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‘So really, what you’re saying is that for the general public to simply send a teddy-bear at Christmas and fill a sack with their own kids’ cast-offs is not really what’s needed?’
An idea was beginning to take root, but before she could voice it Storm wanted to be sure she had not misunderstood. In answer to her question Mary Simmonds said quickly,
‘Don’t get me wrong, we
’re grateful for everything that people do already, but our real need is for the children to experience true family life, even if it’s only the odd weekend here and there.’ She broke off to scan Storm’s thoughtful face. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was just thinking that instead of encouraging people to donate to the home we could perhaps encourage them to sponsor individual children as adopted “aunties and uncles”. I realise it won’t be easy. Anyone who was interested would have to be thoroughly checked out, and then there’s the problem of ensuring that they won’t lose interest and leave the child feeling even more deprived than ever, but I think it could work…’
‘So do I,’ Mary Simmonds pronounced delightedly. ‘It’s a wonderful idea, Storm. Mr Marsh told me that I would find you very helpful, but this——! What will you do? Launch a public appeal?’
‘I was thinking of something along those lines,’ Storm admitted, ‘although I shall have to check with Mr Marsh first, to get his approval.’
‘I should think you’ll find him extremely sympathetic and helpful,’ Mary Simmonds surprised her by saying. ‘When I spoke to him he was most emphatic that the station wanted to do all it could to help us. I suppose it’s a reflection on his own childhood, and from what he told me the children’s home where he was brought up was nothing like as pleasant as this one.’
Storm stared at her. She knew that Jago had been in touch with the orphanage concerning the programmes they were planning to do, but she had had no idea that he himself had been brought up in a children’s home. His air of moneyed ease was so much a part of him that she had somehow taken it for granted that he had been born with the proverbial silver spoon clenched firmly between his teeth. She was a fool, she told herself scornfully, suppressing a momentary pang. Jago Marsh had no need of her sympathy and would probably ridicule her were she ever stupid enough to proffer it.
Mary Simmonds gave her a worried glance. ‘You didn’t know about Mr Marsh, did you? I wish I hadn’t said anything, but…’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Storm told her. ‘I shan’t repeat it to anyone.’
Plainly relieved, the Matron allowed herself to be sidetracked into questions about the children’s routine, while Storm made notes which she hoped would be useful when she came to organise how best to launch their appeal. Finding suitable foster families for the children promised to be a time-consuming task, but there was no doubt in her mind that the end result—even if that was only one child provided with a ‘family’—would more than outweigh the hard work. Storm only had to think of her own comparatively privileged childhood to harden her determination to do all she could for these less fortunate children.
By the time she was ready to leave, they had drafted out an outline which Storm intended to put before Jago. If he agreed, the disc jockeys could spend a few minutes at the beginning of each session talking about the home and its needs, without making any attempt to glamorise the foster-families’ role in the lives of the children. Mentally making a note to ask Jago about taking photographs of some of the children to pin up in their foyer and to check with the local social services departments to get their reaction, Storm collected her notebook and bag.
‘You can’t know what it would mean to all of us here if we could provide the older children especially with some form of family support. They have to leave here when they’re sixteen, often without any proper training for a job or anywhere to stay. It’s hard enough for any youngster these days, never mind these children!’
Storm agreed with her, and yet as she walked back to the studio, scuffing her feet in the dry leaves, she couldn’t help reflecting that Jago had somehow managed to overcome all the obstacles and achieve the patina of success. But what lay beneath that patina? As a child he had known rejection and as an adult adulation, but had he ever experienced the range of emotions that lay in between?
The thought held her, returning at odd moments when her mind should have been on other things. Jago was a determined adversary, that she already knew, and she would be a fool to let sympathy for the child he had once been come between her and her desire to keep him at arms’ length.
CHAPTER SEVEN
STORM’s parents were flying to Sydney at the weekend, and she was pleased when David rang her on Thursday to suggest that they went out for a meal on Saturday evening. The build-up to her parents’ departure would leave her with a sense of anticlimax once they had gone, and although she had plenty of work to occupy her mind she felt that she would prefer to be out of the house.
On Friday morning Jago arrived while she was finishing her breakfast, and Mrs Templeton invited him inside and offered him a cup of coffee.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Storm apologised, gulping hers down, surprised when he gave her a lazy smile and told her there was no rush.
‘Actually I think I’m early,’ he told her. ‘I’ve got to go to London this morning, so I thought I’d get an early start.’
London? Storm’s heart thudded against her ribs. Had he changed his mind and perhaps decided that he had had enough of Radio Wyechester and its problems?
‘Looks like someone else is off somewhere,’ he added, eyeing the luggage stacked up in the hall.
‘My parents are off to Australia. My brother is getting married,’ Storm told him curtly, as he accepted the cup of coffee her mother had poured for him. She could smell the clean sharp scent of his after-shave, and the dark hair was faintly damp as though he had recently showered. The thought made her stomach lurch betrayingly, the hand holding her coffee cup shaking at the disturbing images projected by her mind. She had never fantasised about the male body before in her life, and that it should be Jago Marsh who should cause her to do so made her tremble with nervous fear. He had turned her neatly ordered world upside down, but she was damned if she would let him find out.
‘Yes. We’re leaving tomorrow,’ Mrs Templeton chipped in excitedly. ‘I’m looking forward to the wedding, of course, but I do worry about leaving Storm here alone. This house is so remote, and we’ll be gone at least six weeks.’
‘Mother!’ Storm protested warningly, not daring to look at Jago’s face, but it was already too late.
‘Don’t worry about it any more,’ Jago assured Mrs Templeton. ‘I’ll make sure I check the house every night when I drop Storm off. I’m only ten minutes away if she needs me.’
He looked at Storm, and her legs went terribly weak, a feeling like nothing she had known before sweeping over her.
‘I’m sure I shan’t,’ she told him coolly. ‘After all, David is coming back today and…’
‘Storm!’ her mother reproached, turning back to Jago. ‘Don’t listen to her, Mr Marsh,’ she smiled. ‘It would put my mind at rest if you would keep an eye on her. David is a dear, but he does live five miles away. I’ll feel much happier knowing that she isn’t completely alone.’
