box for me, you can be sure I’ll cut off all avenues of retreat-’
‘But I can’t accept a generosity that I can’t match-’
‘Are you discriminating against me because I’m rich?’ Christien countered with mockery.
Tabby walked downstairs again. ‘If I accepted all this stuff…well, it would make me feel like I’m in your power-’
‘That works fine for me,’ Christien slotted in without shame.
‘Or like I owed you big time-’
‘I can’t say that that idea turns me off either. I know it’s not politically correct but, if your conscience is heavy, I could give you a suggestion or two on how best to lighten-’
‘Shut up!’ But Tabby was laughing until she went over to the kitchen window to check on Jake, only to discover he was nowhere within view. ‘Hold on a minute,’ she urged Christien then. ‘Look, I’ll call you back!’
After distractedly pressing the ‘hold’ button, then discarding the phone, Tabby headed into the front garden. Relieved that Jake had not strayed round there as she had feared, she took the time to study the car still sitting parked because she couldn’t help wondering what it was doing there. It was a Mercedes and a very expensive-looking model. She was heading for the side of the cottage where she assumed her son was playing when she saw Jake running out from behind the van. He was chasing his ball, which was bouncing down the sloping driveway towards the road.
‘No, Jake…stop!’ Tabby screamed at the top of her voice.
But her shout was drowned out as the engine of the Mercedes suddenly ignited and the vehicle moved off. Even knowing that she was too far away, Tabby made a frantic attempt to reach her son and prevent him from running out into the road in front of the car. But she was too late. With a protesting screech of tyres, the driver braked hard and swerved to avoid Jake and the Mercedes mounted the verge with a crashing jolt before coming to a juddering halt.
For a split second deafening silence held and then Jake broke it with a frightened howl. Tabby grabbed him up, sat him down on the driveway and told him firmly to stay there while she raced across the road to check on the driver. The car door fell open and a slender, middle-aged blonde lurched out, her white face a mask of shock.
‘Are you hurt?’ Tabby gasped and then, fumbling for the French words, used them as well.
The woman hovered at the side of the road and stared fixedly at Jake. Then she began to sob noisily. Curving a supportive arm round her and feeling quite sick herself at what had so nearly transpired, Tabby urged the woman indoors. She offered to call a doctor and when that suggestion was met with a dismayed frown asked if the lady would like to call anyone. That too was met with a silent negative and she was careful to apologise for having left Jake alone in the garden.
‘It was not your fault. Children will be children,’ the woman finally responded in English while she continued to study Jake as if not yet fully convinced that he was wholly unharmed. ‘We must thank le bon Dieu that he is safe. He is…your son? May I ask what he is called?’
‘I’m Jake. Jake…Christien…Burnside,’ Jake recited with care.
The lady was trembling. She twisted her head away and fumbled for another tissue from the box that Tabby had set beside her, her thin hands shredding at it as she choked back another sob.
‘You’re in shock and I’m not surprised after the fright my son must have given you,’ Tabby said worriedly. ‘Are you sure I can’t phone the doctor for you, madame?’
‘Perhaps…if I could have a glass of water?’ The woman snatched in a deep breath in a clear effort to calm herself.
‘Of course.’ Tabby returned with the glass and found Jake chattering about cars and holding the woman’s beringed hand. Tabby introduced herself.
A strange little silence fell
‘Ma-Manette,’ the older woman finally stammered, suddenly awkward again, her reddened eyes lowering. ‘Manette…eh, Bonnard. Your son is so sweet. He kissed me because he saw that I was sad.’
Tabby took the opportunity to explain to Jake why Madame Bonnard had been sad and why he must never, ever again run out into a road.
‘Please don’t scold Jake…I am sure he will be more careful in the future.’ Although Manette Bonnard was smiling and it seemed a very genuine smile, her eyes still glistened with unshed tears.
‘Do you have a little boy like me?’ Jake asked.
‘A big boy,’ their visitor answered.
‘Does he like cars?’
‘Very much.’
‘Is he taller than me?’ Perceptibly, Jake was stretching himself up, his innate competitive streak in the ascendant, dark brown eyes sparkling.
‘Yes. He is all grown up,’ Manette Bonnard said apologetically.