Burning with Passion

‘Who’s David?’ Trevor asked.

‘Unfortunately, you’ll find out,’ her mother snapped. ‘Very soon.’

‘He’s probably pretty fast if he has a Ferrari,’ Trevor remarked reasonably.

‘Worse,’ Eileen Ross declared with disapproving asperity. ‘He’s depraved.’

‘Where’s the Ferrari?’ Michelle asked, coming in with a cheese dip and crackers.

‘Dad’s here!’ Caitlin declared triumphantly. ‘I told you he’d come. They’re here now.’

An expectant silence fell in the lounge-room. Caitlin saw her mother stiffen. There was no time for a big showdown—thank heaven!—but the reception was obviously going to be frosty. For both parties. David was no more welcome than Caitlin’s father. Her father had kept her mother waiting so long...Caitlin hoped they had a very good excuse for whatever had happened. She crossed her fingers.

They heard the front door open, footsteps on the slate floor of the foyer, the low murmur of voices.

‘We’re in the lounge-room, Dad,’ Caitlin urged them on, breaking some of the nerve-tearing suspense.

Silence.

Caitlin could almost hear her father taking a deep breath. Her own heart was thumping. She expected his was, too.

More footsteps, and...the door opened.

Caitlin couldn’t believe her eyes. Her father...and David...both dressed in dinner suits! Her father, who’d never worn a formal dinner suit in his life! And he looked...so distinguished and handsome...tears blurred Caitlin’s eyes.

To complete the stunning contrast to his appearance this afternoon, his face was cleanly shaven, his grey hair neatly cut and groomed, his shoulders back, his carriage straight, his whole bearing and demeanour full of dignity and a readiness to meet whatever challenge he had to meet head-on.

In one hand he held a beribboned corsage of white rosebuds and baby’s breath. In the other he held a white basket containing three beautifully wrapped gifts. An elaborate St Valentine’s Day card was closely attached to the basket.

His first words were magnetic, focused completely on his wife. ‘I love you, Eileen.’

‘Henry...’ Her mother’s voice was almost unrecognisable, weak and wavering with a flood of feeling.

He took a tentative step forward. ‘There’s never been any other woman in my life except you.’

‘Oh, Henry!’ Her eyes shone with tears. She clasped her heart with trembling hands.

It gave Henry Ross courage. He began to walk slowly towards his wife. ‘You look beautiful tonight, Eileen. I wish to always remember you like this. You’re more beautiful than when we married thirty years ago.’

‘I’ve never seen you so handsome, Henry,’ her mother said, somewhat awed, certainly surprised, and almost girlishly shy.

&n

bsp; He lifted his arms as though offering her the gifts, then stunned them all by beginning to sing in his clear tenor voice which had been unmatched in these parts for many a long year.

‘Drink to me only, with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine...’

He moved closer, his arms enfolding his wife, drawing her to him, his eyes caressing hers as he sang on in a softer, more intimate tone.

‘Or leave a kiss but in a cup

And I’ll not look for wine.’

The last word lingered on a throb of deep feeling. Eileen bit her lips. Her throat moved convulsively. She had been rendered speechless, her eyes swimming with tears.

Henry took a deep breath. ‘About today, Eileen,’ he said pleadingly. ‘I wish to explain. I had trouble with my heart after we put Dobbin down. I didn’t want to alarm you...’