Barbara Taylor Bradford - Just Rewards

Before Gladys could respond, Atlanta looked across at her and announced, ‘Valetta’s made spaghetti, Gladys. It’s got tomatoes in it.’

‘I don’t think I can have lunch here, Atlanta, and—’

‘Oh please, please,’ Atlanta cut in, and looking at Dusty she went on, ‘Make Gladys stay, Daddy, please.’

Dusty grinned, gazing down at Atlanta, and said, ‘I’m having lunch with your friend India, and then this afternoon she’s going to take you out. So, why don’t you eat here in the kitchen, and Valetta will make some more of your favourite things, and then we’ll all go for a drive.’

Atlanta nodded. ‘Can I go and see Indi? I like her.’

‘She hasn’t arrived yet, but of course you can say hello to her … she’s bringing her grandmother to see me.’

‘Oh. Is she like my grandma?’ the child asked, staring up at her father.

Dusty bit back the laugh that rose in his throat, and said, ‘No. I think she’s quite different altogether. In fact, there’s a big difference. But her grandma’s as nice as yours.’

‘Oh goody.’ Atlanta ran to Gladys and took hold of her hand. ‘You’ll like Indi. She’s nice. She tells stories and reads to me.’

‘I know how much you like that. But I really think I have to go, lovey, I’ll meet your friend India another time.’

‘ Oh. Don’t go, Gladys,’ the child beseeched, clinging to her hand.

‘I have to visit your grandmother,’ Gladys explained, and then becoming aware of the sudden tears welling in Atlanta’s eyes, she said, ‘Well, all right, I’ll stay and have a snack with you.’ She managed a small chuckle, added with a twinkle, ‘I’m getting a bit peckish.’

‘Like the birds!’ Atlanta exclaimed, laughing. ‘That’s what you always say. Peckish like the birds.’

Dusty said, ‘Then it’s settled. Come on, Gladys, and you too, Atlanta. You can both sit here at the table, and Valetta will bring plates of her delicious spaghetti, and whatever else you want. All right, Valetta?’

‘That’s fine, Mr Rhodes,’ the cook said, laughter in her dark eyes. Waving her wooden spoon, she turned back to her pans, stirring the contents of one of them. ‘I’m almost ready to serve.’

As Dusty was leading his child and Gladys Roebotham to the table at the far end of the large, family-style kitchen he heard the sound of a car outside on the gravel driveway. Kissing the top of Atlanta’s dark head, he murmured, ‘Drink some of your water, darling, and I’ll be back in a minute.’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ she answered dutifully sitting in a chair. She picked up the small glass of water and took a swallow. ‘Sipping like the ducks,’ she said, smiling at Gladys.

Dusty strode across the main entrance foyer, heading for the front door, intent on greeting India and her grandmother on the steps. As he opened the door and went out onto the terrace he saw them coming slowly towards him.

He knew better than to go and escort them inside. The Dowager Countess of Dunvale was something of a tartar, with a very sharp tongue, and was quite determined to look after herself. She resisted any help from others, and he understood absolutely. She was extremely independent and self-reliant, and he admired her for her extraordinary stamina and fortitude. After all, she was ninety-five and anything but senile. Far be it from him to undermine her confidence in herself.

India waved to him and he waved back. He wondered how she would react to the news that Atlanta was here for a week at least. He would give her all of the details as soon as they were settled in the sitting room having their aperitif. Her grandmother liked a drink before lunch, and her insistence on ‘a drop of sherry’, as she put it, always tickled him. He would tell India about Molly Caldwell at once, so there was no misunderstanding. Months ago she had accused him of ‘lying by omission’, and he had no desire to have that accusation levelled at him again.

He knew that India liked the child as much as Atlanta liked her, and her presence would not present any problems, as far as he could see. Angelina, the housekeeper, and Valetta, the cook, would keep an eye on her whilst he was painting during the morning, and he would spend time in the afternoon with her. After all, India would be at the Leeds store during the week, and she still lived at Pennistone Royal, spending only the weekends with him here at Willows Hall. No, the child would not be intrusive on them or their relationship, he decided, and then it struck him that Gladys Roebotham could be very useful. It was obvious Atlanta was attached to her, and Gladys seemed to reciprocate the child’s feelings. Perhaps she would consider spending part of the coming week here looking after Atlanta.

‘Excuse me, Mr Rhodes,’ Paddy said from the entrance foyer.

Dusty swung around to face the house manager. ‘Yes, Paddy?’

‘I’ve put a decanter of Amontillado in the sitting room, and I was wondering if there is anything else you need?’

‘I don’t think so, thanks very much. Lunch in about half an hour. Oh, and Paddy, order a car for Mrs Roebotham, would you, please? It’s to take her back home, with a stop-off at Leeds Infirmary to see Mrs Caldwell. And please tell her I’ll be in to have a word with her in a few minutes.’

‘Right you are, sir,’ Paddy murmured and was gone on silent feet.

‘Good morning, Countess,’ Dusty said a moment later as India and her grandmother finally came to a standstill in front of him.

‘Good morning, Dusty, and countess is far too formal. I do keep telling you that. You must call me Edwina.’

‘You know I can’t,’ he replied, laughing. ‘That’s not respectful.’

She chuckled with him, and then suggested, ‘Why not call me Great-Aunt Edwina? Or Grandmother. But perhaps you have a grandmother of your own?’

‘No, she’s dead.’ Turning to India he smiled lovingly, and kissed her cheek. ‘Hello, darling,’ he whispered against her hair, before he ushered them both into the house.

Within several seconds he had Edwina settled comfortably in a chair near the fireplace, and India went and perched on the sofa, waiting for him as he poured Amontillado into glasses and brought the sherry to them.

‘Cheers, ladies,’ he said, lifting his glass, and sat down on the sofa next to India.

‘Cheers,’ India answered, as did her grandmother.

Staring hard at Dusty, India now said, ‘You’ve got a peculiar expression on your face. What’s the matter?’

How well she knew him, and in ways no one else ever had before.

His new tactic was to tell her everything up front, without preamble, and so he said, ‘It’s Mrs Caldwell. She had a heart attack late yesterday afternoon, and the woman who helps her brought Atlanta over here this morning.’

‘Oh, how dreadful!’ India exclaimed. ‘I mean about the heart attack. How is Mrs Caldwell today?’

‘Apparently it’s serious but not life-threatening. She’ll be in hospital for about a week, and from what Mrs Roebotham says, the prognosis is good. I’ll call the doctor later; in the meantime Atlanta’s here to say with me for a few days. Until her grandmother’s better, actually.’

India smiled at him. ‘Don’t look so concerned, Dusty, she’ll be fine with us, and I couldn’t be happier. It’s lovely to have her here for the weekend. We’ll have some fun together. Where is she now?’

‘Having lunch with Mrs Roebotham in the kitchen, but she’s really looking forward to seeing you later.’

‘So am I. And Grandma, you’ll get to meet Dusty’s little girl. She’s just adorable.’

Edwina simply nodded and took a sip of sherry. No doubt Atlanta was adorable, and certainly India was genuine in her affection for the child, but Edwina couldn’t help thinking that it was a good thing she was still only three years old. And still malleable. There was no doubt in Edwina’s mind that Dusty and India would end up raising his child. His former girlfriend was recovering from a serious drug-addiction and her mother obviously had a wonky heart. She might not live long; and who could answer for the daughter … addictions were hard to kick …