by Anna Jacobs
Goodness, she looks so like me, Rosalind thought and felt awed, remembering the tiny baby whom she’d adored on sight. She blinked as fingers snapped in front of her face and saw her daughter laughing at her.
‘Wake up, Mum! I’ve asked you twice what time you want to leave.’
‘Oh, whenever you like.’
As they walked into the village together, Jenny asked, ‘Can we go and see Jonathon’s house?’
Rosalind looked at the cars turning off the main road to park in the field and the people strolling up and down, pointing to the ‘quaint’ houses and the ‘cute’ things in the shops. ‘Not with hordes of other people there. I’ll get him to show us round another day, just you and me. It’s a lovely house and full of beautiful old objects.’
Jenny glanced sideways. ‘He’s been a good friend to you, hasn’t he?’ She felt like a voyeur at the expression on her mother’s face, the tight, controlled sadness quickly replaced by that bland look her mother used as a barrier against her father when he was in one of his fusses. But why did her mother need a barrier now? Surely she hadn’t fallen for this Jonathon? No, that was unthinkable. Not Mum.
‘Harry and Jonathon have both been good friends to me,’ Rosalind said carefully. ‘Though he was the one who found me when I fell and twisted my ankle, of course.’
‘You’d have been in trouble if he hadn’t.’
‘Oh, I dare say I’d have managed to crawl for help.’ She took a deep breath and summoned up a smile from somewhere. ‘Well, let’s get into it. At least we live close enough to come home if we’re bored.’
But they weren’t bored because Harry pounced on them as soon as they walked through the gates of the schoolyard. ‘Going to treat you like locals, I’m afraid. I need someone to help out in the tea tent. Would you mind, Rosalind? And Jenny, would you help out at the skittles? I’ve got my nephews setting them up for people, but I need an adult to collect the money. Meg Loder’s let me down again – not that it’s her fault – her youngest is always catching something.’
Still talking at the top of her voice, she led Jenny through the groups of people. ‘These are my nephews – Giles and Rufus.’
Jenny smiled at the two boys, both at that thin pre-puberty stage of bony limbs and jerky movements. They were very like their aunt and father. ‘You’ll have to explain to me what’s going on. I don’t know anything whatsoever about skittles.’
They stared at her solemnly, then nodded as if she’d passed some unseen test. ‘All right,’ one said. ‘It’s not hard, really.’
‘I’ll be off, then.’ Harry left her in charge of a small table and cash box with a float of change.
The two boys hovered next to her. ‘You’re Australian, aren’t you?’ one of them asked.
Jenny grinned. ‘Too right. G’day, mate.’
‘I say, do people really say that?’
‘Sometimes.’
And from then on, whenever there were no customers they plied her with questions about Australia, which Giles was ‘doing’ for a geography project and which the other boy seemed equally fascinated by.
Just before lunch, two young men appeared in front of Jenny.
‘Phil Ross,’ said one. ‘Here to relieve you.’
The other bobbed his head. ‘Ned Didburin. Mrs Larcombe sent me to guide you to food. She’s got refreshments set out for the helpers in that old green tent at the rear.’
‘Oh, good! I’m starving.’
He began to stroll along beside her. ‘Is that an Aussie accent?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Thought I recognised the twang.’ He looked at her sideways. Pretty. And gentle-looking, as if she had no malice in her. He liked the look of her. ‘Um – you wouldn’t like to come for tea with me later when the auction’s over?’
Jenny stiffened. ‘No, thank you.’
He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Something I said or do I just not appeal?’
She looked at him warily. He had a kind, open sort of face. She didn’t want to upset him. ‘Just – something someone else did. I – haven’t quite recovered.’ To her horror, her voice trembled.
He looked aghast. ‘I say – sorry to have roused the sleeping tiger.’
‘N-not your fault. You couldn’t be expected to know.’ She hurried off before he could say anything else, but she was trembling still and couldn’t face a crowd of people, so wandered down the main ‘street’ of activities. But there were people everywhere, people she didn’t know, who made her feel nervous as they pushed against her, so she turned back and made her way reluctantly towards the green tent.
Ned Didburin watched her go, upset by the fear he’d seen on her face.
Later, it seemed as if fate was smiling down on him for once, for he ran into her again, this time looking even more distressed as two young guys – from London by the sound of their accents – had her cornered between two displays and were trying out their wit on her.
‘Sorry lads, the lady’s with me!’ he called out, striding forward and hoping they wouldn’t cause trouble. He wasn’t the macho sort and never had been. For a moment it was touch and go, then one of them shrugged and moved off.
The other hovered, frowning in puzzlement at Jenny’s distress. ‘Only ’avin’ a bit of fun, you know, gel. Didn’t mean to upset you.’
She turned her back on them, not wanting anyone to see the tears of relief that had started flowing the minute Ned came to her rescue.
‘They really didn’t mean any harm,’ he said softly from behind her.
She looked down at the handkerchief he had pushed into her hand and shook it out, swallowing hard as she mopped her wet face. But the tears continued to trickle down her face. ‘S-sorry.’
‘It must have been bad, whatever it was that upset you,’ he said gently. She was still gulping and trying so desperately not to sob that his heart went out to her. ‘Look, no one can see you with me standing here, so if it helps to cry it out, go ahead and water away.’
She was caught between a sob and a hiccup of laughter. ‘You must think I’m a fool.’
‘No. I don’t, actually. The ones I think are fools are the people who keep their emotions under wraps and get all het up inside. Terrible for the old health. I was brought up that way, but I’ve found my way out of it now.’ Thanks to an ex-girlfriend, to whom he would be eternally grateful.
She found the sound of his crisp English voice vaguely comforting. The tears had stopped now, so she mopped her eyes and blew her nose, then looked down at the handkerchief in dismay. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. You must tell me where you live and I’ll wash it before I give it back to you.’
‘All right.’ He fumbled in his pocket and produced a business card, delighted to have an excuse to see her again.
Edward Didburin, Didburin Fine Arts, Dorchester
She held out one hand. ‘I’m Jenny Stevenson.’
‘My friends call me Ned.’ He clasped her hand, trying to think of an innocuous question. ‘And what are you doing in Dorset, Miss Jenny Stevenson from down under?’
She gave him a half-smile. ‘I’m taking a bit of time off to – recover. I’m a management trainee, graduated last year.’
‘And do you enjoy managing things?’
‘Not really.’ She shrugged. ‘It was Dad’s idea of a good career for me.’
‘You’re staying round here, then?’
‘Mmm. Dad’s rented a house in the village. Mum’s been here a while, but I only arrived a week ago. It’s a lovely part of the world, Dorset. I’m really looking forward to exploring. Mum and I’ve just spent a few days in Southport – at a relative’s house.’
He wanted to stay and talk to her. She was so soft and fair and feminine-looking. Apart from that golden tone to her skin, she wasn’t at all what he’d imagined an Australian girl would be like. But a quick glance at his watch made him exclaim, ‘Oh, hell! Got to go to the auction. I’m here on duty for my father, I’m afraid. Got to bid on one or two pieces. Unless – you wouldn’t ca
re to come with me, would you? It’s jolly interesting.’
She looked at him doubtfully. He was only a little taller than she was, with thinning brown hair which would probably leave him bald by the time he was forty. He had kind blue eyes, not gleaming black ones, and for some reason she felt safe with him. ‘That would be nice. I want to go to the auction anyway because Mum’s got an embroidered picture in it. I want to be there to give her support. She’s worried no one will buy it.’
‘Not the slum children thing?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that’s a gorgeous piece. It’s the main thing I’ve been sent to bid on, actually.’ Another glance at his watch. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go and see what happens to it.’
When he caught hold of her hand so they didn’t get separated, she didn’t draw away, but let him race her off to the auction tent, where they both arrived breathless and laughing, collapsing into two empty seats at the end of a row just as the bidding began.
Rosalind sat down at the back of the auction tent and tried to look as if she were studying the catalogue. Not that she was here to bid for anything. But she had to see what sort of person bought her picture and what price it fetched.
Harry mounted the dais, ready to get things rolling. She gave a nod of satisfaction at the turnout, then smiled at the plump, bald man who had come to sit beside her, saying something that made him smile, too. After Harry had introduced him, he tapped a hammer to quieten people down and the auction started.
It was an hour before Rosalind’s embroidery came up for sale, and she was delighted to hear the woman behind her whisper, ‘Wish I could afford that one. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? Bound to go for tons of money.’
‘Mmm. Must be an heirloom piece. Don’t know how anyone can bear to part with it.’
‘Doesn’t say so in the catalogue. Says it’s a modern piece in the Jacobean style of raised stumpwork.’
‘Let’s start the bidding at a hundred pounds,’ the auctioneer called.
Rosalind gasped aloud. Start at a hundred! Did he expect it to go higher, then?
But no one bid, so the amount went down to seventy pounds, then fifty. She could feel her face going red. Perhaps Paul was right. Perhaps people didn’t like that sort of old-fashioned stuff nowadays.
Then someone raised a hand and the auctioneer pointed a finger towards him. ‘Thirty pounds I’m bid. I’ll take it in tens from now on.’
Only a few seconds later, he pointed again, ‘Forty, lady in the blue coat.’
From then on the bidding climbed steadily and Rosalind sat there in a state of shock.
‘A hundred pounds.’
‘Hundred and seventy … three hundred … five …’
‘Six hundred and fifty. Any advance on six hundred and fifty?’ The auctioneer looked round, gavel raised. ‘No more bids? Right then, going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the fawn jacket. Now the next item is …’
Rosalind got up and stumbled out of the tent, avoiding people, slipping between the big auction tent and the smaller grey tent next to it, desperate for a moment to herself. Six hundred and fifty pounds! And several people had wanted to buy her picture! Joy filled her and pride, too. If someone had paid all that for her embroidery, it wasn’t worthless. Or amateur.
‘You all right?’
She looked up with a smile. ‘Jonathon. Yes, I’m fine. Just a big overwhelmed. Did you see how much my picture fetched?’
‘I did indeed. Congratulations.’
Without knowing quite how she got there, she found herself in his arms, hugging him, letting him hug her. When he bent his head, she kissed him back because it seemed the natural thing to do.
Jenny, who had followed her mother outside to congratulate her, stopped in shock at the sight of the entwined figures then tiptoed away. That was no kiss of friendship, that was the kiss of a man and woman who really fancied one another – or loved one another. Her mother’s expression had been radiant as she turned to greet Jonathon and he’d been beaming down at her.
Oh, heavens, she hoped Dad never found out. He’d go off his face.
She walked to and fro at the other side of the tent, waiting for Ned to finish paying for the picture and thinking about what she’d seen. She didn’t blame her mother for being tempted by a nice man like Jonathon Destan – her father had treated her like an idiot for years. Only … she did hope this wouldn’t break up her parents’ marriage.
Another thought occurred to her, a much happier one. Her father would be furious when he found out how much the embroidery had fetched and how many people had bid for it. If her mother didn’t tell him, she would. Maybe from now on, he’d stop criticising her mother’s hobby and realise how good her work was.
The other thing, the attraction to Jonathon Destan, was just a passing fancy, surely? Perhaps her mother had needed that to stiffen her spine. Good for the old morale to know someone fancied you.
Which brought Jenny’s thoughts back to Ned. She really liked him. He wasn’t good-looking, but he was kind and fun. Not at all like Michael – or her father. She not only felt safe with him but he made her chuckle with his wry remarks.
Turning, she saw him coming towards her and smiled. When he held out his hand, she put hers into it without hesitation.
Chapter Twelve
Rosalind spent the morning unable to settle to anything as she waited for Paul and Louise to arrive. When she saw his car turning into the drive, she was conscious of a strong desire to flee. She didn’t want to see him. Or Louise. She sighed and remained in the bedroom.
A couple of minutes later, a voice called, ‘Mum! Dad and Louise are here!’
‘I’ll be down in a minute, Jenny. Can you open the front door?’ She’d deliberately left it locked like last time, so that he wouldn’t be able to take her by surprise.
It wasn’t until she heard voices in the hall that Rosalind went downstairs. Paul was so busy ordering Louise to fetch the rest of the luggage in, he wasn’t even looking round for his wife.
Louise tossed a huff in her mother’s direction, then slouched off.
‘I’ll come and help you.’ Jenny pushed her sister out of the door.
Paul gave Rosalind a quick hug. ‘Well, woman, I’m back now for a while.’
‘Good.’ But it didn’t feel good. It felt as if a trap had closed round her. ‘Come and have a coffee.’
Louise came back in, hesitated, then at a nudge from Jenny put the luggage down and went over to hug her mother properly. ‘Fancy us all being here in England together.’
‘Not quite all. Tim’s not here.’
Louise’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I miss him.’
‘Well, you’ve got Jenny and me, so you won’t exactly be lonely.’ To her surprise, Rosalind saw Louise shoot an uncertain glance at her father.
‘We’ll see about that.’
The air was suddenly full of tension.
‘Louise has let us all down,’ Paul said, giving his daughter one of his icy looks, ‘behaved badly to her grandmother, stolen your car and used it, and worst of all, got into drugs.’
For heaven’s sake, Rosalind thought, why is he making such a drama of it? He’s already told me this on the phone.
‘I haven’t decided yet what to do about her, or whether I can even trust her to behave if I leave her here with you.’
Louise looked so unhappy Rosalind went straight across to put her arm round her, feeling the initial stiffness give way to a convulsive hug. ‘Well, until you have decided, I shall be able to enjoy the company of both my daughters.’ While he, no doubt, would be going away within a day or so, even if he did intend to use this as his base from now on.
Oh, Lord, she was doing more talking inside her head than she was with her mouth. She had to stop this.
As they sat and drank coffee, Rosalind realised she and her daughters were all watching Paul and guarding what they said. He was the only one who seemed at ease as he told them about Hong Kong and the project there. ‘Th
e chairman doesn’t hang around when a new man needs selecting.’
Later, he went upstairs to change. When his wife didn’t follow, he called down impatiently, ‘Rosalind? Aren’t you going to come and unpack for me?’
She didn’t really want to be alone with him. Aware of her daughters’ eyes on her, she gathered her strength together for the first minor confrontation. ‘I’m busy down here at the moment. If you stick your dirty clothes in the linen basket, I’ll put a wash on later.’
There was silence from upstairs, no sound of movement, even.
Louise stood up. ‘I – I’d better unpack, too.’ She saw her mother and sister’s surprise. ‘He can get grouchy if you – if—’ She burst into tears.
Rosalind, who had never seen Louise so cowed, went to put her arms round her again. ‘Well, before you do go up, let me say again how lovely it is to see you, even if I don’t approve of what you’ve done.’
Louise stared at her for a moment, eyes wet with tears. ‘I’m glad to see you, too,’ she said in a gruff voice, then glanced upstairs. ‘I’d better go and unpack, though.’
When she’d gone Jenny looked at her mother and whispered, ‘What’s he been doing to make her so meek?’
‘I don’t know.’ And she definitely didn’t like it. Louise had misbehaved, and badly, but it seemed wrong to knock all the spirit out of her. She’d always been such a lively child.
Paul came clumping down the stairs and went to dump some things in ‘his’ office. ‘Not a bad house, really, is it?’ he asked from the kitchen doorway.
Rosalind, who’d been talking quietly to Jenny, broke off and nodded. He turned away again.
‘He always expects us to jump to attention, doesn’t he?’ Jenny asked softly.
‘He does, rather.’ Rosalind heard him go into the living room and her heart started pounding in her chest. She had left her embroideries up on the wall for the first time ever.
‘Ros? Could you come here a moment?’
‘Don’t let him take them down,’ Jenny whispered.
‘I won’t.’ She took a deep breath and walked into the living room. ‘Something wrong?’
