘With pleasure, but I hope you don’t expect Miss Kenway to cook for you.’
‘No. But then I don’t expect Miss Kenway to leave me holding the baby, either. Don’t be long.’
‘No, sir…’
The fastest shower in history was followed by the equally speedy donning of a pair of jeans and the spare T-shirt she had brought with her. She tied her hair back, fastened an apron about her waist and by the time Harry reappeared, the kitchen was clean and tidy and the aroma of coffee was wafting pleasantly about the room.
‘That’s some transformation.’
‘It was just a few cornflakes and a drop of milk.’
‘Who said I was talking about the kitchen?’ He held out Ben and when she took him poured himself some coffee. ‘He usually has a bit of a nap, then a bath, then another bottle and something disgusting from a jar, I think.’
‘Could you be a little more precise? As I’ve already mentioned, I don’t have a clue.’
‘You’re doing just fine.’
‘If you’re trying to tempt me to stay with compliments, Harry, I’m afraid it won’t work. Come along Alice, time to get washed and dressed.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘You can wait a few minutes for your breakfast can’t you?’ Then she frowned. ‘Where’s Mac? Has he gone early morning fishing?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘I thought that he did the cooking.’
‘He does, occasionally, but we don’t live together, Faith.’
‘I didn’t mean—’ Just in time she realised he was teasing her. Another word and she’d have been blushing again. ‘You...um...’
‘Just live in the same house?’ he finished for her, with a gentleness that did not deceive her for a moment. ‘Is that what you meant?’
‘Of course that’s what I meant.’
‘If that’s what you thought, Faith, I’m afraid I have to disillusion you. Mac has his own place down by the river.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh.’ And then she did blush. Although why spending the night alone in a house with Harry March was worse than spending the night alone with two men, she refused to contemplate. But he knew and, as she fled, a rich tormenting peal of laughter followed her up the stairs.
It took her longer than she thought possible to sort out the children. When she returned to the kitchen, leaving Alice determined to tie her own shoelaces if it took all morning, Harry had showered and was wearing a dark suit, a burgundy and white striped shirt, a silk tie, all stamped with the kind of understated elegance that made heads turn. Not the kind of the clothes to sit around in at home.
‘I’m sorry I was so long,’ she said, turning away to pour a cup of coffee she didn’t want to cover her unexpected confusion at the intimacy of sharing an early morning kitchen with him. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’
‘I’ll leave it. If I don’t go now I’ll be late for an appointment.’
‘You really shouldn’t miss breakfast—’
‘—it’s the most important meal of the day. The law according to Janet,’ he finished for her and she looked up to find him regarding her wryly.
‘It’s true nevertheless. You should have something…’ Her voice faded as she realised just how close he was, and that the kitchen table at her back prevented a strategic retreat.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘A slice of t-t
oast,’ she offered, standing her ground, although his jacket brushed tantalisingly against her arm, raising gooseflesh. ‘Or something.’
‘Or something.’ His eyes finally creased in a smile in which all the mockery was directed at himself. ‘What a pity you are so determined on leaving, Faith. You offer apparently endless opportunities for entertainment, but regrettably I have an appointment I cannot miss. It’s with my bank manager so I know you’ll understand how important it is not to be late.’ She was trembling. It should be with rage but she was honest enough to admit, at least to herself, that it wasn’t anything so simple. Harry, however, was apparently unaffected by the racketing of adrenalin that was coursing through her bloodstream. ‘What time did you say this Kenway woman will be arriving?’ he asked, as if nothing had happened.
Happened? Nothing had happened. He had simply been teasing her. He probably flirted with every woman he met, young and old, pretty and plain. It made them into his slaves. But not her. Not her. She’d been Michael’s slave, following him about like a doting puppy since she had been old enough to escape her mother’s watchful eye, always there, driving him mad when he was a teenager. Still there when he came home from university with his first class honours degree; grown out of her braces and puppy-fat and ready to become a woman. ‘Early afternoon,’ she said, with commendable assurance.
He nodded. ‘Please don’t leave until I get back, Faith. I don’t want the children left with a total stranger no matter how good her references are.’
The assurance fled. ‘Won’t Mac be around?’ He glanced up at the slightly desperate edge to her voice.
‘Why should he be?’
‘He seemed to be helping out…’
‘He has a life of his own, Faith and you promised to stay.’
‘Couldn’t you put off your appointment? I was hoping to leave this morning.’
‘Before you’ve seen your replacement safely installed? Would you leave your children in the care of a stranger on the word of someone you’d never met?’
She shook her head, ashamed that her own desperation to leave had affected her judgement so badly. ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry.’ He must have seen something of her feelings in her face, because he laid his hand reassuringly on her shoulder.
‘Don’t worry, Faith, I’m sure you’ll cope brilliantly.’ Then he spoilt it by adding, ‘Being renowned for your level-headedness.’
Her wobbly knees mocked her. Level-headed? Had she actually said that? Very well. What would the sensible, the very level-headed Faith do right now? Cover all possibilities of course. ‘Will you please leave a telephone number where I can contact you? In case of an emergency.’
‘The numbers of my mobile and the bank are programmed into the telephone.’ He nodded to the instrument fixed to the kitchen wall. ‘I’m having lunch at Simpsons and then I’m calling in at the hospital to see Janet. I promised you that I would take her roses from the garden, if you remember.’
‘You said you were going to send them.’ She blurted the words out without thinking and she expected his mockery, but he didn’t smile.
Instead he asked, ‘Would you really rather I stayed here?’ She caught at her lip as for one dizzy moment she knew she was going to blurt out, Yes! Please…
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, of course not. I’ll be fine. Please give Janet my love.’ She pushed back a stray strand of hair that had sprung loose from her clip. ‘Tell her I’ll be in to see her tomorrow.’
‘I’ll give her your love. The rest of your message will only make her fret.’ He never missed a trick to make her feel bad about Janet, she thought, but as long as she remembered that it wasn’t Janet’s welfare that prompted his concern, but a determination to get his own way, she would be all right. ‘I should be back by around four. And you won’t be quite on your own. Mrs Williams comes up from the village every morning with a couple of ladies who battle to keep the dust under control. She’ll make lunch and offer you motherly advice if you need it.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier if she just took over?’
‘Poor, Faith,’ he said. ‘So desperate to get away.’ He stretched out long fingers and briefly touched her cheek. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Long after the soft murmur of his engine had faded down the lane, the spot where his fingers had touched her cheek still burned. It was as if he had imprinted her with his mark. Claimed her. But for what?
She shook her head. ‘Pull yourself together, Faith Bridges,’ she told herself, sternly. After all no young woman renowned for her level-headedness would throw her cap over a windmill for a practised charmer with a track record for breaking hearts. Would she? Love was such a fleeting thing as both she and Clementine Norwood knew to their cost. Besides, she meant what she said. She was spoken for. Julian Fellowes was a man whose ideals and beliefs she respected and shared. They provided a solid foundation for their relationship and that was why she was planning to marry him three weeks on Saturday.
Yet she still felt the brand of Harry’s fingers on her cheek.
‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ she said, aloud, and rubbed at the spot with the heel of her hand. Then she turned and saw Alice looking at her doubtfully from the doorway, her shoelaces tied in neat bows. After so much effort it seemed unkind to point out that her trainers were on the wrong feet. She’d think of a reason to part the child from her shoes but right now she wasn’t feeling that bright. ‘Come on, Alice,’ she said, taking her own good advice to heart. ‘I’m going to have a boiled egg. And since you didn’t eat more than a mouthful of cornflakes I think you should have one too.’
‘A dippy egg? With soldiers?’
The words brought her aunt vividly to mind and she glanced at her watch. She would already be in the theatre and she took a moment to offer a silent prayer for her before turning back to Alice.
‘Toast soldiers?’ she asked.
After that the morning sped by. Bathing Ben took half the morning. She knew how it should be done. Her aunt had shown her with her own baby-sized doll when she was nine years old but dolls didn’t wriggle or kick or soak you right through to the skin. She stripped off her T-shirt and donned her silk shirt from the night before while it dried. It was all she had left to wear.
Then Mrs Williams, whose alibi for not taking charge of Ben and Alice was an extensive family of her own, advised a walk before lunch. ‘Then they’ll both sleep this afternoon,’ she said, with the confidence of years of experience.
Lunch for Ben was something goopey from a jar, most of which splattered her expensive silk shirt, but she was too exhausted to care.
At least there was no time to think about Harry March until she had put the two children down for an afternoon nap, when she collapsed in the kitchen chair with a cup of tea, trying to resist the very pleasant idea of taking one herself. The urgent summons of the telephone saved her from the shaming temptation.
‘Wickham Hall,’ she answered.
‘Miss Bridges? It’s Muriel Kenway.’
Faith glanced at her watch. She had been expecting the woman to arrive at any moment. ‘Miss Kenway? Are you lost?’
‘Lost? Oh, no.’ She cleared her throat. ‘The fact is— Well, I told you my client wasn’t due to deliver for another two weeks but—’ She left Faith to complete the sentence.
Faith, shattered, needed some help. ‘But what, Miss Kenway?’
‘Well, babies are no respecter of time tables.’
‘It’s arrived early? Are they both all right?’ Faith enquired.
‘Both? Um, yes... Fortunately her husband caught me just as I was leaving,’ she rushed on. ‘You do understand?’
Muriel Kenway had struck her as the kind of woman not to be phased by anything. Now she sounded so anxious that Faith felt she had to reassure her. ‘It can’t be helped. Please don’t worry, I’ll manage here until I can make some other arrangements.’
‘Yes. Of course you will. Goodbye.’
Faith stared at the phone for a moment, then hung u
p. ‘I don’t seem to have any choice.’ She caught sight of her bespattered shirt and groaned. She’d have to tackle the secrets of the washing machine. But not before spending a frantic half hour leaving messages with everyone she could think of who might be able to help.
* * *
‘How was Aunt Janet?’ Harry had taken Nanny Kenway’s defection with remarkable equanimity but then he had no reason to worry. He already had her assurance she would stay until she could find someone to take her place. Now, comfortably settled in an ancient armchair that sagged in front of the kitchen range he stopped kneading the muscles in his thigh and propped his leg upon the fender, stretching his other leg across a yard of quarry tiled floor and took the tea she had made for him.
‘Still dozy from the anaesthetic but everything went well. I met your father at the hospital, by the way. Nice man. He seemed surprised you were down here.’ Harry glanced up at her, the deep creases in his cheeks betraying some hidden source of entertainment. ‘And more than a little amused.’
Laughing his clerical grey socks off, she had no doubt, at the thought of her struggling with two infants. ‘Oh? What did he say?’ she asked, not in the least bit pleased to think of the two men discussing her.
‘Nothing much.’ His slow smile suggested otherwise. ‘Except…’
‘What?’
‘Not to expect too much since you were hopelessly undomesticated and...’
She wasn’t about to argue with that.
‘And what?’ she demanded.
‘He warned me never to play backgammon with you, since you can’t bear to lose.’
‘Neither can he,’ she said. ‘And I haven’t lost,’ she reminded him, with considerable satisfaction
‘Not yet. But now you’re staying I intend to change all that.’
‘In your dreams, Harry,’ she murmured, as the baby alarm warned her that Ben was awake. ‘Excuse me, it’s feeding time at the zoo.’
‘You do rather look as if you’ve been serving at a chimps tea party,’ he agreed.
‘I’ve run out of clean clothes,’ she replied, pointedly.
‘And it didn’t occur to you to use the washing machine?’