quite decipher. Maybe because it meant he wouldn’t be bundling her out of the door at the first chance he got. After the way he’d looked at her when he realised she’d known about the phone she’d expected to be thrown out, bag and baggage, at the first opportunity.
‘If that doesn’t suit you, miss, you just say the word.’
‘What? Oh, no.’ Then, ‘No, really, if I need to come down to the village I’m sure Harry won’t mind me borrowing the Land Rover. And I quite understand about the spares. I’ve had problems in the past. There’s no special rush.’
For some reason that appeared to amuse him, but he just said, ‘Whatever you say, miss. Do you want to close the gate after me?’
‘Of course.’
She waited until he’d driven through then closed it after him before turning back to the house. The mist had thinned sufficiently for her to see how it nestled comfortably in a fold in the hill. No longer threatening, but a sturdy refuge from the worst of the weather.
Beyond it, a movement caught her eye and she saw the dark shape of a man moving swiftly in fierce, angry strides toward the summit.
He had every right to be angry. She should have told him about Maisie’s stunt with the phones.
And now she’d compounded her duplicity by encouraging Mike to take his time about fixing the car.
Not that it would make any difference one way or the other since all Vickie had been able to tell her in their brief exchange was that Selina Talbot hadn’t responded to her messages, but ‘not to worry’, she was ‘on it’.
Maybe she should make a thorough job of it, call her back and tell her to take her time, too, although she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it wouldn’t make any difference.
Selina Talbot must have known her mother was in New Zealand since it wasn’t exactly a last-minute, off-the-cuff trip. She’d been there for five months, for heaven’s sake. It would take a desperately casual attitude to communications to miss that one.
Maybe it was paranoia, induced by the bang on her head, but she was beginning to get the strongest feeling that Selina Talbot had known exactly what she was doing. That Harry had been the only responsible adult available and rather than give him the opportunity to say no—and he’d certainly have said no—he’d been presented with a fait accompli.
Left holding the baby—nanny included.
Because once she’d come to that conclusion it was equally obvious that, in spite of all her protestations to the contrary, Vickie Campbell—who was not casual about anything to do with her business—must have known exactly what the situation was.
The only thing that completely flummoxed her was the fact that no one had thought to pack some sensible, mucking-about-in-the-country clothes for Maisie.
‘The rabbits now. You must come and see the rabbits.’
Jacqui was being given a tour of the menagerie. They’d said hello to the puppies and their mother. Given Fudge an apple and brushed his mane. Taken carrots to the donkeys, who looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, but, bearing in mind Harry’s trouble with them, she’d kept a tight hold of Maisie’s hand when she headed for the gate. She had no intention of chasing donkeys all over the hill.
Now she was being dragged into a small paddock behind the stables, where the rabbits and chickens had large and comfortable quarters.
Her reluctance was more to do with the chickens than an unwillingness to visit the rabbits. They were loose, a mix-and-match assortment, busily stalking any worm foolish enough to put its head above ground. She didn’t like their sharp little beaks, their beady little eyes or that head-jutting way they walked.
They made her nervous.
The rabbits, more dawn-and-dusk explorers, were taking their time about being tempted to leave the comfort of the hutch and venture into the run.
‘Try a carrot, Maisie. Rabbits like carrots, don’t they?’
‘Not as much as dandelion leaves.’
She jumped as Harry spoke from a few feet behind her. The soft grass had muffled his approach and she’d been so busy keeping an eye on the chickens that she hadn’t seen him. She turned round. It was impossible to tell if his hard walk had blown away his temper. His face was giving nothing away.
‘Why didn’t you tell me, Jacqui?’
Not wanting Maisie to witness what was clearly going to be an awkward conversation, she left her poking a carrot through the wire mesh of the run and walked across to the dry-stone wall at the bottom end of the paddock.
Harry, taking the hint, followed, turning his back to the wall and leaning against it. Waiting for her explanation.
‘I knew about the phone no more than five minutes before you. I apologise for not telling you but, having realised it must be Maisie, and aware how much you loathe having her here, I was hoping to save her from your anger.’ She looked at him. ‘I had intended to deal with it myself at the first opportunity. Would have done it straight away except that you decided to settle in the library.’
‘You thought I’d shout at her?’
‘It seemed a reasonable assumption.’ She glanced at him. ‘But actually you don’t shout, do you?’
‘Despite all appearances, Jacqui, I’m not an ogre.’
She reached out, touched his arm, very lightly as if this would somehow show him that she knew that she’d got it all wrong. Of course he wasn’t an ogre. He was unhappy. But then wasn’t that the case in most fairy tales?
‘I meant, you keep everything bottled up inside. It might be better if you did yell at Maisie. I’m sure she could deal with an emotional outburst a lot better than being frozen out.’ She shrugged. ‘Whether you can is something else.’
‘Amateur psychology I can do without,’ he said.
‘I’m just telling it the way I see it, but maybe next time you take off into the mist you should try just opening your mouth and letting rip. It’s supposed to be therapeutic.’
She held his mocking challenge, refusing to back down, and in the end he was the one who turned away, looking out into the misty void.
‘I can’t expect you to understand how desperately difficult I find it…’ He made a helpless gesture.
‘She’s just a little girl, Harry. That she’s adopted, a different colour from you, doesn’t make her different. She so much wants you to accept her—’
She was going to say ‘love her’, but thought that might be an emotion too far.
He was already frowning.
‘Colour?’
Jacqui swallowed, wishing she hadn’t chosen now, this minute, when things were going so well, to bring up the subject. But the words could not be withdrawn. ‘She told me.’
‘What?’ He looked genuinely perplexed.
