‘Sorry. You’re right, Daiz. Lyn isn’t the jealous sort, is she?’
‘Are you asking me, or telling me? Actually, she could be quite jealous of the Clan. She called it “Your precious Clan”. And once I caught her looking at the photo of us all – the one Aunt Julia took the Christmas before war started. She had quite a funny look in her eyes as if she wanted to be a part of it, yet was glad she wasn’t. Maybe she envied our closeness. Or maybe it was our growing up together. We did have a charmed life, you’ve got to admit it, Drew.’
‘I know. Wonderful days. But surely Lyn can be a part of it, now? Married to me, she’d qualify.’
‘No, she can’t. No one can. Kitty’s leaving it doesn’t mean there’s a vacancy. The Clan was our youth. No one is ever lost to it, and no one can ever join it. Not now. It was something – well, unique …’
‘And precious. When I was overseas and sometimes at sea for weeks on end and the heat unbearable, I’d think about the Clan, and where we used to meet.’
‘Mm. In the wild garden. And in summer we’d lie in the grass under the trees and talk and talk. I used to think about the Clan, too. I remember when Liverpool was blitzed, night after night. Lyn and I were two of the lucky ones. We were three floors underground, and protected by reinforced concrete. The safest place around. But when we saw the devastation it was horrifying, and we all had to shut our minds to it. Thinking of the Clan helped a lot.’
‘So am I allowed to nibble my scone – just one last time?’
‘You are,’ Daisy laughed, glad that they were back on an even keel again. ‘And I won’t pinch your cherry.’
‘Good old Daiz.’ Drew laughed with her, then said, ‘That’s the baby crying. Go to her – she sounds upset.’
‘It’s all right. Probably only just wind. I’ll bring her in and you can put her over your shoulder and pat her back. It’s quite rewarding when you get a burp out of her and you’ve got to learn how it’s done, Drew Sutton.’ She hurried out to return with a red-faced baby who had all at once stopped crying. ‘Ooh, the little madam. She only wanted attention. Here you are. Give her a cuddle.’
And Drew took his goddaughter who felt incredibly small and fragile in his arms and thought about the children Lyn so desperately wanted, and how good it would be, making them together. Tenderly he patted the little back and Mary Natasha nuzzled his neck then obliged with a burp which made him feel immensely proud and think that maybe after all, Lyn could be quite right. Having a baby – babies – might not be half bad.
‘I’ll keep her for a few minutes, get her to sleep for you whilst you have your tea and scone, Daiz.’
And Daisy wrinkled her nose at him and said, ‘Thanks, bruv,’ and thought how very much she loved him – and wanted him to be happy.
As happy as she and Keth.
‘Want to know something, Bill Benson?’ Tatiana Sutton kicked off her shoes with a cluck of contentment, tucking her feet beneath her, snuggling closer.
‘So tell me,’ he smiled.
‘If you kiss me, I will.’
He kissed the tip of her nose. These days, he was always careful not to indulge in petting sessions because he knew exactly where they could lead. More than once he had admitted – to himself, of course – that keeping lovemaking until their wedding night had been a decision he should never have made. His own fault, always having been a bit holier-than-thou about taking liberties with the opposite sex, because someone had taken liberties with his mother, which had landed the resulting bairn – himself – in an orphanage when only one month old. Too much of a burden, he had been told later, for a bit of a lassie hardly into her sixteenth year to shoulder alone.
So he had accepted, very early in life, that that kind of behaviour wasn’t on and that no bairn of his would be born out of wedlock because no matter how kindly an orphanage he’d been brought up in he had always envied the kids in school who had two parents living under one roof, even if legitimate fathers were known to leather small boys’ behinds or sometimes come home the worse for drink on pay days.
‘You got your kiss – now tell me,’ he demanded.
‘Oh, just that I’m happy. It was lovely having Bas’s lot to stay, but it’s nice having the place to ourselves again with no one to interrupt us.’
‘There’s Karl …’
‘Karl doesn’t count. Grandmother Petrovska insisted he stayed on here when mother married Ewart Pryce and I was left alone in “that beeg place without a chaperon and heffen only knows what might happen to an innocent girl alone” Tatiana mimicked. ‘And don’t let him fool you. Karl understands English even though he won’t speak it – well, only to me.’
‘I often wonder about him – his background, I mean. I sometimes miss Scotland, but at least I know I can go there whenever I want. Karl can’t go back to Russia.’
‘True. Him once being a Cossack and loyal to the Tzar, it wouldn’t be wise. But he never speaks about his past. He attached himself to our family when they were trying to get out of Russia, and Mother told me they wouldn’t have made it without him. That’s why he’s still with us. We owe him.’
‘He’s very protective of you,’ Bill frowned.
‘I know he is, but you needn’t worry. When we are married I shall ask him if he wants to go back to London to Grandmother Petrovska and Uncle Igor.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘Then he stays here, at Denniston. He’s no trouble, and he does all the gardening, remember.’
‘I’m no’ complaining.’ Bill Benson’s philosophy was to live and let live.
‘Good. So tell me, who rang you this morning?’
‘London. The agent I got in touch with wants me to go down there with my portfolio, and if he thinks I’m any good he’ll take me on. Mind, he’ll take ten per cent of all I make but he’ll earn every penny of it – do the selling and see to contracts and that sort of thing. He’ll haggle about price, too, something I’m not much use at.’
‘Of course he’ll take you on. You’re good. When shall you go?’
‘Soon …’
‘Then if you intend staying overnight, ask Aunt Julia if you can stay at Montpelier Mews. No point paying hotel bills when there’s a bed for the asking, for free.’
‘I thought it was we Scots who were meant to be mean! You Russians are every bit as canny.’
‘I’m not Russian – well, only half so. And born and bred in England. Do you mind, darling, that grandmother is a countess and that, as the daughter of a countess, mother is entitled to the courtesy, too. At least, that’s the way it used to be, in Russia. Mind, I shall be happy to be Mrs Benson. Are you looking forward to our wedding?’
‘Of course I am. It’ll be winter, soon, and gui’ cold in that studio of mine. Can’t wait to move in here.’
‘It was your own choice to stay put, so don’t moan. Let’s face it, here we are almost alone, and you still go on about waiting till our wedding night. It’s not a lot of fun when things get passionate and you start counting to ten. You’re always the one to put a stop to it and it ought to be the girl who says no.’
‘You’re joking, Miss Sutton.’
‘I’m joking, darling. But I’ll be glad when we’re married. December is a good