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Authors: Freda Lightfoot
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dressing table applying rouge and lipstick with her usual diligence, then fluffed up her victory roll hairstyle, scarcely listening to a word Cathie said, as her next remark proved. ‘Tommy has invited me to his house for dinner. I gave him the goose we bought, and a few of the trimmings so as not to waste them.’
‘You did
what
? You’d no right to do that, Mam.
You
didn’t even buy that food,
I
did, and could have cooked it for dinner tomorrow, on Boxing Day.’
Rona shrugged. ‘You never said you intended to do that. Anyway, it’s too late, it’s gone. No doubt the goose is already in Tommy’s oven. He’s quite a good cook, actually.’
Now, as Cathie met Davina’s sympathetic gaze with anguish in her own, Cathie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve even lost the food I bought for Christmas, but there’s really no arguing with Rona. She does exactly as she pleases, with no thought for anyone but herself.’
‘Maybe you should tell Alex today about the child. It is, as you rightly pointed out to your mother, the season of goodwill, so this could be your best opportunity.’
‘I don’t think it would be quite appropriate on the day I meet his parents for the first time.’
‘They need to know some time, so why not now?’
Cathie thought about this piece of advice as she made her way past St John’s Church. Once she had met his parents and done the polite thing by chatting to them and enjoying the Christmas meal they offered, she hoped there might come a moment during the course of the afternoon when she and Alex would be alone. That would hopefully give her the opportunity she needed to explain her plan for adoption. What should she say? How could she put it? Are you willing to accept my late sister’s child as your own? Perhaps that was a bit too blunt. And how could she begin to explain why she had kept silent for so long on the subject? Was it really just because she had no wish to speak of Sal’s death, or more from a fear of losing him?
Whatever the reason, she must remind Alex how many orphaned children there were now, that too many were growing up without fathers. She had no wish for little Heather to feel abandoned when she had a loving aunt to care for her. Perhaps she should have brought the baby with her, after all. Surely once he met Heather all these worries would be resolved. Although how Alex’s parents would react was much more of an unknown factor.
At least little Heather was safe and happily playing with Davina, so she’d hopefully enjoy Christmas Day, even without her aunt. Cathie had agreed to collect her later inthe afternoon, around four o’clock. Tomorrow she’d make it up to the child by devoting the entire day to her.
Arriving at the door of a fine Georgian, three-storeyed terraced house bearing the name Doctor Victor Ryman written on a plaque fixed to the wall, Cathie was suddenly beset with the urge to turn on her heels and run back home. Instead, she took a deep breath to gather her courage and lifted the brass knocker. It looked so bright and shiny the maid had no doubt polished it that very morning. Cathie smiled to herself as it crossed her mind that she would probably have more success applying for such a job rather than the role of wife to a doctor’s son. Giving the knocker a gentle bang, she almost hoped that no one would hear it.
C HAPTER S EVEN
I f Cathie had been hoping to see jolly faces in funny hats, hear the sound of carols being sung or played on a piano, or even laughter resonating through the house as this was Christmas Day, she was instantly disappointed. There wasn’t even any sign of Christmas decorations, save for a stately tree set in a corner of the large, spacious hall, sparingly bedecked with baubles. Nor was Alex waiting there to welcome her. The door was opened by an elderly manservant, who took her coat and hat before leading her upstairs to the drawing room. Cathie trembled with nerves. This was not at all how she’d hoped to spend
‘You did
what
? You’d no right to do that, Mam.
You
didn’t even buy that food,
I
did, and could have cooked it for dinner tomorrow, on Boxing Day.’
Rona shrugged. ‘You never said you intended to do that. Anyway, it’s too late, it’s gone. No doubt the goose is already in Tommy’s oven. He’s quite a good cook, actually.’
Now, as Cathie met Davina’s sympathetic gaze with anguish in her own, Cathie let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’ve even lost the food I bought for Christmas, but there’s really no arguing with Rona. She does exactly as she pleases, with no thought for anyone but herself.’
‘Maybe you should tell Alex today about the child. It is, as you rightly pointed out to your mother, the season of goodwill, so this could be your best opportunity.’
‘I don’t think it would be quite appropriate on the day I meet his parents for the first time.’
‘They need to know some time, so why not now?’
Cathie thought about this piece of advice as she made her way past St John’s Church. Once she had met his parents and done the polite thing by chatting to them and enjoying the Christmas meal they offered, she hoped there might come a moment during the course of the afternoon when she and Alex would be alone. That would hopefully give her the opportunity she needed to explain her plan for adoption. What should she say? How could she put it? Are you willing to accept my late sister’s child as your own? Perhaps that was a bit too blunt. And how could she begin to explain why she had kept silent for so long on the subject? Was it really just because she had no wish to speak of Sal’s death, or more from a fear of losing him?
Whatever the reason, she must remind Alex how many orphaned children there were now, that too many were growing up without fathers. She had no wish for little Heather to feel abandoned when she had a loving aunt to care for her. Perhaps she should have brought the baby with her, after all. Surely once he met Heather all these worries would be resolved. Although how Alex’s parents would react was much more of an unknown factor.
At least little Heather was safe and happily playing with Davina, so she’d hopefully enjoy Christmas Day, even without her aunt. Cathie had agreed to collect her later inthe afternoon, around four o’clock. Tomorrow she’d make it up to the child by devoting the entire day to her.
Arriving at the door of a fine Georgian, three-storeyed terraced house bearing the name Doctor Victor Ryman written on a plaque fixed to the wall, Cathie was suddenly beset with the urge to turn on her heels and run back home. Instead, she took a deep breath to gather her courage and lifted the brass knocker. It looked so bright and shiny the maid had no doubt polished it that very morning. Cathie smiled to herself as it crossed her mind that she would probably have more success applying for such a job rather than the role of wife to a doctor’s son. Giving the knocker a gentle bang, she almost hoped that no one would hear it.
C HAPTER S EVEN
I f Cathie had been hoping to see jolly faces in funny hats, hear the sound of carols being sung or played on a piano, or even laughter resonating through the house as this was Christmas Day, she was instantly disappointed. There wasn’t even any sign of Christmas decorations, save for a stately tree set in a corner of the large, spacious hall, sparingly bedecked with baubles. Nor was Alex waiting there to welcome her. The door was opened by an elderly manservant, who took her coat and hat before leading her upstairs to the drawing room. Cathie trembled with nerves. This was not at all how she’d hoped to spend
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