The Cuckoo's Child Read Online Free
stays, having her hair done and generally being prepared for the busy day ahead needed time and concentration.
She eschewed the porridge, nibbled on a piece of toast and sipped her tea while she screwed up her courage to mention yet again the matter that was constantly on her mind.
âI do wish Philip Carfax hadnât put this idea into Lauraâs head,â she began.
George set his coffee cup down and reached for more toast. âPhilip Carfax is a fine young man,â he replied, without taking his eyes off The Times .
âWell, yes, there is no question of that. Though one does wonder, sometimes, if there is enough â if he isnât a little too â well, sedate. For Laura, I mean.â
âYou know what they say about judging a book by its cover.â George turned over the front page of the newspaper with a crackle, propped it against the coffee pot and addressed himself to his second egg. Lillian sighed.
âGeorge, you are not listening.â
âOh, yes, I am.â It was an art he had long since perfected, allowing Lillian to rabbit on while he pursued his own thoughts. âYou want me to put my foot down and tell Laura she mustnât embark upon this mad escapade. Well, Lillian, Iâm not going to do any such thing.â
George Sandford Imrie was a successful and distinguished banker. The most important things in his life were his business, his passion for Japanese art and the well-being of his wife and the child whom he had almost forgotten wasnât his own daughter. Laura, from the moment he first lifted her wriggling little body into his arms and she had pulled his moustache, stuck her finger in his ear and then planted a wet kiss on his mouth, had been the apple of his eye. He was not a man, however, for making a show of his affections. He thought that was evident enough in the provisions he made for domestic comfort, for the general welfare of his wife and Laura and the freedom he allowed them with money â so long as they did not exceed in extravagance. In return he expected, and usually got, an ordered life and a household that ran smoothly. He did not like being assailed at breakfast with something which had already been chewed over until there was nothing left of it.
âMy dear Lillian,â he said at last, folding the newspaper and pushing back his chair. âLaura is twenty-one. She is basically a sensible young woman, if a little too impulsive, but if sheâs going to make mistakes, there is nothing you, or I, or anyone else can do to prevent her.â
It was evident to Lillian she wasnât going to get the support she needed. She ought to have known it was as little use arguing with George as it was with Laura. âThatâs all very well, but itâs what Philip is up to that Iâm worried about.â
âAnd why should Philip be up to anything?â
For a moment they looked at each other. Then George reached out and gently touched Lillianâs unpowdered morning cheek. âThereâs nothing to worry about, my dearest. How could there be?â
Three
As her train lurched over the points some ten minutes before it was due into Huddersfield station, Laura closed her book and stood up to peer into the mirror above the opposite seat, hoping there were no smuts on her face. She could not see any, but still dissatisfied with her reflection, she tried to pull the brim of her brown peach-bloom felt hat to a more becoming angle. It was not a very nice hat, and she couldnât think now what in the world had compelled her to wear it â except perhaps a vague feeling that she ought to tone down the effect of the rest of her outfit, which was very nice indeed, although it was saxe-blue in colour, a shade hovering uneasily somewhere between blue and grey. That had been Aunt Lillianâs fashionable choice, not hers, but whatever Lauraâs reservations about the colour, it couldnât be denied that the cut of
She eschewed the porridge, nibbled on a piece of toast and sipped her tea while she screwed up her courage to mention yet again the matter that was constantly on her mind.
âI do wish Philip Carfax hadnât put this idea into Lauraâs head,â she began.
George set his coffee cup down and reached for more toast. âPhilip Carfax is a fine young man,â he replied, without taking his eyes off The Times .
âWell, yes, there is no question of that. Though one does wonder, sometimes, if there is enough â if he isnât a little too â well, sedate. For Laura, I mean.â
âYou know what they say about judging a book by its cover.â George turned over the front page of the newspaper with a crackle, propped it against the coffee pot and addressed himself to his second egg. Lillian sighed.
âGeorge, you are not listening.â
âOh, yes, I am.â It was an art he had long since perfected, allowing Lillian to rabbit on while he pursued his own thoughts. âYou want me to put my foot down and tell Laura she mustnât embark upon this mad escapade. Well, Lillian, Iâm not going to do any such thing.â
George Sandford Imrie was a successful and distinguished banker. The most important things in his life were his business, his passion for Japanese art and the well-being of his wife and the child whom he had almost forgotten wasnât his own daughter. Laura, from the moment he first lifted her wriggling little body into his arms and she had pulled his moustache, stuck her finger in his ear and then planted a wet kiss on his mouth, had been the apple of his eye. He was not a man, however, for making a show of his affections. He thought that was evident enough in the provisions he made for domestic comfort, for the general welfare of his wife and Laura and the freedom he allowed them with money â so long as they did not exceed in extravagance. In return he expected, and usually got, an ordered life and a household that ran smoothly. He did not like being assailed at breakfast with something which had already been chewed over until there was nothing left of it.
âMy dear Lillian,â he said at last, folding the newspaper and pushing back his chair. âLaura is twenty-one. She is basically a sensible young woman, if a little too impulsive, but if sheâs going to make mistakes, there is nothing you, or I, or anyone else can do to prevent her.â
It was evident to Lillian she wasnât going to get the support she needed. She ought to have known it was as little use arguing with George as it was with Laura. âThatâs all very well, but itâs what Philip is up to that Iâm worried about.â
âAnd why should Philip be up to anything?â
For a moment they looked at each other. Then George reached out and gently touched Lillianâs unpowdered morning cheek. âThereâs nothing to worry about, my dearest. How could there be?â
Three
As her train lurched over the points some ten minutes before it was due into Huddersfield station, Laura closed her book and stood up to peer into the mirror above the opposite seat, hoping there were no smuts on her face. She could not see any, but still dissatisfied with her reflection, she tried to pull the brim of her brown peach-bloom felt hat to a more becoming angle. It was not a very nice hat, and she couldnât think now what in the world had compelled her to wear it â except perhaps a vague feeling that she ought to tone down the effect of the rest of her outfit, which was very nice indeed, although it was saxe-blue in colour, a shade hovering uneasily somewhere between blue and grey. That had been Aunt Lillianâs fashionable choice, not hers, but whatever Lauraâs reservations about the colour, it couldnât be denied that the cut of
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