broken heart, but how could you explain this to a fifty-year-old spinster.
Mrs. Gleeson had died that morning. Such a nice old lady too, and no visitors in the whole ten weeks she’d spent at the hospital. How pitiful to be so alone, with no-one to mourn your passing.
“What’s wrong with you, Daph?” A smiling Jean caught up with her. “Not letting Paul break your heart, are you?”
“No.” She held her head proudly and summoned a smile. She couldn’t tell Jean how bereft she felt at losing Paul. Her friend would never understand how she could let a man come to mean so much to her after knowing him for such a short time.
Chapter Five
One Monday, two weeks after the disastrous boat trip, Daphne trailed forlornly out of the hospital. Another evening at home, eating a solitary meal was not appealing. She had thrown herself into work, taking on extra shifts, anything to stop pining for Paul. Tomorrow she started afternoon shift, then it would be Christmas with a ten day holiday. She could hardly wait. Like a wounded animal, she wanted to make for the safety of home and family.
“Hello, Daphne.” She jumped when Paul spoke. “You nearly walked past me.”
“Sorry.”
“How have you been?” What a stupid question, she looked as miserable as he felt, and for possibly the first time ever he was lost for words.
“I’m all right.”
“It’s been a terrible couple of weeks, I’ve missed you like hell.”
“Have you, Paul?” Disbelief widened her honest hazel eyes and he felt a stabbing pain in his heart because she obviously thought he had gone back to his old womanizing ways. Well, who could blame her? If only she knew that he had volunteered to help at a soup kitchen run by the Salvation Army. It hadn’t been a resounding success. He had looked what he was, a wealthy man in expensive clothes ladling out largesse to the homeless to salve his conscience.
He would never forget what he read in the eyes of some of the people he had served. The hopelessness, the fear and desperation, worse still, their humiliation. “I don’t want charity from the likes of you,” one man had snarled at him. “I want a job.”
Sheer determination not to cut and run at the first obstacle had kept him handing out soup and bread, but he wasn’t like Daphne. He didn’t have the common touch, the compassionate aura that surrounded her. The way she could make people feel good about themselves with a smile, the mere touch of her hand.
“I tried to get you out of my mind, but you kept coming back no matter what I did.” After his failure at the soup kitchen, he had given the Salvation Army a large donation, and told them to send any likely candidates around to Smithers who ran Sir Phillip’s office in Melbourne. He might be able to find them a job in one of their factories. It wasn’t much, pitiful really, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had never experienced poverty, never really seen it first hand.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” They stood in a side street close to where the Buick was parked.
She hesitated. He thought she might refuse him, but her softly spoken words caused his heart to constrict.
“I did everything I could to forget you. I worked double shifts, did extra study, but it didn’t help,” she confessed with a wistful smile.”
“Oh, Sunshine, I’m so sorry for the way I acted.” He pulled her into his arms and regardless of any passer-by, who might witness it, kissed her. “Where would you like me to take you?”
“Somewhere quiet, please.”
When she slipped her hand into his, he squeezed her fingers gently and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
“I’ll have to ring Mrs. Rogers to let her know I’ll be late, she worries otherwise.”
He could understand that. A girl like Daphne brought out the protective instincts in people.
He saw her into the car, and it was good to hear her chattering away next to him. How he missed
Mrs. Gleeson had died that morning. Such a nice old lady too, and no visitors in the whole ten weeks she’d spent at the hospital. How pitiful to be so alone, with no-one to mourn your passing.
“What’s wrong with you, Daph?” A smiling Jean caught up with her. “Not letting Paul break your heart, are you?”
“No.” She held her head proudly and summoned a smile. She couldn’t tell Jean how bereft she felt at losing Paul. Her friend would never understand how she could let a man come to mean so much to her after knowing him for such a short time.
Chapter Five
One Monday, two weeks after the disastrous boat trip, Daphne trailed forlornly out of the hospital. Another evening at home, eating a solitary meal was not appealing. She had thrown herself into work, taking on extra shifts, anything to stop pining for Paul. Tomorrow she started afternoon shift, then it would be Christmas with a ten day holiday. She could hardly wait. Like a wounded animal, she wanted to make for the safety of home and family.
“Hello, Daphne.” She jumped when Paul spoke. “You nearly walked past me.”
“Sorry.”
“How have you been?” What a stupid question, she looked as miserable as he felt, and for possibly the first time ever he was lost for words.
“I’m all right.”
“It’s been a terrible couple of weeks, I’ve missed you like hell.”
“Have you, Paul?” Disbelief widened her honest hazel eyes and he felt a stabbing pain in his heart because she obviously thought he had gone back to his old womanizing ways. Well, who could blame her? If only she knew that he had volunteered to help at a soup kitchen run by the Salvation Army. It hadn’t been a resounding success. He had looked what he was, a wealthy man in expensive clothes ladling out largesse to the homeless to salve his conscience.
He would never forget what he read in the eyes of some of the people he had served. The hopelessness, the fear and desperation, worse still, their humiliation. “I don’t want charity from the likes of you,” one man had snarled at him. “I want a job.”
Sheer determination not to cut and run at the first obstacle had kept him handing out soup and bread, but he wasn’t like Daphne. He didn’t have the common touch, the compassionate aura that surrounded her. The way she could make people feel good about themselves with a smile, the mere touch of her hand.
“I tried to get you out of my mind, but you kept coming back no matter what I did.” After his failure at the soup kitchen, he had given the Salvation Army a large donation, and told them to send any likely candidates around to Smithers who ran Sir Phillip’s office in Melbourne. He might be able to find them a job in one of their factories. It wasn’t much, pitiful really, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had never experienced poverty, never really seen it first hand.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?” They stood in a side street close to where the Buick was parked.
She hesitated. He thought she might refuse him, but her softly spoken words caused his heart to constrict.
“I did everything I could to forget you. I worked double shifts, did extra study, but it didn’t help,” she confessed with a wistful smile.”
“Oh, Sunshine, I’m so sorry for the way I acted.” He pulled her into his arms and regardless of any passer-by, who might witness it, kissed her. “Where would you like me to take you?”
“Somewhere quiet, please.”
When she slipped her hand into his, he squeezed her fingers gently and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
“I’ll have to ring Mrs. Rogers to let her know I’ll be late, she worries otherwise.”
He could understand that. A girl like Daphne brought out the protective instincts in people.
He saw her into the car, and it was good to hear her chattering away next to him. How he missed
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