honestly to herself, the other girl rubbed her up the wrong way, so whatever she did would probably be irritating, however well she did it.
But surely why this was so could have nothing to do with Wendy’s ambition to be Mrs Cliff Wyatt— or could it? she asked herself once then shook her head in a gesture of disbelief, but added to herself, I don’t even know if it’s true and not an odd fancy of Mrs Tibbs’! But the irony of that thought made her feel curiously uncomfortable so she resolutely closed her mind to the whole subject.
It was a lot harder to keep her mind closed when she was presented with undeniable verification of Mrs Tibbs’ theory that same evening.
She’d helped Mrs Tibbs clear up after the bar- becue—Amy had taken herself and the children to bed and Wendy and Cliff had disappeared. And after they’d scoured the last pot they had a cup of tea in the big kitchen, then Sarah yawned, said goodnight and let herself out of the back door to make her way home. It was about a quarter of a mile to her cottage and she pulled her jacket around her and rubbed her hands as she descended the back steps and walked around the house. The night was clear, starry and cold and she walked soundlessly on the grass for a few yards until she heard voices and stopped uncertainly. They were coming from above and in front of her, from the veranda, and she immediately recognised Wendy’s voice—not only her voice but what she was saying and the way she was saying it…
‘You must admit I did well tonight, darling.’
‘Very well,’ Cliff Wyatt answered.
‘Surely I deserve a bit more than that for… slaying so many dragons in a manner of speaking?’ Every husky, sexy intonation of Wendy’s voice carried clearly on the cold night air.
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘This,’ she said, and Sarah couldn’t help herself. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she could see both Wendy and Cliff Wyatt—not in any great detail but their outlines—and she saw Wendy move into his arms and gaze up into his eyes. They stood like that for a long moment then she saw Cliff Wyatt’s dark head lower to the paler glimmer of Wendy’s up- turned face and their lips meet.
That was when she turned and slipped away around the other side of the house.
‘But do you believe in Father Christmas, Miss Sutherland?’ Billy Pascoe said. He was a thin, in- tense, trouble-prone child with awkward dark hair that seemed to grow straight upwards and resisted his mother’s every attempt to tame it.
‘Well, it’s generally only little people who believe in Father Christmas, the tooth fairy and the Easter Bunny, Billy, but I must admit that last Christmas I could have sworn I saw someone who looked exactly like Father Christmas getting around Edgeleigh on a horse—.’
‘You always tell us we’re not allowed to swear, miss!’
‘Yes, I do but this is a different kind of swearing and has nothing to do with the saying of rude words—.’
‘Anyway, he’s supposed to be on a reindeer and that was—’
‘Perhaps his reindeer were sick, Billy,’ Sarah inter- posed smoothly. ‘And now, as it’s two minutes to three and nearly time for the bell, you can collect the art books, Billy—Billy,’ she said calmly, and outstared him firmly until he subsided grudgingly and did as he was told. ‘And you, Ben, can put away the paints.’
Ben sprang up and did so obligingly—anything to do with art and painting appealed to Ben—then he said, looking over Sarah’s shoulder. ‘Oh, here’s Uncle Cliff!’
Sarah didn’t turn but reached for the bell and swung it. ‘All right, off you go.’
Cliff Wyatt waited until they’d all tumbled out of the schoolhouse before he said anything. Then he strolled in front of her and remarked, ‘That was a masterpiece of diplomacy, Miss Sutherland. I quite thought he’d got you over the matter of swearing.’
Sarah grimaced. ‘It’s the likes of Billy Pascoe who keep teachers honest. How long were you there?’
He grinned. ‘Not long—you seem to have a large proportion of under-nines in your school.’
‘I have three teenagers actually but there’s an exam coming up so I gave them study leave after lunch. It’s easier for them to work at home sometimes.’
‘Any budding geniuses?’ he queried.
Sarah shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that but Donald Laws on, Cindy’s brother, is very bright and should be able to go on to university—with a bit of luck.’
‘Such as?’
‘His father’s approval,’ she said quietly. ‘Jim is still a bit staggered, I think, to find he has a son who is more interested in the Theory of Relativity than cattle. And, to be honest, I’m getting out of my depth a little. He should be at a proper high school with a science
department but—’ she smiled briefly ‘—I’m sure
they’ll work it out. Have you come for your tour of the facilities? Where would you like to start?’ she added briskly.
He studied her for a moment with a faint frown in his eyes then said, ‘Perhaps not.’
Sarah eyed him exasperatedly. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t think this would be a good time for it.’
‘It’s a much better time now that school’s finished rather than sneaking up on me when I’ve got Billy Pascoe pinning me to the wall about Father Christmas in front of a whole lot of younger kids,’ she said crossly.
‘So that’s why you’re angry? But I thought you handled it very well—’
‘I’m not—angry,’ Sarah denied frustratedly and none too truthfully.
‘Constrained, then?’ he suggested. ‘As if I’ve done something to alienate you further?’
Sarah stared at him and discovered that her heart was beating oddly with a little pulse of panic. Surely he couldn’t have divined her peculiarly ambiguous state of mind since she’d witnessed him kissing Wendy Wilson on the veranda last night?
‘You’d be better off telling me,’ he said after a strangely tense little pause.
Sarah came to life. ‘No! I mean no, there’s nothing. Look, I’m quite fine actually so why don’t we get it over and done with… ?’ She trailed off on a lowering note as she realised how that sounded. ‘Oh, hell,’ she added hollowly, ‘perhaps you’re right.’
What he would have said then was to remain a mystery because as he looked her over with the frown still in his eyes Ben and Sally popped back into the schoolhouse demanding to know if he’d come to fetch them or what. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘why not?’ And added expressionlessly, ‘Another day, then, Miss Sutherland?’
‘Thank you. Yes. Whenever it suits you,’ Sarah said and groaned inwardly at how craven that sounded.
It was
