'How lovely,' said Joanna, sneezing. 'Oh, drat this cold. Off you go, darling, well away from me and my sneezes.'
'OK.' Polly eyed her anxiously. 'Get better soon, Jo.'
'I will!' Joanna mopped herself up vigorously. 'I'll be fighting fit in a day or two, I promise.'
Marc rang later that night, long after Polly was in bed. 'I wasn't allowed to visit you on your bed of pain,' he said drily. 'Doris appeared to think that one look at you with your red nose and swollen eyes would send me raving mad with lust.'
Joanna giggled. 'I'm sure the thought of lust never crossed Doris's mind ‑'
'Lucky old Doris.'
There was an awkward pause. 'Thank you for the flowers, by the way,' Joanna said hastily, coughing a little.
'I had hoped to present them in person.'
'Just as well you didn't. I look revolting—and you'd probably have caught my cold.'
'I swore I wouldn't say this, after the way you sent me packing last week, but I missed you today,' he said gruffly. 'Polly did too. She said so in no uncertain terms.'
Joanna gave a shaky sigh. 'It's better this way, Marc.'
'Better for whom, Joanna? It certainly wasn't better for Polly. Nor for me. We were like lost souls without you. So it must have been yourself you were thinking of when you decided to back out of future outings. Own up, Joanna. You're a coward—in a cold funk at the thought of getting involved.'
'I'm not,' she denied, so fiercely it brought on an attack of coughing which rendered her speechless for a while. 'It was Polly I was thinking of,' she went on hoarsely at last.
He laughed scornfully. 'What a load of rubbish, Joanna Swan. You backed out of the arrangement because you're afraid of committing yourself to a normal, healthy relationship where a man's concerned. Polly's just your excuse for running away from me. You're worried I might crack that shell you've been living in, make you feel like a flesh and blood woman in a way Paul Clifford never did.'
'How dare you?' she croaked, incensed.
'I dare because ‑' He stopped dead. 'Oh, what's the use?' he said fiercely. 'Forget it. I've no right to interfere in your life. Have it your way. Polly's adaptable. She'll just have to accept the failure of her plan.'
'What plan?'
'She thinks it would be nice if the three of us lived together, just like the Lavenhams.' He laughed shortly. 'Don't worry. I explained, in as simple terms as possible, that this wasn't remotely possible. One way and another.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
To her intense irritation, Joanna, who normally shook off minor complaints with ease, found it hard to get rid of her cold. One of the contributing factors to her slow convalescence, she knew perfectly well, was Marc Anstey's apparent lack of concern. He rang, it was true, but beyond a perfunctory enquiry about her health said nothing personal other than his regret at not being able to take Polly out the following weekend. He was bidden to lunch by the owner of the Citadel, an offer he couldn't refuse.
'If I could talk to Polly for a moment I'd like to explain to her personally,' he said with chill courtesy.
Rebuffed, as he very plainly intended, Joanna took the phone along to Polly's bedroom and left the child alone to talk to her uncle.
When Polly came back with the phone Joanna eyed her closely.
'Are you disappointed, darling? Because you won't see your uncle this weekend?'
Polly nodded, mouth drooping. She heaved a big sigh. 'But Marco said I must be a big girl and understand. He'll come next week. Without fail,' she added, in touching reproduction of Marc's forceful manner.
That night Joanna woke with a start. She turned on her bedside lamp to find a tearful little figure standing beside the bed.
'Can I come in your bed?' sobbed Polly.
'Oh, darling, of course you can.' Joanna turned back the covers in welcome, scooping the child into the warm bed. Joanna held Polly tightly, rubbing her cheek over the damp, tangled curls.
'What is it?' she asked gently. 'Are you missing your Mamma?'
Polly nodded, sniffing hard. 'But Marco said she's happy in heaven 'cos I'm safe with you.'
Joanna's throat tightened. 'Did he, darling?'
Polly gave a huge, shaky sigh. 'I just wish Marco could live here too with you 'n' me 'n' Sunny.'
'He can't do that, Polly, because he works in London. You know he's got an important new job?'
Polly smiled proudly. 'Yes. Marco's clever.' She eyed Joanna sternly. 'Why don't you like him, Jo?'
Joanna tried to smile. 'But I do.'
Polly frowned. 'Then why ‑?' She bit her lip, suddenly the picture of guilt.
Joanna eyed her narrowly. 'Why what, Paola Anstey?'
'Marco said not to.'
'Out with it!'
Polly buried her head against Joanna's shoulder. 'Why won't you let Marco live here? Then we'd be like the twins and their mummy and daddy.'
Joanna lay very still, staring at the ceiling, sending up a silent prayer for guidance before doing her best to explain to Polly that the way things were would just have to do. That not everyone had a family like the Lavenhams.
'Just remember, Polly,' she added, 'that your Marco loves you very much and so do I. But your uncle and I hardly know each other. Grown-ups don't live together until they know each other very well.'
'I live with you, and you haven't known me long,' said Polly unanswerably.
'That's different,' said Joanna firmly, and put the light out. 'Now go to sleep, my cherub, or you won't keep awake in school tomorrow.'
The locations for Snowbird's adventures varied with the seasons. In summer his escapades took place at the beach, but now Joanna painted him against a background of autumn leaves and bonfires, Hallowe'en and Guy Fawkes night. Ignoring her cold, she worked hard while Polly was in school, and at the weekend let the child set up her new easel and drawing-board in the study so they could work together. And as the time went by Joanna convinced herself that her life was full. That it lacked nothing that Marc Anstey could provide.
Marc rang fairly regularly, it was true, but these days it was all too obvious that he'd taken the hint, that he now considered Joanna's role in his life minimal. As far as he was concerned, he made it clear, her sole function was a means of communication with Polly. To Joanna's shame she had to curb a strong urge to eavesdrop on their talks, even to question the child about them afterwards. Then one night, before asking to speak to Polly, he made a suggestion which filled Joanna with sharp dismay.
'As you know,' he said impersonally, 'I start at the Citadel soon. Since I'm likely to be tied up rather a lot from then on, while I get to grips with the new job, I thought that instead of just lunching with Polly next Sunday as originally planned I'd take her away for a holiday next week.'
'Away?' said Joanna, dismayed. 'Where?'
'To a Greek island called Chyros. A friend of mine owns a house there. I thought a few days in the sun would do Polly good. And you could have a good rest while she's off your hands,' he added. 'You still sound a bit hoarse. Cold still hanging on?'
'No,' snapped Joanna. 'I'm fine.'
'Good. Would you pack a few things for Polly, then, please? I'll come for her on Friday night.'
'Certainly. Would you like to speak to Polly now—describe the delights in store?'
'Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?'
'I'll just take the phone in to her,' said Joanna distantly. 'She's reading in bed. Goodbye.'
Polly was so excited at the prospect of the holiday that she was hard to handle for the next few days. Joanna would have been hard put to cope with the child if Jack and Charlie Lavenham hadn't come round after school to play with her most days. The twins were deeply envious of Polly's forthcoming trip to the sun.
'As well they might be,' said Mary cheerfully. 'My darling husband's stipend doesn't run to exotic holidays, I'm afraid. And George's principles won't allow him to use any of my money for things like that.'
Mary, the cherished only daughter of comfortably off parents,
had been left a considerable private income, which was, in her words, as much use as a sick headache due to her husband's scruples.
'George refuses to use it for anything other than eventual school fees.' Mary sighed. 'He even vetoes raids on my piggy-bank for fripperies like a reliable car, or a few miles of new curtain for the Rectory windows.'
Joanna chuckled. 'He let you buy a new cooker.'
'Ah, yes, but George, saint though he be, loves his food. I said, "No cooker, George, no meals." End of problem.'
Joanna got to her feet as the noise volume increased upstairs, but Mary waved her back. 'Relax. You only charge off when there's a deadly hush, love.' She eyed Joanna searchingly. 'I say, Jo. You look a bit washed out. Cold still bothering you?'
'No.' Joanna topped up their coffee-cups. 'I suppose if I'm honest I hate the thought of Polly going off to Greece next week. I'll miss her.'
Mary, who with her George was the only one in Joanna's confidence regarding Polly, eyed her friend thoughtfully. 'You really adore that child, don't you? I don't know that I could have been so noble under the circumstances.'
'Of course you could,' scoffed Joanna. 'Besides, I don't have much else to fill my life, other than Snowbird, do I? Polly's a handful sometimes, but she's a loving little soul. The house will seem empty while she's away. Thank heavens for the dog.'
'The twins tell me Polly would like her uncle to move into Swan House with you—provide her with a ready-made family,' announced Mary, then stared as Joanna flushed to the roots of her hair. 'Oh, dear. I've struck a nerve.'
Joanna pulled a face. 'Actually it's all your fault. Polly yearns for a family just like yours. She had to be enlightened, as gently as possible, that it just isn't on.'
'How did Marc Anstey feel about it?'
'I'm afraid I'm more concerned with my own feelings—and Polly's of course—than his.' Joanna sighed gloomily. 'We can't play happy families just because she wants us to. Besides,' she added bitterly. 'My experience of happy families isn't exactly extensive, is it, what with my defecting mother— and Paul.'
'Paul's dead now,' said Mary sharply. 'And you're much too young, Joanna, to turn your back on all possibility of a family of your own.' She leaned forward to pat Joanna's hand. 'I know your accident put paid to any more babies, but surely if you marry again you could adopt a child? Polly's a darling, but you can't devote your entire life to her. To be blunt, you could do with a man in your life. Some women function perfectly happily without the blighters, I know, but don't kid me you're one of them.'
Joanna smiled, filled with a sudden urge to confide. 'I'm not. I fancy Polly's arrangement like mad, if you must know, Mary.' She smiled wryly as Mary's brown eyes rounded in astonishment. 'If I followed my baser instincts I'd let Marc Anstey into my life, my bed, anywhere he cares to be. But with Polly to consider it's out of the question. Love affairs end. And if I had an affair with Marc who would be the one to suffer most when it was over? Polly! So I'm not going to let it start.'
When Marc arrived to collect Polly late on Friday afternoon Joanna was so determined to conceal her pleasure at seeing him that her greeting was glacial.
'Everything's packed and ready,' she said, while Polly hugged her tall uncle. 'Not having much idea of the climate on this island of yours, I've put in a selection of clothes. Plus a first-aid kit with various medications Polly might need.'
'It's a Greek island, Joanna, not the wilds of Borneo!'
'It's best to make sure. Can I give you tea, or coffee?'
'Thank you. Tea sounds good.' Marc, looking drawn and sombre as he sat down at the kitchen table, watched Polly playing with the dog while Joanna filled a kettle and clattered teacups on a tray. He looked up. 'You're very pale,' he commented.
'I've been burning the midnight oil to meet a deadline.'
Polly chimed in eagerly to tell Marc about the Snowbird stories. 'Jo tells them to me first,' she added importantly.
'I'd like to see one of them,' said Marc.
'Can I get some from the study, Jo?' demanded Polly, jumping to her feet in excitement.
'Of course.' Joanna poured tea with a steady hand then passed a dish of home-made strawberry jam for Marc to spread on scones still warm from the oven.
He ate and drank in silence for a moment, watching her abstractedly. 'You know, Joanna, the life I lead tends to make me forget that there are places like this, with people like you, who cook proper food and stop for tea, where life is a calm, pleasant affair instead of the rat-race I lead.'
'Before Polly came to live with me I never had tea,' she said, smiling a little. 'But now it's a ritual when we get back from school in the afternoon. Children get used to rituals very quickly,' she added with emphasis.
Marc stared at her moodily. 'Possibly. But I still don't see why the three of us couldn't go out together occasionally. Dammit, Joanna, Polly's old enough to understand that it doesn't have to mean a permanent arrangement ‑' He stopped dead. 'Sorry. Didn't mean to bore you with all that again. And don't worry. I'll take very good care of her. I can't promise afternoon tea on a Greek island, but I'll do my best otherwise ‑' He broke off as Polly returned, staggering under a pile of large, hardback picture books containing as many of the adventures of Snowbird as she could carry. 'Careful, car a, you'll do yourself a mischief—give them to me.'
With Polly hovering at his elbow Marc went through the pile of books, Joanna watching on tenterhooks as he skimmed through one after another without comment.
'I've seen these displayed in bookshops,' he said at last, looking up. 'I didn't know then, of course, that you were Joanna Swan. They're magical. I congratulate you. It's not often that something as artistic as these is so commercially viable.'
Joanna relaxed, concealing her intense pleasure at his praise.
'They're great fun to do, but after this batch Snowbird's going out to grass, I'm afraid. He's had quite a run, but it's over now.'
'Have you anything in mind to take his place?'
She nodded. 'I quite fancy trying my hand at an adult novel. I created Snowbird to get Saladin out of my system. As a kind of catharsis, I suppose. Now I feel ready to tackle something different.'
Marc glanced at Polly, who was gazing at Joanna, drinking in every word. 'Are you ready, tesoro? Nearly time to go.'
When Polly had skipped upstairs Marc turned back to Joanna. 'If your Snowbird books were a way of getting your horse out of your system, what's the motivation for your novel? Will that be based on experience, or complete fiction?'
'A combination of both, I imagine. Isn't that how most writers function? You're the journalist. You must know how it works.'
'I'm mainly a hard news man. I don't go much for fiction:' Marc got up, holding out his hand. 'Goodbye, then, Joanna.'
She looked at the outstretched hand, afraid to touch it in case the contact breached the wall of reserve she'd constructed so carefully against him.
Marc eyed her derisively as his hand fell to his side. 'I forgot. Touching's against the rules, of course.'
'Marc ‑' she began impulsively, moving towards him, then stopped as Polly came running into the kitchen.
'Ready!' she cried happily. She dropped on her knees to cuddle Sunny, planting kisses on his smooth gold head. 'Be a good boy for Jo, Sunny.' She jumped up and threw herself in Joanna's arms, hugging her tightly. 'I wish you were coming too.'
So did Joanna, the urge so sudden and overwhelming that she buried her face in Polly's curls, afraid Marc might tune in to it. 'I'll be here when you come back. Have fun, darling.' She smiled brightly at Marc. 'Enjoy your holiday.'
'I'll try.' He picked up Polly's luggage, his black eyes narrowed as they met Joanna's. 'Take it easy while we're away. You look very pale.'
She shrugged, smiling brightly. 'I'm fine, honestly.'
There were more hugs and kisses from Polly before Marc could get her in his car. Joanna waved them off, her face lint-white under the porch light as the car moved off down the drive, then went back into a
house which suddenly felt very empty and still.
Joanna was grateful for Sunny's company when Polly had gone. The Lavenhams had taken advantage of half-term to spend most of the week with George's parents, leaving Joanna with Doris as her only contact with the outside world.
Joanna missed Polly more than she would have believed possible. In a few short weeks the child had invaded Swan House and Joanna's heart to such an extent that she felt like a lost soul with only herself for company. After two days of solitude Joanna was utterly delighted to receive a phone call from Chyros, but Marc managed only a word or two before Polly's excited voice was chattering in Joanna's ear about the flight and the boat to the island and the little white house right by the sea.
When Joanna put the phone down the house seemed lonelier than ever, deciding her to take Sunny for a walk into Swancote to buy stamps. In the post office stores Mrs Birkin the post-mistress introduced Joanna to the doctor who'd recently gone into partnership with Dr Penfold, the man who'd brought Joanna into the world. Roger Morley was very pleasant, large and fair with a reassuring air about him which appealed to Joanna very much.
'I hope you enjoy living in Swancote,' she said as he opened the door for her.
'I'm sure I shall,' he said, bending to pat Sunny's head as Joanna unfastened the leash from the railing outside. 'I'm glad of the chance to meet you, Mrs Clifford. I've just moved in to old Mr Reynolds' house just down the road from you. I'm your new neighbour.'
Joanna smiled warmly. 'So you're the mystery purchaser! The village jungle drums must be on the blink. I didn't know who bought it. Let me know if there's anything your wife needs. I'll call round when you're settled and introduce myself.'
Roger Morley looked a trifle embarrassed. 'Afraid I'm divorced. I live alone these days.' He smiled ruefully. 'Nevertheless I hope you and your husband will drop in for a drink one evening.'
'Actually, Dr Morley, I'm a widow. A fairly recent one,' Joanna added, to offset any hint of invitation he might have read into her statement. 'There's just me and my little ward, Polly, at Swan House. And Sunny, of course.' With a friendly smile she said goodbye and walked home briskly, pleased that her new neighbour was so pleasant.
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