Last Chance Marriage. Rosemary Gibson

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      Thinking about your daddy. ‘Reading,’ Clemency said firmly.

      ‘Why?’

      She was momentarily nonplussed. ‘Because I like reading.’

      ‘I can read. What’s your name?’

      ‘Clemency. What’s your name?’

      ‘Jamie.’

      ‘I’m Tommy.’ Blue T-shirt chipped in, looking down admiringly at the grass stains on his jeans.

      ‘Does your daddy know where you are?’ Clemency asked gently. Silly question. She hardly imagined Joshua Harrington had passively watched his offspring tunnelling their way through the hedge into her garden.

      ‘He’s gone out with Grandpa.’

      Of course. The wisdom tooth.

      ‘And Granny’s making a cake.’

      Doubtlessly innocent of the fact that her two enchanting grandsons had decided to go exploring. Swinging her long, slim legs to the floor, Clemency slipped on her sandals and rose to her feet. The sooner she herded these two escapees home, the better.

      ‘Why?’ both Tommy and Jamie enquired in unison when she explained her intention.

      ‘Because your Granny will worry when she finds you’re missing.’

      ‘She won’t mind,’ Tommy said airily. ‘Have you got a cat?’

      Clemency’s lips twitched. Somehow she didn’t quite share his optimism. ‘No.’

      ‘Anna has two cats,’ he informed her, adding grandly, ‘When I’m big, I’m going to have ten cats.’

      Who was Anna? ‘Are you?’ Clemency murmured, looking suitably impressed as she guided the two small boys down her front path and up the drive of the adjacent cottage. Originally a farm labourer’s dwelling, like her own, it had been extended by a previous owner but still retained its simple charm.

      ‘Have you got a dog?’ Jamie took over the interrogation.

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because it wouldn’t be fair to leave it on its own all day while I go to work.’

      ‘My daddy doesn’t go to work.’

      ‘He just draws,’ Tommy contributed vaguely.

      ‘Does he?’ Clemency said casually, determinedly masking her curiosity as she pressed the doorbell.

      The woman who answered the door matched the voice she’d heard earlier to perfection. Slight, her dark hair sprinkled with grey, her gentle, serene face evinced momentary surprise and concern.

      ‘What have you two scamps been up to?’

      ‘We’ve been next door to see Clemency,’ Tommy announced innocently.

      His grandmother frowned. ‘That was very naughty of you both,’ she said quietly. ‘You know very well you’re never to leave the garden on your own.’

      ‘Forgot.’ Tommy shuffled his feet uncomfortably and scurried into the cottage.

      ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Jamie, his small face equally crestfallen, and hurried after his twin.

      Pulling a rueful face, the older woman held out a hand. ‘Mary Harrington. Thanks for bringing them home.’

      ‘Clemency Adams.’ Clemency shook the outstretched hand. ‘I think there must be a hole in the hedge somewhere.’

      ‘My son’s in the process of refencing the garden so it shouldn’t happen again. I hope they didn’t trample all over the flower beds.’

      ‘With the state of my garden at the moment, I wouldn’t notice if a herd of elephants had passed through.’ Clemency grinned. ‘It’s just that there’s an old well right at the bottom. There’s a small protective wall around it and a manhole cover, but...’

      ‘It might prove irresistible for two curious, unsupervised four-year-olds?’ Mary Harrington smiled back. ‘Look, I’ve just made a pot of tea. Have you time to join me in a cup?’

      Not wanting to refuse the friendly invitation but reluctant to be discovered ensconced in his home should Joshua Harrington appear, Clemency hesitated and then accepted, following her hostess down the hall into the kitchen overlooking the rambling back garden. Tommy and Jamie, crouched down on their small haunches, were engrossed in a game involving three plastic flowerpots, two sticks and a length of old hosepipe, the rules of which were completely incomprehensible to their two observers.

      ‘Do sit down,’ Mary Harrington waved a hand in the general direction of the large refectory table, and poured out two cups of tea. ‘Just push some of that clutter to one side.’ she added cheerfully.

      Removing a plastic spade and bucket from a stool, Clemency drew it up to the table, carefully depositing a toy fire engine and packet of crayons on top of a pile of papers. Twice the size of her own immaculate kitchen, the comfortable, untidy, sun-filled room was evidently a focal point of family life. Brightly crayoned drawings adorned one wall.

      ‘Thank you.’ Clemency took hold of the proffered cup and saucer, her mouth curving as her eyes alighted on one of the drawings. Unlike the others, this had evidently been executed by an adult hand. A small boy, easily recognisable as one of the twins, was surrounded by cartoon cats, their almost-human feline expressions indicating their individual characteristics. Lazy, curious, supercilious, artful.

      ‘Joshua drew it for Tommy.’ The older woman smiled as she followed Clemency’s gaze. Positioning her chair so that she could keep a vigilant eye on her grandsons, she sat down.

      ‘It’s very good.’ Clemency’s eyebrows furrowed together as she continued to study the cartoon. More than good. Professional. There was something familiar in the style. ‘My daddy doesn’t go to work’. ‘He just draws’. A small suspicion beginning to unfurl in her head, her eyes dropped to the pile of papers on her right, editions of the same national daily she had delivered to her cottage. And each morning the first thing she glanced at was the gently satirical topical cartoon on the front page. Josh. She’d always assumed it was a pseudonym—‘josh,’ as in to tease good-naturedly. But it could equally be the diminutive for Joshua. No. It was all just coincidence. She was adding two and two and making five.

      Aware of Mary Harrington watching her, she glanced up and read the confirmation of her unspoken question on the gentle face.

      ‘I always buy The Best of Josh every Christmas.’ Clemency instantly regretted the unthinking admission, hoping it wouldn’t be relayed to the author of the books that usually dominated the bestseller lists each festive season.

      ‘I inundate friends and relatives with copies. And always leave one in the waiting room of my husband’s dental practice,’ Mary Harrington confessed conspiratorially, and smiled. ‘Unbeknown to my son.’

      Clemency laughed, liking the warm, unpretentious woman СКАЧАТЬ