The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [80]
I announced that lunch was ready, and Mr. Sinclair clapped his hands. “Excellent. We’ll eat now. Then take a nap on the Stone Age beds. Coco, this is Gemma. The au pair.”
“How do you do?” I offered my hand.
“Hi.” She raised her hand, the nails a brilliant scarlet, in a little wave of dismissal. Meanwhile Nell had run over and was tugging at her uncle’s sleeve, asking if she could sit with him.
“Oh, please,” Coco murmured.
I couldn’t tell if Mr. Sinclair had heard, but he told Nell to sit with Vicky and me. Children and servants, I thought. “After lunch,” he added, “you can be our guide, tell us what you’ve learned about the village.”
While everyone else praised the food and ate heartily, Coco, I noticed, drank two glasses of wine but barely touched her plate. When the platter of cheese was passed around, she made an excuse about watching her weight.
“Let me do that,” said Mr. Sinclair, still holding out the platter. “Vicky made this one from our own milk, and the oatcakes are baked in Stromness.”
“Vicky,” she said, glancing in my direction and cutting the smallest possible wedge of cheese.
“The housekeeper,” he corrected. “I showed you the dairy with the churns.”
Coco tilted her head so that her fair hair slipped over her shoulder. “I had no idea you were such a farmer, Hugh. This is a whole new side of you, wandering around, studying the backsides of cows.”
“I’m not a farmer,” he said. “Not like my father; he was out in the fields rain or gale. He knew exactly how many head of cattle he had, how many bushels of oats. I remember he asked me once if I could point to one thing I had made in the last year. When I told him I’d helped to arrange a loan to Heathrow Airport, he laughed in my face.”
I was curious to know how Coco would respond to this speech, but before she could answer Jill called over, “Guess what Colin’s been telling me? His grandmother was a witch. She used to take part in ceremonies around the standing stones.”
“Not a witch,” protested Colin. “She had second sight. She foresaw her husband’s death, and she always knew when a storm was coming. The fishermen used to consult her.”
I had been too interested in the women to pay much attention to Colin. Now I understood that he was not just a London friend of Mr. Sinclair’s; he had grown up on the island. As for Jill, I’d discovered that she was training to be a vet. The day before, while I was feeding the calves, I had overheard her ask Seamus if she might accompany him on his rounds. “You couldn’t keep up with me,” he had said curtly. Undeterred, she had walked the fields with Colin, and later told Mr. Sinclair that the cattle were first rate, but the sheep might benefit from introducing some of the newer breeds, which produced more wool and had a lower mortality rate. All this was reported to me by Vicky. “Seamus will have kittens,” she had said, “if he hears a girl saying his precious sheep aren’t up to snuff.”
Nell had dutifully perched between Vicky and me to eat, but as soon as her quiche was gone, she threw her crusts onto the grass and began to flit around, trying her charms on the guests. She talked to Jill and Colin for a few minutes, then moved on to Dale and Rosie. The night before, Rosie had won the badminton tournament, and today she was dressed for a country picnic in a neat blouse, slacks, and walking shoes. She asked Nell which beach she liked best and what other islands she had visited. To my relief Nell answered politely. Then she asked if Rosie liked Petula Clark.
“I don’t really know her music,” Rosie said apologetically. “Is she one of your favourites?”
I had never thought to wonder at Nell’s choice of names for the calves, but now, as she listed several songs, I realised that even then she had been thinking of her mother. I pictured her at the top of St. Magnus, asking if she could see Glasgow. Perhaps when she was older we could go there for a visit. Vicky was gathering