be more wrong, Helen reflected drily. In some circumstances it might work, and she was prepared to accept that there must be exceptions, but Henry and Sophie were in constant competition, and it didn’t make for amiable dispositions.
To her relief, Maria had arrived and was making the morning’s batch of rolls, when they arrived in the kitchen in search of breakfast. ‘Morning, Miss Gregory,’ she greeted Helen with a smile. ‘You’re up and about very early.’
‘I guess it’s because I still haven’t got used to the fact that it’s not lunchtime already,’ replied Helen. She rubbed her flat stomach with a rueful hand. ‘It’s the hunger that does it. We’re all ravenous!’
‘Well, sit down, sit down. I’ve a batch of rolls in the oven that’ s almost ready. Why don’t you have some orange juice, while you’re waiting? Or there’s some grapefruit in the fridge, if you’d prefer it.’
‘I don’t want grapefruit,’ said Sophie, wrinkling her nose, but Henry only looked at her with contempt.
‘I do,’ he declared, though Helen knew he didn’t like it. ‘You’re just a baby. You still drink milk.’
‘I drink milk, too,’ said Helen firmly, before it could deteriorate into another argument. ‘Would you like orange juice, Sophie? That’s what I’m going to have.’
‘Mmm,’ Sophie was off-hand, until she saw her brother’s face when Helen put half a grapefruit in front of him. Then she gave him a mocking smirk, and sipped her juice with exaggerated enjoyment.
Helen was helping herself to a second cup of coffee when Tricia appeared in the kitchen doorway. She wasn’t dressed yet. She was wearing a trailing chiffon négligé, and her reddish hair hadn’t been combed and stood out around her head. A tall woman, whose adolescent athleticism hadn’t continued into adulthood, Tricia had a constant battle to remain slim. It was a fact that she resented and which caused her some irritation. She regarded the little group around the table now without liking, and when Sophie would have slid off her chair and run to greet her mother she waved her back.
‘D’you have any aspirin, Maria?’ she asked, with a weary tilt of her head. ‘I’ve got the most God-awful headache. It must have been that seafood you served us last night. Are you sure it was fresh?’
It was hardly the way to gain Maria’s sympathy, and before the woman could make any comment, Helen pushed back her chair. ‘I’ve got some paracetamol,’ she offered. ‘It’s good for headaches.’ Particularly hangovers, she added silently, recalling how Tricia had drunk the best part of two bottles of wine the night before.
‘Oh, have you?’ Tricia turned to her with some relief. ‘D’you think you could bring them to my room? I think I’ll stay in bed this morning.’
‘But you said you’d take us into town this morning,’ Henry protested, not yet old enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, and his mother turned on him angrily.
‘What a selfish boy you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘Always thinking of yourself. Perhaps you’d like to spend the morning in bed as well. It might make you realise I’m not doing it for fun.’
‘Oh, Mummy—’
‘I don’t think Henry meant to upset you,’ put in Helen hurriedly, earning a grateful look from her young charge. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed, as you say, Tricia? I’ll get the paracetamol, and then bring your breakfast on a tray. I’m sure you could manage a croissant, and Maria’s brought some mango jelly and it’s delicious.’
‘Well…’ Tricia adopted a petulant air. ‘That does sound nice, Helen, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat anything. My head’s throbbing, and I’m sure I’m running a temperature. I may have to call the doctor if it doesn’t let up soon.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Helen could sympathise with her. Having a headache in a hot climate always seemed so much worse. The light was so bright, for one thing, and there seemed no escape from the heat.
Tricia sighed. ‘Perhaps if you brought me some coffee?’ she suggested. ‘And a little orange juice to wash the tablets down. Oh—and maybe a lightly boiled egg, hmm? And do you think you could find a slice of toast?’
‘Leave it to me.’
Helen ushered the other woman out of the room, before she could remember the threat she’d made to Henry. Then, when Tricia was safely installed in her bedroom, she returned to the kitchen to find Maria grinning broadly.
‘Just a lightly boiled egg,’ she declared wryly. ‘And some coffee and some orange juice and some toast…’ She paused to give Helen a wink. ‘Did I miss something?’
Helen wouldn’t let herself be drawn. All the same, it wasn’t the first time Tricia had spent the morning in bed. When they were in London, she had seldom seen her employer before lunchtime. If Tricia wasn’t attending some function or other, she rarely got up before noon.
When the tray was prepared, she collected the paracetamol from her room and delivered it in person. Tricia was lying back against the pillows, shading her eyes with a languid wrist, which she removed when Helen came into the room.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she said. ‘What have you been doing? I’ve been waiting ages.’
‘Just five minutes,’ Helen assured her, depositing the legs of the tray across her knees. ‘Now, if you want me, I’ll be on the beach. I’m going to take the children to search for shells.’
Tricia shuffled into a sitting position, and reached for the orange juice. ‘Well, don’t be long,’ she said, swallowing the tablets Helen had given her with a mouthful of the juice. ‘You’re going to have to go and pick Drew up from the airport. I can’t possibly do it. His plane is due in just after two.’
Helen stared at her. ‘But that’s this afternoon. You’ll probably be feeling perfectly all right by then.’
‘I won’t. I never feel all right until the evening,’ replied Tricia firmly. ‘And driving all that way in these conditions—well, it’s simply out of the question.’
Helen took a breath. ‘He’ll be expecting you to pick him up,’ she said carefully.
‘Then he’ll be disappointed, won’t he?’ Tricia regarded her testily. ‘My God, you’re almost as bad as Henry. Does no one care that I’ve got a migraine? I can’t help it if I’m not well.’
‘No.’ Helen moistened her lips. She’d already learned that there was no point in arguing with Tricia when she was in this mood. ‘Well—will you take care of Sophie and Henry, then? I don’t think Maria is willing—’
‘Can’t they go with you?’
Tricia stared at her impatiently, and Helen realised she wasn’t being given a choice. She couldn’t leavethe children to look after themselves. But it was almost an hour to the airport, and Sophie, particularly, didn’t travel well.
‘Can we leave it until nearer lunchtime?’ she suggested, hoping against hope that Tricia might have changed her mind by then. She’d have thought her employer would have been keen to see her husband again. It was several days since they’d come away.
‘I
