The Tender Years Read Free

taking me out to lunch?’
    ‘I think it will do you good—cheer you up a bit.’
    Steve cast her a glance. ‘Do you need cheering up, then?’
    She shook her head, hoping Luke would not say anything about Greta’s attitude in not choosing Christine as one of her bridesmaids. ‘I’ll go and change,’ she said and sent Luke the kind of glance he could not possibly misinterpret.
    ‘Steve ought to have been told,’ he was saying half an hour later as they were approaching the Country Club Restaurant, a delightful place looking out to the smooth aquamarine sea and several other islands floating in it—or appearing to. ‘He’d have had a talk to Greta—’
    ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ broke in Christine, wanting to forget both Greta and Steve just now so that she could enjoy Luke’s company and the lunch he was going to buy her. She had changed into a cotton skirt, short and full with a sun top to match— white with navy-blue bindings on the hem of the skirt and the neckline of the top. She wore her hair brushed to one side and held in place with a small white bow.
    Luke had seemed to heave a great sigh when on seeing her he had said, ‘You look eleven again. When, dear, are you going to grow up?’
    She had looked at him in a puzzled way, for it did seem that he spoke impatiently and really there was no reason for it that she could see. He might have been eager for her to grow up, she thought . . . waiting for it. Christine had dismissed the idea simply because not only was it silly but there was no logical reason for it.
    ‘I certainly would have made sure that you were a bridesmaid,’ Luke was saying in response to her comment. ‘And I rather think Steve would, too, if he knew of your disappointment.’
    Christine shrugged and said, placing a hand on his arm after he had stopped the car close to the entrance to the Country Club, ‘I want to forget the wedding, and just enjoy myself—with you, dearest Luke.’
    His smile was slow to come, and faintly bitter, she thought, and wondered why.
    ‘Dearest Luke? Am I your dearest Luke? Are you sure?’
    She moved her hand away and frowned as she did so. ‘You’re different these days,’ she told him. ‘We used to be like—well, like brother and sister.’
    ‘You said I was regarded as your uncle,’ Luke was quick to remind her.
    ‘Well... yes, in a way I did, but when we’re together like this I feel like your sister.’ She paused and waited but Luke merely switched off the engine and leant back in his seat. ‘Do you feel like my brother?’ she asked.
    He turned to her with a wry sort of expression on his face. ‘No,’ he said quite firmly, ‘I do not.’
    ‘Oh, well, never mind.’ Another pause and then, ‘What do you feel like, then?’
    ‘Kissing you—’
    ‘Kissing me? You’ve kissed me often, but only when I’ve been upset.’
    ‘Aren’t you upset now?’
    ‘I’ve recovered, temporarily,’ she assured him, remembering that he sometimes described her behaviour as volatile. ‘I just want to be happy while I’m with you. After all, we don’t often go out for a meal—not on our own, that is.’
    ‘I must put the omission right,’ stated Luke as he slid from the car. He was at her side before she could even open the door and he helped her out, his hand warm and strong beneath her elbow.
    She looked up and her eyes were glowing. ‘What would I do without you, Luke?’ She tucked her arm into his. ‘I need you so.’
    He made no reply, but as he turned his head to look at her she had the impression that he was saying to himself, ‘We need each other.
    What was the matter with her lately? She seemed always to be imagining things.
    They entered the restaurant to nods of recognition from the waiters who all knew both Luke and Christine. Arthur Mead sometimes brought his wife and daughters here; it was his favourite eating place. Recently, though, Greta hadn’t been with them, as she and Steve went off on their own,