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He didn't wait for Prue to answer, he swung round and made for the door before she could get out a word. 'Why don't you take your time to get used to the place again? If you need me, I'll be in my office.'
It was a peaceful day from then on; Prue unpacked and settled into her old room, then went downstairs and wandered around the house and garden, revisiting her childhood and feeling disorientated—yet quietly happy.
Her father found her sitting on the old swing under the apple tree, a sheepdog beside her. Looking up at the sound of his footsteps, Prue asked, 'This isn't old Bess, is it, Dad? She hasn't changed a hair.'
He grimaced. 'Bess
died years ago, I'm afraid—that's her daughter, Meg.'
'Oh, poor old Bess,' Prue said, saddened. 'So, you're Meg, are you? I knew your mother, long ago.'
James Allardyce watched her ruffling the dog's black and white ears.
Smiling, he said, 'I came out to tell you lunch was ready.'
'You didn't cook it yourself?' Prue stood up, looking stricken. 'I meant to help you, not make more work for you to do!'
'1 would have had to get myself lunch, anyway. Cooking for two is no harder.' Her father smiled at her. in fact, it's easier, because it is more fun! Eating alone gets to be a bore.'
Prue wondered if he had been very lonely all these years. Why hadn't she written? She had just pushed him out of her mind, hadn't she? Did he resent that? she wondered, following him back into the house, but although she watched her father secretly she saw no signs of either resentment or reproach.
Next morning she rang the hospital, only to be told that David still couldn't have visitors. He had developed a slight fever; nothing to worry about, the ward sister reassured Prue, but it would be safer if he was kept in isolation.
She spent the day getting to know her father better, walking around the farm with him and renewing acquaintance with their rough-pastured, hilly land and the surrounding countryside, being told about the sheep her father owned and watching the hoodie crows and the rooks, the magpies and hawks, all circling around the wandering flock, waiting their chance at them.
Her father watched the ominous skies, eyes angry. 'Damn birds of prey! Look at them up there!'
'Let's go home, and I'll make dinner tonight!' Prue comforted, and her father looked self-conscious.
'Tonight we've been invited to dinner at Killane House!'
Prue stood very still. Who had invited them—Josh Killane, or his mother? She felt the chill of a wintry wind blowing across the moors, lifting her red hair and striking through her clothes.
'Or would you rather not go out tonight?' her father asked.
She certainly didn't want to see Josh again; she had seen far too much of him already. She didn't want to see Lucy Killane, either. If she saw the two of them together, she might know how her father felt about Mrs Killane and she was no longer sure she wanted to know.
'That's up to you. Dad,' she said huskily.
He hesitated, watching her with a frown. Was he wondering how much she knew? He hadn't breathed a word about the cause of the separation between her mother and himself; did he suppose she had not been told about him and Mrs Killane? 'Well, let's see how you feel, shall we?' he said uncertainly. 'After all, you only came out of hospital yesterday.'
She knew that there was nothing wrong with her—the shock of the accident had worn off and her bruises were beginning to fade already.
She didn't say as much, though. She seized on the excuse with relief.
'An early night might be wiser,' she murmured.
'And I just hope that my cooking won't give you indigestion!'
Her father laughed. 'No mock modesty, Prue! Your mother was a very good cook when she chose—I'm sure she taught you to cook!'
'She did,' Prue admitted, sobering as they turned back towards the house. She found it odd that her father mentioned her mother so often; and so unselfconsciously, almost as though she was an old friend he hadn't seen for years, but remembered fondly. Did he often think of her? Had he missed her when she went? Had he loved her, after all? Prue was curious, but knew she couldn't ask those questions.
Her parents were a mystery to her, but no more .so than any other human being; everyone was mysterious in their own way. She gave a faint sigh—she was a mystery to herself, come to that! She still wasn't sure how she felt about anything!
Her father looked at his watch. 'Look at the time ... I must rush. I have a lot to do this afternoon. Prue, are you sure you want to cook dinner tonight? I don't feel right about letting you, you still look peaky to me.
I can cook the meal, love, I'm used to doing it.'
