Page 92 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

‘To see a widow from the church.’

‘What widow?’

‘You don’t know her – it was a pastoral visit.’

He searched her face. ‘If you’d told me about it sooner we could have gone together – had a day out.’

‘You had your work for the paper,’ said Adela. ‘Did it go well?’

‘It did,’ he answered, his tone sharp, ‘but I want to know more about this mysterious visit to Durham that has taken till nine at night.’

‘Let’s go inside, Sam, and talk about it there. I’m tired.’

Sam grabbed her arm as she tried to step past. ‘Do you expect me to believe that you spent all this time with a devout widow when you come home reeking of booze? Don’t treat me like a fool!’

Adela gaped at him. Did Sam suspect her of infidelity? She felt terrible for making him worry about such a thing, yet she was aghast he could even think it.

‘Please, Sam, don’t make a scene in the street,’ she hissed. ‘Come inside and I’ll tell you.’

He let go his grip and followed her in. The house was quiet.

‘Where’s Tilly?’ Adela asked.

‘Out to dinner with Jamie and Mungo,’ said Sam, ‘celebrating Mungo’s end of term.’

‘Oh, I’d forgotten she was doing that. Nice to think of Mungo being around for the summer.’ She headed for the kitchen. She needed black tea to clear her head. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

Flicking on the kitchen light, Adela winced at the glare of electric light. Sam could not contain his impatience. He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look into his face.

‘Don’t treat me like a stranger, Adela,’ he said, his jaw clenching. ‘Tell me what’s been going on.’

She flinched at the stormy look in his hazel eyes – eyes that were usually filled with compassion and love – and looked away.

‘It’s not what you think,’ she said. ‘I really have been to Durham to see a woman from the church.’

‘Then why all the secrecy?’ Sam asked, the traces of suspicion still evident in his voice. ‘I don’t see why you want to keep me away from your church friends. I’m the one who used to be a missionary, remember? I’m not allergic to religion.’

Adela gave a ghost of a smile. Sam always tried to defuse arguments with humour – until recently when they had begun to grow apart. She realised that it was largely her fault for pushing him away but she knew he wouldn’t like what she had to tell him.

‘It wasn’t really a pastoral visit,’ Adela admitted. ‘I went to see MrsSinger for my own benefit – for what I hoped she could tell me.’

‘So who is MrsSinger?’

Adela braced herself to tell him. ‘She was one of the women from the church adoption society who took John Wesley away.’

Sam dropped his hold and stepped back as if he had been physically struck. ‘How did you find her?’

‘Through the church.’

‘So that’s why you’ve suddenly found religion,’ he said with a bitter laugh. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘Why else do you think I go there?’ said Adela, willing him to understand.

‘But you didn’t want me to go with you – not to church – and not to see this MrsSinger.’

‘I didn’t want to put you through all this,’ said Adela, ‘in case nothing came of it.’

‘But I am part of this,’ Sam protested. ‘How can I not be? I’m your husband!’