Relative Sins. Anne Mather
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yes.’ Mrs Fraser put the tray down on the bedside table and turned to nod consideringly. ‘He was up and about half an hour ago. He came down to the kitchen to tell me he’d had enough sleeping time and he was hungry.’
Sara relaxed. ‘Thank heavens.’ She glanced down at the creased black dress and grimaced. ‘I was coming to look for him, actually. I was afraid he might have ventured outside on his own.’
‘Ah.’ Mrs Fraser’s response was understanding. ‘Well, you’ve no need to worry. The little one’s in safe hands. His uncle Alex was up at the crack of dawn himself, and he’s taken the youngster down to the stables.’
‘Alex?’
Sara’s reaction was only belatedly controlled, but she thought Mrs Fraser hadn’t noticed anything amiss.
‘Yes. The two of them settled for a bowl of my porridge and a mug of coffee, and then hied themselves off to see Dragonfly’s filly.’
Sara swallowed. ‘Dragonfly’s a horse, right?’
‘A mare,’ agreed Mrs Fraser comfortably. ‘The filly’s sire is Dream Maker—young Alex’s stallion. He was telling the lad about it and Ben fairly begged to see it.’ She chuckled. ‘He reminds me of his uncle, he does. Wants things yesterday, if not sooner.’
Sara endeavoured to speak calmly. ‘Wasn’t…wasn’t Harry like that too? When he was younger?’
Mrs Fraser sensed that she had been a little insensitive, and offered Sara a rueful look. ‘Bless you, no,’ she said. ‘Harry was always the patient one. The nicestnatured boy I ever met. That was your young man.’
Another thought struck Sara. ‘Last night—that is…Ben didn’t get up again either, did he?’
‘No.’ Mrs Fraser rested her hands on her hips. ‘Both of you were sleeping as sound as tops when Alison looked in on you. That would have been about a quarter to eight last evening. When Mrs Reed was anxious to get supper over.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Sara could imagine that that was another black mark against her, but it was too late to worry about it now. She had more immediate worries to deal with—not least her son’s apparent attachment to his uncle. Why couldn’t he have attached himself to his grandfather—or even his grandmother, if he had to?
‘Not to worry,’ declared the Scots housekeeper staunchly. ‘There’s worse things than missing a meal, particularly when…Well, least said, soonest mended—that’s what I always say. But you must be hungry yourself now. How’d you like a couple of nice poached eggs on toast, with some of Alison’s jam to follow?’
‘Well…’
‘I could bring it up for you, of course,’ went on the housekeeper. ‘And maybe you’d prefer a pot of coffee as well. Something warming to start the day. You’ll cope with everything so much better if you have some food inside you.’
Sara hesitated. Despite what she’d like to do, there was no way that she could go rushing after Ben and Alex without creating something of a fuss. Besides, where was the harm, for heaven’s sake? Alex was the boy’s uncle. Maybe he was beginning to regret that he hadn’t married too.
And the idea of shedding her clothes and taking a hot shower while Mrs Fraser prepared her breakfast was appealing. Even the food sounded almost palatable. Good old British eggs that didn’t swim in water on your plate.
‘Why not?’ she conceded at last, approaching the tea-tray with some affection. ‘You’re spoiling me, Mrs Fraser. I’m going to have to get used to managing on my own.’
Mrs Fraser hesitated herself now, then went to the door. But then, as if compelled to say something, she paused. ‘Now, I don’t imagine Mr and Mrs Reed will let that happen,’ she declared, unaware of how disturbing her words were to Sara. ‘That little boy’s their grandson. They won’t want to let him out of their sight.’
A cup of tea and a revitalising shower later, Sara was more prepared to view the Scotswoman’s words without distress. Goodness, Mrs Fraser had no idea how the Reeds felt, or their daughter-in-law either. If Sara chose to move away there was nothing anyone could do about it.
In consequence she made a fairly creditable attempt at the poached eggs she found waiting for her, warm beneath a silver dome. Because she didn’t want the food to get cold she merely pulled a Paisley-patterned wrapper about her before tackling her breakfast, and she was enjoying her second cup of coffee when Ben burst through the door.
‘Mum! Mum!’ For all that she had warned him a dozen times at home in Rio not to run about the villa, when he was excited he still forgot to control his feet. He bounded into the room, an excited bundle of cold air and enthusiasm, coming to a halt abruptly when he saw that she was sitting on the bed. ‘Mum, can I go out with Uncle Alex on a horse?’
Sara’s brief sense of sanguinity dispersed. ‘How many times—?’ she began, choosing the least controversial response she knew of, and then caught her breath abruptly at the sight of the man who had paused by the open door.
‘A pony, actually,’ said Alex evenly, propping one broad shoulder against the frame. ‘Good morning, Sara. You look…rested. Mrs Fraser said you were awake.’
Sara’s lips tightened. ‘But not prepared for visitors,’ she said through teeth that threatened to split her tongue. ‘Close the door, if you don’t mind. I’m sure we can discuss this later. And Ben, your shoes are dirty. Get off the bed.’
Alex looked as if he might say something rather unpleasant, but courtesy—or merely iron control—won the day. With a faint smile he reached into the room and swung the door towards him, stepping out of its way as it thudded against the jamb.
‘Oh, Mum!’ Ben’s reaction was much less restrained, his eyes sparkling instantly with unshed tears. ‘Mum, I want to go now. Uncle Alex said I can if you’ll let me.’ He sniffed. ‘Now you’ve gone and spoiled everything. I ‘spect he’s gone away.’
‘He’s gone downstairs, Ben, that’s all,’ said Sara, with rather less tolerance than she usually showed for her son’s distress. ‘For heaven’s sake, you can’t expect to burst in here and get your own way, all without even wishing me good morning. You shouldn’t have left these rooms without my permission. I told you that when we first arrived.’
‘You were asleep,’ said Ben sulkily, scuffing what looked suspiciously like a smear of manure against the cinnamon-coloured pile of the carpet.
‘Don’t do that!’ exclaimed Sara shortly. ‘And have you had a wash this morning?’ She frowned. ‘I bet you haven’t even cleaned your teeth, have you? What would your grandmother think?’
‘I don’t care,’ mumbled Ben, pushing himself away from the bed and dragging his feet across the floor. ‘Uncle Alex didn’t care if I’d had a wash or not. And nor did Dragonfly or her foal.’
Sara sighed. ‘All the same…’
Ben paused by the window. Drawing the curtain aside, he hunched one shoulder against the wall. Just like Alex, thought Sara helplessly. God, the sooner they left the better.
‘Anyway,’ she said, feeling obliged to try and rectify whatever damage Alex had done, ‘I thought you and I might go shopping this morning. You haven’t been to Newcastle. You never know, Father Christmas may have arrived.’
‘Father Christmas?’ Ben turned, trying to sound indifferent but not quite succeeding. ‘Where?’
‘At one of the stores in Newcastle,’ declared Sara, hoping that she wasn’t being premature. ‘I know he used to turn up in London about this time. I don’t see why it should be any different here.’
Ben frowned. ‘But how can he be in London and Newcastle?’ he exclaimed. ‘You said London’s a long way from here.’
‘It is.’ Sara finished her coffee, put the cup back on the tray and