Emma took her work gloves off and placed them in her lap, then turned to face Syd. “Do you think Nell is a truthful child?”
Syd’s eyes slid toward her. “Sure,” he said. “She’s a bright kid. She may embroider a little here, a little there, but she knows what’s make-believe and what’s not.”
“Then what would you say if I told you that Nell implied that Derek leaves her and Peter alone for extended periods of time with no one but a drunk to look after them?”
“I’d say you should be discussing this with Derek,” said Syd.
“How can I?”
Syd waved a hand in the air. “You go up to him, you say, ‘Derek, got a minute?’—”
“No, Syd, that’s not what I mean. I mean, in a larger, philosophical sense, what right do I have to interfere? Why should it matter to me what Derek does with his children? It’s none of my business.”
“Seems to me that, in a larger, philosophical sense, you’re already makin’ it your business. You get much sleep last night?”
“Not much.” Facing forward, Emma ran her hand along the smooth, silvery arm of the wooden bench. Half angry, half embarrassed, she said, “I called there this morning.”
“There where?”
Emma sighed. “I called the number on Derek’s business card. And a woman answered. She was friendly, in a vague sort of way, but it ... it did sound as if she’d been drinking. Oh, Syd, I could practically smell the liquor on her breath.” Emma drummed her fingers on the arm of the bench. “She introduced herself as Mrs. Higgins.”
“You don’t say.” Syd let out a low whistle, then laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “I’ll tell you one thing. If it is true, it ain’t Derek’s fault.”
“How could it not be?” Emma demanded.
“ ’Cause he loves those kids. He wouldn’t leave ’em hangin’ like that. Not on purpose.” Syd shrugged. “You ever think maybe he don’t know?”
Emma’s fingers stopped drumming.
“I mean, the love goes two ways,” Syd went on. “Those kids’d do just about anything for him, am I right? That Peter ...” Syd shook his head. “Never seen a kid wound so tight. Now, there’s one who don’t tell the truth.”
“What do you mean?”. Emma asked.
Syd gave her a pitying look. “I raised three sons, Emma. I got five grandsons. You think I don’t know when a little boy’s telling a fib?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Lies about funny stuff, too. Like, he was tellin’ me about a football match at his school, right? And maybe he thinks he can fool me on account of I’m a Yank. But I been in this country twenty years, Emma. I know from football, and not just that the Brits don’t call it soccer. And I’m tellin’ you, if that kid ever saw a football match in his life, I’ll eat that sweaty old hat. Why should he lie about something like that, huh? You tell me.”
Nell’s words seemed to ring in Emma’s ears. When Papa’s away, Peter has to do everything. Emma realized suddenly that, apart from that evening when they’d built their Rube Goldberg machine, she’d never seen Peter playing at anything. He was the first one in the garden every morning and he was usually the last to leave. Nanny Cole had scolded him for straightening up the nursery, and Bantry had sensed that something was amiss when he’d caught the boy tidying up the potting shed. Emma remembered Peter’s vaguely puzzled attitude toward cricket and, with a sinking heart, began to understand why the boy had elected not to attend Harrow. A boarding school would have taken him away from home, where he was needed.
“But that’s terrible,” she said. “Why can’t he just go to Derek and tell him the truth?”
Syd snorted. “You’re makin’ me lose patience with you, Emma. You think that kid don’t know his father’s heart is broke? You think he wants his pop to feel worse?”
Emma was appalled. “You think this has been going on since Derek lost his wife? But Peter was barely five years old and Nell was—”
“Nell was his baby sister, what needed looking after. I’ll tell you something, Emma, and it ain’t something I tell too many people. I lost my mother, God rest her soul, when I was eight years old. My sister, Betty, was only two. I know what this boy’s feeling. What I didn’t know was about the drunk. That changes things. You gotta tell Derek about the drunk.”
“Can’t you tell him?” Emma asked.
“You’re the one got the invitation.” When Emma looked at him blankly, Syd rolled his eyes. “Emma, what’s a person gotta do to get through to you? What do you think, Nell don’t know how to keep her mouth shut? You think she tells you about that hooch hound for nothing? You ever heard of a cry for help?” Syd pursed his lips, disgusted. “Oh, I forgot. It ain’t none of your business.”
Emma flinched.
“So, this is why you been so mad at the poor guy?” Syd asked.