The girl left the room and after a while I heard pots banging in the kitchen and cupboard doors clicking open and slamming shut. After about half an hour Tricia stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
"I'se hungry." she announced and slid off the sofa. She walked half-way to the door and then stopped, turned around and came back.
"Rupert hungry."
She picked the teddy bear up, tucked it under her arm and turned to go, then stopped and thought for a moment.
"You come too, daddy."
She seized my hand and tugged.
"Ok." I laughed. I stood up and allowed her to lead me out to the kitchen where Linda, an apron covering her dress, was busy peeling potatoes. Linda looked up as we entered.
"Madam here is hungry." I said.
"I'se hungry," the tot confirmed.
Linda bestowed smiles on both of us.
"Get Pau. . . get daddy to put you up in your chair."
Once more I opened my mouth, to indignantly deny that I was anybody's daddy, but Linda caught my eye, held her finger to her mouth and signalled for silence. On second thoughts I appreciated that whatever we had to say was best not said in front of the tot. I allowed myself to be led over to the corner where a plain wooden high chair stood, bib and bowl ready on the tray.
I lifted Tricia into the chair, put the plastic bib round her neck and grinned when she grabbed it with chubby hands and moved it from side to side, adjusting it for comfort. While that was going on I heard the hum of a microwave and then Linda put a bowlful of pink mush streaked with red on the tray and Tricia picked up her spoon.
"Let's say 'Dear Jesus'." I ordered.
The tot looked at me in surprise but made no objection as I held her hands together, bowed my head, closed my eyes and repeated, "Dear Jesus, thank You for this food. Amen." As I opened my eyes again I caught Linda staring at me open-mouthed but she hastily looked away and started stirring something on the stove.
On the whole Tricia made a creditable job of feeding herself. Only about one spoonful in four missed her busy little mouth and the deep pouch in the plastic bib caught most of that. Of course she tended to use her left hand to assist the spoon in carrying the food to her mouth and naturally cleaned the fingers of that hand by rubbing them on her head, but I dare say she was no worse than I was at that age.
When she had finished I helped her clean out the dish and then cleaned her up with the wet cloth Linda passed to me. When I lifted her down from the chair she ran to mummy for a kiss and then Linda turned to me.
"Thanks, Paul. That was a great help. Do you think you could keep her occupied until dinner is ready? It won't be too long."
"Sure." I said. "I suppose she has toys and things in her room."
"That's right. Tricia, take daddy up to your room and show him your toys."
The tot looked a little puzzled but when Linda repeated the request she took my hand again and I followed her out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into a large, airy bedroom. On the way I couldn't resist a peep into the other bedrooms. One was obviously the master bedroom, a double bed covered with a white duvet stood in the centre of one wall and a neat dressing table occupied the corner near the window. The other bedroom housed a desk on which stood a computer.
Tricia opened a cupboard and pulled out a large cardboard box from which she proceeded to extract an assortment of wooden blocks, dolls, toy animals and an assortment of lid-less felt-tip pens. After a couple of false starts we ended up using the blocks to build a house for the dolls, a rudimentary affair rich in primitive furniture but rather lacking in walls or roof.
At one point, almost lost in the tot's prattling, I heard the door behind me open and then a moment later close quietly. I didn't blame Linda. If I had been in her place I would not have trusted a strange man alone with my child, not these days.
It was at least an hour later when Linda came back up and announced that dinner would not be long now, but there was just time to bath Tricia and put her to bed. I retreated downstairs, where I listened to the sound of a tub filling followed by a lot of splashing and happy gurgling. Much later the lounge room door opened and Linda led the tot in, dressed in her nightie.
"Say goodnight to daddy."
Tricia waved her hand and said, "Night night."
I held out my arms to her and she let go of her mother's hand and came running. I swung her up onto my lap and kissed her.
"How about a bedtime story?"
She didn't say anything, just sort of wriggled into a comfortable position which I took to signify assent and so I started to tell her, as simply as I could, the Biblical story of David. I dramatised, with a good deal of imagination and lots of sound effects, the bit about David dealing with the lion and the bear who attempted to raid his flock. I was pleased that Tricia seemed to listen with a good deal of attention and enjoyment, but what surprised me was that Linda also stayed and before long was perched on the arm of the sofa, listening eagerly.
I ended the story by saying "And tomorrow night I'll tell you how David killed a giant. Now, let's talk to Jesus."
I knelt on the floor and then helped Tricia kneel down and fold her hands. I prayed a very simple prayer that God would help Tricia sleep well and watch over her. I was pleased to hear Linda say "Amen" at the end and glanced up in time to see her raise her head and open her eyes. I kissed Tricia goodnight and Linda took her upstairs before coming down and announcing dinner.
The evening meal was a very romantic, candle-lit affair: three courses on what was obviously the best china and silverware. While she was upstairs putting Tricia to bed Linda had changed out of her black dress into something long and slinky and she sat opposite me, nibbling at her food, her eyes watching me anxiously, ready to respond to my every need. All very flattering, but a little worrying: it wasn't hard to guess where this was all going to lead.
Sure enough, as soon as the meal was over Linda dismissed my offer to wash up and led me back into the lounge room, then vanished, saying that she was just going to change into something more comfortable - a corny old line if ever there was one. A very short time later, preceded by a wave of perfume, she came back wearing a blue baby doll nightie that showed off her long, slender legs.
She paused dramatically in the doorway and then, when she was sure I was watching, she very deliberately walked slowly towards me, swaying her hips, and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, drew her legs up and clasped her arms around her knees, pushing her toes in under my thighs.
"Now," she said, a teasing smile on her face, "let's talk."
You won't be surprised to learn that I suddenly found that I had nothing to say. After a long moment, during which I stared wordlessly, my face probably a deep red, Linda took the initiative again.
"You're not my Paul, are you."
It was a statement, rather than a question. I shook my head.
She gave a little forced laugh.
"No. I'm not that silly as to think that someone could come back from the dead; and yet you look just like him and sound just like him. You even act just like him in many ways."
"But I'm not him."
"No. I know that. Paul never really spent time with Tricia, even though he loved her, and he certainly never said prayers - with her or anybody else."
"I hope you didn't mind." I said.
"No. I thought it was rather sweet. Somehow saying prayers at bed-time was always something I imagined would happen and I felt - I don't know - a little disappointed when Paul - the other Paul - wasn't interested."
I still couldn't think of anything to say and it was left to Linda to start another conversational gambit.
"Do you like me?"
"I - er - I don't know, really. I mean, you seem nice enough, and Tricia is a cute little pet, and your cooking is superb and" - I felt myself blush even deeper - "you are really very beautiful, but I don't really know you at all."
I paused for a moment, conscious of Linda's intense stare.
"To be fair, you don't know me either. We don't know how we'd get on together, whether we like the same things or not. I mean, we might fight like Kilkenny cats once the novelty wears off."
Linda's toes wriggled under my leg. She leaned forward and pressed her head against my arm.
"Everything in this house is yours, Paul, if you will stay."
"You mean, I can have the television and the video?" I teased.
"No. Well, yes, but that wasn't what I meant."
"I know what you mean."
I looked away, considering.
"You're not - you're not married, are you?"
I shook my head. "No. My wife died. Cancer. The problem is, what if we don't get on together? What then?"
"I'm prepared to take that risk."
I looked back at her and smiled, acknowledging her kindness.
"I'm afraid that I'm not - it's got nothing to do with you personally; it's a moral thing."
"I see."
Her tone conveyed nothing.
"Listen, if you agree, how would it be if I stayed here for a week or two or even a month, see how we get on together and then make a decision about getting married. How does that sound?"
"Better than an outright refusal, I suppose." Her toes wriggled again. "But look, you do realise that we can't get married, even after a couple of weeks."
"Why not?"
"Because you are Paul - my Paul. I can't marry you twice. It would be - I don't know - bigamy or something."
"You're crazy!" I gasped as I understood her meaning. "You'd never get away with it. What about my - I mean Paul's - job? What about Paul's family?"
"Do you know anything about computers?"
"A bit." I admitted. "Well, to be honest, quite a lot."
"There you are then. You work from home; that's how you're able to look after Tricia while I'm out at work."
"What is your job, by the way?"
"I'm a nurse, specialising in intensive care."
"Right. You still haven't answered about Paul's family."
"Your family." Linda corrected me. "One of those ladies with me was Paul's mum and she couldn't get over how much you are like her son, not just in appearance but in walk and voice and everything. She's a widow, you are her only son, so there's no problem there."
I shook my head. It all just seemed too preposterous and yet, there was a faint chance. I lost touch with my own family years ago - we exchange cards at Christmas but that's all. Mum died when I was young, my stepmother was only too glad to see the back of me, and dad, while he's all right with me, doesn't really care much for any of us kids. The only one I have any feelings for is my eldest sister. She really brought us all up, far more than my stepmother, but she is now living in Canada.
"Well," I temporised, "let's just try it for one week and see how we get on."
"Ok." Linda agreed. "One week. You can sleep - no you can't!"
"Can't what?" I asked.
"I was going to say that you can sleep down here, but you can't. Tricia would be sure to notice and wonder what's going on."
"I suppose I could sneak up into the bedroom just before she wakes up." I suggested.
"Four o'clock in the morning?" Linda sounded scornful.
"Is that when she comes in for her good morning cuddle?" I asked.
"No, but that is when she wakes up most mornings. She usually stays in her cot until about five, but she'd hear you on the stairs."
"Oh, all right."
I didn't feel as petulant as I sounded, not by a long way. I stilled any qualms of conscience by promising myself not even to touch her.