Secrets of the Tides Read Online Free Page B

pause, ‘My goodness . . .’ she repeated, fiddling with the single strand of pearls around her neck. She seemed to run out of words and looked across at her husband for help. Alfred began to clear his throat but Richard interjected before he could speak.
    ‘Helen’s pregnant.’
    Alfred seemed to check himself at the news of the baby. He looked back at his wife helplessly.
    ‘We know it’s all happening rather fast,’ admitted Richard, looking from his mother to his father, and then back to his mother, ‘and it’s going to take a little time for you both to get used to the idea, but all you really need to know is that we love each other, we want to have this baby, and we’ve decided to get married this summer.’
    The silence stretched on and on until, at last, Daphne found her voice. ‘Well, my darling, you’re right; this is all happening very fast. Goodness. Perhaps we should all have a little drink. What do you say, Alfie dear?’
    Grateful for something to do, Alfred leapt into action. ‘Yes, yes, of course, Daffy. Jolly good idea. Whisky? Sherry? Or perhaps we should open a bottle of bubbly? I think we’ve got some in the cellar . . .’
    ‘I’d like a sherry,’ Daphne replied quickly, clearly not quite ready to celebrate. ‘And I should think a little sherry would do Helen the world of good too,’ she added, with a meaningful nod. ‘You look a little peaky, my dear.’
    It seemed rude to say she didn’t drink sherry so Helen consented with a small nod.
    Alfred left at a near-run, seeming to take an age bringing the decanter and glasses through from the dining room, and as Daphne sat smoothing the pleats on her skirt, Helen glanced about, drinking in the casual elegance of the drawing room. The furnishings were pretty and worn, faded floral fabrics and threadbare Persian rugs lending the room a cosy, lived-in feel. Next to an old carriage clock stood a vase of early spring flowers trailing petals across the mantelpiece. A pale cashmere shawl lay strewn across an ornate ottoman. Here and there were oddities and antiques: an old barometer hanging upon one wall; tarnished silver picture frames scattered across a table; eclectic lamps and paintings drawing the eye; while nearest the door stood a sunken leather Chesterfield chair, a hint of stuffing bursting forth from one tatty arm. It was all very chic – perhaps a little busy for Helen’s personal taste, a little overdone – yet there was no denying that the overall effect was one of timeless good taste and style.
    ‘Do sit down, dear,’ Daphne urged Richard who was pacing nervously by the French doors. He obeyed, sitting next to Helen and taking her hand in his. She could feel a slick of sweat on his palm and they both started as a log fell in the grate, sending sparks spiralling up the chimney.
    Eventually Alfred returned, to the relief of them all. He passed around the glasses before offering up a half-hearted toast.
    ‘To the happy couple.’
    They drank in silence.
    ‘So,’ Daphne tried brightly. ‘Tell us a bit about yourself, Helen.’
    The afternoon had limped slowly towards evening and the four adults had shared an uncomfortable meal in the rather grand wood-panelled dining room, seated at a large mahogany table set with linen, silverware and two enormous candlesticks which cast an intimate, flickering golden glow all around them. As Daphne served the meat and passed vegetables around the table and Richard began to talk through their plans, Helen watched a stream of molten wax as it trickled down one of the candlesticks and form a gluey pool on the starched white tablecloth.
    ‘It makes sense for us to move to London as soon as possible. We’ll look for a flat before I start work at the firm.’ He reached across and gave Helen’s hand an affectionate squeeze. ‘It’s all very exciting.’
    ‘Yes, and of course Helen can settle you in to your new home. It will be good for her to have a little project while she waits for the