Free The Tender Years by Anne Hampton Page B

had insisted on taking the job offered her. Of late she had known a strange restlessness and on a couple of occasions she could almost have run away, lost herself in some place right away from Cassia Lodge. Only Luke held her, she realised, and the promise she had made him. Luke, who was, as always, her prop and her haven. She had asked him recently how his affair with Clarice was progressing and had received the kind of noncommittal reply that had effectively discouraged any further enquiries on her part.
    ‘I ought to get a job,’ she said with a sigh. ‘This hanging around isn’t healthy.’
    ‘Healthy?’ with a lift of his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘That’s an odd word to use, isn’t it?’
    ‘One gets morbid. I like being alone sometimes—I think everybody does—but since Greta went, and with Mother . . .’ She tailed off but Arthur finished for her, ‘Being away from home so much you feel lonely.’
    She nodded her head, ‘If I had a job, it would at least fill my days.’
    ‘You do a good job here—supervising the servants, planning the meals. You should be glad there’s no need for you to go out to work.’ 
    ‘I’d have company.’
    ‘You’ve friends, haven’t you?’
    ‘Some are married and others have jobs.’ She knew she sounded discontented but her voice was only a reflection of her thoughts. This life was becoming more and more boring; she felt as if she were drifting and sometimes the future frightened her.
    ‘What about boyfriends? Other girls seem to have several at one and the same time.’ Amusement edged Arthur’s voice as he added, ‘Greta had dozens before finally settling for Steve. . . .’ His voice trailed unexpectedly, his humour being replaced by a frown and a tightening of his lips as if he were suppressing a sigh. He glanced at his watch, then rose from the table. ‘I must be off. Have a nice day.’ He was gone; she sat there looking at the piece of pawpaw he had left, and the roll and butter on his side plate. His cup was half filled with coffee.
    Christine felt a tremor of acute uneasiness affecting her nerves. Her father was changing in some indefinable way and she felt he had more on his mind than he would have her know.
    Listening, she heard the front door close and, a moment or two later, the engine of his car. It was only a short journey to his office and yet he always used the car. Ten minutes’ walk a day would do him good, she thought.
    Later, she decided to phone Luke. It would use up a few minutes of this monotonous time she was having to get through. He was pleased to hear her voice but went very quiet after she had said, ‘Greta and Steve are coming next week for a visit.’
    ‘Already?’ His voice was tight when it reached her after the long pause.
    ‘They’ve been married six months. It’s time they paid their parents a visit. I expect Steve’s mum and dad will be glad to see him.’
    ‘And you?’ he asked, the cool brevity seeming to double the distance between them.
    ‘I’m looking forward to the visit, naturally.’
    ‘Naturally,’ he murmured and then, with a briskness she knew was assumed, ‘Look, Chris, I’m exceedingly busy just now so I must ring off. Have a nice day.’ Have a nice day. ... It was usual for people to say that but how was she to have a nice day, here on her own but for the servants? She replaced the receiver with a sigh, under no illusions as to the reason for Luke’s behaviour. She ought not to have mentioned her sister and brother-in-law’s coming visit. To talk of Steve to Luke these days was like holding out a red rag to a bull. Luke had no patience to listen, even if she only mentioned Steve casually.
    ‘Forget your sister’s husband,’ had become familiar to Christine and recently she had refrained from mentioning Steve at all.
    Steve’s smile seemed a little strained and Christine thought she detected a similar strain in his voice as he greeted her as he and his wife arrived at Cassia Lodge. Christine,