coaching than to her natural aptitude.
Yet there she sat, with my son in her arms, looking for all the world as though she knew what she was doing. Stranger still, Will seemed to think so, too.
He sucked industriously at his bottle, while his brother lay on a blanket at Francesca’s feet, kicking and grabbing at an array of circus animals that hung from strings tied to the apple tree’s lower branches. Each time he made contact, the elephants, monkeys, and zebras would bounce and sway and Rob would give a triumphant giggle.
I took in the homely scene and felt bereft, so superfluous and inconsequential that if Rob hadn’t caught sight of me and promptly let out a piteous wail, I might have beaten him to it.
“My poor little angel,” I crooned, scooping Rob up from the blanket and cuddling him to within an inch of his life. “I’m so sorry I was late.” The moment I spoke, Will pulled away from his bottle and set up a racket that sparked panic in Emma’s eyes. Francesca quickly motioned for me to take her place in the armchair, and deposited Will alongside Rob as soon as I was seated.
“Good grief,” said Emma, mopping her brow, “what was that all about? One minute they were fine and the next . . .” She handed the half-empty bottle to Francesca.
“ They’re letting Lori know they missed her, is all. You wait and see. They’ll settle down in two ticks.” Francesca tucked the bottle into the pocket of the apron she’d tied over her shirtdress. The apron, I noted in passing, was spotless.
Two ticks later, the boys had finished offloading their grievances and were competing to see who could wriggle out of my arms first. Francesca returned Rob to the blanket, where he resumed his game with the dangling circus animals, while I took up the task of feeding Will.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told Francesca.
“No trouble,” she said. “I spotted the bottles you’d left in the fridge—”
“Did you use the right ones?” I asked anxiously.
“Would the ones labeled My Milk be the right ones?” Francesca asked.
I blushed. “Yes, well . . . Bill sort of mixed them up a few weeks ago and—”
“Stop!” Emma clapped her hands over her ears and shuddered. “Remind me to thank Derek for presenting me with two children who were already weaned and potty-trained.”
Francesca smiled. “Rob’s finished his supper,” she informed me, “so I’ll pop inside and get on with ours. I hope you don’t mind, but I used the tomatoes and such Mrs. Harris brought over from her garden. I’ll manage better once I’ve learnt the trick of opening the kitchen cupboards.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I assured her, and as Francesca went back into the cottage, I made a mental note to take a screwdriver to the cupboards’ safety catches first thing in the morning. If my new nanny could whip up a sauce like that from a bag of miscellaneous veg, there was no telling what she might do with a fully stocked kitchen at her fingertips.
“Thanks for the fresh produce,” I said, turning to Emma.
“I can’t guarantee the quality. This drought is wreaking havoc on my garden. I shudder to think what the farmers are going through.” She leaned forward to straighten Rob’s blanket. “When did you decide to hire live-in help?”
“I didn’t,” I told her. “I’m the victim of a conspiracy.” I gave Emma a quick rundown of my action-packed day, then sat back with Will and waited patiently while she laughed herself hoarse. “Go ahead, yuck it up,” I said darkly.
“Sorry,” Emma said, wiping her eyes. “But wait till you see this. ” Chuckles continued to percolate from her as she reached over to her riding helmet and pulled a familiar-looking sheet of harvest-gold paper out from under it. “I found it in my mailbox this afternoon. It’s the reason I came over in the first place.” She cleared her throat and declaimed, with appropriate emphasis:
S!O!F!
Save Our Finch!!!
Do you want YOUR village ruled by
Yet there she sat, with my son in her arms, looking for all the world as though she knew what she was doing. Stranger still, Will seemed to think so, too.
He sucked industriously at his bottle, while his brother lay on a blanket at Francesca’s feet, kicking and grabbing at an array of circus animals that hung from strings tied to the apple tree’s lower branches. Each time he made contact, the elephants, monkeys, and zebras would bounce and sway and Rob would give a triumphant giggle.
I took in the homely scene and felt bereft, so superfluous and inconsequential that if Rob hadn’t caught sight of me and promptly let out a piteous wail, I might have beaten him to it.
“My poor little angel,” I crooned, scooping Rob up from the blanket and cuddling him to within an inch of his life. “I’m so sorry I was late.” The moment I spoke, Will pulled away from his bottle and set up a racket that sparked panic in Emma’s eyes. Francesca quickly motioned for me to take her place in the armchair, and deposited Will alongside Rob as soon as I was seated.
“Good grief,” said Emma, mopping her brow, “what was that all about? One minute they were fine and the next . . .” She handed the half-empty bottle to Francesca.
“ They’re letting Lori know they missed her, is all. You wait and see. They’ll settle down in two ticks.” Francesca tucked the bottle into the pocket of the apron she’d tied over her shirtdress. The apron, I noted in passing, was spotless.
Two ticks later, the boys had finished offloading their grievances and were competing to see who could wriggle out of my arms first. Francesca returned Rob to the blanket, where he resumed his game with the dangling circus animals, while I took up the task of feeding Will.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told Francesca.
“No trouble,” she said. “I spotted the bottles you’d left in the fridge—”
“Did you use the right ones?” I asked anxiously.
“Would the ones labeled My Milk be the right ones?” Francesca asked.
I blushed. “Yes, well . . . Bill sort of mixed them up a few weeks ago and—”
“Stop!” Emma clapped her hands over her ears and shuddered. “Remind me to thank Derek for presenting me with two children who were already weaned and potty-trained.”
Francesca smiled. “Rob’s finished his supper,” she informed me, “so I’ll pop inside and get on with ours. I hope you don’t mind, but I used the tomatoes and such Mrs. Harris brought over from her garden. I’ll manage better once I’ve learnt the trick of opening the kitchen cupboards.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I assured her, and as Francesca went back into the cottage, I made a mental note to take a screwdriver to the cupboards’ safety catches first thing in the morning. If my new nanny could whip up a sauce like that from a bag of miscellaneous veg, there was no telling what she might do with a fully stocked kitchen at her fingertips.
“Thanks for the fresh produce,” I said, turning to Emma.
“I can’t guarantee the quality. This drought is wreaking havoc on my garden. I shudder to think what the farmers are going through.” She leaned forward to straighten Rob’s blanket. “When did you decide to hire live-in help?”
“I didn’t,” I told her. “I’m the victim of a conspiracy.” I gave Emma a quick rundown of my action-packed day, then sat back with Will and waited patiently while she laughed herself hoarse. “Go ahead, yuck it up,” I said darkly.
“Sorry,” Emma said, wiping her eyes. “But wait till you see this. ” Chuckles continued to percolate from her as she reached over to her riding helmet and pulled a familiar-looking sheet of harvest-gold paper out from under it. “I found it in my mailbox this afternoon. It’s the reason I came over in the first place.” She cleared her throat and declaimed, with appropriate emphasis:
S!O!F!
Save Our Finch!!!
Do you want YOUR village ruled by
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