Free A Daughter's Choice by June Francis Page A

really disappointed in you, I thought we were friends.’ She tucked her arm into Ben’s and said in forlorn tones, ‘Let’s go home. And if Patrick does come round, you won’t frighten him away, will you?’
    â€˜I’ll think about it. But really, you’re too young, Katie, to be having boyfriends. Think of the Arcadia. You’ve got enough on your plate there.’
    She nodded. But still hoped Patrick would call.

Chapter Five
    There had been no more anonymous letters and Kitty was hopeful Celia had had second thoughts about what she had written. Even so during the first wet weeks of June she was all for Ben’s searching her out, which he was doing with the help of the Southport Guide. She needed to know what Celia was up to because not knowing was causing her continuous sleepless nights.
    Ben had sacrificed several of his Sundays so far but without any success. Near the beginning of the Guide it stated that Southport came into existence in 1792 when a small hotel called The Duke’s Folly opened. For his purposes it would have been better if the town had not grown so much since then. He ran a finger down a page, considering where to go next. He had never believed it would be easy tracing the hotel but neither had he thought it would be so difficult. From page thirty-seven to eighty-eight were listed hotel after hotel, and following on from those were the names of boarding houses.
    He had already tried several of the grander places such as The Clarendon in Hesketh Park – terms: seven and a half guineas weekly, sea and golf course at rear.
Comfort our keynote, service our pride
! His mother would have been interested in seeing what they had on offer. He had also visited The Prince of Wales which was situated on Lord Street and had four stars, was AA recommended and fully licensed. He had tried numerous smaller ones, walking the length of Lord Street which owed much of its charm to its Victorian architecture and leafy appearance, and tramping in the rain along Argyll Street and the Promenade.
    It was sunny for once as he walked up the drive of a hotel called the Seaview in one of the lesser roads. He went through its revolving doors and entered a quiet reception area carpeted in pine green with a gold leaf motif. Its walls were painted in eau-de-nil and white. Soothing and tastefully decorated, he thought.
    Behind a pale oak reception desk sat a middle-aged woman with her head bent so close to an open book that her narrow nose almost touched its pages. She did not look up as he walked towards her so that for a moment he wondered if she had dozed off, but as he reached the desk she said, ‘Look at that figure! Would you say it’s a five or a three?’
    Ben’s eyes followed her pointing finger. ‘Five,’ he said.
    Her brow knitted. ‘I thought it was three.’ She slammed the book shut and blinked at him and he noticed she had a faint moustache. ‘What can I do for you?’
    â€˜I’m looking for a Rita Turner. Does …?’
    â€˜Is she a friend of yours?’
    Ben was so surprised at getting a positive response it took him several seconds to answer. ‘So she does work here?’
    â€˜A Miss Rita Turner works here.’ She looked disapprovingly down her nose. ‘It’s her day off, though, and I don’t encourage followers.’
    â€˜I’m not a follower.’ Ben’s smile had a singular charm. ‘Miss Turner knew my brother. He went missing during the war, was believed dead, and they lost touch. It’s a sad story, Mrs …?’ He paused.
    â€˜Henshall. Mrs Jemima Henshall.’ She thawed slightly. ‘I’m a widow and life can be so difficult for us widows. I’ve often wondered if Miss Turner lost someone. I’ve tried to encourage her to talk but –’
    â€˜She clams up?’
    â€˜A crude way of putting it, but yes. In fact, one could say she’s downright