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'Yes, they started on her the minute she was out of the taxi,' Brendan answered for her as he hauled the cases through the door.
'I've got the kettle on,' Mrs Jones said excitedly. 'Come and have your tea and tell me all about it—I'm dying to hear every detail.'
'I'm tired, Mum,' said Quincy, and out of the corner of her eye caught Brendan shaking his head at her mother.
'I'm sure you are,' Mrs Jones said more soberly. 'That train journey takes it out of you, I know whenever I get back from London I feel worn out.' She was looking at Quincy searchingly as she talked and Quincy avoided meeting her eyes. While she was in London she had rung her family several times, but on the phone it had been easy to elude difficult questions. Face to face, it wouldn't be so simple, she was afraid of what she might betray. She had pretended to go to sleep in the train, which had kept Brendan at bay, but unless she was going to imitate the Sleeping Beauty and stay in her bed for the next few months sooner or later she would have to talk to her mother.
'I'll have to go and check up on my patients,' said Brendan, vanishing towards the surgery, and Quincy rather regretted his disappearance. She could have used Brendan as a shield, but, once they were alone, she was going to have to face her mother without defence. She had never needed to hide from her mother in the past and she found it painful to need to do so now, but then she had never before felt an emotion she did not want her mother to suspect. Her life until now had been an open book, she had never learnt how to disguise her feelings, nor had she ever before had feelings so powerful she was afraid to let them be glimpsed by anyone.
In the kitchen the kettle had begun to boil with shrill insistence and Mrs Jones ran to snatch it up and make the tea.
'Your father's out on his rounds,' she said as she covered the pot with a knitted patchwork cosy. Staring at it, Quincy remembered making it while she was at school. The gaudy red and yellow wool had faded with washing and the lining was showing through. She stared as intently as though she had never seen it before while her mother talked. 'We've kept every one of the papers, your father got them all every day. Wonderful pictures of you—I've started a scrapbook of them, but there were so many pictures I haven't had time to stick them all in.' She put the teapot on the table. 'I've got some scones in the oven, they'll be ready in a minute. Wait until Bobby gets home from school, he's dying to hear all about it. His friends have been badgering him…'
'That's nothing to what I'd like to do to him,' Quincy said grimly.
'Why, what's he done now?' his fond mother asked without sounding very surprised at the threat in her daughter's voice.
'He got me into all this,' Quincy muttered.
Her mother shot her a look. 'Didn't you have a good time, Quincy?'
'Don't ask,' Quincy begged. 'I can't face talking about it at the moment—you've no idea what a trauma the whole thing was!'
Mrs Jones didn't seem anxious. 'I suppose you're not used to so much excitement, but when you look back on it you'll be glad it happened,' she said calmly.
That's what you think, Quincy thought, as her mother got the scones out of the oven and tipped them out on to a cooling tray.
The phone rang and Mrs Jones said absently: 'Answer that, will you, Quincy? Don't forget, your father's out, but Brendan is in the surgery.'
Quincy looked at the phone with nervous loathing. 'Could you answer it, Mum? It might be the press, and I really can't face the idea of talking to them.' Secretly, she suspected it might be Joe, and her desire not to talk to him was a good deal stronger than her dislike of talking to the press.
Her mother wiped her hands on her pinny and went across the room to pick up the shrilling telephone. 'Hallo?' She listened, then smiled. 'Oh, hallo, Penny dear, how are you? How's the baby?' She paused, eyes bright, then said, 'Is he? Well, at that age they get everywhere, the minute they can walk they're swarming all over the furniture.'
Quincy snatched a hot scone and dropped it on her plate, blowing on her fingers.
Her mother turned and held out the phone, 'Penny to speak to you,' she said, and Quincy went over to take the call.
'Hello, star!' Penny teased, and Quincy grimaced to herself.
'Hallo,' she said warily. 'I gather David is on his feet at last.'
'Unfortunately,' Penny groaned. 'I was so thrilled two days ago. He took one tottery step and fell flat on his nose, and I was over the moon, but since then he refuses to stay put anywhere. He screams if I try to put him in his pram and insists on practising for the marathon all over the house. I can't take my eyes off him in case he gets out into the farmyard and is eaten by the ducks.'
'I'd be more worried about the ducks if I were you,' Quincy said, and her friend laughed.
'You're so right! Anyway, what about your adventures? Don't think we haven't been kept informed.
Along with the whole village we've been following your rake's progress with fascination.'
'Everything that happened has been publicly chronicled,' Quincy lied, hoping she sounded convincing.
'Everything?' queried Penny, sounding far from convinced.
'Absolutely everything!'
'I don't want to call you a liar,' Penny began, and Quincy interrupted.
'Glad to hear it!'
