Read Online The Silver Locket by Margaret James - Free Book Online

as if I were a child.’
    ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Michael’s blue eyes sparkled. ‘You’ve behaved like one.’
    ‘Michael, I don’t think–’
    ‘No one’s accusing you of thinking, Rose. Quite the reverse, in fact.’
    Rose was about to answer back, but then she realised there was nothing to be gained from arguing with Michael. ‘I hope you didn’t worry,’ she said placatingly.
    ‘The woman I’ve asked to be my wife goes missing for a month, then sends a mysterious letter to her mother to say she’s well and happy, but isn’t coming home. Of course I didn’t worry.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Michael.’ Rose looked down at the tablecloth. ‘But you know they’d never have let me go, and I simply had to get away.’
    ‘I understand.’ Michael smiled, then nodded to the waiter. When he’d served their soup and backed away, Michael covered Rose’s hand with his, and held her gaze. ‘So is it what you’d expected?’ he enquired. ‘Do you find nursing interesting? Do you feel fulfilled?’
    ‘I feel I’m doing a useful job.’
    ‘As I’m sure you are – and having some experiences you wouldn’t get in Dorset on the side.’
    Rose didn’t like the tone of that remark, but she was relieved to find he didn’t seem inclined to make a scene. As she dipped her spoon into her soup, it was suddenly obvious Michael hadn’t cared when she’d gone missing. She wondered if she ought to feel annoyed.
    She waited for the ultimatum she was sure must come. She’d had her little adventure, he would say, and if she would go home with him tonight and resume the empty life she’d led before the war, they’d say no more about it.
    But Michael didn’t speak. When he’d finished his soup he merely sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette.
    ‘Any news from Charton?’ Rose enquired.
    ‘No, not really.’ Michael shrugged. ‘Alex Denham married his – whatever she is, and he’s gone back to France.’
    Rose felt her heart begin to thump. ‘I heard she was going to have a child,’ she murmured casually, as the soup slid down her throat like slime.
    ‘Yes, I believe that’s right.’ Michael’s eyes were on her, and she couldn’t look away. ‘Denham got himself blown up,’ he added, carelessly.
    ‘What?’ Rose gave up all pretence of eating. ‘When was this?’
    ‘Oh, months ago, long before he married whatsername.’ Michael pushed his empty bowl aside. ‘What’s the matter, Rose? You’ve gone quite red.’
    ‘It’s very hot in here.’ But she had to know. ‘What happened to him? I mean–’
    ‘He was in a cellar or something when the Germans bombed it and the walls caved in. Some fellows from the Norfolks dug him out. A few of his chaps were killed outright and most of them had injuries, but I believe our friend escaped intact.’
    Michael’s gaze roamed over Rose’s face. ‘Well – more or less intact. He had bad concussion, but he’s still got his arms and legs and – things. He came home for a bit of leave and made an honest woman of his trollop, so now he’s a married man.’
    Rose’s heart was hammering. She knew her face was scarlet. She tried to think of something innocent and conversational, some remark about the awful weather, but she couldn’t find anything to say.
    ‘They’re talking of turning Charton Minster into a convalescent home for officers,’ said Michael, suddenly. ‘If you’re still keen to do your bit, perhaps you could work there.’
    Rose looked at him and saw it was a plot. But before she could say no, she meant to stay in London, the door of the restaurant opened and a gust of air blew in.
    ‘Well, I don’t believe it! ’Ello, Rose!’ Phoebe Gower was looking like a fashion plate. She wore a light wool dress and matching fur-trimmed coat in a flattering shade of silver grey, which suited her and took the strident brassiness out of her dyed hair, most of which was hidden by a velvet hat today.
    Sauntering behind her was a sallow but good-looking man.