by Lucy Gillen
A large garden completely surrounded it, looking neat and formal apart from some tall beech trees that stood to one side of the short driveway and shaded a wide area of the garden. It was not, she had to admit, quite the sort of house she had pictured for the type of man she had visualised George Daley to be. Something more dark and gloomy would have been more in keeping with her image of him.
She was sorely tempted for a moment to walk down the drive and introduce herself and hesitated by the wide open gates, a frown of indecision on her brow. She resisted the
temptation at last, as not only idiotic but unethical. She had no way of knowing whether she was the only applicant for the post, and to take such an impulsive step would not be likely to endear her to her prospective employer as she pictured him.
For the same reason she suddenly decided she had best not linger at the gates too long in case someone should see her from the house and take exception to her curiosity. She had just turned away and was about to walk off when she was hailed by someone coming up behind her.
"Hello, can I help you?" It was a woman's voice and it sounded friendly enough to make Kim smile, somewhat sheepishly, as she turned round.
"Well — er — no, not really, thank you. I'm just explor—
ing.,,
"Oh, I see." She was about Kim's own age, but a little taller, with a mop of brown hair and blue eyes set in a not quite pretty face. She laughed almost apologetically, and shook her head, grimacing over her own assumption. "I'm sorry, I thought you were debating with yourself whether to go up to the house or not. Please do if you'd like to."
Kim looked at her with added interest. "I should be the one to apologise," she said. "I was standing and staring like an idiot and you must think me very rude, but — well, I came out with the express'
express purpose of finding this house and I'm afraid I stood longer than I should have done."
A smile dismissed her apology as unnecessary and the young woman shook her head again. "You're probably an admirer of George's, are you?" She cocked her head to one side and studied Kim with friendly, half-amused curiosity, then shook her head again. "No, on second thoughts, you don't look the blood and thunder type."
"Don't I?" Kim laughed, not only at the friendly uninhibited comment but the inaccuracy of it. "As it hap-
pens," she admitted, "I am an admirer of Mr. Daley's, but that's not the reason I'm here." She was wondering who the girl was and where she fitted into George Daley's household. She seemed far too bright and young to fit in with Kim's preconceived ideas. "Actually," she confessed, "I have an appointment with him tomorrow, for an interview, and I came along this evening to see just where it was I had to come. I'm hoping to get the post of secretary."
"Oh, I see," the girl nodded understanding, her blue eyes still friendly. "Well, I hope you'll be successful." She extended a hand. "I'm Fay Daley. The great George is my brother."
"Oh!" she could not conceal her surprise and she knew the other girl found it amusing. "I'm Kim Anders." She felt a little less apprehensive already about the coming interview. If this friendly young woman was his sister surely the character she had visualised for George Daley must be well off the mark.
"Kim?" Fay Daley was frowning over the name as many people did on first hearing it. "That's rather unusual for a girl, isn't it? Is it a contraction or your full name?" Before Kim could answer, the girl laughed apologetically. "I'm sorry, Miss Anders, but you can blame a natural curiosity for my bad manners, plus the fact that I research for my brother and asking questions is a habit I find hard to break."
"I don't mind," Kim assured her, nothing loath to explain her unusual name again, "it's short for Kimball, my mother's maiden name."'
"It's nice," Fay Daley decreed with a smile. "Very unusual, and it suits you. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Miss Anders. We get so few new faces here, especially young ones."
"I'm staying with an aunt and uncle," Kim told her.
"They've retired here, like a lot of other people, so I understand. It's a popular place for retired people."
Fay Daley pulled a wry face. "A little too popular, I'm afraid," she said. "There are so few people under thirty that if one wants a bit of life it's necessary to go into Woodmouth."
"So my uncle warned me," Kim told her with a smile, "but I don't think I'll be too bothered, I'm already looking forward to sitting on that lovely sand and taking things easy when I'm not working. Always providing I get this job, of course," she added hastily.
Fay Daley studied her for a moment, some expression in her eyes that puzzled Kim. "Oh, you'll get it," she told her, "don't worry about that. I can guarantee it."
Her certainty, combined with that rather quizzical look, intrigued Kim. "I hope so," she said.
"What time's your appointment with George?" Fay asked.
"Half past eleven."
"Well, in that case," Fay told her, "I suggest you come half an hour earlier and have coffee with us, will you?"
"Of course, I'd like to," Kim smiled, delighted to have been accepted so readily, at least by one member of the family, "thank you."
Her thanks were dismissed airily. "Good, then we'll see you tomorrow about eleven. 'Bye for now."
"Good-bye." Kim smiled after the small, neat figure as it went down the drive, wondering at her good fortune in meeting Fay Daley, although she was still rather puzzled by the other girl's rather disconcerting assurance that she would certainly get the job.
She thought she had time still to go a bit further and accordingly turned and began to walk up the fairly steep slope of smooth turf that ran up from the end of the sea
wall and to a small, flat area where it was possible to sit and overlook the sea.
The really high cliffs were further on still, but for the moment she felt this spot was high enough and she stood for several minutes on the sun-warmed turf, looking out at the glittering, shimmer of the water only gently rippling in the light wind. An occasional creamy curl of foam raised itself from the blue and fluttered along to extinction at the rock face, dainty and fragile as soft lace.
It was idyllic, she thought, and not at all the sort of environment she could imagine inspiring violent crime novels of the sort George Daley wrote, although obviously he would disagree with her. Now that she had been more or less obliged to rethink her picture of George Daley, she was a bit uncertain just what to expect. Anyway, she shrugged, at least she faced the interview with less trepidation than she had until now, and she could already see herself working in the old red brick house quite happily.
A hasty glance at her watch, a few seconds later, reminded her that it would soon be time for dinner and that she should be starting back if she did not want to be late for dinner on her first day.
She had covered quite a lot of the distance back to the house, when something caught her eye and made her frown uneasily. She stopped almost involuntarily and looked across at the small lone figure sitting on the wall, hesitating to go over to him, but feeling instinctively that she should.
She quite liked children as a rule, although she had had very little to do with them, and this one seemed in some danger of falling if he stayed where he was for much longer. True, he would not fall into the sea, only on to the sandy beach below the wall, but from where he sat, with his feet dangling, it was quite a fall for a little fellow like that and he would get some nasty bruises if nothing worse.
She looked around to see if anyone was with him or showed any interest in him, but there was no one else anywhere near. Such a little boy, she felt, should not have been out alone even in such a small, quiet place as Woodsea.
He had an air of pathos that touched her heart as she watched him, uncertain what she should do for the best.
Her conscience decided for her at last and she walked across to him with not the slightest idea of what she would say to him; he half-turned his head as she approached, glancing up at her with the reproachful, self-righteous look of little boys who have been scolded.
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It was difficult not to smile as she crouched down beside him on the edge of the wall. "Are you lost?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"No." The answer was brief and to the point, but it put Kim at a disadvantage again in that she had to try again.
"Hadn't you better go home?" she suggested hopefully.
Again he answered in a discouraging monosyllable. "Why?,,
"Well, it's getting late," Kim ventured, "and I'm sure your mummy will be worrying about you, won't she?"
His frown was as discouraging as his answers. "She won't." The gravelly little voice was adamant in its certainty. "She's gone."
"Gone?" Kim blinked her uncertainty, all manner of unpleasant possibilities entering her head at the cryptic answer. "But you must have a home to go to, haven't you?" The tow-coloured head nodded doubtfully. "Then let me walk home with you, shall I?" Kim offered persuasively, and put out a hand which, to her relief, he accepted after only a brief hesitation.
When he climbed back on to the wall beside her she realised that he was even smaller than she had anticipated and so dejected-looking that she felt renewed pity for him
as she held on to his hand firmly, allowing him to lead the way.
He seemed to be taking her in the direction she wanted to go, anyway, and that at least was quite a relief, though what she would do if he proved not to know where he was going was something she would have to worry about when it happened.
"What's your name?" he asked suddenly and disarmingly, and Kim smiled, encouraged by the slightly less dismal expression he wore.
"My name's Anders," she obliged, "Kim Anders. What's yours?"
"Lee." He apparently thought that identity enough, for he offered no other and Kim was uncertain whether it was surname or christian name. She was beginning to doubt, too, the wisdom of letting him take the lead. He was rather young to know what he was doing, and old enough to hate admitting it, but he had a rather daunting air of self-confidence about him, considering her own uncertainty.
"Do you know where you live, Lee ?" she asked.
He nodded, as if he had no doubts at all on that score. "This way," he told her.
Feeling rather like a lamb being led to the slaughter, Kim followed the slight tug on her right hand. "Have you been gone a long time?" she asked.
Again he nodded. "I ran away," he informed her, and with such solemnity that she found it hard not to start and show surprise. He could have been no more than four years old and yet he had all the panache of an experienced absconder, now that he was on his way home again. "I'm gone to be a sailor soon," he informed her before she could comment or disapprove.
"Oh, are you?" They were almost at her aunt's front gate by now, and she wondered if she should call in and
explain the situation, as her aunt might even know who the child was, but before she could decide someone came out of the gate of the garden next door and she flushed to recognise her tormentor of earlier on.
The brown hair and very light eyes were a combination not easy to forget, and they gave her the clue she needed. She had noticed both when he had watched her and her uncle go past as they left the station, but his height she was not prepared for.
He stood by the gate, unbelievably tall and seemingly quite unperturbed as he watched her approach hand in hand with her tiny companion, the light grey eyes alight with something that could have been laughter. He was better looking than she had realised too, and rather disconcertingly attractive at close quarters, neither of which endeared him to Kim, who considered good-looking and attractive men far too sure of themselves.
"I see you've found my wandering sailor," he told her, and she frowned when the little boy left her side, all too willingly it seemed, and walked up to him. The child's eyes were reproachful again when he looked up at the enormous figure that dwarfed him, but also undeniably relieved.
"He's — he's one of yours?" Kim asked, her eyes wide with disbelief when she remembered her own opinion of the children in the back of the car. That he appeared entirely unconcerned about the child surprised her not at all, for he struck her as the type of man who was completely lacking in feeling, even for his own children.
"You might say so," he agreed blithely, and smiled. "He's number two, Lee by name, in case he hasn't already introduced himself. I'm James Fleming."
She took the proffered hand warily and merely touched it for as long as politeness demanded, finding it annoyingly difficult to stop the slightly dizzy feeling she had from the
effect of that smile. "I found Lee down on the sea wall," she informed him, stiffly disapproving and determined not to be won over, "and I think you should take better care of a boy as small as that. He could have fallen and hurt himself."
"Probably he could," he agreed quietly, a different expression in his gaze now as he turned the child round and sent him, with a light pat on his bottom, into the garden and towards the house, "but so far he hasn't, and we live in hopes."
"You — you mean you knew where he was and you — ! " Kim sought for words to express her disgust at his lack of concern, but instead succeeded only in appearing inarticulate.
He was smiling again, obviously suspecting her frustration and finding it amusing. "Miss —?" he cocked a quizzical brow at her and she responded automatically.
"Anders," she supplied, "Kim Anders."
"You're staying with Mrs. Keeler, aren't you?" he asked.
"I am," Kim agreed. "She's my aunt." She felt oddly gauche and uneasy as he watched her. There was something very disturbing about James Fleming that made her horribly self-conscious, and she resented the way he was studying her.
"I thought you were," he remarked. "I saw you at the station when Mr. Keeler collected you."
"You saw me," Kim agreed coldly, "and you splashed me from head to foot with filthy black water."
To her surprise he did not try to deny it, but grimaced ruefully. "I know," he admitted, "but I didn't realise I had until the monsters told me. They were laughing their heads off, and when they told me why, I started back to apologise, but I was too late, you passed me on your way here."
So that was the explanation, Kim thought, but did not
admit to having seen him. That he had told her his intention rather surprised her and she nodded briefly to acknowledge the belated apology. "You needn't have troubled," she informed him, knowing she was not being very gracious about what had, after all, been an accident, "the damage was already done."
His eyes positively gleamed at her grudging acceptance and he eyed her speculatively, as if trying to prejudge her reaction to his next words. "In a way," he told her, "it was your own fault you got splashed. You stepped off the kerb in front of me and I was so busy trying to avoid running you down that I didn't see the puddle. You should be more careful and look before you leap."
It was obvious he had no intention of taking the whole blame and what he said was near enough to the truth to be discomfiting. "I would have thought," she told him, "that that puddle was impossible not to see — it was big enough."
"Possibly," he allowed, "but I wasn't looking for puddles at that moment, I was trying to avoid a jay-walker."
She could not let him get away with it altogether. "My coat's ruined," she insisted, and he grinned as if he followed her train of thought all too easily.
"Well, send me the cleaning bill by all means," he offered. "I've already told the monsters off for laughing, hence Lee's little drama."
Kim eyed him suspiciously. "You mean he ran off because you scolded him for laughing?"
"That's right." He still sounded quite unconcerned that the boy could have come to harm.
"And you weren't worried about him at all?" His callousness appalled her and she showed it.
He shrugged. "What's the use?" he asked. "He'll do it again. It's his favourite form of protest."
"Why, you're — you're unbelievable," Kim gasped. "A
baby like that! Anything might have happened to him and you — you just shrug it
off ! You're not fit to have charge of small children, you must be the most — most unfeeling father that ever lived. Poor little mites !"
"You're a child expert?" There was a dangerous quietness in his voice which even Kim, in her anger, recognised and she shook her head.
"No — no, I'm not, but I know that children need love and care, and that poor little soul must have been very unhappy to have run away from home at his age."
He looked at her steadily for a moment, saying nothing, and she realised how rash she had been in her condemnation of him. It could not be easy for a man alone to manage several small children and the little one she had seen appeared rebellious rather than cowed, and certainly not neglected.
"Perhaps you'd care to take on the responsibility of them?" he suggested quietly. "I agree they need a woman's hand, but that's something I'm unable to provide at the moment, so perhaps you'd care to take the job on?"
"No, of course not," Kim denied hastily, lowering her own gaze as the colour rushed to her face. There was something so disconcerting about that light-eyed scrutiny that made her wish fervently she had not started the argument. It was, she realised, a highly unsuitable situation to get into with a stranger, especially here in the street, and she thanked heaven there was no one else to witness her indiscretion.
"Then suppose you leave the ways and means to me," he told her with a short laugh that mocked her embarrassment. "I'm not an expert, I admit, but I haven't done so badly up to now. In fact," he added with a grin, "I think the little monsters quite like being with me."
Kim could not argue on that point since she did not
know enough about either him or the children, and she was increasingly aware that she had probably made a complete fool of herself by attacking him as she had. '
