Child Friday by Sara Seale

cocktail waiting for you. Shorty thought it would be more suitable than sherry on this occasion. I hope you like your new quarters.”
    “The room seems very comfortable, thank you,” she replied. “I wonder what Mrs. Pride thinks.”
    He frowned.
    “Why should she think anything?”
    “Well, my promotions have been so rapid. From the servants’ wing to the bridal suite in not much over three weeks. It was once a bridal suite, wasn’t it . ”
    “Very likely.”
    “All those cupids and things! Why did you have me moved there?”
    T he lamplight fell across his face, and his high-bridged, dominant nose cast an arrogant shadow.
    “Well, my dear girl, wasn’t it the obvious thing?” he demanded impatiently. “Mrs. Pride would have thought it still odder if you’d been left where you were.”
    “Oh!”
    “I shan’t trouble you because there’s a communicating door between us, I assure you, but I presume you wouldn’t object to coming in to me occasionally if I’m unable to find something? It will save Shorty a journey.”
    “Of course not,” she said, feeling rebuffed by the slight astringency in his voice.
    “Good. You sound a little unlike yourself this evening, Emily. I’m afraid you’ve had a dull day,” he said, and she began to laugh .
    He glanced quickly in her direction, detecting the quality of her laughter and said sharply:
    “Have you had your cocktail yet? No? Well, drink it up, it will do you good. What was so funny, anyway?”
    She reached for the glass that stood waiting for her and took a generous swallow.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “It only struck me as funny to be told I’d probably had a dull day because I’d gone out to get married.”
    He reached for his own glass, sipping the champagne thoughtfully, and when he next spoke, his voice held a shade of doubt.
    “I’m afraid I didn’t manage the day very well,” he said. “Tell me, Emily, are you regretting things already?”
    The ready tears filled her eyes but she managed to keep her voice steady.
    “No,” she said. “No, of course not, Dane. I supp o se, to any girl, getting married must be an event, even—even if it means nothing.”
    “And I’ve cheated you?”
    “Because there wasn’t confetti and champagne and a wedding breakfast? I never expected it.”
    “You’re very gallant, aren’t you? That wasn’t what I meant.”
    “Whatever you meant,” she said gently, “I have no regrets. I can only hope you’ll have none either.”
    He swallowed the rest of his drink at a draught and sat twirling the stem of the glass between his fingers.
    “It’s too late for regrets for either of us,” he said a little harshly. “Personally I can only have gratitude and I hope you’ll remind me of that if I seem to take you for granted.”
    The household soon settled back to normal, indeed, thought Emily, going about the familiar daily routine, except for the fact that she had changed her name, nothing had really altered. Mrs. Pride made it plain from the start that she expected the running of the house to be left in her hands as before, and Shorty, although he never entirely returned to his former hostility, had his difficult moments and small jealousies.
    Only Mrs. Meeker marked any change, being torn between her natural interest in a wedding and indignation that such an event could happen under her nose without her knowledge. Emily had to endure endless blunt questions the first few mornings and share many surreptitious cups of tea before the topic was exhausted, but Mrs. Meeker was a kindly soul and always ready to intervene with Mrs. Pride, whom she disliked. Her unruffled West Country cheerfulness was more than welcome and she was someone with whom to laugh.
    Emily worked with Dane most mornings, attending to his correspondence and accounts and, when he was in the mood for it, the more complicated compiling of his book. It was not easy then to remember that she was his wife as well as his secretary, and once she