young woman who was looked down on by her better-off cousin could have been tempted to ‘borrow’ a rather grander frock than she might actually possess, even if he also felt rather disappointed to discover that Grace had given in to that kind of temptation.
Seb didn’t allow any of what he was feeling to show, though, as he murmured something sympathetic and reassuring.
‘I should never have listened to Susan,’ Grace told him miserably. ‘I knew it was wrong. But she’d gone to so much trouble and … and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by refusing. It serves me right for doing it,’ she told him bravely, her face pale but set now that she had stopped crying.
‘Perhaps the Shop will be able to have it repaired?’ Seb suggested.
Grace shook her head. ‘No, it can’t be mended. I shall have to pay for it. We are allowed to buy things at staff discount so …’ she gave a small gulp, ‘they might let me pay for it weekly out of my wages, although it will take me for ever.’
‘But I thought you were about to start training as a nurse,’ Seb pointed out.
Grace swallowed and lifted her head proudly. ‘I was, but I shan’t be doing that now. Not with this frock to pay for, and … and I want to pay for it. What I did was very wrong. I knew that all along and, to be honest, I’d have much rather worn my own cotton dress. This is lovely but it isn’t mine and it isn’t me. I feel so very ashamed of myself. My parents will be shocked, I know.’
Poor child, she was paying a heavy price for her moment of natural vanity, Seb thought compassionately, his earlier assessment of her character reasserting itself as he listened to her quietly determined voice. She had guts, though, he thought with admiration.
Her whole future was ruined, Grace acknowledged, and all for the sake of being silly and for wearing a frock that she had no right to be wearing. She deserved to be punished.
What on earth was she going to say to her parents after the sacrifice they were prepared to make so that she could do her nurse’s training. Grace had never felt more miserable and in despair.
Bella looked anxiously toward the Tennis Club. Where was Charlie? She had been out here with Alan in the thankfully still warm darkness of the small tree-shadowed garden that separated the Tennis Club building from the courts – a favourite place for Tennis Club ‘courting couples’, although tonight thankfully they had it to themselves – for what feltlike for ever. She hated the revolting way he was slobbering all over her, and now the smell of his gin-laden breath was making her feel sick. He pawed at her breast, almost breaking one of the fragile shoulder straps of her dress. As it threatened to snap so too did Bella’s temper. Where was Charlie?
‘Aww, come on, Trixie,’ Alan protested.
Trixie! He had called her Trixie. Furiously Bella tried to push him away, her determination to force him to marry her forgotten in the heat of her outrage, but he was refusing to let go of her.
‘I’m not Trixie,’ she told him
He gave her an ugly look. ‘No, you aren’t, more’s the pity. If it wasn’t for you she’d be with me and—’
‘Here, I say, what the devil do you think you’re doing, Parker? Let go of my sister.’
For once in her life Bella didn’t have to manufacture her reaction. She’d been so furious with Alan that she’d forgotten all about Charlie, who was now approaching them with Mr Baxter, the President of the Tennis Club, in tow. Mr Baxter had a very stern expression indeed on his face.
Henry Baxter was in his fifties, a bachelor, and the Chief Clerk to the local council. He had rather a soft spot for Bella, being completely taken in by the flatteringly admiring manner she adopted towards him.
Bella immediately played up to the situation, sobbing some crocodile tears on Charlie’s shoulder whilst Henry Baxter took a firm grip on Alan’s arm and refused to let him go.
‘Please don’t be cross with
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