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 sighed with relief. With so many firms closing down it had been a very real possibility. ‘So what is it?’
‘Jeff Pierce’s job has been filled!’ snapped her father.
Karen digested this before saying any more. ‘And – and you’ve not been considered?’
‘Damn right!’ Daniel snorted angrily. ‘It’s a disgrace!’
Karen hesitated. ‘Ian Halliday hasn’t got it, has he?’ Halliday was her father’s assistant.
‘No. I could almost wish he had.’
Karen sighed. ‘Then who has got it?’ She couldn’t think of anyone else with the qualifications.
‘Only that playboy son of Howard Whitney’s, who’s always getting his name into the papers for one fool thing after another!’
Karen felt some of the colour draining out of her cheeks, and hastily covered them with her palms, her elbows resting on her knees. She didn’t want her parents to notice her sudden sense of shock. ‘Not – not Alexis Whitney?’ she murmured, controlling the tremor in her voice.
But fortunately no one noticed her. ‘Yes, that’s the chap,’ said her father bitterly. ‘What in God’s name he wants to come to a place like this for I’ll never know! The life he’s been leading these past few years, I shouldn’t have thought Wakeley would be big enough to hold him!’
Laura Sinclair put a calming hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Stop getting yourself so angry about it, Dan!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s nothing you can do about it, so you might as well try and make the best of it. If, as you say, he’s not the type to take to discipline, then no doubt he won’t stick it long.’
Daniel thrust his pipe into the pocket of his cardigan. ‘What I can’t understand is why he should be coming here in the first place. Oh, I know there’s been all that gossip in the press about him and some company director’s wife recently, but Howard Whitney should know better than to send him here.’
‘But they used to live here,’ said Laura mildly.
‘Yes, years ago. Before Howard made his pile. D’you think they’d live here now? No, by God! We’d not be good enough for them.’ He shook his head. ‘But sending that spoiled brat here to be manager, to take over from old Jeff, to even take over his house! Well, it’s downright disgraceful!’
‘He’s hardly a brat any longer, Dan,’ remarked Laura dryly. ‘He must be almost thirty.’
‘That’s not the point.’ Her husband brought out his pipe again and put it between his teeth. ‘What does he know about the job? What does he know about wool! Bloody layabout!’
While her parents went on and on arguing about the new appointment, Karen sat as though frozen in her chair. And she was frozen, mentally at least. Two or three weeks ago, before the school trip to Grüssmatte, this news would have caused her a momentary pang, and then been forgotten. What was past was past, and she would have got on with her life without too much soul-searching.
But ten days ago she had come face to face with a ghost from the past, a ghost she realized had haunted her for years, and she had known that far from being forgotten, he had merely been hidden behind the veils of memory she had deliberately allowed to fall.
Alexis Whitney! She shivered. How much more angry her father would be about this appointment if he knew how closely Alexis Whitney had come to ruining his own daughter’s life. Her lips twisted. Had she changed so much as to be unrecognizable? Or had there been so many in his life that her face paled to insignificance beside others more beautiful?
Her parents’ conversation was breaking up. Her father was leaning down to switch on the television, and her mother was going out to dish up their evening meal in the kitchen. Karen got rather jerkily to her feet, and turning her attention to her father she said, in what she hoped were casual tones: ‘And when does the prodigal arrive?’
Daniel had taken his seat before the television and was concentrating on the programme so that she had to repeat herself before he answered shortly: ‘What? Oh, tomorrow, so I hear. He was in with Jim Summerton this afternoon.’
Karen stifled a gasp. ‘You mean he’s here in Wakeley already?’
Her father looked up, clearly not happy about being distracted. ‘That’s what I said. What’s the matter with you, girl? It won’t affect you, will it? Whether he’s here or not.’
Karen flushed then. ‘Of course not. I was merely showing interest, that’s all.’
‘Well, you keep your interests occupied elsewhere. I wouldn’t have any daughter of mine involved with a rake like him.’ Daniel surveyed her critically. ‘Hmm, I’ve no doubt he’d find you to his taste! Trendy clothes, all that loose hair! Don’t the education authorities care that their staff should look more mature than the pupils? My God, in my day, teachers were teachers, not bits of girls in clothes designed to attract trouble!’
Karen managed to smile at this. ‘Oh, Pop, don’t be so silly. Nobody cares about things like that nowadays. It’s what the pupils absorb that matters, not what they see.’
‘And they see plenty, if you ask me!’ muttered her father grimly. ‘How old are those boys you teach? Fifteen, sixteen? I don’t know how you get them to take any notice of you.’
‘I manage,’ remarked Karen, and escaped to the kitchen to help her mother dish up the dinner.
‘Is Ray coming round tonight?’ Laura asked, as she added butter to the potatoes.’
Karen shrugged, her appetite depleted by her father’s attitude. ‘I expect so,’ she agreed, lifting the lid of the casserole and allowing a rich odour of chicken and herbs to pervade the atmosphere. ‘He had to go and see about the new instruments. Apparently there’s been some holdup or something.’
‘He’s a very conscientious young man,’ observed her mother approvingly. ‘Everyone said at Christmas how much the choir’s improved since he took it over.’
‘Yes.’ Karen spoke absently, moving about the room lifting a piece of cutlery
