The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [75]
On Friday I bicycled to the village to see Nora. Her parents had gone to their weekly whist game, but Angus and Todd were both there, and so was Nora’s fiancé. Jock was describing how he’d shoed a pony belonging to the Gypsies. “It was a clever wee thing,” he said. “I asked how many shoes it wanted, and it tapped the ground four times.”
Nora was still exclaiming as Todd said, “Did you ask it any other questions? How much it weighed? How often it rained this week?” His checked shirt was torn at both elbows.
Quickly—Jock had turned away, pink and frowning—I described my encounter with the Gypsy boy. “Do you know if his mother ever showed up with the fish?” I asked Nora.
“I don’t,” she said. “But he’d have enjoyed a nice fresh Gypsy fish.” “He” nowadays was almost always Mr. Sinclair.
Then Angus, who seldom spoke, piped up that their father had been talking about the storm of ’52, the one that swept away the henhouses. “A fisherman got into trouble off the cliffs. The waves were tall as haystacks, but Mr. Sinclair and his brother rowed out, and helped him get safely into the cove.”
Todd groaned. “Every village on the island has a story like that. Either a mermaid or the feudal overlord saves someone from drowning. Do you know that three-quarters of this country’s wealth is owned by less than ten percent of the population?”
“Mr. Sinclair isn’t our feudal overlord,” said Nora, swatting at her brother. “He’s our boss, and we’re always paid on time.”
Before Todd could say more, she proposed a game of Scrabble, and the next thing I knew, he and I were partners, squabbling over our seven letters on their little shelf. At one point when we had an x he made sex; I changed it to axe, which got us a higher score. He made later on the shelf, and looked at me. The board changed, and it was rattle that fitted. Then we had a y and I unthinkingly made yes.
“Good one,” he said, patting my arm.
We lost by twenty-three points and I said I’d better be going. “School tomorrow.”
Outside I retrieved my bike from beside the garden gate. I was pedalling past the post office when Todd stepped into the road. The next thing I knew, my bike was on the ground and his face was buried in my neck. Axe, I thought.
“Come,” he said, tugging at my wrist.
“No. I have to go home.”
“Please. You’re so pretty. Just for ten minutes.” He found my mouth with his.
Was it the kiss, or the unexpected idea that I was pretty? “We have to move my bike,” I said.
He was bending to retrieve it when we both heard the sound of an approaching engine. Headlights swept around the corner. A familiar car came to a stop a few yards away, and a familiar figure climbed out.
“What happened? Did you have an accident, Gemma?” Then he caught sight of Todd. “Or perhaps you’re about to have one?”
“I hit a pothole,” I said. “Todd was helping me straighten my front wheel. This is Todd McKay, Nora and Angus’s brother. Todd, this is Mr. Sinclair.”
“And is it straight now?”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll be home shortly.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want Nell’s lessons to suffer in the morning.”
I was about to pedal off when, beside me, Todd spoke. “This isn’t the nineteenth century,” he said. “You employ Gemma; you don’t own her. She can do whatever she likes in her time off.”
“Todd,” I protested. At the same moment Mr. Sinclair said, “Sir Launcelot speaks. Or should I say Mr. Marx? Thank you, Todd, for enlightening me as to which century we’re in. It never occurred to me that I own Gemma, but I am responsible for my niece’s welfare. I want to be sure that the person supervising her education is a good influence, and is keeping company with people of high moral character. Might I suggest that you kindly bugger off?”
“He was just helping me,” I said. All desire to go with Todd had left me; still I could not hear him unfairly scolded. Without waiting for either my suitor or my employer to respond, I seized my bike, swung my leg over the saddle, and pedalled away. As soon as I was outside the village I stopped at a gateway into a field and crouched