The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,237

new era!’ said Bobby, casting a glance down at his wife and pulling her closer. ‘May we live in peace for the rest of our lives.’

‘Hear, hear!’ chorused everyone.

‘My goodness, am I happy to be lying on a soft American mattress,’ Bill smiled as he lay in bed later that night. Cecily joined him and he put his arms around her.

‘Hello, wife.’

‘Hello, husband,’ Cecily said as she pushed back a strand of his hair. ‘I hope you can take some rest in the next week, and we can spend some time together,’ she whispered.

‘Rest?! Dear girl, I don’t know the meaning of such a word and nor does any man worth his salt. Now the blasted war is finally over, I’m going to have to play hunt the cow. God only knows how many heads have gone missing while the boss has been away. I’ll be going out there tomorrow to find out.’

‘Surely you can spare me and Stella a day? She hardly knows who you are – I want you to spend some time with her, and me.’

‘That’s as may be, but there’s no point in me sitting here in the house and fretting over my herd.’

‘How long will you be away?’

‘I don’t know, but you must understand that I have to go.’

You always have to go somewhere . . . Cecily bit her lip and swallowed hard. She didn’t want to cry on Bill’s first night home.

‘I was thinking that maybe we could take a trip to visit my parents in America?’ she said. ‘You’ve never been to New York. It might be fun, especially with Stella there to see it too.’

‘Cecily, I know you’re eager to go, but you must understand that I need to get our farm back under control. It does provide our daily bread. Almost nothing has come into the account for the past few years. What I sold to the government produced very little and we are at risk of being in debt if I don’t sort things out.’

‘I have some money, Bill, you know I do. We certainly won’t starve, that’s for sure.’

‘And I’m equally sure that I don’t want to live off my wife.’ Bill’s expression had darkened. ‘I’m a farmer, not a gentleman of leisure like so many round here. Just because the war has finished doesn’t mean that I’m going to retire and sit on my backside drinking gin for the rest of my life. I can’t wait to get out on the plains . . .’ He turned to her. ‘Maybe you could join me for a game drive sometime next week?’

‘Maybe,’ Cecily replied without enthusiasm.

‘God, I’m bushed,’ he said as he kissed her on the forehead. ‘Goodnight. Sleep well.’

Cecily watched him turn over, and within seconds heard him snoring. Switching off the lamp on her side of the bed, she let the tears she had stifled roll silently down her face. She could not remember the last time they had made love.

The halcyon days of four years ago, before Joss had died and Bill had left behind his soul in Burma, were only a distant memory.

‘Life is so cruel,’ Cecily whispered as she dashed a hand across her eyes to wipe away her tears. ‘Thank the Lord for Stella.’

During the following year, Cecily felt nothing much had changed since the war. She was alone most of the time, and clung to Stella for comfort. This was worse than being alone; she had Bill in her bed again and yet he wasn’t really present, nor was he the Bill that she remembered. He was silent and distinctly cold towards her, and his bad moods soured the atmosphere of Paradise Farm. He barely paid attention to Stella.

Her mother called once a month, anxious as to when her daughter would come home, but whenever Cecily broached the subject with Bill, he told her it wasn’t the right time, and that he couldn’t leave until his livestock were thriving again.

‘Grant me twelve months to get things back on track, then I can think about it,’ he’d said.

Cecily realised she had not seen her family in over six years. Her heart longed for home.

It was November of 1946 and the downpours had turned Cecily’s garden into a lush tropical paradise. Katherine arrived on Wednesday mid-morning as usual with Michael in tow. He was now six years old and adored his best friend Stella. Cecily had been teaching Stella basic arithmetic at the kitchen table. The little girl loved numbers, and even though