AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She caught his arm, instinctively driven to try to help. ‘Adam—’
He turned on her abruptly. ‘Let me go to her. For God’s sake, haven’t you already done enough damage tonight?’
His accusation was so unfair it took her breath away. It wasn’t her fault that Sara might have overheard their argument, even though it was Honor who had been doing the shouting. Whatever else he thought about her, he must know she wouldn’t deliberately involve a child in an adult conflict.
It was a miserable dinner. Neither Adam nor Sara appeared and Joy had obviously decided the time was ripe to practise her assertiveness on Tania. She announced over the cold soup that she had enrolled in Indian-cooking classes run by the wife of a local accountant who commuted to work in the city. She only had to wait a bare instant for the expected response.
‘At your age?’ Tania frowned her doubting disapproval. ‘You’d probably only get in the way of the other students. And think of all that standing. Why don’t you go down to the hobby shop at Evansdale if you want something to do? They have some lovely tapestry canvases for sale.’
‘I don’t like sewing. I prefer cooking.’ Joy had marshalled her logic expertly. ‘And Adam agrees that I’m quite well enough to do as much of it as I like. Rhonda told me she’d be glad to be back to her old eight-to-four routine again.’
‘I don’t know why you want to learn to cook curries; you know I don’t like spicy foods—’
‘But you’re here so rarely for dinner these days, my dear. And Indian cooking isn’t only curries. There’s a vast array of regional dishes—’
And so it went on, back and forth, while Honor’s attention remained tuned to the silent upper floors.
At last, when she could stand it no longer, she excused herself and took her cup of coffee up to her office but after half an hour of trying to proofread the annual report of a local community service organisation she gave up in disgust. Proofreading required strict concentration and meticulous attention to detail and she just wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Once or twice she heard a heavy tread along the hall but her desk was at the wrong angle to catch anything more than a brief glimpse of movement past t
he half-open door. No one sought her out. Even Monty had abandoned her for the pleasures of roaming his new domain, having established complete domination of the existing local feline population with his usual brawling finesse.
Finally she could stand the suspense no longer.
Her feet carried her past Adam’s firmly closed bedroom door, from behind which came the faint sound of the FM Concert Programme to which his radio was permanently tuned, to the one that bore a ceramic rosebud plaque with ‘Sara’ inexpertly engraved on it, product of a school art-class project, Honor had been proudly informed.
With a nervous look along the hall Honor pressed her ear to the wood above the plaque. Prying, lying, eavesdropping...what miserable depths would she sink to next?
When she heard no murmur of voices within and knew it was safe to assume that Adam was elsewhere, she knocked softly.
A very subdued Sara was sitting at her dressing-table staring glumly into the mirror. The dress she had been wearing had been exchanged for the racy-looking, parachute-silk tracksuit that Honor had impulsively bought for her one day, when a tour with Adam had happened to end up next door to a childrenswear factory-shop.
‘Daddy said I have to apologise.’ The girl sighed, moving over to sit cross-legged on the rose-coloured bedspread. ‘I was just practising.’
‘I think that sort of thing is better not practised,’ Honor told her wryly, feeling some of her tension relax. The tracksuit was a good sign. ‘Spontaneity is usually best if you want to sound sincere. Anyway, I should be the one saying I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you downstairs. Your father and I were—uh—talking and I lost my temper.’
‘You said you hated him. He made you cry,’ Sara pointed out flatly.
‘That was temper talking and he didn’t make me cry, I managed that all by myself,’ Honor admitted. ‘I get emotional sometimes.’
‘PMT,’ Sara nodded sagely. ‘I don’t have to worry about that yet.’
She grinned suddenly, her slightly pink eyes creasing up the way her father’s did when he was going to deliver a particularly stunning piece of mockery. ‘I just get PT—Pre-adolescent Tension.’
Honor had to swallow a laugh, feeling they were in severe danger of losing track of the conversation. ‘What did your dad think you had to apologise about?’ she said hurriedly.
‘Oh, w-e-l-l...’ Sara drew in a long, deep breath as she put off the evil moment. She picked up one of her pillows and hugged it to her flat chest. Her chin took on a square, pugnacious aspect. ‘It was me!’
‘You who?’ responded Honor blankly. Luckily Sara didn’t respond with her usual swiftness to the verbal absurdity.
‘Who sent you those letters that Dad wrote. You know, the mushy ones.’ She watched Honor’s face sag, her body following as she sank down on the bed beside the incredible child.
‘Dad said you’d be upset. I didn’t do it to hurt anyone— ’
‘I know you didn’t,’ responded Honor automatically, still trying to adjust to the idea of a pint-sized Machiavelli instead of an elderly one.
‘It was just that I didn’t want Dad to marry Aunt Tania.’
‘Marry her?’ Honor felt sick at the idea. ‘Whatever made you think he was going to?’
