The Flight of Swallows by Audrey Howard Page A

if he, Robbie, was allowed to eat with them and talk as he had done this evening, it seemed everything was to turn out as he liked it. School was not bad and Webb was a bonus, his pony another and the discovery of the tennis court had excited him no end. He could see him and Charlie having a lovely time here with no father to subdue them, for it appeared the chestnut mare in the paddock, named Magic, was to be hers. There were lovely walks and rides and now, a tennis court.
    ‘Yes, I know,’ Brooke said tonelessly, in answer to his question.
    ‘Do you play then, sir?’ Robbie smiled artlessly at the man who seemed unlikely to stand in his way.
    ‘In the past, I have.’ Brooke was looking at his wife who was also smiling, but not at him. She looked so beautiful, her face flushed and happy as she watched and listened to her brother prattle on. She wore one of her new Doucet gowns, bought in London. It was simple, made of lace the exact colour of the coffee and cream they were drinking and about her neck was the gold and diamond choker he had placed there on their first night as man and wife. Her hair had been brushed to a tawny gloss by Kizzie and then piled carelessly in a tumble of curls on her head and a coffee-coloured satin ribbon threaded through it. She had her elbow on the table and leaned her chin in the palm of her hand as she gazed indulgently at her little brother. Brooke could stand no more but was at the same time ashamed of himself, for this was a child of whom he was jealous. Her small brother who surely was no obstacle to him.
    He stood up abruptly, slapping his hand on the table Mr Johnson, who was standing with his back to the sideboard waiting to clear, jumped a little and almost dropped a tray of crockery.
    ‘Right, young man, time for bed, I think,’ Brooke told him sharply. ‘Your sister and I have—’
    ‘Oh, no, please, Charlie. I have lots to tell you and I want to—’
    ‘That is enough, if you please. And do not interrupt me, or any adult, when I or they are speaking. It is very—’
    Robbie stood up and turned imploringly to his sister. He was enjoying himself so much and after all Charlie was his sister and this man must be made to realise it.
    ‘Charlie, tell him, please. I haven’t seen you for ages and ages and I wanted you to ask John or Ned – they’re gardeners by the way – to do something with the tennis court so that you and I can play as—’
    ‘Johnson, ring the bell if you please, or better yet, Nellie, go and fetch Kizzie. It’s time for Master Robbie to be in bed and tomorrow I will speak—’
    ‘Charlie, Charlie, please tell your . . .’
    Charlotte stood up slowly and moved round the table to take Robbie’s hand in hers. She started towards the door but Robbie made the mistake of glancing back triumphantly at Brooke.
    ‘May I ask where you are going, Charlotte?’ Mr Johnson stood rigidly to attention and Nellie, who was making her own way to the door in order to fetch Kizzie, froze on the spot. Neither of them had ever seen this side of their master before.
    ‘I intend putting Robbie to bed, Brooke. That is what you want, is it not?’
    ‘You are not his nursemaid, Charlotte. You are my wife. Now then, Nellie. Tell Kizzie that Master Robert is ready for bed and to come here and fetch him. You and I will move to the drawing room, Charlotte. I shall light a cigar and since it is a warm, clear night I think a walk in the garden would be pleasant.’

7
    The first months of their marriage were awkward but polite, the biggest problem in their uneasy relationship the presence of Robbie, who could not seem to accept that she was not wholly his as she had been all his young life.
    Brooke rode out twice a week, leaving their bed – where he had made vigorous love to her the night before and often again before he left – to ride round his estate since he was an assiduous landlord. He had been a soldier all his adult life and had learned discipline and known