Kingfisher Morning

'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.'