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Emma took them up to wash and brush their hair, and when they returned to the kitchen they found Edie contentedly serving hot tomato soup, a swirl of cream emphasising the colour.
'There's a grand fire,' said Edie. 'Why don't you have your supper beside it? I've wheeled the table over in that corner.'
They took their seats round the table, the firelight cosy and reassuring. Rain splattered against the window panes. The wind tore at the trees and rattled the brass knocker on the door. Outside the world appeared to be in turmoil. Here, within, they were safe, sheltered, warm.
Ross came down five minutes later, in a mushroom-coloured sweater and cream slacks, his face glowing, his hair freshly brushed, to find them all in a blissful state of content. He stood in the doorway, watching them. The children were drinking their soup, their big eyes alternately fixed upon the bacon and egg flan in the centre of the table and the flickering firelight. Emma had washed her face, too, and had not bothered to put on make-up. Her skin, innocent of covering,
glowed like one of those childish faces. Her brown eyes were dreamy.
She glanced round as Ross moved forward. A smile involuntarily lit her face, but it received no return from him. His face was oddly stern, and at her smile it hardened, the brows jerking together.
What was wrong? she asked herself. Why did he look so angry? Had something happened?
Quietly, she said, 'Come and drink your soup before it gets cold.'
He took his seat and lifted his spoon to his lips. Tracy handed him the bread basket and he smiled, taking a piece of bread.
'Edie made it,' Tracy informed him.
He tasted it, exclaimed upon its superior texture and taste, and the children all looked satisfied. Edie was already one of their favourite people.
When they had all feasted upon baked potatoes in their jackets, sliced open and festooned with melting butter; bacon and egg flan and cheese straws, banana fritters and little crisp pinwheel biscuits, Emma took the three children off to bed. Edie begged the favour of actually overseeing their bath and bedtime story. Emma smiled at her, nodded. 'Not a frighty one,' Donna whispered. Edie shook her head, as solemn as the child.
Emma went back downstairs to find Ross just clearing the table. Silently, she helped. They washed up together. Then Edie came down, shyly put the china and cutlery away, ducking her head away whenever Ross looked at her.
They settled down around the fire. Emma was carefully darning one of Robin's sweaters. Ross was filling in a sheaf of official forms, his brow wreathed in frowns.
Edie slipped into the room, whispered that she was 'off to bed' and vanished again before they could do more than say goodnight.
'I wonder if she'll ever get used to me,' said Ross, his forehead clearing briefly, and a spark of amusement showing in his eyes.
The telephone rang. Emma, on her way to the kitchen to find a pair of Donna's slacks to mend, answered it instinctively, Ross actually already rising from his chair.
She recognised the voice at once, her hackles rising at the drawling insolence. 'I want Ross.'
Wordlessly, Emma held out the receiver. Ross took it, his narrowed glance on her face. Emma left the room. She found Donna's slacks, examined the hole over the knee, looked at the scanty turn-up, and realised that she would have to use a contrasting patch. Fortunately she had an old pair of denims in her own case. She managed to cut two circular pieces from the flared bottoms of her own jeans, and sat in the kitchen to patch Donna's slacks so that each knee showed an identical little patch. Donna's slacks were pink, Emma's jeans had been blue, but the colour contrast was not unpleasant.
She heard Ross go upstairs, then heard him coming down fast. He appeared in the doorway, shrugging into his bulky tweed jacket, slipping a mackintosh over the top of that. 'I have to go out,' he said tersely.
Emma looked up, nodded without comment. He had that expression again, hard and sardonic. She felt his eyes condemn her, and wondered what crime she had committed now. What urgent summons had Amanda Craig issued to him? Was he needed in his professional capacity? Or in a more personal sense?
Half an hour later she herself went to bed, having banked up the fire behind its close-meshed guard. She looked in on the children, found them sleeping peacefully. Edie popped her head out of her little room, whispered goodnight once more and vanished. Emma smiled, went into the bathroom and had a slow, cosy bath, then went to bed. She could not sleep, however, so she sat up and did some preliminary sketches for her commission, from memory mostly, but supplemented by some postcards she had bought in Dorchester. Next time she went into the town she must do some serious work, she told herself.
She finally slid into sleep an hour later, but it was three hours after that she heard Ross come up the stairs. He stumbled over the top stair, cursing softly under his breath. Surely, she thought, he had not been drinking? She looked at her bedside clock, yawning. Two o'clock in the morning? Where on earth had he been until this hour? Amanda Craig certainly had some powers of persuasion!
It isn't my business, Emma told herself, settling back on her pillow. Let him stay out all night! He's the one losing sleep, not me.
Next morning, though, her feelings erupted. She had taken the children for a long walk through the wood, gathering blackberries, had made pastry and peeled apples; made blackberry and apple pie for lunch. Edie had spent the morning down at the inn, helping her sister. Ross had been working, but popped in unexpectedly for lunch as he was out that way.
Emma, just dishing up lamb chops and fresh mint sauce, gave a groan as he appeared in the doorway. 'Why didn't you say you were going to come in for lunch? I've only chops enough for four of us.' She threw a desperate eye at the larder. 'Would sausages satisfy you?'
'I can go on into Dorchester for lunch,' he said brusquely, turning on his heel.
'Don't be absurd,' she snapped. 'Now you're here, you'll eat lunch with us, of course, but it would be polite of you to give me warning in future. I hate to be caught like Mother Hubbard with nothing to offer.'
She rapidly fried some sausages, served them to him while the others had their chops, with creamed potatoes and carrots and peas. The pie came out of the oven to cries of delight. Ross gleefully accepted a plateful. 'I love free food,' he said. 'It would be a crime to waste hedgerows full of blackberries. One morning we'll go gathering mushrooms, kids, and I'll teach you which you can eat and which you can't.'
The children went out to play in the garden while Emma washed up. Ross lounged in the doorway, watching her, yawning. 'I'm tired.'
