Page 31 of The Rainbow Recipe
“Matilda is in Africa. I’m not sure it would even be safe for her to leave the hospital there. There’s a plague or something. She’d have to quarantine. Margaret practically raised me. I hate to have her go through this alone.” Emma crushed her napkin, then absent-mindedly spread jam on Nan’s toast.
“If it were my sister, or even one of my cousins, I’d be on the next plane.” Pris knew this was malicious meddling, but sometimes, a big stick wasn’t enough.
“You don’t have a sister, do you?” Dante finally abandoned his food to look up.
Pris almost heard him making a mental connection before he shut off. Interesting. He had emotional blocks? “Yourmotherhas a sister. That’s what matters now.” She waited expectantly.
“You need to go to Scotland?” he finally asked.
Pris could swear there was terror in his question. She glanced at the twins, but they were busy shoving jam up their noses. Surely he couldn’t be afraid of a pair of five-year-olds?
“Oh, I couldn’t leave you in the lurch like that,” Emma protested. “It’s hard enough to keep up with the twins with the use of both legs.”
“I’m supposed to be back in the classroom next week. How long would you need to stay?” To give him credit, once he tuned in, he was completely focused. Like most men, though, he was goal-oriented and oblivious to nuance.
“You’ve been pampered too long,Conte.” Pris dug into her omelet at the counter. She wasn’t sitting anywhere near the testosterone-addled professor, but she’d give him a good shove before Emma tore herself right down the middle. “Your mother has been holding up the fort all your life. You’re a grown man now. Suck it up.”
Emma clasped her hands and looked panic-stricken, glancing back and forth between her son and Pris. “Would it be too much to ask? If you’re staying a few weeks, I can be back quickly....”
Pris raised her eyebrows at Stupid Man. This wasn’t her problem. It was his. She could almost hear him swallowing, hard.
“You need to go and stay as long as you like,” he reassured her in a tone that almost flashed Big Fat Lie. “I can’t travel right now, so I’m here. I’ll find someone to help out.” Turning to Pris, he actually grimaced as he produced his next words. “If you’ll give me a hand until I can find a nanny?”
That had cost him. Good. She shrugged. “I offered earlier, in return for room and board. For a while. I do have to return to keep my business afloat.” If there was anything left of it after the cyanide rumors spread—just what she needed, real poisoning to escalate the gossip.
Emma anxiously studied her son. “You can’t be running after the children. You need to rest that leg so it will heal. I shouldn’t go. We can’t ask a guest—”
“I’ll tie the bambinos to chairs. Priscilla isn’t a guest. She’s almost family, right?” He shot her a loaded look daring her to contradict him. When she didn’t, he gallantly blazed on. “I’m sure we can entice a nanny or two to do the legwork if Priscilla will do the cooking. We’ll be fine. Go, pack. Hug the aunts for me.”
When he was good, he was very, very good. She couldn’t argue when he was saying what needed to be said.
Emma’s frantic mental waves quit beating against the doors of Pris’s mind. She almost visibly wilted in relief. “Thank you, thank you both. I’m so worried about Margaret, but the twins...” She kissed their curls and slid from the table. “They’re so precious. It will be lovely for them to have time with their daddy.”
Pris could almost read the evil gleam in their childish minds as they looked up to watch the only mother they’d ever known flee the table. Clueless daddies with crippled legs meant freedom.
“Do either of you know your letters?” she asked the instant Emma left the room.
Wide-eyed, they shook their heads.
“There ya go.” She sipped her coffee in satisfaction. “Daddy can start teaching you. Wash up when you’re done eating and go find your favorite books.”
They scrambled eagerly from their bench, stood on the stool she’d placed at the sink for their benefit, and scrubbed jam off their hands. In instants, they were gone.
“Theyareyour kids, aren’t they?” Pris asked, possibly spitefully, possibly out of curiosity at Dante’s stricken look.
“DNA tested.” In disgruntlement, he finished off his omelet. “I would have married her. Dumping them was beyond cruel on so many levels.”
“Vicious, actually. Or desperate. And you haven’t heard from her since?” Pris mentally composed an email to her ghost-busting Cousin Evie.
“Birthday and Christmas cards so impersonal they probably come from her secretary’s mailing list. She’s a wealthy woman now. She’s not desperate.” He drained his cup and looked for his crutch.
Pris refilled the cup because he’d never ask. He flashed her a look that might have been gratitude, although he wouldn’t express that either. She could almost appreciate his taciturnity. It wasn’t as if she communicated any better. Birds of a feather, flocked together...
Flocking wasn’t exactly on her mind while he sat there looking handsomely stricken.
“There are many kinds of desperation. Did you ever go to London and hunt her down?” Pris really wished she knew people in London. She’d love to knock on doors. But she had advantages that Dante didn’t—unless he really could read emotions on objects. Still, that wasn’t as helpful as reading what was in someone’s mind as they thought it.
Which she couldn’t do most of the time...She probably should have practiced more, but most people didn’t have thoughts worth the headache of listening.
