Casting Samson Read Free

“I’m sorry, I am not in the habit of making such a fuss—”
    She looked up, risking a watery smile, and was surprised to find she was alone. She struggled to her feet. Odd that he hadn’t waited for her reply. Deborah blew her nose and resolutely squared her shoulders. She felt much calmer, ready to turn her mind again to the events of the afternoon.
    If she was totally honest with herself, she wasn’t really surprised to find Bernard with another woman. The signs had always been there, but she hadn’t wanted to question him about the late evenings he said he was working, nights out with the boys, business dinners. She had been a fool to trust him, but now she knew the truth, what could she do? She would have to move out of the flat, that was certain. And what about work, how could she face going into the office with both Bernard and Clarice there? For a moment she wanted to curl up and die but she fought against it, straining to regain control.
    With an immense effort, Deborah took a deep breath and lifted her head. She knew what to do. She would go home.

Chapter Two
    “Is—is this the meeting of the Pageant Committee?” Deborah stood hesitantly at the entrance of the village hall, blushing as several pairs of enquiring eyes turned towards her. “Dad sends his apologies. With Mum being ill he’s really busy in the restaurant, so he’s asked me to take his place on the committee, I hope that’s okay…”
    “Of course, Deborah.” Godfrey Mullett beamed at her. “Come in, my dear, come in. I’m so sorry your mother’s poorly, of course, but it is very good of you to take your father’s place. How are you enjoying life back in Moreton? Very different from the big city, eh? I must say we didn’t expect to see you back again, once you’d tasted life in the big, wide world. Well, well! Now, you know everyone here, I think? Except Mrs. Lindsay, of course—she moved to the village after you went off to London. Mrs. Lindsay, this is Deborah, Stan and Molly Kemerton’s only daughter.”
    “Ah, yes, I can see the likeness. You have your mother’s hazel eyes. Nice to meet you, Deborah. And do, please, call me Anne.”
    Deb immediately warmed to Anne Lindsay with her friendly, open countenance and beaming smile. Her father had filled her in on the details of the committee so she knew that Anne was a widow in her forties, but with her fine honey-coloured hair and smooth skin she looked much younger.
    “Mrs Lindsay is our publicity officer,” explained Godfrey as Deborah slipped into the empty chair beside Anne. “Now, my dear, is there anything special you would like to do?”
    “No-o, anything, really. I’ve got my computer set up, so I can help out with any letters, posters, that sort of thing…”
    The other members of the committee regarded her encouragingly—as the newest and youngest member they were all keen to foster her interest in village affairs. When it was obvious that Deborah was not going to say anything more, Clara Babbacombe cleared her throat and looked down at her notes.
    “Very good. Well, you haven’t missed much, just agreeing the minutes of the last meeting, etc. Next on the agenda is the raffle. Alan?”
    All eyes turned towards Alan Thorpe, chairman of the committee. He was a bluff, confident businessman in his fifties who made a comfortable living from a number of properties in Moreton and around the country. Deborah could not remember his wife, who had died some years ago, but she’d always thought of Alan as very much lord of the manor, living in the big house, dispensing Sunday School prizes and opening fêtes. He gazed round the table now, enveloping them all in his paternal goodwill.
    “Thank you, Clara. Your father probably told you, Deborah, that the raffle is a preliminary fundraiser to bring in a few pounds to help towards the costs of the pageant. It will be drawn at the Dog and Sardine on Thursday, so I hope you’ve all sold your allocation?” He lifted a small