Coming Home

‘Here.’ I handed him the scissors. ‘I’ll bet you can remember how to do it.’

He picked a piece of paper from the pile he’d brought and folded it carefully, then set about cutting bits off it. I watched as he snipped away, his eyes moving every so often to his intently watching daughter. She looked so like him, with her golden hair and slightly pointed chin. I wondered if she was aware that she’d spoken in front of him. I also wondered when had been the last time he had played with her. Tara had intimated that Vincent was something of a workaholic and that she was Jadie’s main carer. Watching father and daughter with their heads bent together made a heart-warming picture.

‘What’s going on?’

We looked up to see Tara approaching with Jadie’s cardigan and slippers in her hand.

‘We’re making angels and snowflakes,’ Vincent answered—more calmly now, as if he were trying to pretend this was an everyday occurrence. ‘Watch this…’

He unfolded the paper to show a beautifully made snowflake with symmetrical points and delicate filigree arms.

‘Ooh!’ said Jadie. ‘Let me try.’

‘I’ll show you how.’ Vincent’s voice was once again heavy with emotion at hearing his daughter’s excited voice. Tara clapped her hand to her mouth and watched as he showed Jadie how to fold the paper, then handed her the scissors.

Jadie snipped happily away, seemingly unaware of the consternation she had caused. Now the floodgates were open, and although her voice was still weak and whispery, Jadie was evidently finding it easier to speak with her father and Tara present.

She unfolded her snowflake and Vincent reached out and clasped her to him. ‘It’s beautiful, princess. Just like you.’

Tara had fallen silent and was standing stock-still, looking from her employer to her charge and then back to me. I was about to smile when I realised that behind Tara’s aquamarine gaze was an emotion I couldn’t quite discern. Was it anger? Confusion? Or jealousy?

I shivered and looked quickly away. I was at this family’s mercy and it didn’t seem like a good time to start making enemies.

Tara drew in a deep breath and appeared to make an effort to pull herself together. She plastered a thin smile on her face. ‘Well, time for some breakfast, I think.’

Chapter Seven (#ulink_d7cd0ebd-8385-5047-8e33-b0c935e64e8b)

We were sitting at the kitchen table, finishing bowls of cereal washed down with strong sweet tea, when the front doorbell rang. Tara got to her feet, muttering about how it was a miracle that anyone could come calling in this much snow. As soon as she left the kitchen to answer it, Vincent turned to me. He seemed to be struggling for words and I waited, wondering what he was going to say.

‘This seems to be a day for miracles,’ he said quietly. I glanced at Jadie, who was sitting with her mug of milky tea, but she didn’t seem bothered by her father’s comment. ‘I don’t know what you did to get Jadie to speak but I want you to know…well, if there’s anything you want, anything I can do, just say the word. And you are welcome to stay here until you are completely recovered.’

‘Thank you.’ I managed a smile through the lump that had formed in my throat, ‘I don’t want to impose on your hospitality, but until the roads are open or my memory returns, I think you might very well be stuck with me. Even though neither of us knows what you should call me…’

‘Ah, I’ve just remembered another miracle.’ He tentatively returned the smile. ‘I left a message on Adam Jenkins’s answering machine last night—he’s the local farmer who owns the field you collapsed in—and he called back this morning to say he’s got the cat you were talking about. Apparently she’s alive and well.’

My heart leaped with the good news. With all my possessions and memories gone, it was good to think that just up the road was a creature that might actually belong to me. She was the only link to my past. ‘Thank you so much,’ I enthused. ‘It really means a lot to know she’s safe.’

‘Sorry to break up your little celebration.’ Tara was watching us stonily from the doorway. ‘Maria from next door wants to know if you are still going round to dinner this evening.’

She was directing the question at Vincent, but her eyes strayed to me as I sank back quickly in my seat at the table.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’ He seemed hesitant. ‘I never really wanted to go in the first place. Can’t you put her off?’

‘Now that is not a very neighbourly thing to say,’ a heavily accented female voice admonished from behind Tara’s shoulder.

Tara stood to one side, allowing a buxom dark-haired beauty into the kitchen. Maria pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her suede-booted legs with a flourish. ‘You must come, Vincenzo, you promised!’

‘I didn’t promise anything of the sort.’ Vincent looked decidedly awkward. ‘I said I’d think about it.’

Maria’s face fell and for a moment I thought she was actually going to burst into tears. ‘But I have already begun the preparations.’

I noticed Tara rolling her eyes heavenward behind her, her lips pursed with obvious disapproval at Maria’s attempt to persuade him.

Vincent looked down at the table, his pale skin colouring slightly. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘It is no trouble at all. And it would be good for both me and Michael to have some adult company for a change.’

‘Male company, you mean,’ Tara muttered under her breath.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Maria turned smouldering eyes on Tara.

Tara shrugged and Vincent shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the two women glared at one another. He looked across at me and his face brightened. My presence had given him the perfect excuse to refuse the invitation. ‘But I haven’t introduced you to our guest,’ he said. ‘This is a miracle worker who is staying with us at present. It would be very rude of me to go out while we have a visitor.’

Maria hesitated, giving me a curious glance up and down. Apparently satisfied that I was no competition for her, she held out a beautifully manicured hand. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’ She grimaced slightly as if the words were painful to her. ‘Of course the invitation includes you also.’

A look flickered across Vincent’s features that I couldn’t quite discern, but after a moment’s hesitation he nodded, turning to Tara, who was rather sulkily inspecting her own rather short nails. ‘You won’t mind babysitting for Jadie, will you, Tara? You’re pretty much stuck here anyway until the roads are cleared.’

‘I could cook for us here,’ Tara offered. ‘Then you wouldn’t need a babysitter.’

‘But then I would have to leave my own son all alone—and I have planned to make one of my speciality Sicilian dishes,’ Maria countered.

Vincent sighed and I could see he was finding the interaction between the two women tiresome. I found myself thinking once again that perhaps there was more to the relationship between Vincent and Tara than just the normal employer/employee one.

‘What do you think?’ He looked directly at me. ‘Fancy a night out eating home-made Sicilian food?’

All eyes were upon me.

‘Er…’ I spluttered awkwardly.

‘Say you’ll come.’

I stared questioningly at him and his handsome features broke out into a hopeful smile. ‘Maria’s cooking is not something to turn down lightly,’ he said.

I avoided Tara’s gaze. I had to admit I didn’t much want Vincent to go next door alone with the luscious and apparently single Maria any more than his housekeeper did, but I was even less enamoured of the prospect of spending the evening in Tara’s company. ‘I would be delighted,’ I said at last.

‘Excellent!’ Maria exclaimed, though she was looking at Vincent, not me. ‘I will expect you at eight thirty.’ She threw Tara a triumphant glance, pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

Tara sprang up, obviously relieved she was leaving. ‘I’ll show you out,’ she said shortly.

When the kitchen door had closed behind them, Vincent glanced at me apologetically. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue. I hope you don’t mind me dragging you over to Maria’s tonight. She waylaid me while I was out clearing snow yesterday and was most insistent that I join her.’ He gave me a rueful smile. ‘I know you’re not well with that head injury of yours, but you still need to eat, and she really does cook very well.’

My hand went to the plaster on my head; the cut didn’t hurt and I’d forgotten all about it. ‘It’ll be fun,’ I said graciously. I was still euphoric with the news that the cat I’d abandoned in the snow was alive and well. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

‘I hope you won’t think of the evening as a chore. You have already repaid any kindness by helping my daughter to find her voice.’

I looked at Jadie, who seemed busy cutting enough small bits of white paper from the pile her father had brought from his study to make her own indoor snowstorm. She was engrossed in her task.

As if she realised our eyes were upon her, she glanced up. ‘Why is Tara cross?’ she asked.