CLONER : a Sci-Fi Novel about Human Cloning (A Captivating Story about Reproduction Outside the Womb and Identical Humans) (14 page)

‘Bit on the clumsy side,’ Lisa said dully, tired but content. Geraldine was an awkward girl: two broken cups, a baby bottle cracked on the kitchen tiles and coffee spilt on the living room carpet was the score to date. Worse, she’d only just been prevented from wedging Seb’s fingers in the nursery door. In spite of these misadventures Lisa felt she could not do without her. Whatever her shortcomings, she would serve to keep others away.

‘She’ll get into the swing of it after a while,’ Alex bantered easily. ‘Her people seem awfully nice; offered me a drink.’ He smiled at his wife encouragingly. ‘I thought she sounded quite promising. Bubbly; full of fun.’

‘She wants to bring her dog.’

‘A dog? She’s got a dog?’

‘A terrier,’ Lisa said indifferently. ‘A bull terrier, she told me. Apparently her mother’s people breed them.’

‘Good little dogs.’

‘I don’t know that I can cope with a dog as well.’

‘Just make her keep it outside, Lisa. You’ve got to have some help; I checked again. The agency can’t find anyone who’d consider working in such a rural area.’

Misgivings pushed aside Lisa allowed Geraldine to bring her dog, Duffers. Seb seemed to enjoy playing with him and this, in turn, persuaded Geraldine to pay at least some attention to the little boy.

‘He needs his boots on when it’s wet,’ Lisa sighed, seeing Seb’s ruined shoes and wet socks.

‘Sorry, old thing.’ The girl laughed cheerfully at the child. ‘Let’s see what we can do to get them on.’

‘For goodness sake, Gerry! Change his socks first!’

‘What a muggins!’ the girl said, amiably enough, crashing upstairs in muddy shoes which left a brown-stained trail to Seb’s bedroom.

There could be no complaints on the grounds of cheerfulness, Lisa was aware. She decided to concentrate on training the girl in the easy task of looking after Seb.

CHAPTER 13

‘See who it is, will you, Gerry?’

Lisa, immersed in giving the triplets their two o’clock bottles, resented any disturbance. She still considered it unsafe to leave Geraldine alone to cope with the feeds. But the girl’s week-day presence did give Lisa a chance to do some painting in the afternoons, while the triplets were napping.

‘Someone who says his name is Trevor Sayles,’ Geraldine shouted up the stairs. ‘Maintains he’s a friend of yours.’

Trevor? Trevor was on her doorstep? Though Lisa was fond of her agent she felt edgy about a visit now, at this very moment. If he caught sight of her in her present state he could only be embarrassed. She removed the bottle from the suckling Jeffrey and heaved herself and the infant up from the rocker to walk out into the corridor.

‘Do ask him in, Gerry,’ she raised her voice from outside the open nursery door.

‘What?’ Geraldine shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

The girl really had the most atrocious manners. Lisa hoisted Jeffrey on to her shoulder, appalled at the grubby condition of her clothes and her untidy hair, but decided to advance towards the head of the staircase. Geraldine was standing next to Trevor, smirking at him.

‘Run back to check on Jansy, there’s a dear,’ Lisa called to her, an urgent tone in her voice. ‘He’s still finishing his bottle.’ Geraldine swung herself reluctantly up the stairs and pushed past Lisa.

‘Trevor!’ Lisa tried to sound enthusiastic, welcoming. ‘What a surprise.’ She concealed her body by allowing Jeffrey to slide down into obscuring arms. ‘Do go on through to the living room and fix yourself a drink. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

Trevor, his foot on the first step, stopped short as he noticed her backing off. ‘Sorry, Lisa.’ He smiled discomfiture as he retreated. ‘I really should have given you a bell before dropping in. Just happened to find myself in Bath, you know. Thought I’d take my chances, say hello to the new arrivals.’

His voice tailed off. He’d evidently taken one look at her dishevelled appearance, heard the sounds of wailing in the background, and regretted coming near her. Had he come to say he could no longer sell her paintings? That she was simply wasting her time? And his, of course.

‘’Lo uncle Tweff.’ Seb, grasping his helicopter book, had no inhibitions about going down to Trevor.

‘Hello, young man. Doing a good job keeping your brothers in order?’

‘Lots bwuthers,’ Seb agreed solemnly.

‘Thought you could use some help,’ Trevor bent down to the little boy. ‘Another member of the family.’ He flourished an enormous teddy from behind his back.

Seb’s eyes grew round. ‘More bwuther?’ He turned to Lisa hovering near the balusters. ‘More yame.’

‘You’ll have to think of another name beginning with J,’ Lisa directed Trevor. ‘I’ll expect you to have sorted that out by the time I come down.’

She laughed as she turned rapidly back to the nursery. Trevor had called for a social visit. She was beginning to see bogeys where there were none. In her eagerness not to keep Trevor waiting she decided to delegate more than she usually did to Geraldine.

‘Want me to take over?’ Geraldine suggested as soon as Lisa walked in, holding her arms out for Jeffrey. ‘Jiminy’s asleep already. I can manage perfectly well.’

The girl seemed keen to help, to take responsibility. Had she misjudged her, not given her a proper chance? In her eagerness not to keep Trevor waiting she decided to risk leaving the girl with the infants.

‘Remember to help him bring up wind his wind,’ Lisa instructed her. ‘Don’t put him down until he’s produced at least one good burp.’

‘He’s done his bit, I think,’ Geraldine said, grinning, as Jeffrey broke wind explosively. ‘Haven’t you, Jeffers?’

‘Then I’ll leave you to finish Janus,’ Lisa announced, lifting the liveliest of the triplets out of his cot. He’d emptied a whole bottle. Susan Andrews had been absolutely right about changing to the soya formula. The child was back on form, thriving and lusty. ‘He’s had one bottle, but he’s demanding more.’

‘Old gobble guts.’ Geraldine deposited Jeffrey in his cot and expertly took Janus over. As Lisa left she saw the girl settle herself back in the rocker. ‘He wolfs the stuff down as though he needed to eat for two. If he isn’t careful he’s going to get quite tubby.’

Janus was changed and fully dressed. Lisa checked his bracelet again, tugged at it to prove it was secure. What could possibly go wrong? ‘I’ll leave you to it, then, Geraldine. Just make sure he goes straight down when he’s finished, otherwise he’ll get bad-tempered.’

Lisa began stripping off her clothes on the way to her bedroom. The nursing apron, the old skirt with its residue of milk, the pushdown socks, the moccasins. She opened her wardrobe door and contemplated her pre-triplet clothes for the first time since she’d given birth. A rush of excitement, of possible escape from infants for just a short time, took her by surprise. The gay red floral print in a cool cotton, with a wide skirt and billowing sleeves, appealed to her. Even if her figure wasn’t quite back to normal this dress would fit.

Now in her underwear, Lisa pulled off her bra and pants. She felt like looking good. Her pink lace bustier and thong briefs, she thought, topped by her smooth, silk slip. No tights, just her white sandals with the medium heels.

Naked now, Lisa tossed her hair over her face and brushed it briskly, then tossed it back again. She was beginning to feel more like a normal woman. She rolled deodorant under her arms, stepped into her underwear, slipped on the dress and sandals, and put on a glowing red lipstick. Was she keeping Trevor too long? Her reflection smiled back at her: not bad. She could use some green eye shadow. She examined herself again and saw with satisfaction that the triplets hadn’t deprived her of her looks.

‘Lisa, darling.’ Trevor jumped up as soon as she came in, removing Seb and the new teddy from his lap. He stretched both arms out to embrace her. ‘You look marvellous. Motherhood must be a beauty treatment.’

‘Finally made it, Trev. Sorry to keep you.’ Lisa displayed white even teeth at him, remembering too late that she’d forgotten to spray on toilet water. ‘I hope Seb’s been looking after you. What brought you to Bath?’

‘There’s quite a good little gallery in Queen Square,’ he explained, watching her carefully. ‘I thought they might well be interested in a West Country artist.’ He grinned at that. ‘If you can stand the label.’

‘I suppose that’s what I am. Well, in a sort of way.’

‘The moorland landscapes go down well, even in London. I don’t doubt they’ll be a runaway success in Bath. There’s always a steady market for local scenes.’ He was nodding at her latest rendering of Glastonbury Tor, displayed in pride of place over the mantelpiece.

‘You think I’ve gone soft, don’t you?’ Confronted with her agent Lisa looked at her work in a more demanding way. The representational rendering of wind-bent willows fringing pastures replete with Friesians, with the ubiquitous Tor raising its breast-like shape behind them - these were the scenes tourists delighted in.

‘Darling. Of course I don’t.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and sauntered her to one of her sofas. ‘It’s only natural that your work should take on a slightly more traditional look.’ He settled himself next to her and took her hand. ‘What the punters really go for is the exquisite detail. It is quite breathtaking, you know.’

‘Too photographic,’ Lisa said, annoyed with herself.

‘Your style will change again, my dear. Please don’t push at this stage. Anyway, you’re selling well,’ he added hurriedly. ‘So why knock it?’ he pattered on, obviously aware of her feelings and intent on bolstering her. ‘D’you keep any liquid other than milk?’

‘Didn’t you help yourself? I think Alec’s got a decent selection.’

‘Not that awful sour cider you’re so ridiculously proud of,’ Trevor went on, a slight furrow deepening his forehead. ‘The place seems to be overflowing with the local brew.’

‘I know you aren’t a scrumpy fan,’ Lisa laughed at him. ‘Even Frank’s. I was going to offer you an Islay malt. Weren’t you treated to a snifter last time?’ She pushed several bottles aside and pulled out the whisky. ‘It’s Alec’s latest find. Acquired taste, of course, and it’s expensive. At least I’ve warned you.’

‘Another yokel product?’

‘I believe the Scots pride themselves on their island malts - huge exports to Japan.’

‘Hardly a recommendation,’ Trevor said. ‘But I’ll give it a go. Can’t be as bad as Farmer Frank’s.’

‘Keep your voice down, Trev.’ Lisa sounded conspiratorial, even to herself. She saw him register surprise. ‘Flaxton
is
Alec’s most important client at the moment, and Frank Graftley is Flaxton’s blue-eyed boy - and a good friend.’

‘Is the place bugged?’ Trevor whispered, grinning at her. ‘I thought the triplets were only four weeks old.’

Lisa giggled delightedly. ‘You are good for me, Trev. Thanks for coming down.’ She lowered her voice, glancing at the living room door. ‘Just Geraldine’s on the prowl, and she’s related to the Flaxton bigwigs. She’ll have finished the triplets off by now.’

‘One has to hope not literally, I suppose,’ he grinned. ‘I thought you said she wallowed in magazines whenever there’s a pause in the milk-tippling.’

‘Murder most foul. But only when nothing else is going on. Bit of a nosy parker, actually. Loves to snoop around. Fancies herself as a feisty female sleuth.’ She poured some whisky into a tumbler. ‘Ice? Or will Malvern do?’

‘Malvern is fine.’

‘Something for her to do when the children are napping. Anyway,’ Lisa mouthed at him, ‘there’s a new man about. She’s hardly to know she doesn’t stand a chance against Leo.’

The loud banging of the side-door knocker made them both jump.

‘Be anybody home?’ The noise of the old door opening, and the soft Somerset tones, alerted Lisa to Meg’s arrival.

Seb had already rushed to greet the farmer’s wife with excited shouts of ‘I got more bwuther, Auntie Meg. Yasper.’

‘The trusty Meg?’ Trevor asked softly.

Lisa frowned. Her afternoons were sacrosanct. Was there something wrong, or was Meg deliberately ignoring her signals not to interrupt the painting sessions?

‘
Another
brother?’

From the sound of the yelp Lisa realised, dismayed, that Meg hadn’t put such a possibility entirely out of court.

‘Well, me ducks, him be a big one right enough.’ The drop to a normal tone was clear. ‘That be the new teddy, then.’ Meg walked cautiously through. ‘Lisa? Hello. Us didn’t mean to - oh, yer got company. Us be that sorry. Jest passing and thought as yer’d be pleased ter know – ’

‘This is Trevor Sayles, Meg; the clever lad who sells my paintings. Apparently he’s discovered a new outlet in Bath, so he’s come down to see whether I’ve done some work or not.’

‘Dearie me, yer be talking business. Didn’t mean to butt in none. Give yer a ring later on,’ Meg said, retreating rapidly.

Lisa hesitated. Meg would consider it a social slight if she allowed her to go. There’d been a distinct cooling off since Lisa had felt obliged to change from the goat’s milk. If she didn’t invite her now Meg would take it as proof that Lisa preferred her one-time London friends to the new ones in Somerset.

‘Do stay,’ she invited Meg, using a detached tone to convey that she should not stay long. ‘We were just going to have some tea. Why don’t you join us?’

Meg looked uncertainly at Lisa, then turned to Seb. ‘That teddy be almost big as yer. Special present, that it?’

‘Uncle Tweff’s pwesent.’

‘Yer be a lucky boy then.’ Meg turned, awkward and bemused, to look at Trevor. He was standing, politely waiting for her to sit down.

‘Us’d love a cup of tea,’ she said at last. She sat back heavily, pulling Seb next to herself on to the sofa opposite Trevor.

Trevor, seated again, turned attentively to Meg. ‘I’ve heard so much about your farm, Mrs Graftley.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘I gather you have a wonderful herd of pure Jersey cows. Quite unusual for this area, I’m told.’

‘Us do run a few on they, though us do stick to Friesians, mostly.’

‘And Rhode Island Red chickens - I understand those have nearly died out.’

Meg was beginning to thaw out. ‘Us go in fer a few laying hens, just enough eggs for we and a few friends.’

Lisa leaned through the kitchen hatch and placed the tea-tray on it. ‘Everything all right, Meg?’

There hadn’t been any further references to multiple calving, or oblique intimations about odd happenings in the farm animal world, for a couple of weeks now.

‘They chickens be double-yolking quite a bit,’ Meg admitted, Lisa thought, somewhat reluctantly.

‘Is that bad?’ Lisa could see Trevor struggling to find the right words. ‘I rather like double-yolk eggs, myself.’

‘Bad for they hens,’ Meg said, sombre now. ‘Bit of a strain on they.’

‘Stupid of me. I hadn’t really thought of that.’ Trevor, urbane, was still bent on relaxing her. ‘Lisa tells me you make the most fabulous clotted cream.’

There was a hint of a smile.

‘And you even make your own cheeses. I do admire that.’

‘Just be the way us lives,’ Meg said, matter of fact, but Lisa could see her beginning to feel at ease with Trevor. His charm was evidently working. ‘Always did wonder how folk goes about selling pictures,’ Meg went on, rushing her words. ‘Baint the same as selling cattle. Where d’ye find they customers?’

‘It’s a question of choosing the gallery which has the right clientèle.’

‘Well, now. How can yer tell?’

‘Nothing fancy, I’m afraid. I just look at what they’re selling at the moment, and work it out from that.’

‘Us thought paintings come in all sorts.’

‘You’re quite right, of course,’ Trevor smiled expansively. ‘Some galleries go in for abstract work, others like the more representational. Whatever they prefer, one has to have the right appeal. It’s exactly what I’ve been telling Lisa. Her recent landscapes are so brilliantly evocative of this area; they’re bound to be in demand locally. A splendid new market for her work.’