The Sins of the Father (The Clifton Chronicles, #2)(63)

‘And has he asked you to marry him?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Have you accepted his proposal?’

‘No, but I’ve promised to let him have my answer before he returns to America at the end of the month,’ she said more firmly.

‘Does that mean I’m still in with a chance?’

‘Frankly, Patrick, the odds are stacked against you. You haven’t been in touch for nearly three years, and suddenly you turn up out of the blue as if nothing’s changed.’

Patrick made no attempt to defend himself, while a waiter served their main courses. ‘I wish it was that easy,’ he said.

‘Patrick, it was always that easy. If you’d asked me to marry you three years ago, I would have happily jumped on the first boat to Ireland.’

‘I couldn’t ask you then.’

Maisie put down her knife and fork without taking a bite. ‘I always wondered if you were married.’

‘Why didn’t you say something at the time?’

‘I was so much in love with you, Patrick, I was even willing to suffer that indignity.’

‘And to think I only returned to Ireland because I couldn’t ask you to be my wife.’

‘And has that changed?’

‘Yes. Bryony left me over a year ago. She met someone who took more interest in her than I did, which wouldn’t have been difficult.’

‘Oh my God,’ said Maisie, ‘why is my life always so complicated?’

Patrick smiled. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disrupted your life again, but I won’t give in so easily this time, not while I still believe there’s even the slightest chance.’ He leant across the table and took her hand. A moment later the waiter reappeared by their side, an anxious look on his face as he looked at the two untouched plates of food that had been allowed to go cold.

‘Is everything all right, sir?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Maisie. ‘It’s not.’



Maisie lay awake and thought about the two men in her life. Mike, so reliable, so kind, who she knew would be faithful until his dying day, and Patrick, so exciting, so alive, with whom there would never be a dull moment. She changed her mind several times during the night, and it didn’t help that she had so little time to make her decision.

When she came down to breakfast the following morning, her mother didn’t mince her words when Maisie asked her, if given the choice, which of the two men she should marry.

‘Mike,’ she said without hesitation. ‘He’ll be far more reliable in the long run, and marriage is for the long run. In any case,’ she added, ‘I’ve never trusted the Irish.’

Maisie considered her mother’s words, and was about to ask another question when Stan barged into the room. Once he’d gulped down his porridge, he barged into her thoughts.

‘Aren’t you seeing the bank manager today?’

Maisie didn’t reply.

‘I thought so. Just make sure you come straight home with my ’undred quid. If you don’t, my girl, I’ll come looking for you.’



‘How nice to see you again, madam,’ said Mr Prendergast as he ushered Maisie into a chair just after four o’clock that afternoon. He waited for Maisie to settle before he ventured, ‘Have you been able to give my client’s generous offer some thought?’

Maisie smiled. With one word, Mr Prendergast had given away whose interests he was looking after.

‘I most certainly have,’ Maisie replied, ‘and I would be obliged if you would tell your client that I wouldn’t consider accepting a penny less than four hundred pounds.’

Mr Prendergast’s mouth opened.

‘And as it’s possible that I might be leaving Bristol at the end of the month, perhaps you’d also be kind enough to tell your client that my generous offer will only remain on the table for one week.’

Mr Prendergast closed his mouth.

‘I’ll try to drop by again at the same time next week, Mr Prendergast, when you can let me know your client’s decision.’ Maisie rose from her place and gave the manager a sweet smile, before adding, ‘I do hope you have a pleasant weekend, Mr Prendergast.’



Maisie was finding it difficult to concentrate on Mr Holcombe’s words, and not just because the intermediate class was proving far more demanding than the beginners, which she already regretted forsaking. When her hand did go up, it was more often to ask a question than to answer one.

Arnold’s enthusiasm for his subject was contagious, and he had a real gift for making everyone feel equal and the most insignificant contribution seem important.

After twenty minutes of going back over what he called the basics he invited the class to turn to page 72 of Little Women. Numbers weren’t a problem for Maisie, and she quickly turned to the correct page. He then invited a woman in the third row to stand and read the first paragraph, while the rest of the class followed each sentence word for word. Maisie placed a finger at the top of the page and tried desperately to follow the narrative, but she soon lost her place.

When the schoolmaster asked an elderly man in the front row to read the same passage a second time, Maisie was able to identify some of the words, but she was praying that Arnold wouldn’t ask her to be next. She breathed a sigh of relief when someone else was invited to read the paragraph again. When the new reader sat down, Maisie bowed her head, but she didn’t escape.