( Chapter Two: WHO EATS FRUIT WITH A KNIFE AND FORK? )
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OF ANYONE IN THE HOUSEHOLD, Harold Hamilton was the one who put Robin Winifred at ease. though she wasn't looking for a mentor in him, as he thought she was — she was looking at him for a father. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a flat cap to cover his balding head, tugging the lower hemline on Cyril's cream blazer to stop it riding up and showing his untucked shirt, as is son munched on a carrot on a stick (which was what the children were encouraged to eat, an alternative to ice cream and such). If Robin had known better, she would have said Mr Hamilton was inexperienced with children. He spoke to Cyril as if he were much older, unaware that his son had no concept or understanding of politics nor algebra.
Irene Hamilton was no better, though. Robin understood their need for a new nanny, after the previous one ran off to Scotland with her Czech lover. This was the reasoning as to why there was so much spite fuelled towards the two young girls of the household, from Irene. She was hellbent over the fact that one of them would run off with someone scandalous, jumping ship and setting rumours afire. Harold didn't so much mind the thought of falling in love. Of course, he hadn't found it himself, but the thought of having someone to care for his daughter was more than enough to allow her to court whomever she pleased.
And Millicent had seen in a magazine issue that a young adult ought to go through at least fifty partners before deciding whom they'd like to spend the rest of their life with. Courtesy of this, was a lot of sweethearts. An American seemed to be the current, and the one on the bottom of the list. Apparently, he hadn't been too worn down by the night before, with whatever they did at the lake after Cyril and Robin had left, because he was at Hamilton Manor the next morning, due to a weekend pass.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, reaching for Robin's shoulder as she strode across the grounds, pulling along a wagon. She turned as he extended out his arm, and dipped her shoulder to avoid it, halting abruptly. There was a beat of silence and his arm dropped to his side, "The name's Shifty Powers," he said, holding his hand out for a handshake that she didn't notice. Thinking that she had ignored it out of pride (of all things!), he squared out his shoulders and cleared his throat, asking evenly, "Is Milly about?"
"No. She has her bookkeeping class from eight 'til ten on a Saturday morning," Robin said assertively, "Have a good day, Mr Powers."
She pulled the wooden wagon along and away, tromping off in her white blouse and puffy old Land Girl slacks, horse riding chaps and hunting boots, which were caked in mud at the soles. It was where she'd been before moving to Aldborne the year prior, working as part of the Woman's Land Army up in Yorkshire, where she was sent to assist on sheep, cattle, dairy, orchard and poultry properties. As much of a naturalist as she was, Robin was more than happy to put her back into the work she was set. After all, the countryside was where she was meant to be.
