A Mortal Sin by Margaret Tanner Page B

love each other. We won’t live with my parents. My grandfather left a half share of the business to me, held in trust until I came of age, so we can live without any financial support from my father.”
    “They won’t approve of me. You know they won’t. They would expect you to marry someone from a similar background.”
    “My father has already picked someone out for me to marry.” He felt the tremor passing through her, and tightened his hold. “I told him before I left England, I would only marry for love. Caroline Bowater is all right I suppose. She’s recently returned home from some Swiss finishing school. Her father’s a Lord.”
    “Oh no.”
    “I’ve never had any intentions of marrying her. I told the old man that. We had a hell of a row before I came out here. He’s not going to run my life, Daphne. I love you and we will get married. If he doesn’t like it, too bad. Once we present him with a grandson to carry on the name, things will be all right, wait and see.”
    “I love you so much I’m frightened something might happen to spoil it.”
    “Silly girl.” He tweaked a strand of chestnut hair. “I suppose we better go back inside or your parents will think I’ve spirited you away with lecherous intent.”
    “Did you?” She laughed.
    “Yes. Give me a kiss before I lift you down.”
    Her lips were soft and warm as she shyly did as he asked, but his mouth soon took over, drawing from her all the sweetness of youthful ardency that he could not get enough of.
    Regretfully he pulled away and lifted her down, and they started back towards the house. Pink-breasted galahs and brightly colored parrots covered the trees now. A roughly made scarecrow, flapping his arms limply in the slight breeze, proved to be useless against the greedy marauders.
    “Shoo, shoo.” Daphne, dropping Paul’s hand, ran around waving her arms madly, and he watched her, drinking in every movement. What a lovely girl she was. He wanted to go away somewhere, just the two of them, so he wouldn’t have to share her with anyone else.
     
    * * *
     
    Paul enjoyed the lively discussion over the Clarke dinner table, although he did not agree with their politics. “It’s a disgrace,” Frank said. “Men who fought for this country can’t get a job. I know there has been a depression, but the government could do much more. We need a labor government to give the working man a fair go. The sustenance is a pittance; a man can’t even support his family on it.”
    If only Sir Phillip could see him now, in this staunch socialist home.
    “You’re not one of us?” Frank asked.
    “Afraid not.” Paul grinned. “Politics doesn’t hold much interest for me, really.”
    “What religion are you?”
    Daphne’s fork clattered against her plate. “Dad!”
    “I’m Church of England.”
    “What do you do for a living?”
    Paul glanced across at Mrs. Clarke, whose eyes danced with merriment. Something struck a chord in his memory, but it was so elusive he could not fathom it out. Had they met before? Of course they hadn’t.
    “I work in my father’s business.”
    “Business?”
    “Wool, importing and exporting.”
    “You’re from Yorkshire, I understand,” Frank said.
    “Yes.” Something made him glance up. The laughter had disappeared from Mrs. Clarke’s eyes, her face turned ashen. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. He had a sudden inexplicable desire to rush over and comfort her, but forced himself to remain seated.
    “Are you all right, dear?” Frank must have noticed also. “You’ve lost all your color.”
    “I’m fine. More custard, Paul?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “Rob and I can do the dishes for you, Allison.”
    Paul’s spoon clattered against his plate. What a coincidence. Daphne’s mother was called Allison too.
    “Fair go, Dad, men don’t do the dishes.”
    “It’s all right, I can do them, maybe you could help me, Paul.” Daphne’s eyes twinkled.
    “Certainly not. Paul can go to the