‘They’ll be fine with us for a while, Amy. But I think you should let them know that it won’t be for long, and you should make every effort to be calm and loving before you go.’
‘I’ll try—I will!’ Amy wailed. ‘Oh, thank you, Sarah! I know Mrs Tibbs is very good with them but you’re such a sensible sort of person. I’ve watched you with the kids and so on…’ And she resolutely blew her nose, swallowed several times and managed a shaky smile.
‘The very personification of it,’ Cliff Wyatt mur- mured, while Sarah thought two thoughts—that she’d been unaware of Amy’s approval or that she’d even been interested enough to notice anything, and, sec- ondly, to wonder what she was getting herself into.
AMY and Wendy departed a day and a half later and for the next couple of days Sarah watched Ben and Sally with extra care but could detect no trauma. And on the third day after their mother’s departure they arrived at school, bustling with importance and an invitation for Sarah to have dinner that night at the homestead.
She groaned inwardly but, looking at their eager faces, knew she couldn’t refuse although she would have dearly loved to because she was still filled with indignation directed squarely towards Cliff Wyatt for his high-handed ways.
But the early dinner they shared with the children was a pleasant meal, and something became obvious that hadn’t occurred to her before—Sally and Ben were clearly very fond of their uncle. And she helped Mrs Tibbs put them to bed, read them a story then went to find her host to bid him goodnight, only to find that Mrs Tibbs had made coffee for them and served it in the lounge.
‘I—,’
‘Sit down, Sarah,’ Cliff Wyatt said with a tinge of humour. ‘There’s no need to dash off; I’m really not the ogre you take me for.’
She hesitated but as he poured her coffee she sat and accepted it with a quiet word of thanks.
‘So. No problems with our temporary orphans, I gather?’
‘None that I can see,’ she replied. ‘Has… have you heard from Amy?’
‘Yes. She rings every day. She’s staying with Wendy but I’m not sure that’s such a good thing.’
Sarah raised an eyebrow at him.
‘Wendy is a very…assured person,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Amy never has been and for her to try to practise Wendy’s philosophies regarding love, men and marriage…’ He shrugged.
‘They seem to be such good friends, though.’
‘They’ve known each other since primary school but, whereas Amy got herself into marriage and motherhood when she might have been too young to know what she was doing, Wendy has been a career girl. To date,’ he added.
Sarah frowned faintly as she tried to analyse his tone but it proved impossible so she sat in silence for a while then heard herself say, a little to her surprise, ‘What’s Amy’s husband like?’
It took about a minute for Cliff Wyatt to reply. Then he said drily, ‘The strange thing is, he’s a good friend of mine and works for me.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes,’ Cliff agreed wryly. ‘Rather awkward. And, while he may not be the finest husband in the world, he’s not an ogre either. But something has gone out of it for them obviously and she is my sister.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ Sarah murmured.
He glinted an amused look across at her. ‘What prompted that? Your membership of the universal club of women? Or the conviction that blood should be thicker than water?’
‘Both probably,’ Sarah said caustically.
‘So if I were to tell you that my real conviction on the subject of Amy and Ross is that it’s about time she settled down and stopped looking for moonlight and roses around every corner, stopped worrying more about hairdressers and clothes than being a mother and a wife she would be a lot better off—if I were to tell you all that, no doubt you’d take instant umbrage?’
Sarah looked across at him coolly. ‘Not at all. But I would make the comment that it’s probably im- possible to know exactly what goes on between a man and a woman and only a fool would imagine he does.’
‘Ah, well, I’d be surprised if I was wrong but,’ he drawled, apparently in no way put out, ‘that’s quite a list you’re compiling, Sarah.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You’ve called me a fool, an underminer of your authority—oh, and let’s not forget what an aggres- sively, unpleasantly macho type I am. But tell me something—what goes on between you and Tim Markwell?’
The unexpectedness of it caused Sarah some con- fusion and caused some colour to come to her cheeks. ‘That’s none of your business… nothing!’ she said disjointedly.
‘Then there’s no need to protest so much,’ he said lazily. ‘But I thought you’d be quite well-suited.’
Sheer anger all but took Sarah’s breath away. ‘You know nothing about it,’ she shot at him. ‘You’re just being…’
He lifted a wry eyebrow and waited a moment. ‘Another damning epithet? I don’t mind, you know. In fact I enjoy our little sparring matches.’
Sarah ground her teeth but before she could say anything he went on leisurely, ‘I’m just not quite sure why I have this—ability to enrage you so much whereas Tim apparently doesn’t. Hence my question.’
‘Every second thing you say is calculated to enrage me one way or another,’ Sarah replied coldly.
He laughed softly. ‘So it would seem. But in point of fact, for example, I’d be much happier to see Amy spending some time here with you and getting down to a few of the basics of life—now that surely has to be a compliment?’
Sarah stood up. ‘Depends which way you look at it,’ she said. ‘If you’re implying, for example, that I’m such a down-to-earth, mundane sort of person for whom moonlight and roses might never exist—’
‘Sarah—’ he stood up as well and looked down
at her gravely ‘—I think you should give Tim a bit more encouragement—I say that because it seems to me you’re exhibiting all the classic symptoms of a girl who has gone too much the other way—the opposite way to Amy, I mean—and that you’re actually dying for a bit of moonlight and roses.’
Sarah’s lips parted and she was struck speechless by his sheer effrontery, speechless but stiff with outrage that was stamped into every taut line of her body. She longed to hit him.
‘And that,’ he murmured, his gaze suddenly nar- rowed and rather intent, ‘is where you slap my face, I gather, Miss Sutherland. Now what would be a fitting
