'I like drawing the best,' she told Marc happily.
'I know. A little bird told me.' Marc smiled at Joanna, who was standing a little way apart to allow the other two their moment of reunion. 'And how are you this morning, Joanna?'
'I'm just fine, thank you,' she said with composure. 'Let's go into the kitchen so I can keep an eye on lunch.'
Marc winked at Polly. 'You two go ahead. I've got one or two things to get out of the car.'
'What things?' demanded Polly.
'Wait and see—off you go with Joanna, please.'
By the time Marc finally joined them in the kitchen, weighed down by a large parcel, Polly was jumping up and down with excitement, chattering like a magpie as she hazarded guesses about the contents.
Joanna helped her with the string and brown paper while Marc sat back in a kitchen chair, watching the two intent faces, the one rosy beneath a mop of curls, the other creamy pale under a shining wing of dark gold hair. Joanna's eyes narrowed as she glanced up to intercept the dark, intent look trained on her face.
'A lot of paper!' she commented.
'Just tear it off,' he advised, 'before Polly goes off with a loud report!'
Soon the last of the wrappings were off, discarded on the floor for Sunny to investigate, while Polly gazed, saucer-eyed, at a drawing-board and easel, each a miniature of Joanna's. With them came a package of white cartridge paper, drawing books, a box of paints, one full of coloured pencils, another with felt-tip pens, everything a child could possibly need to paint and draw and colour to her heart's content.
'Well?' demanded Marc. 'Do you like your surprise?'
For answer Polly hurled herself into his arms and covered his face with smacking kisses to express her delight.
'Did you bring a present for Jo?' she demanded at last.
'Of course I did. I left it out in the hall. Fetch the parcel on the hall table, cara—and carry it very, very carefully, please.'
Joanna eyed him disapprovingly as she gathered up discarded wrappings. 'You needn't have brought me anything.'
'Why not?' His eyes locked with hers. 'It seemed the natural thing to do. I thought of you a lot while I was away. Did you ever spare a thought for me?'
'You promised ‑' She broke off, jumping up as Polly came back into the room with Sunny at her heels. She handed a package to Joanna in great excitement.
'Go on, Jo,' she urged. 'Open it.'
Wishing she could have done so away from two pairs of identical black eyes, Joanna unwrapped her gift with unusual clumsiness, lifting the lid of a cardboard box at last to find a mass of polystyrene chips, and at the heart of them a tissue-swathed object which she unwrapped with care then stood still, her teeth caught in her bottom lip. The pearl-white porcelain horse in her hands was depicted in full gallop, mane and tail flying, the workmanship so exquisite that she blenched at the thought of what it must have cost.
'It's Snowbird!' cried Polly in wonder.
Joanna stood the horse gently on the kitchen table. 'No, darling. Snowbird's a pony. This is a horse, like my Saladin. The very image of him, in fact.' She looked at Marc. 'How did you know? That he looked just like this?'
'I didn't. But I hoped. I came across it by chance in Kensington only a couple of days ago.' He smiled. 'The moment I saw it I thought of you.'
'Aren't you going to kiss Marc to say thank you?' asked Polly severely.
Joanna, eyes averted, planted a very swift kiss on Marc's lean dark cheek. 'Now,' she said briskly. 'Where shall we put him?'
Marc consulted Polly earnestly. 'I think he should sit on the desk in the study, don't you? Perhaps he'll give Joanna inspiration.'
Joanna nodded. 'Yes. You're right. I shall want him where I can see him all the time.' And where no one else was likely to see the horse at all, or ask embarrassing questions about where she'd acquired it.
To Joanna the day was a bittersweet blend of pleasure and misgiving, the latter increasing with every minute as the three of them spent the day in much the same way that countless other families were spending a fine autumn Sunday all over the country. They ate a traditional roast lunch together, then went for a walk through the woods with Sunny until it was time for tea, and to the casual eye they appeared like any mother, father and child. But, Joanna took care to remind herself, they were not. Polly was in her care, but the child was not her daughter, nor was Marc Anstey anything other than Polly's uncle. And days together like this could be misleading for Polly, if she got into the habit of regarding the three of them as a family unit.
'Penny for your thoughts,' said Marc lazily, as he stroked the dog's head.
Joanna took refuge in gathering up plates and cups. 'Not for sale,' she said lightly.
'Perhaps I knew what you were thinking,' he said so softly that Polly, absorbed in drawing Sunny, couldn't hear.
'I doubt it.' Joanna hefted the tray, refusing his help. 'What time do you have to leave?'
'Once Polly's in bed I'd better make tracks. Busy day tomorrow.'
Joanna nodded, deeply relieved, yet illogically disappointed at the same time. 'While I see to this lot perhaps you'd like to chivvy Polly into the bath.'
'Right.' Marc got to his feet, yawning. 'Come on, cara. Bathtime.'
All too soon, it seemed to Joanna, Polly was in bed and asleep, and Marc was ready to go.
'I don't have to go,' he said, eyeing her narrowly as she walked with him to the door. 'Given the least encouragement I'd stay. For a while at least. But you're on edge, Joanna. And I wish I knew why. Last night I surprised you into giving me a totally spontaneous welcome. But today you're back in your shell and regretting your lapse last night, yet too polite to tell me to get lost. What's troubling you, Joanna? Tell me.'
Joanna faced him. 'All right,' she said flatly. 'If you must know, I'm worried because the type of day we spent together is certain to be bad for Polly.'
His eyes narrowed incredulously. 'How the hell do you work that out?
'Surely you can see! Polly will take it for granted it's the way things are always going to be.' Joanna eyed him unhappily. 'And you and I know perfectly well we can't guarantee that.' She put out a hand in appeal. 'Please don't be angry. It's been a lovely day. I've enjoyed it as much as Polly. But circumstances rule out any kind of—of attachment between you and me, Marc. You've got to make it clear to Polly that one day you'll probably produce some perfectly acceptable aunt for her. Just as I may find another husband.'
'Is this an oblique way of telling me you already have?' he said harshly.
She shook her head, hugging her arms across her chest. 'No. I'm not. If I had I wouldn't ‑'
'Wouldn't have let me kiss you senseless last night!' Black eyes met incensed blue ones challengingly. 'Well?' he went on. 'Isn't that what happened?
'No,' she said hotly. 'I was too taken by surprise to—to resist, that's all. It didn't mean anything other than that.'
'My mistake. I thought it meant a hell of a lot more than that.' He took her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin through her sweater. 'I could have sworn that I got through to the real you, that you were so glad to see me you forgot that you were Paul Clifford's widow, and I was Rosa's brother. For a moment there we were just two people who'd missed each other and were so bloody delighted to be together again that what happened was the most natural thing in the world.'
'But that's what I'm worried about,' she cried, trying to free herself. 'Can't you see, Marc? I acknowledge the chemistry between us. It's—it's undeniable. But that kind of thing can vanish and leave nothing behind in a relationship. And today we looked like a family, we behaved like a family; a permanent arrangement, which we're not. We're two strangers thrown together by chance, with Polly as the sole point of reference between us other than the chemistry.'
'Is that really what you think?' he said in disbelief. He stood back, his arms falling to his sides. 'You think that without Polly I wouldn't have driven down here like a love-sick schoolboy last night. That I w
ouldn't have bought you the horse ‑'
'Which you shouldn't have done—it must have cost a fortune.'
He gave her a look like a thrown spear. 'Bloody fool, wasn't I? But when I found it, all I could see was the look in those big blue eyes when you talked about your beloved Saladin.'
Joanna's head went up angrily. 'I'd rather you hadn't given it to me, whatever your reason. Look, Marc, it's better to put the brakes on now, not when it's too late. The very nature of our link with Polly is bound to have a greenhouse effect on our relationship if we're not careful, forcing it into something intimate whether we want it or not.'
He stood with folded arms, his face grim. 'And you don't, obviously. All right, Joanna. What do you suggest? That I don't come down here any more?'
'Of course not,' she said impatiently. 'Polly needs to see you. I know that.' Her eyes fell before the ice in his. 'But I suggest that next time you take Polly out on your own. I'll make sure she knows well in advance that I'm not available that day. She'll probably be delighted to have you all to herself.'
'Am I allowed to pick her up at the house?' asked Marc bitingly.
'Of course. Please! Don't make this more difficult than it is.' She looked at him in entreaty. 'I've had time to think—last night after you'd gone, today while we were out walking. I know I'm right. Polly must get used to the fact that, while you and I are both constants in her life, we are totally separate from each other.'
Marc gave a short, mirthless laugh. 'I'm sorry for you, Joanna. I don't know what—or who— made you so wary of human relationships, though I can make a bloody good guess. We could be good together. I'm as certain of that as night follows day. Tell me. How long is a guy required to know you before ‑?'
'Before what?' she broke in hotly. 'Before I let him into my bed?'
'I was going to say before you considered him worthy of trust, Joanna.' He turned away, suddenly, repudiation in every line of his lean, graceful body. 'Oh, what the hell!, I don't know why I'm beating my head against a stone wall like this. All right. You win. We'll play the game to your rules if that's the way you want it. I just hope Polly understands.'
Joanna, aware that she should be satisfied now she had her way, felt instead as though all the warmth had just drained out of her life.
'Will you come again next week?' she forced herself to ask.
'Yes. I'll come,' he said morosely. 'I'll be round about eleven next Sunday to take Polly out to lunch. I leave it to you to explain why you're not honouring us with your presence. Goodnight, Mrs Clifford.' Marc opened the door without a backward glance, as though he couldn't bear to look at her, closing the heavy oak door behind him so quietly that the effect was worse than if he'd slammed it in her face.
When the following weekend arrived there was no need to fabricate an excuse for reneging on Polly's outing with Marc. Joanna had the messiest, most objectionable head cold she'd ever had in her life, and felt, looked and sounded so wretched that Mary Lavenham insisted Polly spend Saturday at the Rectory, and remain there overnight, away from Joanna's germs.
'You're a saint,' said Joanna hoarsely from the top of the stairs, as the small cortege prepared to depart, dog included.
'Wrong Lavenham. Sanctity is George's department.' Mary shooed Polly out of the door then looked up at Joanna, lips pursed. 'You're a mess. Get back in bed, so you're fit to have Polly back in the morning. Sorry I can't keep her tomorrow, too, but you know what Sundays are like chez Lavenham.'
'I do. In any case, tomorrow she's off on a jaunt with her uncle.'
'Hmm. I'd like to meet this uncle of Polly's some time. He can't possibly be as amazing as she says.'
Joanna made non-committal noises, thanked Mary gratefully, then went to wave to Polly from the window before going back to bed in utter misery, coughing, barely able to breathe, sneezing at such regular intervals that the tip of her nose soon shone red like a traffic light from contact with too many paper tissues.
When the telephone rang late in the afternoon Joanna felt almost too wretched to answer it. Only the thought that it might be Mary with an emergency gave her the necessary energy to lift the receiver.
'Hello?' she said thickly, then gave way to a bout of coughing.
'Joanna?' demanded Marc. 'What the hell's the matter?'
'Got a cold.'
'Only a cold? You sound at death's door. Where's Polly?'
'At the Rectory.' Joanna sneezed three times in rapid succession. 'They're keeping her overnight,' she gasped when she could speak. 'I should be better tomorrow.'
'You can hardly be much worse by the sound of you! Did Polly mind?' he added.
'Mind?'
'Sleeping somewhere else.'
'No. She seemed quite keed—keen. She took Sunny with her. She'll be ready when you come tomorrow. You are coming, I suppose?' she asked anxiously, shuddering at the thought of Polly's disappointment if he wasn't.
'Yes. See you in the morning, then.'
Joanna sagged against the pillows in relief. 'Right. Goodbye.'
'For Pete's sake take something for that cold,' he ordered. 'Ciao.'
Joanna spent a miserable night feeling sorry for herself, her misery somewhat alleviated when she staggered downstairs the following morning to find Doris on the doorstep with Polly, Sunny and various bags and baggage.
'Good morning,' Doris said calmly, smiling at Joanna's astonishment. 'You do look poorly, and that's a fact. No, Polly, you mustn't hug Mrs Clifford, you'll get her cold.'
'All right,' said Polly reluctantly, her eyes anxious on Joanna's ashen face and red, puffy eyes. 'Are you very ill, Jo?'
'No, not really, darling,' said Joanna, pulling herself together as she stood back for them to come in. 'I feel horrible, and a bit shivery, but only the way you do with a cold. And don't think I'm not grateful for your presence, Doris,' she added, 'but how ‑?'
'Mrs Lavenham rang me last night. She was worried about you,' said Doris, removing her best coat with care. 'I know what Sundays are like at the Rectory, so I said I'd see to you. I've packed my two off for the day to get spoiled by their Gran.'
Within minutes of Doris's arrival Joanna was back in a bed newly made up with clean linen, a tray of steaming coffee and crisp toast beside her and a hot water bottle at her feet. Polly, allowed to stand in the open doorway for a chat, gazed at her with round, apprehensive eyes.
'Jo... do colds ever make people die?'
Joanna's heart contracted. She summoned up a reassuring smile as she said firmly, 'No, Polly. Never, ever. I'll be up and about again by this afternoon. I'm only staying here now so I don't give you my germs. Now while I eat the delicious breakfast tell me what you did yesterday at the Lavenhams'.'
Her eyes bright with relief, Polly lingered a while to give an account of her stay with the twins, displayed a bruise she'd gained by sliding down the Rectory banisters, then decided she'd better play ball with Sunny in the garden for a while before getting ready to go out with Marco. She lingered for a moment to discuss her choice of outfit for the outing, then went off downstairs to Doris, plainly no longer a prey to fears about Joanna's mortality.
Marc Anstey arrived a little after eleven. When Doris let him in the sound of his deep voice carried to Joanna's room, but not loudly enough to let her know what he was saying. Shortly afterwards Polly peered cautiously round the door. She displayed herself to Joanna in all the glory of a new scarlet sweater and navy trousers, announced she was ready to go, then blew a kiss and ran off to join Marc.
'I told Mr Anstey you weren't well enough for a visit,' said Doris firmly when all was quiet. She plumped up Joanna's pillows then handed her some freshly squeezed orange juice and a couple of cold-cure tablets.
'Thank you, Doris,' said Joanna meekly. 'But don't hang about here too long, or you'll catch my cold.'
'I never get colds. Malcolm and Sheila won't be back until the eight o'clock bus, so I'll stay until Polly's bedtime, Mrs Clifford.'
'I feel guilty lying here,' sighed Joanna. 'I
t's only a cold, Doris.'
'But a very nasty one.' Doris hesitated at the door, looking a little awkward. 'Your resistance is low, I expect.'
Lower than Doris imagined, thought Joanna, once she was alone. And to more dangerous things than the common cold. In a day or two her coughs and sneezes would be better, but where Marc Anstey was concerned she had a sinking feeling that recovery would take longer. Like the rest of her life, perhaps.
Joanna sighed. It was useless to pretend that she was indifferent to Marc. His slightest touch set off fireworks of response inside her that she'd never felt for Paul. But she just couldn't conquer her deep distrust of the sudden longing to give herself up to a man, body and soul. It would be bliss with Marc while it lasted, she knew, a shiver running through her at the mere thought. But when it ended, as experience had taught her it could, Polly would be heartbroken. And the mere thought of causing the child more grief again was unendurable.
When Marc returned with Polly later in the afternoon Doris was still firmly in charge. She offered Marc a cup of tea, which he refused, gave him the latest bulletin on Joanna's health, took charge of the flowers he'd brought for the invalid, then saw him calmly to the door with Polly, who waved him off, blowing kisses, then scampered up to Joanna.
'Marco didn't stay,' she told Joanna from the doorway. 'Are you better, Jo?'
'Yes, darling. Have you had a lovely time?'
Polly was surprisingly non-committal. Marco had taken her to lunch and then for a drive, during which they'd stopped to go for a walk, but they'd had to run back to the car because it rained. 'You come next time,' said Polly firmly. 'We missed you, Jo.'
'I thought you'd prefer being on your own together,' said Joanna surprised.
Polly shook her head. 'No. I like it best when you come, too.'
'I think Doris has made some kind of little cakes for you,' said Joanna, guiltily pleased that she'd been missed.
'Yum,' said Polly eagerly, about to dash off when she turned back for a moment. 'Marco bought you flowers. Doris put them in a pot.'
The Perfect Solution Page 9