Kingfisher Morning

'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!'