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‘My father is not dying,’ she ground out.

Easily distracted, Jimmy saw the bus hove into view and pointed, grinning, his mood changing in a heartbeat. ‘Come on, the bus is coming.’

Fleur sighed, grateful for the breeze that blew their sour words gently away. The early evening was not as cold as she’d thought and the milder weather, as well as being away from Irma and her pretensions, improved her mood. As much as she didn’t like the Coglins, with their less-than-professional ways and rather grasping idea to enter undertaking, the engagement was certainly not Jimmy’s idea. This plan had Irma stamped all over it, and the more Fleur turned it over in her mind, the more she became convinced that there was something greater at stake here. Irma had been looking very pleased with herself recently, while Henry was barely a shade of the tall, strong man she knew. He was only just sixty.

Fleur frowned into her thoughts, resigning herself to the fact that her father looked to be sickening. Irma was right. Perhaps his drinking was taking its final toll, although she knew plenty of other alcoholics far older than her father, who were still getting on with work and life. She recalled how her father had apparently dismissed the doctor’s warning. Had he seen a doctor, or was Irma lying?

11

Fleur and Jimmy made their way down to the promenade at Semaphore and before long had joined the happy throng filing into the grand ballroom of the former bathing pavilion known as the Maris Palais. She could remember being brought here as a youngster to the ground level, where there were lockers and showers – one could even hire bathing costumes, although she and her mother had owned theirs. And she could recall the special treat of being taken upstairs to the café/kiosk for an ice-cream sundae. Her father had spared no expense for his favourite girls.

Now she was back at this space of former dreams and delights with someone she didn’t want to be with, being forced to dance in his arms towards an engagement she had no intention of making.

‘I’m happy to buy your ticket,’ Jimmy said, sounding pleased with his offer, their terse exchange apparently forgotten.

‘That’s kind, Jimmy, thank you, but I’m happy to purchase my own.’

‘My father and Irma said I should.’

‘And did they give you the money for it – all one and sixpence for the entrance?’

He grinned. ‘It’s three shillings all up. Yeah, Irma gave it to me . . . bit rich for me.’

She nodded. It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault that he was being manipulated by a woman way ahead of him in her cunning. Even so, she wondered how Jimmy felt ready for what Irma was planning. ‘How are you going to afford to get married, Jimmy, if you can’t afford three shillings for a dance?’

‘You might need me as a husband more than you realise.’

Now she cut him an enquiring glance. ‘Why would that be?’

He lifted his shoulders in a defiant shrug. ‘Face it, your father looks unwell,’ he said, and she hated that he had seen it too. ‘You’re lucky to have such a good offer, because once he goes, you’ve got no one, Fleur.’

‘Once he goes?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘No, Jimmy, I don’t. He’s just a bit tired at the moment,’ she deflected.

‘He’s hitting the bottle too hard, if you don’t mind me saying,’ he countered.

‘I do mind. My father’s drinking less these days than he ever has in the past.’ She wasn’t lying. The past week Irma hadn’t let him get down to the pub as he preferred, instead insisting that he join her in the sitting room for coffee.

‘Well, if we’re going to be family, we have to talk about these things.’

‘What things?’ she asked, astonished.

‘The future of his business when he dies.’ Her companion was looking over his shoulder, maybe deliberately giving an air of nonchalance to his words.

‘Jimmy?’

‘Yeah?’ He was giving the thumbs up to some mates he could see queueing behind them.

‘Jimmy.’

‘What?’

‘We definitely need to talk.’

‘What about?’