CHAPTER ONE

Until a minute ago, Martin had not been paying much attention to the row his parents were having downstairs, though he could tell their voices were getting louder as the argument progressed. Heated discussions between Mummy and Daddy were a common occurrence in the Ellingham household, and he was used to tuning them out. His mind was focused on the massive structure he had been building on the nursery floor with his wooden blocks. At five years old, Martin was already very good at working out how bits and pieces of things went together to make something new. He was a very clever boy; besides being able to write his full name and address, he could read many of the words in his father's newspaper. He was very interested in the long, nearly unpronounceable words in the medical journals and books in his father's study as well. His nanny, Ms. Brown, read aloud to Martin any time he wanted, even though she couldn't understand why he preferred articles in the London Times over the story books in which most children were interested. Truth be told, there were many things Ms. Brown couldn't understand about the boy, with his large, serious eyes always observing, taking in as much information as they could absorb.

They were walking closer to the front stairs now, and Martin could hear snippets of their conversation. When he heard his name mentioned, his ears (which were, regrettably, unusually large for such a small boy) perked up and he began to listen more intently. What were Mummy and Daddy on about? Mummy sounded especially upset. Martin felt an uncomfortable sensation in his tummy, almost like guilt, although he couldn't think of anything he had done recently that would make his mother go on so. Quietly, he got up from the nursery floor and crept to the hallway, staying out of sight. He knew he would be punished for eavesdropping if he was caught, but his curiosity was greater than his fear.

'No. This is absolutely inexcusable. I will not allow you to change our plans after I have been looking forward to this trip for months now!'

'Maggie, it is not my fault Ms. Brown tripped over her cat and broke her leg! I don't want to postpone the trip either, but I just don't see how to avoid it. Unless you are suggesting we bring him along with us?'

'I am suggesting nothing of the sort! Don't be ridiculous. Do you actually think I would have any sort of relaxation with him in tow? And might I remind you that the whole purpose of this vacation was for us to spend time together...alone, not with that child and his incessant questions to drive me to distraction!'

'Well what do you propose? We can't very well leave Martin here on his own to fend for himself at the age of five! We are meant to leave day after tomorrow, and that is entirely too little time to find a replacement nanny.'

'I don't care what your solution is, Christopher, but I strongly suggest you come up with something quickly. I fully intend to leave for Spain at the appointed time, whether you are with me or not!'

Martin listened as his mother's high heels furiously clicked on the wood floor away from the staircase and toward the back of the house. His father retreated a minute later, opening the front door and slamming it soundly behind him. Martin stood in the hallway a while longer, thinking about what he had just heard. Ms. Brown had broken her leg? That sort of thing took weeks to mend, and she would not be able to look after him while she was convalescing. He was a bit sorry; she was much more patient with him than Mummy when it came to answering his questions, or when he wanted to show someone the new words he had learned to write. She also never got cross with him when he wet the bed (which still happened quite frequently) and never told his mother or father when it occurred. She only said, 'accidents happen, nothing to worry about' and that it would be their little secret. He felt very relieved when she had said that, like a large rock had been lifted out of his tummy. The last time he had wet the bed and Mummy found out about it, she had called him a disgusting little boy and had made him sit in the dark, spidery cupboard under the stairs for what seemed to him a very long time.

He went back to the nursery and sat down on the floor again, though he didn't feel like building with blocks anymore. He thought about the rest of Mummy and Daddy's conversation, about the trip to Spain. If Ms. Brown couldn't look after him, did that mean Daddy was going to stay home? Surely he couldn't do that; if Daddy was home, that meant he was working long hours at the hospital, and there would still be no one at home with Martin until late at night. Would Mummy really leave without his father? He thought she probably would: she certainly sounded angry enough when she said that. What were they going to do about Martin? They weren't really going to leave him alone there, were they? At that thought, the boy felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes, but furiously wiped them before they could fall. No, he mustn't cry; crying was something only babies and sissies did, that's what Daddy had told him. Martin desperately wanted his father to think of him as grown-up and clever. He stuck out his chin defiantly, despite its tell tale quiver. 'That's all right, I'm a smart boy, I bet I can do just fine on my own,' he thought to himself. Now if only he could make himself believe it.

The phone had rung late that afternoon just as Joan Norton was returning from the back field, where her husband was finishing the plowing. He had wanted to have it finished before the sun went down as there was rain in the forecast for later that night. Joan had been taking him a thermos of hot coffee and a sandwich to tide him over until supper, and had one foot in the front door when the phone began to ring.

'Ah, Christopher. To what do I owe the pleasure?' she said when she heard who was on the line. 'Haven't heard from you in months. How is little Marty?'

'He is very well, but he is the reason I am calling; I seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a pickle. It seems Ms. Brown has broken her leg...'

Joan listened while her brother went over the circumstances. 'No nanny? And I suppose that wife of yours refuses to pass up the chance of a vacation? Right. I thought as much. How long are you going to be away? Four weeks? Well yes, I do understand it is your annual vacation, but we are coming into a very busy time here at the farm, with planting season and lambing underway...' Joan sighed, exasperated. 'But of course we would love to have Marty here with us. He is always welcome here, as I've said before. When were you planning on bringing him to Portwenn?'

'Oh, there isn't time for me to accompany him, we are set to leave in less than 48 hours. We'll be putting him on the train to Bodmin in the morning,' Christopher replied.

Joan's eyes widened. 'You are sending him on the train by himself?' she exclaimed, horrified. 'But he's only five years old!' The poor little thing! How could her brother, in good conscience, allow his small son to make a four hour train trip with no supervision? She felt her anger rising, as well as concern and pity for her nephew.

'Now, now, Joan, he will be perfectly fine. I will speak to the conductor and make sure he's looked after. Martin is prone to tears occasionally, but I will see to it that he is on his best behaviour and won't be a nuisance to the other passengers. He knows what is expected of him.'

The conversation ended after Christopher had given Joan the time of the train's arrival into Bodmin, thanking her for bailing them out at the last minute.

'He used those exact words, Phil: 'thank you for bailing us out of this predicament.' As if little Marty is a leaky faucet and not their own child. Oh, those two are infuriating!' Joan exclaimed vehemently over supper later that night. She had relayed the conversation to her husband and broke the news to him that there would be a little person under foot for a while. Phil took the whole thing in stride.

'Well, I for one am happy the lad will finally be coming to visit us. I daresay it will be a welcome change for him to be here surrounded by family who don't mind having him around. I'm sure the poor little fellow doesn't see much of his parents, what with Christopher working all the time and Margaret...' he paused.

Joan finished Phil's sentence for him. 'Margaret would be perfectly happy if Marty came to live here permanently, I have no doubt,' she spat. 'Horrible woman! I'm still quite surprised she humored Christopher and allowed him to impregnate her in the first place.'

'Well, he did buy her that villa in Portugal right after the lad was born...' Phil interjected , a hint of a smile on his face.

Joan laughed. 'For services rendered, I suppose!'

To be continued...