seemed to be getting along very well with James,’ Alex observed, and the remark jarred on her already taut nerves.
‘Is that a criticism?’ she countered, her tiredness making her reckless. ‘Don’t judge everybody by your own standards, Alex. James Erskine seems an honourable man.’
Alex’s mouth tightened for a moment. ‘And I’m not?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Sara was quite proud of her look of indifference. ‘I was merely being polite. I liked him. I can see why Linda married him.’
‘Can you?’ Alex was sardonic now. ‘For the same reasons you married Harry, perhaps. Because—life—hadn’t quite worked out as you planned.’
Sara’s nails dug into her palms. ‘You’d like to think so,’ she hissed, and they both knew that they weren’t talking about the Erskines now. ‘Just keep away from me, Alex. I can do without your amateur psychology. Save it for Linda. I’m sure she’s far more interested than me.’
Alex’s fingers closed around her upper arm. ‘Cool it, will you?’ he said in a low, harsh voice. ‘This isn’t the place to have this discussion. I’m sure you don’t want to embarrass the old man.’
‘What old—? Oh, you mean your father.’ Sara made an unsuccessful effort to get free, and then stood motionless in his grasp. ‘Let me go. I have to go and check on Ben again. He’ll be tired. It’s past time for his nap.’
‘He can wait.’ But Alex released her anyway, realising, she was sure, that any possessive moves on his part could be badly misconstrued. ‘Sara, we have to talk, you know. You can’t keep putting it off.’
Sara swung away. ‘I’m not putting anything off,’ she retorted, aware that she was overreacting but unable to do anything about it. ‘I don’t need anything from you, Alex. I never did.’
The kitchen, when she reached it, was blessedly quiet and normal. The mingled smells of newly baked bread and pastry were deliciously familiar, bringing back a score of memories of when she was a child at home.
Unfortunately her childhood had been short-lived. Her parents had been killed in a car crash when she was barely ten, and as there had been no convenient relatives to look after her a series of foster homes had followed. At sixteen she had left that kind of protective custody for good and had found herself temporary accommodation in a hostel. With some luck, and a lot of hard work, she had eventually trained as a secretary, and by the time she’d met Harry she had attained the dizzy heights of personal assistant to a rather humble official in the social services.
Which was why Elizabeth Reed hadn’t approved of their association. A fairly ordinary girl from what she regarded as a doubtful background was not what she had had in mind for her son. Linda Erskine had been only one of the contenders. Mrs Reed had paraded a selection of would-be candidates before both Harry and Alex. She’d wanted to ensure the purity of her grandchildren, thought Sara ruefully. Even Ben, enchanting as he was, must give her some doubts.
But now was not the time to worry about that particular bugbear, or about any future bones of contention that she might face about Ben’s education. Both of the Reeds’ sons had gone to boarding-school as soon as they’d been old enough, whereas Harry—and Sara herself—had been adamant that Ben should continue to live at home.
As she shut the kitchen door behind her she realised that her son was not in the room. She had been hoping to see Ben’s cheerful little face, but instead all she saw was Alison, Mrs Fraser’s assistant, wiping down the table where the bread-making had been taking place.
‘Oh, hello, Mrs Reed,’ Alison greeted her warmly. ‘I expect you’re wondering where Ben’s gone.’
‘Well…’ Sara arched a questioning eyebrow. ‘I know he can be quite a handful. Particularly when it’s time for his nap.’
‘That’s exactly what Mrs Fraser said,’ declared Alison, straightening from her task and flexing her back tiredly. ‘So she’s put him down for an hour, just to save you the trouble. She’s up there now, as it happens. Reading him a story, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Oh—thanks.’
Sara was relieved. For a moment she had wondered if the two women had let Ben go wandering off on his own. But she should have known better, she reflected. Although Alison was younger than she was, Mrs Fraser had told her that she already had a couple of children of her own, and she was supplementing the rather modest income her husband made as a farm-worker by helping out at Perry Edmunds whenever she could.
‘He’s a nice little boy,’ Alison added now, clearly willing to take a break. ‘Rattles away nineteen to the dozen with us, he does. Been telling us all about where you used to live, and what him and his daddy used to do—’
She broke off abruptly as the realisation of what she had said brought a surge of hot colour to her cheeks. ‘Oh, Mrs Reed!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t mean—that is, I didn’t think.’ She chewed at her lower lip anxiously. ‘What must you think of me?’
‘I think you and Ben must have got along famously,’ said Sara, with a warm smile. ‘And it’s natural that Ben should talk about his father. I don’t want him to feel it’s a forbidden subject.’
‘No, but—’
‘I understand, Alison. I really do. And I hope you won’t feel that you can’t mention Harry’s name to me either. What happened—well, it was—awful. But I have to go on living, and so does my son.’
Alison nodded. ‘All the same, I wouldn’t like you to think…’
‘I don’t think anything,’ Sara reassured her gently. ‘Just go on treating Ben like one of your own children. I’m sure you’re making him feel really at home.’
Leaving the kitchen again—mainly to relieve Alison’s embarrassment—Sara started up the back stairs. She had no desire to rejoin the gathering downstairs, and, although she knew that she would have to sooner or later, for the present she decided that a pretended visit to the bathroom would provide an excuse.
She met Mrs Fraser coming down, and after exchanging a few words about her son with the other woman she continued upstairs. The news that Ben had crashed out didn’t surprise her. She herself was still feeling the effects of the jet lag, and his system was so much more delicate than hers.
She paused on the small landing that overlooked the gardens at the back of the house and gazed somewhat disbelievingly at the view. It had begun to rain a little now; the lawns and the paddock beyond were particularly English in appearance, and it seemed incredible how swiftly her life had changed in such a very short time.
Reaching the main landing, she made her way to the suite of rooms that the Reeds had allocated to her. They had been Harry’s rooms, she knew, when he was alive, and although it was many years since he had lived at home their décor had changed little in the interim. His school sports pictures still adorned the walls of his study, which had been converted into a bedroom for Ben, and the toys he’d once played with had been saved for posterity, though Sara didn’t think they’d interest his son.
The sound of the television was the first thing that Sara heard when she entered her apartments, and she went quickly to the door of Ben’s room. Just as she’d thought, the old black and white set was on, though her son was lying
