He started to move his head from side to side, and then lifted up his arms and waggled his fingers. He began to giggle.
‘My arms is wriggling,’ the boy said. ‘See? My face is wriggling as well.’
Megan felt herself tensing. The boy was far too close to the edge, and the man wasn’t taking any notice of him at all. His concentration was centred on his painting.
‘Are they?’ he said. He wiped his brush on a cloth and glanced down at a box that rested by his feet.
‘Why is they wriggling?’
The man glanced at the child briefly. ‘I expect the water is moving,’ he answered.
At least he had taken a moment to look at the boy, but his attention was short-lived. He rummaged in the wicker box and picked out a tube of paint, squeezing out a small amount onto his palette.
Megan stiffened. Her muscles were tightening up into knots all over again. Did the man not realise that the boy was dangerously close to the edge of the water? What would it take for him to notice that the ground was uneven, and one false move would tip the child into the river?
She walked towards the pair, and that was enough to prompt the man to glance in her direction. She ignored him. The boy was playing a jumping game, springing from one tuft of grass to another. At one point he seemed to stumble, but at the last moment he managed to steady himself, tilting his arms sideways like the wings of an aeroplane.
‘I think you should come away from the water’s edge,’ Megan said softly, moving to intercept the boy as he teetered on the brink once more. ‘The ground is very uneven just here, and you could slip.’
The child frowned, his gaze moving out over the water. ‘Is it very deep?’
‘It’s hard to say,’ Megan told him, ‘but it could be. I shouldn’t like you to fall in.’
The boy nodded, and moved to a safe distance. He began to pick up pebbles from the footpath and started to throw them into the water one by one.
Satisfied that the child was out of immediate danger, Megan directed her gaze towards the man. He was adding a hint of gold-green to his painting, highlighting the way the sunlight filtered through the reeds on the riverbank.
‘That’s a beautiful painting,’ she murmured, going to look at the canvas, and it was the truth. He had captured the image of the countryside in glorious, perfect detail, and he obviously had a definite talent for the art. At any other time she would have liked to talk to him about his skills, but right now there were other, more pressing things on her mind. ‘I wonder, though, whether you ought to be paying attention to something other than the scenery at the moment?’
He sent her a brief, unconcerned glance, before returning his gaze to his canvas. ‘And that would be…?’
Megan’s jaw tightened. ‘Has it not occurred to you that this child is too young to be roaming unsupervised so near the canal?’
His glance went fleetingly to the boy. ‘He seems to be reasonably surefooted.’
She lifted a brow and shook her head in despair at his answer. ‘I’m not certain that reasonably surefooted is quite good enough. He’s too close to the water’s edge.’
He looked along the canal bank, a small line indenting his brow. ‘Do you think so? Perhaps you’re worrying unnecessarily. I doubt children are quite as reckless as you might imagine.’
Megan pulled in a sharp breath, simmering flame sparking in her grey eyes. ‘Is that all you have to say? How would you react if he were to fall in? I dare say your painting would have to take second place then—or perhaps I’m wrong in assuming that?’
He turned to look at her, his gaze shifting over her more intently this time, moving slowly downwards to follow the curving line of her snugly fitting cotton top and sweeping over the blue jeans that faithfully moulded her hips. Her whole body stiffened as he brought his glance back to her face. A flush of warmth flowed along her cheekbones.
‘You might have a point there,’ he intoned drily. ‘I expect in that case I would have to go and fish him out, and then we would both end up soaked to the skin.’
Megan threw him an exasperated look. ‘Is that it? Is that as much as you care?’
His blue eyes darkened a fraction, taking on a smoke grey tinge. ‘You seem to be expecting something from me,’ he murmured. ‘Do you think perhaps you’re being a little uptight about this?’
Megan tossed back her head, sending the chestnut sweep of her hair into tumbling chaos as it fell across her shoulders. ‘Uptight?’ she echoed. ‘You think I’m uptight?’ She bit the words out through her teeth. ‘The boy could have drowned. Don’t you have any protective instincts whatsoever? I just don’t understand how parents can care so little about what their children get up to. Doesn’t it bother you at all that he might have slipped?’
He nodded. ‘Well, yes, of course, that would have been unfortunate, and it would have been even more disturbing if I’d had to go in after him. Actually, though, what concerns me most is that he’s here at all.’
‘I don’t think I follow what you’re saying.’
‘I don’t suppose you do.’ He frowned. ‘The fact is he isn’t my child. To begin with, I thought he was with you, but that’s obviously not the case.’ His mouth made a wry shape. ‘Unfortunately, it also means that I’m going to have to find out who he does belong to if a parent doesn’t come along soon.’
Megan was dumbfounded. She had been convinced that the boy belonged with him, and now she was rapidly searching for some way to make up for the way she had spoken to him. What must he be thinking? A total stranger barged in on him and invaded his privacy, accusing him of all sorts of things. It was unforgivable.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I thought, because you were together out here, that he was your son. Clearly, that was a mistake.’
‘Yes, I can see how you might have formed that impression, but even so I wonder if perhaps your instincts are a bit too highly charged. Maybe you should try to relax a little more.’
Relax? He was the expert in doing that, wasn’t he? If he were any more laid-back he would topple over. No matter who the child belonged to, he might have been a tad more cautious in watching out for him. She bent her head momentarily and silently ground her teeth together.
‘Whatever,’ she said after a second or two, straightening up once more. ‘There’s still the problem of the child.’ She thought things through for a moment. ‘I wonder if he’s wandered over here from the pub? Surely someone must be missing him?’
He shrugged. ‘As you said, some people don’t seem to care what their children get up to—but maybe there’s some other explanation.’
Just then a young girl came hurrying along the footpath. ‘Nicky,’ she was calling. ‘Nicky, where are you?’
‘Ah,’ the man said under his breath. ‘Perhaps here is our answer. I felt sure it would all come right if we waited long enough.’ His glance went to the boy, who had stopped throwing pebbles into the water and was turning around to look at the girl. ‘I wonder if this is young Nicky?’
