Free Fall of a Philanderer by Carola Dunn Page A

eggs, she mused, her mouth watering, with a rasher of back bacon and one of those scrumptious sausages from the local butcher, nicely browned …
    A knock on the door.
    â€œWho’s there?”
    â€œIt’s Cecily Anstruther, Mrs. Fletcher.”
    â€œCome in.”
    The landlady entered, preceded by a laden tray balanced on one hand.
    â€œYou angel!” said Daisy. “You must have read my mind.”
    With a slight smile, Mrs. Anstruther set the tray on the bedside table while Daisy sat up and rearranged her pillows. “Mr. Fletcher said you were tired, not that you weren’t hungry. I thought you ought to have something.” The smile disappeared. “Besides, I wanted a chance to see you in private, to apologize.”
    â€œApologize?”
    â€œFor the fracas in the Schooner last night.”
    â€œYou weren’t even there.”
    â€œIt was my fault, though.” Agitated hands twisted together. “I don’t know what you must think of us!”

    â€œAs long as you and your husband have made your peace, that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”
    â€œPeter’s an angel,” she said fervently. “He’s the one who’s an angel. He says we’ll sell the house—it was his father’s—and move to Devonport, and he’ll apply for a shore job. But I don’t know what will happen if he … He’s talking about having it out with George Enderby. I’ve begged him to let it be. I don’t know what he’s going to do. I don’t know what to do.”
    â€œIf he won’t listen to you, he wouldn’t listen to me. Would you like me to see if Alec will try to talk him out of it?”
    â€œOh no. Thank you, but better not. I’ll just have to hope he thinks better of it. I’ll leave you to your breakfast. Just leave the tray up here, the girl will fetch it when she makes the beds.” She went out, looking almost as careworn as she had when she dreaded her husband finding out about Enderby.
    Daisy lifted the cover off the plate and discovered exactly what she had wished for, still hot, as was the tea under its cosy. As she ate, she pondered the situation, but she could think of no solution short of having Constable Puckle lock Peter Anstruther up in his “wash’se” until the sailor’s justifiable wrath cooled.
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    After lunch, the sun still shone but a cool breeze had sprung up. Daisy, quite restored after a peaceful morning in a deck-chair in the garden, decided the weather was perfect for a walk up the cliff to show Alec the view.
    â€œLet’s take a picnic tea,” Alec proposed. “I brought a knapsack just in case.”
    â€œOh yes,” said Deva. “Let’s go down that path I found, the one down the cliff to the secret cove, and eat our picnic there.”
    â€œThe tide is still quite high,” Belinda objected. “The cove’s prob’ly under water.”
    â€œThe tide is going out,” Deva pointed out. “By the time we get there, there may be sand. We could go down the path anyway, to see, couldn’t we, Mr. Fletcher?”

    Alec cocked an eyebrow at Daisy, who explained. “I didn’t want to try it without you, darling, but it might be fun to explore.”
    â€œDown a cliff? Don’t forget we’d have to climb up again.” He cast a meaningful glance at her midriff.
    â€œWe wouldn’t have to race back up. I’d take it easy.”
    â€œWell, let’s go up the track, anyway. I’ll take a dekko at this famous path.”
    Mrs. Anstruther packed a picnic tea into Alec’s knapsack and they set off up the hill. The girls were quite accustomed to long walks by now, and sped ahead.
    At the top, the south-west wind was boisterous. Daisy had to hold down her skirt, and as soon as they reached the summit her hat blew off, though Alec somehow kept his cap on his head. The girls—Daisy