Shifting Sands by Anthea Fraser Page A

moment. Is something wrong?’
    â€˜Daisy’s arrived home out of the blue.’
    There was a pause. Then Sophie said simply, ‘Ah!’
    â€˜All hell’s been let loose. The first I knew was a phone call from her headmistress saying she was missing, and I was panicking about that when a taxi drew up and out she stepped, cool as a cucumber, announcing that she’s not going back.’
    â€˜Oh, Imo, I’m so sorry.’
    â€˜As you might imagine, Roger blew a fuse and has stormed off to the golf club, saying he’ll eat there. Naturally he blames me for this.’
    â€˜But what happened exactly? Why did she come home?’
    â€˜Because, if you please, she was given detention for not handing in her prep. Honestly, Sophie, I could have scalped her! They were about to contact the police.’
    â€˜So what happens next?’
    â€˜Well, I phoned the school, of course, and after some sweet-talking on my part, they agreed she can stay here for the weekend while we try to drum some sense into her, and they’ll expect her back on Monday. It was made clear, though, that she wouldn’t escape punishment for this, and quite right too. My concern is how we can persuade her to go back, if she digs her heels in. We can’t drag her there, kicking and screaming; and suppose she runs away again, and next time doesn’t come home?’
    â€˜Obviously your first priority is to get to the bottom of what happened. It must be more than detention, surely? Is she being bullied, do you think?’
    The word catapulted Imogen back to her own schooldays – shivering in the playground until Sophie came to her rescue. ‘God, I hope not,’ she said.
    Over the wire, she heard a voice in the background, and Sophie replied, ‘Five minutes.’ Then, to Imogen, ‘Sorry, love, I’ll have to go. I suggest you and Roger sit down with her and talk things through as calmly as you can. I’m sure you’ll sort something out.’
    She rang off. Imogen slowly put the phone down and, closing her eyes, leaned with both hands on the counter. Calm, reasonable Sophie. Then, straightening her shoulders, she began to prepare dinner.

SIX
    A nna had forgotten how noisy twelve excited little boys could be, and by the time a succession of parents had arrived to collect their offspring, she was ready to collapse at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. The memory of Miles here with them last year – a point that had carefully not been mentioned – was an added strain. Her grandsons, she’d noted with a tug of the heart, were wearing their South African T-shirts, Tom’s sporting a rhino and Tim’s a cheetah. At least they both appeared to fit.
    â€˜It went off very well, didn’t it?’ she said.
    Jonathan passed her the milk jug. ‘Yes; and that’s it, thank God, for another year.’
    â€˜Vicky was saying this might be the last ever,’ Sophie remarked, putting the remains of the birthday cake in a tin and pressing down the lid. ‘She thinks Tom will want a treat next year.’
    â€˜Then I’m even more grateful it was postponed till I was back,’ Anna commented. ‘These milestones are precious.’
    â€˜You did bring your camera, didn’t you?’ Angus asked, coming into the kitchen with a tray of debris. ‘We’re looking forward to a slide show later.’
    â€˜Yes, it’s in my bag. I’ve not had the chance to look at them myself yet. No doubt they’ll bring back all kinds of things I’ve forgotten.’
    How many photos had she taken of Lewis? Anna wondered, with a spurt of anxiety. Not enough, she hoped, to give rise to comment, helped by the fact that it had been the end of the holiday before anything really developed between them.
    Had it not been for his phone call on Wednesday, she might have thought, back in these familiar surroundings, that it had all been a dream. Did she