Sweet Surrender. CATHERINE GEORGE
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she was going home to Stavely for the week. ‘In time for my new little nephew’s christening,’ she explained. ‘My brother’s baby. He’s six weeks old and I’m his godmother, so I’ll be the one holding him when the vicar splashes water on his forehead.’
‘Gosh,’ said Abby, impressed. ‘I expect he’ll cry.’
‘If so I shall hastily hand him back to his mummy!’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Henry Thomas, after both his grandfathers, but known as Hal, his grandma tells me.’
‘Have you seen him yet?’
‘No. Which is why my brother arranged the christening for half-term, so I could be there.’
Not that she couldn’t have driven home to Friars Wood for a fleeting visit before now. But running home at every possible opportunity was an indulgence Kate had made herself crack down on a long time ago.
After supper Abby helped wash up and clear away, by which time Kate’s mane of dark hair was dry, and curling down her back in glossy profusion, much to Abby’s admiration. As they worked together Kate encouraged her to talk, drawing her out about her life in London before coming to Foychurch, and learned that Abby missed her schoolfriends there, but loved her new home in the country.
‘Miss Dysart,’ said Abby after a pause, her voice so forlorn Kate’s heart was wrung, ‘can I ask you something?’
Kate braced herself. ‘Ask away.’
‘Do you think Mummy will still love me the same when she’s got a new baby?’
‘I can assure you that she will, Abby,’ said Kate, thinking on her feet. ‘I’ve got three sisters and a brother, and my mother loves us all. But in a special way for each of us, because we’re all different people.’ A bit sentimental, she thought wryly, but it was worth it to see the strain fade from the worried little face.
Deciding a dose of mundane television was the best diversion for a while, Kate tuned in to an innocuous game show, and half an hour passed without more heart-searching because Abby, to her great triumph, gave some correct answers to the questions put to the contestants. Before the show ended there was a knock on the door, and Kate opened it to a man with shaggy fair hair, massive shoulders, and a rugged face with laughter lines raying from eyes which looked down at her in blank astonishment.
‘Good evening, Does Miss Dysart live here?’
‘I’m Katharine Dysart—’ But Kate got no further before a small figure hurtled past her and flung itself into the man’s arms.
‘Uncle Jack, Uncle Jack—you came!’
Abby’s uncle swept her up into a bear hug. ‘Of course I came, muggins. Sorry I’m late.’ He smiled at Kate over the fair head burrowing against his shoulder. ‘Jack Spencer. We spoke on the phone.’
‘How do you do? Please come in.’
‘Down you go, sweetheart.’ Abby’s uncle set his burden down, his smile warm for Kate. ‘My mother’s deeply grateful to you, Miss Dysart. She apologises for not coming on with me, but she was feeling rough after the flight, so I dropped her off with my father at Hope House first. My parents send their thanks.’
‘It was no trouble at all,’ Kate assured him. ‘We’ve had a very nice evening, haven’t we, Abby?’
The little girl nodded fervently. ‘I helped make supper, Uncle Jack, and we ate it in here because Miss Dysart doesn’t have a table, and we watched television, and Daddy rang, but the baby still hasn’t come—’
‘Whoa!’ said her uncle, laughing. ‘You’ve obviously had a ball, chatterbox. Now, let’s get you home to bed.’
While Abby made a trip to the bathroom before the ride home, Kate seized the chance of a private word. ‘Mr Spencer, when Abby’s father reports next will you tell him she’s afraid Mummy won’t love her anymore once the new baby comes?’
‘Good God!’ He stared at her, aghast. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll put Tim in the picture the first minute I can.’
‘Thank you.’ Kate glanced up with a smile as the little girl came hurtling through the door at the foot of the stairs. ‘Steady on, there.’
Abby smiled shyly at Kate. ‘Thank you very much for having me, Miss Dysart.’
‘It was a pleasure, Abby. See you next week when we get back to school.’
Once Jack Spencer had settled his niece in the Jeep he turned to Kate. ‘My thanks again, Miss Dysart. My mother’s been in a state all the way down the motorway, anxious about both her girls. Not,’ he added, ‘that it was necessary with Abby. She obviously had a great time here with you.’
‘As much as she could do in the circumstances.’ Kate smiled at him. ‘I wonder if I could ask a favour?’
‘Anything at all.’
‘Will you let me know when the baby arrives?’
He grinned. ‘Right—though you won’t thank me for waking you up in the small hours. I’ll ring in the morning. Always supposing the new arrival’s made it by that time.’
‘Heavens, I hope so,’ said Kate with feeling. ‘For everyone’s sake.’
He eyed her curiously. ‘You’re very young to be a teacher, Miss Dysart. Is this your first year in the job?’
She chuckled. ‘No, indeed. Not by a long way.’
‘Then you must be older than you look.’ He cast a glance at the small face pressed to a window, watching them. ‘Time to go. Goodnight. And thank you again.’
Kate went back in the house in a thoughtful mood. Abby’s ‘Uncle Jack’ might not fit her preconceived idea of him exactly; he was older by far for a start. But he looked capable of carrying hods and laying bricks with the best of them.
The phone rang yet again later, when Kate was getting ready for bed, and she snatched it up eagerly. ‘Oh—it’s you, Alasdair.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he said wryly. ‘You were obviously expecting someone else.’
‘I was.’
‘Has your little visitor gone now?’
‘Collected by her uncle an hour ago. I was just on my way to bed.’
‘Already?’
‘I had a busy day, as we teachers do, followed by an evening trying to entertain a little girl desperately anxious about her mother.’ She made no attempt to smother a yawn.
‘I’m obviously keeping you, so I’ll make it brief. What should I buy young Dysart for a christening present?’
‘You don’t have to buy anything. I’m sure Adam doesn’t expect it.’
‘You’re to be godmother, he tells me. So what have you bought?’
‘I’ve asked Adam to keep his eye out for a claret jug.’ Kate waited, sure that Alasdair had quite different reasons for the phone call.
‘It struck me afterwards,’ he went on, ‘that I could have doubled back to see you later this evening when you were free.’
Did it really? ‘It wouldn’t have been convenient, Alasdair. Besides,’ she added frostily, ‘I’m told I’ll be seeing you on Sunday anyway.’
‘Ah. You don’t approve.’ The deep voice, with it’s hint of Edinburgh accent, was timber-dry.
‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘But if you don’t want me there, Kate—’
‘Why on earth shouldn’t I? We can have a nice chat about old times,’ she said sweetly.
‘I’d