Winter at Cray by Lucy Gillen

right too, ’ he told her solemnly, though obviously sharing her enjoyment of the situation.
    ‘ Well, all right, if you must stay, sit down, ’ Emma told her. ‘ If I have to have a chaperone, sit down and don ’ t interrupt. ’
    ‘ Great-gran— ’ She put a hand on the old lady ’ s arm, hating Stephen at this moment for putting her in this position. It was obvious that her great-grandmother needed no protection from her own indiscretion, she was quite capable of handling Jonathan Darrell or anyone else. The old eyes were watching her enquiringly as she stumbled over the words she was trying to say, wishing she had simply kept quiet. ‘ Great-gran, it wasn ’ t—I mean I— ’
    A thin impatient hand waved her to silence. ‘ I know ’ it wasn ’ t your idea, you silly girl, but I ’ m glad this young man had enough sense to choose you for the job of gui de dog, instead of one of the others. ’
    ‘ I ’ ll try not to be in the way, ’ Louise promised, and sat down at the other side of the room as far away from him as she could get.
    The old lady eyed her interviewer for a moment in silence. Weig h ing him up, Louise thought wryly, and knew he had guessed as much too, from his smile. Her smile when she finished her study of him was almost gamin-like and she settled in her chair, ready for anything.
    ‘ Ask away, Jon. ’ A dry chuckle followed the request and she looked at him steadily with those bright, sharp eyes. ‘ I ’ ve decided to call you Jon, ’ she informed him, ‘ because you ’ re too young for an old woman like me to call Mister. ’
    ‘ By all means call me Jon, Mrs. Kincaid, ’ he replied. ‘ I ’ m flattered. ’
    ‘ You needn ’ t be, ’ Emma Kincaid told him bluntly. ‘ I usually speak my mind. ’ She studied him again for a moment thoughtfully. ‘ You really are like my Robert was, ’ she said at last, ‘ and I ’ ve no doubt you ’ re just as big a rogue when it suits you. ’
    He laughed, not at all averse to the accusation, it seemed. ‘ No doubt, ’ he agreed, ‘ but you ’ re the subject of this interview, Mrs. Kincaid, not me. ’
    ‘ Don ’ t try and rush me, ’ old Emma warned, reluctant to l eave the subject of his similarity to her husband. ‘ I only wish someone in the family looked a bit like Robert, but they don ’ t. Only young Robert did, and he died too. ’ The statement was blunt and made her so und hard and unfeeling, but Louise knew this was not the case. It was simply that Emma Kincaid had been raised in a hard world and learned to call a spade a spade.
    She looked at him steadily for a moment, something deep and almost unbearably hurtful stirring inside her. ‘ Robert ’ s eyes were brown like yours, ’ she told him softly, ‘ and he had a smile like yours too; it ’ s very difficult to resist and you know it. ’
    ‘ Is it? ’ He laughed, a warm, deep sound that Louise found unexpectedly stirring, and the old lady smiled delightedly.
    ‘ Why, you even laugh the way he did, ’ she told him. ‘ My family are such a lot of sobersides, sometimes I despair of them. ’
    ‘ I ’ ve noticed they ’ re not a very hilarious family, ’ he agreed, and glanced at Louise. To see if she resented the criticism, she supposed, and looked determinedly blank-faced.
    ‘ Hmm. ’ She cocked her head to one side, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. ‘ You ’ re sharing a room with my great-grandson, aren ’ t you? ’ she asked, and he nodded. ‘ Do you get on together? ’
    ‘ So far we do, ’ he allowed cautiously, and smiled. The old lady chuckled to herself, her bright eyes wicked as she looked at him. ‘ It ’ s only been one night so far, ’ she reminded him, and looked out at the swirling snow. ‘ Stephen can be an infuriating blockhead when it suits him. ’
    ‘ Great-gran !’ Louise was on her feet, feeling bound to protest at the slight to Stephen although she had vowed to take no part in the conversation.
    The look the old