‘Did you have a kitten?’
‘I’ve got a good idea.’
‘Daddy doesn’t like your good ideas.’
‘How about we get dressed, make a picnic, find your sister and go riding?’
He smirked and took the opportunity to light a cigarette, against all the rules, and enjoy it slowly as she tore screeching in glee down the swim lane towards her room. He didn’t hear a splash, so congratulated himself on the excellent watching of Ben’s daughter he was achieving.
By the time the five of them were moving in single file through the gap in the dry stone wall, the sun had melted the early-morning frost on the turf. Radulf and PB took the lead, slinking along. He had Molly perched in front of him, and Emilia was behind on Bronislav, until, when they were out on the slope of the tor, she trotted up to ride alongside them. She made a small gesture with her arm, which could have been a forehand stroke, but he ignored the provocation and asked dryly, ‘So, how are you finding college life?’
‘Don’t talk to Emmy, Papa; you have to talk to me.’
He’d suspected the world’s smallest dictator might be in a snit for a while—he’d insisted Jenna remain safely behind in the cottage, and it had not gone down well. He handed her the reins. ‘You can’t talk; you are in complete control now and have to concentrate.’
Emilia quirked her lip and their knees brushed when Molly’s erratic steering forced them together. ‘The food is great.’
‘Ah. The food.’
She laughed. ‘I don’t think you’d like it very much—college. I think you’d do quite a bit of ranting. In fact, I often hear your voice in my head, answering before I do. It’s really funny.’
Ranting? Well-thought-out arguments based on a lifetime’s experience of shit, more like. He was tempted to actually say this out loud, but changed the subject instead. ‘What did you think of Hadrian’s Wall?—I have never seen it.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘About as effective as our wall for keeping anyone out. I don’t really get it.’
‘He won’t go where I want, Papa!’
‘Well, he’s not stupid. You are trying to take us into the stream. Here, give them to me, and you can do some braiding again.’
‘Sarah and Daniel are going to Scotland for their honeymoon—straight from the reception. Enid has said they can stay in her bungalow.’
He glanced across to the girl at this apparent non sequitur. But he actually got the reasoning behind it: Molly wanting constant attention; Sarah getting married; no decisions made yet.
‘I’m going to be a flower.’
Emilia corrected her gently, ‘Flowergirl, sweetheart. We’re both being flower girls. Wait till you see our dresses; Sarah’s making them; they’re so pretty.’
‘Can Jenna be a flower girl, too?’
Aleksey poked her in the side. ‘She can be a flower kitten.’ He particularly liked the idea of putting a stick in the spokes of Sarah’s wedding and thought a rampaging cat and hysterical little girl trying to catch it might do the trick nicely. He’d already attempted to have the whole thing called off when Sarah had shyly asked him if it was all right for them to get married in the chapel and to have the ceremony on New Year’s Eve—actually in the evening when it was dark and the whole place could be lit with candles to welcome in the turning of the year. She’d warmed to her theme by this time and had started to describe the place draped with greenery: holly and ivy and wintry branches.
He’d quietly, but very effectively, pointed out that it all sounded a bitpagan. Better to get married in the summer (six months away)? Or autumn (even further off)? As usual, of course, he’d been entirely ignored. So, New Year’s Eve it was.
They’d arrived at the small meadow beside the stream where they’d held Molly’s party, so dismounted. She ran immediately to the pool to see if she could spot the tiny village which lay secreted in its tranquil depths. Fortunately, the water was entirely opaque with suspended peat, so it was impossible for her to judge the veracity of this story.
Emilia spread the rug they’d brought and began to rummage in the bag for food. She pulled out a carton of milk, three chocolate bars, three mince pies and a jar of marmalade. ‘Is this it?’
Aleksey, lying on his back, squinting up at a circling buzzard, bit back the reply that immediately came to mind, but then smirked inwardly and said it anyway. ‘Making picnics is woman’s work.’
She didn’t rise to the bait, which was disappointing, and only rejoined equally dryly, ‘Well, pity your tastes don’t run in that direction then.’
He rolled his head to regard her. It was the first time she’d commented, even that obliquely, on his personal life. He replied, ‘I was married to women twice.’ Laughing softly, he added, ‘And Ben is the only person in the world who has ever wanted to feed me.’
Molly came over to take her mince pie, and sat between them, singing to herself. He wanted to ask Emilia about the proposed survey of Lyonesse, the one he was apparently paying for, but couldn’t think of a way to introduce the topic without betraying his involvement. He sensed that she might resent that level of interference in her bid for freedom, her new world, and wouldn’t have blamed her entirely if she did.
‘Some of my friends recognised Ben from the picture I’ve got of you both.’
‘…A good sword and a trusty hand! A merry heart and true…’
