To Be the Best. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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the dead something?’ Patrick asked, throwing himself flat on the ground, dangling his dark head over the pool, craning his neck so that he could peer down into the depths. ‘Can’t see it, Gid.’
‘I’ve got to dive for it,’ Gideon explained, running his hands through his wet blond hair, taking a deep breath and instantly plunging underwater again like an agile little dolphin.
‘Patrick, don’t lean over the edge,’ Linnet warned from the door of the pool house. ‘You’ll fall in.’
‘Won’t fall.’
‘Will you take five pence an hour for Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band?’ Toby negotiated hopefully.
‘Eight pence … perhaps.’
‘No thanks, Miss Sharpie. You can go and shove it up your … jumper.’
‘Oh Mummy, Mummy, look! A bird. Dead,’ Patrick cried. ‘Oh poor birdie. Funeral. Can we have a funeral?’
‘Auntie Paula, please make Gideon get rid of that foul, disgusting, revolting object,’ eleven-year-old Jeremy Standish exclaimed. ‘It pongs to high heaven and it’s contaminating the air.’
‘No, it isn’t!’ Gideon glared at his cousin. ‘We’re going to bury it, like Patrick wants, aren’t we, Auntie Paula? Auntie Paula, cooee! Auntie Paula, we can bury it, can’t we?’
‘Mummy, can birdie have a funeral?’
‘Mummy, I want some dry knickers.’
‘Mother, look at Linnet now. She’s waving her knickers in the air. She’s a disgusting child. Just look at her, Mummy. Mummy. MOTHER!’
‘For Christ’s sake, Tessa, stop screaming,’ Lorne shouted. ‘How can I concentrate on my Homer with you bellowing in my ears. I’ll be jolly glad to get back to school next week and away from you. Far, far away. There’s never a minute’s bloody peace when you’re around. You’re a bloody little pest, a bloody nuisance.’
‘If Daddy hears you swearing, you’ll catch it.’
‘And who’s going to tell him, Miss Tattle Tale?’
‘I’ve never split on you yet, you MORON,’
‘If I’m a moron, then so are you, TWIN!’
‘Don’t bring that frightful smelly disgusting thing anywhere near me, Gideon, or I’ll punch you on the nose,’ Jeremy threatened. ‘Auntie Paula, please make him stop waving that beastly dead bird in my face.’
‘Auntie Paula! Auntie Paula! Natalie’s being sick! I knew she would be. Look, over there by the tree. Auntie Paula, did you hear me?’
‘Gideon Harte, I’m warning you. Keep your distance or I’ll thump you!’
‘Stop it, Gid, stop being childish,’ Toby ordered loudly.
‘I’m not. He is. Sissy! Sissy! Lord Jeremy Standish’s a sissy!’
‘I’m going to really thump you for that!’ Jeremy cried, jumping up.
‘Gideon, give me that dead bird,’ Toby shouted, racing after his brother, catching him by the top of his wet bathing trunks.
‘Auntie Paula, tell Toby to let go of me!’ Gideon screamed. ‘He’s hurting me.’
‘And it’s my turn next,’ Jeremy threatened with sudden manic glee.
‘Mummy, Mummy, make the boys stop fighting,’ Linnet shrieked.
Paula threw down her book and angrily leaped to her feet.
She began to chastise them loudly and vociferously, but they heard nothing. Her voice was drowned out by a series of strange booming echoes that reverberated on the warm air, and as the echoes died away, Paula was able to ask, in a tone that rose slightly, ‘What on earth was that?’
‘The gong,’ Linnet said.
‘Gong,’ Paula repeated in perplexity, and it instantly struck her how chastened the children seemed and she stared at them sharply through narrowed eyes. ‘What gong? Whose gong?’
Lorne explained, ‘Auntie Emily’s gong … she bought it – ’
‘From the house up the mountain,’ Tessa quickly interjected, then volunteered to her still-baffled mother, ‘The old lady who owned the house died, and there was a sale. Two weeks ago, just after you left, the last time you were here, Mummy. And we all went with Aunt Emily, she thought we might find some bargains.’
‘But all we found was the gong,’ Jeremy muttered.
‘And where does Aunt Emily keep this gong?’ Paula inquired, her eyes flicking over each one of them with considerable interest.
‘Up there in the gazebo,’ India replied.
‘But why did Emily buy the gong?’ Paula wondered out loud.
Toby supplied the answer, when he said quietly, ‘Mummy uses it to signal us. One strike means that breakfast’s ready, two is for lunch, three is to summon us inside, to get ready for dinner, and – ’
‘When she bangs and bangs and bangs, like just now, it means we’re going to catch it,’ Linnet confided and grimaced. ‘For being bad. For something terrible we’ve done.’
‘I see,’ Paula said and her shrewd eyes swept over the group of youngsters yet again. It was more apparent to her than ever that each child was suitably intimidated – even the most recalcitrant of them. She turned away to hide a smile, thinking how terribly clever Emily was.
‘We’re definitely in for it. Because of the unholy row we’ve been making,’ Lorne muttered, jumping up, edging away.
‘You’re right,’ Toby agreed. ‘Come on, Troops, let’s skedaddle before my mother gets here and starts giving us stupid chores to do, or worse still, starts thinking up idiotic activities to keep us properly occupied.’
Within the space of seconds, the older children had raced after Lorne and Toby, as always the ringleaders, who were heading at breakneck speed for the steps that led down to the beach below the promontory. Only Patrick, Linnet and Natalie remained with Paula in the pool area.
Silence finally reigned.
Paula sank gratefully into her chair, delighted to have peace and quiet for the first time that morning. She had done her utmost to ignore them, had remained aloof from their endless bickering – as she had learned to do over the years – at least until Toby and Gideon had started fighting and Jeremy had seemed about to join in the mêlée. She couldn’t permit that to happen. Anthony and Sally Dunvale’s eldest son had not been well, and the last thing his father had said, before leaving for Ireland earlier that morning, was for them to make sure the boy did not overtax himself for the rest of his stay at the villa. Paula knew that if Jeremy went home to Clonloughlin looking as if he had been scrapping with the boys, she and Emily would never hear the end of it from his mother. Their cousin Sally fussed a great deal about her first born, the heir to the Dunvale title, lands and fortune.
Paula took a deep breath, and was about to give her small daughter a stern lecture about removing her underclothing in public, when she saw Emily hurrying down the path between the lawns.
‘Cooee! Cooee!’ Emily called, waving.
Paula waved back.
A moment later, Emily drew to a stop and she and Paula exchanged looks. They began to laugh.
Emily said, ‘I know it’s noisy, but it’s very effective.’
‘And how,’ Paula agreed. ‘I’ve never seen them silenced quite so quickly. Never. It was an inspired