but him, that was, he reminded himself, the reason for his sense of dissatisfaction no longer so obscure. He picked up one of the mugs they had used and flung it across the room, uncaring when it shattered against the Aga. He had to keep reminding himself he was only half a man, he taunted himself savagely. And if that was true, what the hell was he doing hiring a housekeeper who aroused any kind of feelings inside him?
Chapter Five
‘I’VE got another job.’
Fliss made the announcement as her father came into the kitchen to have his breakfast on Saturday morning. She’d intended to tell him the previous afternoon, but Amy had been home and it would have been difficult to have a private word with him then. Well, that was her excuse, anyway.
Now, however, Amy had had her breakfast and had gone out into the garden with Harvey. The child and the golden retriever were racing round the lawn at present, chasing a ball that Amy was trying to play with and generally tearing the place up. Fliss decided she would have to have a word with Amy later. She was getting too old to act so irresponsibly.
Her father took a seat at the table as Fliss set a pot of coffee and a rack of toast in front of him, and then said stiffly, ‘With Matthew Quinn, I assume?’
Fliss pressed her lips together, surprised by his attitude. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘Only in the sense that you apparently forgot to mention that he was the Matthew Quinn I was talking about,’ he remarked coldly, and her heart dropped. Her father had gone out for a drink the evening before and Fliss had been in bed when he’d got home.
‘I suppose you heard the news at the pub,’ she said, turning back to the sink to hide the hot colour that had stained her cheeks.
‘From at least half a dozen different sources actually,’ he replied, and she knew he was hurt that she hadn’t confided in him. ‘D’you want to tell me how long you’ve known you were going to work for him?’
‘Just since yesterday,’ she protested, turning to rest her jeanclad hip against the drainer. ‘But I couldn’t tell you who he was, Dad. He’s come down here to try and escape the media.’
‘He told you that, did he?’
‘Not in so many words, no. But he said he needed some space. More space than he had in London, anyway.’
‘Space!’ Her father was scornful. ‘Why do you young people think you need so much space? How much space did my father have when he was fighting in the trenches? The man’s spent less than two years as a prisoner of war, if you want to call it that. Some of my father’s men spent twice as long as that in German prison camps and there was no red carpet laid out for them when they got home.’
‘I know that.’ Fliss was defensive. ‘In any case, I don’t know what you’re getting at me for. All I did was respect the man’s privacy.’
George Taylor’s nostrils flared. Then, as if acknowledging that she had a point, he heaved a sigh. ‘I just wish you’d trusted me, that’s all,’ he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot. ‘I can keep a confidence as well as anyone else.’
Fliss’s brows arched. ‘This confidence?’ she asked sceptically, relieved to see he was looking a little less severe. ‘Come on, Dad, you wouldn’t have been able to resist it. Knowing Matthew Quinn was living in the Old Coaching House. What a scoop that would have been!’
Her father’s lips pursed. ‘If he’d asked me to keep his identity a secret, I’d have done so.’
‘Oh, and how was he going to ask you that?’ Fliss stared at him. ‘You’d have had to have gone to see him. Can you imagine how I’d have felt if you had?’
‘Well, it’s a moot point now,’ declared her father curtly. ‘Harry Gilchrist couldn’t wait to spread the news. I suppose that’s when you saw him, too. When you went shopping in Westerbury. Was that why you forgot the netting?’
Fliss could have denied it, but there didn’t seem much point. ‘I suppose so,’ she said, turning back to the sink. ‘Anyway, I’m starting on Monday. Just mornings, I expect. Like I used to do for Colonel Phillips.’
‘Huh.’ Her father didn’t sound too happy. ‘I don’t know why you insist on demeaning yourself like this. Doing other people’s housework. It’s not what I hoped for you, Felicity.’
‘Oh, Dad!’ Fliss didn’t want to get into that again. ‘Until Amy’s older and I can go into Westerbury to work, there aren’t a lot of jobs around.’
‘What about working for Lady Darcy? She needs a social secretary, and I know she’d look very kindly on your application. She was only saying the other day—’
‘I’m happy as I am,’ said Fliss quickly, suppressing a grimace. The idea of being a companion—dogsbody—to the wife of the local member of parliament didn’t appeal at all. At least what she did gave her a small measure of autonomy. Or it had when she’d worked for Colonel Phillips.
‘Oh, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ declared her father casually, buttering a slice of toast, and Fliss was compelled to turn and look at him again.
‘Warn me?’ she echoed, regarding him with puzzled eyes. ‘Warn me about what?’
‘I thought you knew who he was,’ said her father blandly, and Fliss’s nails dug into her palms in frustration.
‘I do know who he is,’ she said, wondering where this was going.
‘Then you’ll know there have been rumours about his mental state since he got back from Abuqara,’ remarked her father, reaching for the marmalade. ‘Oh, here comes Amy.’ His smile irritated Fliss anew. ‘Hello, sweetheart. I hope you and Harvey haven’t destroyed any of your mother’s precious flowers.’
Amy gave her mother a rueful look. ‘Not deliberately,’ she said, as the retriever went to beg beside his master’s chair. ‘I think Harvey knocked the heads off a couple of roses, that’s all.’
Fliss shook her head, but she was too disturbed by what her father had said to offer much in the way of chastisement. ‘I wish you’d be more careful,’ she muttered, finishing the dishes and drying her hands on a paper towel. Then, ‘Do you want to come down to the Black Horse with me? I want to check on my hours for next week.’
‘Ooh, yes!’ exclaimed Amy, who enjoyed being fussed over by Patrick Reardon, the landlord. ‘Can I?’
‘May I?’ Fliss corrected automatically, as her father said.
‘Is that wise? Taking the child down to the pub? Do you want her to get into bad habits?’
‘Like yours, you mean,’ retorted Fliss tartly, but her heart wasn’t really in it. What had her father meant? That Matthew Quinn had mental problems? Or was he simply using some gossip he’d heard to spoil Fliss’s enthusiasm for her new job?
Whatever, Fliss decided that now was not the time to tackle him on it. Besides, on the whole, Matthew Quinn had struck her as a perfectly normal human being. OK, maybe he had problems interacting with people, but you didn’t have to have been a political prisoner to feel that.
When
