She’d been eyeing me shrewdly, from the moment I’d sat down. ‘You can twiddle your thumbs, and put on a ‘butter wouldn’t melt face’, for all you’re worth…’ my pained expression was not even worth [more…]


Pale Hands 5

After a while, as it was getting lighter and lighter, I said, ‘I must ask your father’s permission.’ She nodded. ‘And there’s a couple of other phone-calls I must make.’ Then I slid my left [more…]


Pale Hands 4

‘Daddy!’ It was almost simultaneous. I dashed down for the phone, uncoiled what I had once thought were absurdly long lengths of cable, carried the phone up to the turn in the stairs, flipped the [more…]


Pale Hands 3

9.  The continued ringing of the telephone brought us both abruptly out of the past and Cambridge. ‘Your Father!’ I exclaimed. ‘My Mother.’ She whispered. ‘Richard Conyngham here: we’re at Waterloo and due to arrive [more…]