Free The Children's Hour by Marcia Willett

Place.’
    â€˜Oh.’ She was disappointed. ‘I’ll be finishing in an hour or so and I was hoping we might have time for a walk, now that the rain seems to have stopped.’
    He edged round the Bosun. ‘Sorry, love. Not this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow.’
    â€˜Are you going to the cash and carry?’ She felt foolishly forlorn, looking forward as she did to those few hours together when she finished at about five and he went to the wine bar at seven o’clock. Yet, as usual, instinct warned against making demands, expressing her need. ‘Are you taking the car?’
    â€˜No.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t need it. You can have it if you want to get out into the country.’
    â€˜I’ll see how I feel. With the nights drawing in, I think I’ll have to give the Bosun his walk earlier. So where are you off to?’
    â€˜Oh, here and there. I want to see a guy about some advertising in a new local magazine. I have to pop into the bank.’ The lifting of the shoulders, the gesture with his hands, mimed boring, necessary tasks. ‘Just things. I’ll see you.’
    She heard him run lightly down the stairs and a few moments later the front door closed behind him. Lyddie sipped her tea; her concentration was shattered by his brief visit and his kiss had unsettled her. Liam had made several visits to the bank just lately, although he never discussed the outcome with her, and he was a trifle preoccupied. He was loving, affectionate towards her, and was as professional as always when he was on duty, yet she could feel a reservation that even Liam’s experience couldn’t disguise. His lovemaking had an urgent, needy edge that excited and delighted her, yet she hated to think that he could not confide in her. One of the things that had attracted her to him was that there was nothing of the boy about him. He was attractive, tough, self-contained, and his choosing her from such a wide field had been terrifically good for her ego.
    Closing her eyes she recalled the moment at which he’d paused beside her table during that lunch-time at The Place, looking down at her with a flattering concentration.
    â€˜Are you happy?’ he’d asked, as if he really wanted to know; really cared.
    She’d burst out laughing at such an odd approach.
    â€˜Nearly,’ she’d answered with a surprising insouciance –for she was usually rather shy with strangers – ‘very nearly but not quite.’
    His face had lit into a disarming smile and the new look that slid into his brown eyes had caused her heart to bang unevenly.
    â€˜Well, now, and what can we do to make the difference?’ he’d asked. ‘Some more coffee? A brandy? It’s a terrible thing to be nearly happy but not quite. Better to be entirely miserable.’
    She’d pretended to muse over her answer, longing to be witty and original but knowing quite certainly that she would fail. She’d watched him going the rounds, stopping at each table in turn, making the men laugh and the women bridle, and she wanted to be different, unpredictable.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t think I agree with you,’ she’d responded coolly. ‘And I think, after such a delicious meal, that what I’d like most is a walk.’
    Her smile had been very nearly dismissive, although it was a tremendous effort to look away from him, to pick up her bag and casually glance into it for her purse.
    â€˜And I’d say that you were right.’ He was watching her thoughtfully. ‘I know exactly the place I’d go on a lovely afternoon and only a short way away. I was just going out myself, and I’d be delighted to show you. Afterwards, you might like to come back for a cup of coffee to set you on your way?’
    It had been a moment of pure, magical madness. A hush had fallen on the tables as he’d raised a hand to Joe and they’d gone out together, to walk