An Excellent Wife by Charlotte Lamb Page A

but they've got a nice flavour. We grow as much stuff as we can, especially vegetables.'
    'Yes, I saw the vegetable garden on my tour of the garden.' James looked around; nobody was listening to them—they were all too busy talking to each other. Offhandedly he asked, 'So, when am I going to meet...? Where is...?'
    'Where's your mother?' Yes, she could definitely read minds. He nodded, hoping she would keep her own voice down.

    He didn't want the whole table to know what they were talking about, although no doubt they were aware why he was here—even the children, who seemed to know everything that was going on in this house.
    'She's upstairs,' Patience said softly, 'in bed; she wasn't too well today. She does come downstairs, for a few hours, on her better days. I encourage her to do that ^ because it's so depressing to be stuck upstairs alone all"the time; I think she needs company. She certainly always looks happier afterwards.
    But she wasn't up to it today; she knew I was going to try to see you and it upset her, made her very nervous, so I told her to stay in bed. I'll take you up to see her after supper.'
    He did not want to see his mother. He stared at nothing, feeling anger burning in his chest, suddenly afraid he might make a fool of himself, might lose control, lose his temper or, even worse, cry. He had learnt at a very young age not to show his feelings, not to let anyone guess what was going on inside him. The idea of breaking down in public was a nightmare. He couldn't risk it, especially in front of this girl's clear, direct gaze. She might be sorry for him. A shiver ran down his spine at the very idea. That was the very last thing he would want.
    Several of the older women were clearing the table, going out to the kitchen with the used plates and returning with a huge bowl of red plums in a glistening syrup. Full 6f sugar, thought James glumly; full of calories, too.
    As for the calories in those jugs of yellow custard; he would hate to think what they added up to! When he ate fruit it was fresh and low in calories. He would not have either plums or custard!
    The children went round the table skimming small bowls into place in front of everyone. He opened his mouth to tell them not to give him one but too late; Thomas had already hurried on. A moment later the bowl of plums appeared in front of him. 'Help yourself,' Patience invited.
    'Thanks, but I really don't think I...'
    'Try them, they're delicious.'

    He couldn't face an argument—his nerves were already jumping like ants under his skin; politely he took several plums, adding a trickle of yellow custard. That also looked over-sweet and sickly.
    Emmy leaned her head towards him, whispering, 'Sometimes we have ice-cream but it isn't an ice-cream day.'
    .'That's a pity. I like ice-cream.'
    'So do I,' she sighed.
    James felt something inside him stir, a warmth he had never felt before, a tenderness, a sense of kinship, as if she were his own child. It was absurd. He would probably never set eyes on her again. That idea made him frown. He had only known her for a couple of hours yet he stupidly felt he would miss her if he never saw her again. He watched her pushing her spoon around in the bowl without taking anything. 'Do you like plums?' he whispered.
    She made a face, darting a secret glance at Patience, who was talking across the table to Toby, unaware of them.
    'They're better than prunes.'
    'Not much,' said James, wrinkling his nose.
    Emmy giggled. 'No, they aren't, are they? Patience doesn't like it if we don't try everything, though.' She watched James eat his last plum. 'You can have one of mine, if you like,' she generously offered, hurriedly pushing it into his bowl while Patience's attention was elsewhere.
    James ate it without a word; he would have eaten it even if it had been utterly loathsome just to get Emmy's grateful smile. Across the table Thomas and Toby winked at him. He winked back and felt Patience turn to stare at them all with