children’s teacher, what is she called...?
‘Miss Ross.’
‘Yes, Miss Ross, she is surely the one bearing the brunt of the work with the children, not you. You are only helping. You’d never be able to manage on your own.’
Sara stood silently watching him, feeling her new-found confidence drain away, her smile becoming more fixed as she struggled to remain calm.
He glanced up at her. ‘Tea! Run along and see to it. You’ve gone into one of your silly day-dreams again.’
Swallowing a lump which blocked all hope of a response, Sara turned to do as she was bid.
Chapter Eleven
Sara’s efforts were certainly appreciated by the children. Just to look at their shining faces was reward enough for it turned out to be a real slap-up party. There were piles of food, huge stacks of sandwiches: corned beef, cheese and pickle and something called peanut butter which went down a treat. Then there were miniature Cornish pasties; heaps of sausages; iced buns and great bowls of jelly and ice cream. And there wasn’t a child in the room who didn’t have a great brown moustache above their upper lip from all the Coca-Cola they’d drunk.
All the children, including Jenny and Drew, had a marvellous time, collecting a stack of American comics in addition to the other goodies.
Santa Claus arrived in an army truck loaded with sacks full of presents, one for each child. There were dolls and books, dinky cars and footballs, skipping ropes and kites, candy and gum, and after the children had near worn themselves out from playing such games as Musical Chairs, Blind Man’s Bluff and Pin the Tail on the Donkey, they were given rides in the jeeps, queuing up excitedly to be taken all around town.
It turned out to be the best party the town could ever remember, a most wonderful day in their young lives, one they would never forget.
Nor would Sara forget it in a hurry either. She felt conscious the entire time of Charles Denham’s presence, aware when he crossed the room, when he glanced in her direction. She found herself actively avoiding him, not even caring if he thought her rude, so fearful was she that perhaps Nora Snell or Isobel Wynne, who of course had insisted on coming along to help serve the tea, might make more of what was nothing more than mere friendship.
Wasn’t it?
If that was true, why did she feel as tremulous as a young girl whenever she caught a glimpse of him, even at a distance? Why could she not speak to him without blushing? And why didn’t she trust herself to go anywhere near him when others were around?
Because they might read the feelings printed so clearly in her adoring eyes? Nonsense! He was just a nice man, nothing more. A nice, married man, Sara reminded herself. Just as she was a respectable, happily married woman.
Christmas passed in its usual whirl of activity with a gathering of friends and family at the pub to enjoy goose with all the trimmings: sausages and bread sauce, roast potatoes and artichokes as a special treat, and Sadie’s home-made Christmas pudding with no fat, since there was none to be had. It tasted wonderful all the same.
The children got very excited over opening their presents. They all went to church of course, then after lunch gathered around the fire in the old inn to sing carols while Sara accompanied them on the piano.
‘I’m not very good,’ she protested, but everyone seemed quite happy until Hugh told her to stop because she’d accidentally played a wrong note.
‘That’s enough darling. Don’t make a fool of yourself.’
‘Don’t be cross with Mummy,’ said little Jenny, ever-protective. ‘I like it when she plays Away in a Manger .’
‘Time you were in bed, child,’ snapped Hugh.
For one awful moment, Sara thought it was all going to go wrong, he had so little patience with the children. ‘It is Christmas, Hugh, no need for them to go to bed early.’
He turned on her, eyes blazing at her temerity to argue with him but
‘Miss Ross.’
‘Yes, Miss Ross, she is surely the one bearing the brunt of the work with the children, not you. You are only helping. You’d never be able to manage on your own.’
Sara stood silently watching him, feeling her new-found confidence drain away, her smile becoming more fixed as she struggled to remain calm.
He glanced up at her. ‘Tea! Run along and see to it. You’ve gone into one of your silly day-dreams again.’
Swallowing a lump which blocked all hope of a response, Sara turned to do as she was bid.
Chapter Eleven
Sara’s efforts were certainly appreciated by the children. Just to look at their shining faces was reward enough for it turned out to be a real slap-up party. There were piles of food, huge stacks of sandwiches: corned beef, cheese and pickle and something called peanut butter which went down a treat. Then there were miniature Cornish pasties; heaps of sausages; iced buns and great bowls of jelly and ice cream. And there wasn’t a child in the room who didn’t have a great brown moustache above their upper lip from all the Coca-Cola they’d drunk.
All the children, including Jenny and Drew, had a marvellous time, collecting a stack of American comics in addition to the other goodies.
Santa Claus arrived in an army truck loaded with sacks full of presents, one for each child. There were dolls and books, dinky cars and footballs, skipping ropes and kites, candy and gum, and after the children had near worn themselves out from playing such games as Musical Chairs, Blind Man’s Bluff and Pin the Tail on the Donkey, they were given rides in the jeeps, queuing up excitedly to be taken all around town.
It turned out to be the best party the town could ever remember, a most wonderful day in their young lives, one they would never forget.
Nor would Sara forget it in a hurry either. She felt conscious the entire time of Charles Denham’s presence, aware when he crossed the room, when he glanced in her direction. She found herself actively avoiding him, not even caring if he thought her rude, so fearful was she that perhaps Nora Snell or Isobel Wynne, who of course had insisted on coming along to help serve the tea, might make more of what was nothing more than mere friendship.
Wasn’t it?
If that was true, why did she feel as tremulous as a young girl whenever she caught a glimpse of him, even at a distance? Why could she not speak to him without blushing? And why didn’t she trust herself to go anywhere near him when others were around?
Because they might read the feelings printed so clearly in her adoring eyes? Nonsense! He was just a nice man, nothing more. A nice, married man, Sara reminded herself. Just as she was a respectable, happily married woman.
Christmas passed in its usual whirl of activity with a gathering of friends and family at the pub to enjoy goose with all the trimmings: sausages and bread sauce, roast potatoes and artichokes as a special treat, and Sadie’s home-made Christmas pudding with no fat, since there was none to be had. It tasted wonderful all the same.
The children got very excited over opening their presents. They all went to church of course, then after lunch gathered around the fire in the old inn to sing carols while Sara accompanied them on the piano.
‘I’m not very good,’ she protested, but everyone seemed quite happy until Hugh told her to stop because she’d accidentally played a wrong note.
‘That’s enough darling. Don’t make a fool of yourself.’
‘Don’t be cross with Mummy,’ said little Jenny, ever-protective. ‘I like it when she plays Away in a Manger .’
‘Time you were in bed, child,’ snapped Hugh.
For one awful moment, Sara thought it was all going to go wrong, he had so little patience with the children. ‘It is Christmas, Hugh, no need for them to go to bed early.’
He turned on her, eyes blazing at her temerity to argue with him but
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