eyes slid greedily over Alexis’s deeply tanned skin before moving on to her husband.
‘Aren’t you nearly finished, darling?’ she asked, perching on a corner of Howard’s desk and running her fingers down his cheek, looking deliberately in Alexis’s direction as she did so. ‘I’m dying of hunger.’
Howard rose, flexing his back muscles tiredly. ‘Yes, we’re finished, my dear.’
Michelle’s eyes flickered towards her stepson. ‘Hello, Alex. It’s good to see you back again. Did you enjoy your holiday?’
Alexis inclined his head. ‘Very much, thank you.’
‘You can tell Searle to start serving now,’ went on Howard, and Michelle slid off the desk. But although she looked once more at Alexis he seemed to find the pattern of the carpet more than absorbing and she was forced to look away.
After she had gone, Howard turned to his son, and frowned. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘Did you mean what you said just now? About being sick of playing around?’
Alexis was cautious. ‘Why?’
‘Well, old Jeff Pierce retired last week and so far they’ve not got anyone to take his job.’
‘Jeff Pierce?’ Alexis stared at his father. ‘You mean – the manager at Wakeley?’
‘That’s right.’ Howard was watching his son’s reactions closely. ‘How does it strike you? Being section manager in a woollen mill?’
Alexis ran a hand round the back of his neck. His father’s suggestion had left him temporarily stunned. It was something he had never even contemplated. He had worked in the company offices in London, of course, he had even taken a degree in economics at university, but to actually enter into the practical side of the business was something entirely different.
‘But I know nothing about wool!’
‘You don’t have to. Business acumen is what’s needed.’
‘I suppose it would get me out of the way just as effectively,’ he remarked dryly.
His father looked embarrassed. ‘You did say you were sick of the same old round,’ he defended himself.
‘Yes, I did say that.’ Alexis was thoughtful. ‘But this! This is something else.’
‘Don’t you think you’ll be able to do it? I’m not putting you in sole charge of the mill, you know. You’ll have to answer to Jim Summerton if anything goes wrong, just as John McMullen does.’
Alexis gave a wry smile. ‘Thank you for your confidence.’
‘No, seriously though, Alex, what do you think?’
Alexis allowed his hand to fall to his side. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. I’d have to give the matter some thought.’
‘I realize that. But it does – appeal to you, doesn’t it?’ Howard looked at him searchingly and Alexis raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s a challenge,’ he conceded at last. ‘It’s a long time since I visited Wakeley. Must be six – maybe seven years. While I was at university, I guess. I remember going to see old John McMullen …’
Howard nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right.’ He paused. ‘To think – we used to live in Wakeley. Must be all of twenty years ago.’ He shook his head. ‘That house your mother liked so much – I wonder if it’s still standing.’
Alexis’s jaw hardened. ‘Yes. Well, that’s another story, isn’t it, Howard?’
His father breathed hard down his nose. ‘You won’t ever let me forget, will you, Alex?’ he muttered, and looked up to find Michelle standing by the door.
‘Forget what, darling?’ she queried silkily, looking from one to the other of them curiously. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
Howard walked round the desk to join his wife, glancing at his son with scarcely concealed appeal. ‘Yes, we’re coming, Michelle.’ He tucked her hand through his arm. ‘And what delicacy have you had prepared for us this evening?’
Alexis followed them through to the dining-room, but he was preoccupied with what he and his father had been discussing, and he sensed Michelle’s impatience that she had been excluded from their discussions.
KAREN could hear her father’s voice raised in anger as she entered the house, and a frown came to mar her wide brow. It was unusual to hear Daniel Sinclair so heated about anything, and dropping the pile of exercise books she had brought home to mark on to the hall table, she pushed open the door and entered the living-room.
Her parents were standing on the hearth before the roaring fire. The room had a cosy lived-in warmth which was presently belied by the coldness of her father’s expression. Karen looked at them both questioningly, noting her mother’s worried frown, and then said:
‘So what’s happened? I could hear you shouting half-way down the street, Pop!’
‘Don’t call me Pop!’ muttered her father irritably. ‘And I wasn’t shouting. I was merely exhibiting my frustration, that’s all.’
Karen dropped down into an armchair near the fire, holding out her cold hands to the flames. ‘What have you got to feel frustrated about?’ she asked, a trace of humour about her mouth.
Daniel Sinclair reached for his pipe off the mantelshelf and put it between his teeth with obvious intolerance. ‘I have my reasons!’
Karen made a move, and looked at her mother. ‘What’s happened? Have I done something?’
‘No, of course not.’ Laura Sinclair shook her head, and gave her husband an impatient look. Then she turned her attention to her daughter. ‘You look frozen! Didn’t you get a lift home?’
Karen shook her head. ‘No. Ray had to go into Wakefield, so I said there was no point in him coming out of his way in weather like this. It’s snowing again, you know. I caught the bus, but it was late as usual.’
Her mother listened, nodding, but Karen could tell her thoughts were still occupied with her husband’s affairs. ‘I thought you were later than usual,’ she said, glancing at the clock. ‘The meal won’t take long. It’s a chicken casserole. Are you hungry?’
‘Ravenous!’ Karen smiled, and then made a puzzled gesture towards her father. ‘What’s going on? Why was Daddy so upset when I came in?’ She paused. ‘The – the mill’s not closing down or anything, is it?’
Daniel Sinclair turned on her. ‘Now why should you think a thing like that?’ he demanded aggressively.
Karen was taken aback. ‘No reason, Pop. It’s not, is it?’
‘No, of course not.’ Her father chewed irritably at the end of his pipe.
Karen
