Fantails by Leonora Starr

of kindly wisdom, to watch over the pair of them unobtrusively. That done, he would thank Lucia for her help and send her back by car to Earl’s Court, where she had a tiny flat. He had a shrewd suspicion that she hoped to take root permanently in his household, but it would never do to let her have the chance of winding those taut, clinging tentacles of her devotion stiflingly about John’s budding personality. He’d let her down as gently as he could by telling her they counted on a visit from her next summer. He wasn’t going to sacrifice John for all the emotionally unsatisfied women in the world.
    “Eat up, now, darling!” Lucia said again. This time John pushed his plate away. “I aren’t going to eat up. There isn’t any room for more.”
    “Well, just this once, perhaps!” Over the small fair head Lucia looked at Hugh and made a series of meaning grimaces. “To-day is rather different, I think, don’t you, Daddy?”
    Hugh winced. He couldn’t bear the way she had of addressing him as “Daddy” when John was there. “Leave it, John, if you can’t get down any more of it.”
    “There! Daddy’s let you off! And now we’ll go and have a nice rest in our new beddy-ba, and when it’s time to get up we’ll go for a nice walk with Auntie Lucia and explore this lovely place we’ve come to live in. And if we’re very good I shouldn’t wonder if there might be a surprise for tea! I smelt a smell of baking in the kitchen before lunch!”
    John’s small face expressed no pleasure at the delights in store for him. “Bill Chauncey didn’t have to rest,” he said.
    “Bill was a little boy we met at Southwold,” Lucia told Hugh, “staying with his parents at the Swan. Nice people, very friendly but not quite, you know.”
    “Not quite what?” John asked.
    “Not quite sensible about bringing up Bill. It’s good for little boys to rest. You will excuse us, won’t you, Daddy? Someone I know is half asleep already, tired out with all the excitement of coming here.”
    “Of course. I’ve finished, in any case.” Left alone, Hugh lit a cigarette, then strolled to the french window and stood looking out into the garden. He was above the average height, broad shouldered, of athletic build. He had dark hair, peppered with silver at the temples; it grew back with a slight ripple from a square forehead. His features were clear-cut, his mouth was strong and sensitive; his deep-set hazel eyes, betraying nothing of himself, were penetrating in their scrutiny of others. His deep, deliberate voice, that could be harsh and brusque when he was dealing with some silly woman’s fancied ailment, could also be both gentle and reassuring when real suffering was involved.
    Hearing Lucia warning John: “Careful, darling! Mustn’t fall and bump your knees!” as they went upstairs, Hugh frowned impatiently. Wrapping a child, even a delicate child, in cotton wool could do more harm than good. In a day or two, perhaps to-morrow, he must have a word with Lucia. John must have the chance of playing by himself, too. In London that had been impossible. You couldn’t turn out a child of five to play alone in the park, and naturally Miss Heald had been with him when he was playing in the nursery. That was one of the chief reasons why Hugh had come here. It would do John good to potter about in the garden on his own, free from the cramping consciousness of watching eyes, learning, as London children never could, the pleasures of clean country dirt, of climbing trees, dabbling in water, lurking in the bushes stalking lions and Red Indians in the unconscious persons of the gardener and the tradesmen’s boys. Yes, he would speak to Lucia this evening. Might get John a sand-pit...
    He heard the front door open and close and footsteps in the hall. Miss Liskard, his secretary, had returned from lunch. He had arranged for her to live out, in rooms the Sinclairs recommended, though there was room enough in Swan House for her. Better