CHELSEA frowned thoughtfully as she parked her small car carefully behind her sisterâs BMW. Ann had sounded worried and anxious on the telephone, unusually so, and she sighed a little as she slid long slender legs out of her car. Parenthood brought many perils, if Ann was to be believed, but none more burdensome than those engendered by a seventeen-year-old daughter.
As she had expected she found her sister in her large modern kitchen busily engaged in mixing fruit in a huge bowl.
âCake for tomorrow,â Ann told her, reaching out automatically to slap away her hand as Chelsea filched a small amount of the raw mixture. âYouâre as bad as Kirsty,â she complained, tempering the criticism with a warm kiss on her sisterâs cheek, as she added, âThanks for coming. Did I drag you away from anything important?â
âOnly a sixteenth-century chair cover,â Chelsea replied humorously, referring to her work as a restorer of mediaeval embroidery. âAnd speaking of Kirsty, whatâs the problem this time? Not threatening to run off with her favourite pop singer again, is she?â
Ann Stannard shot her sister an exasperated glance. With the fourteen yearsâ difference in their age, Ann sometimes felt more like Chelseaâs mother than her sister. Their parents had died when Ann was just twenty-two and on the brink of marriage to Ralph Stannard, and for all her teasing of her sister, Chelsea never forgot Ralphâs generosity in giving his orphaned sister-in-law a home. It couldnât have been easy, she recognised from the vantage viewpoint of twenty-six, for the newly married pair to make a precocious and inquisitive teenager welcome.
Kirsty was the Stannardsâ only child, a spirited and attractive teenager, currently still at school, but as Chelsea well knew, rebelliously determined to leave just as soon as she possibly could.
âSheâs not still got this bee in her bonnet about becoming an actress, has she?â Chelsea queried.
âI wish that was all we had to contend with. Iâm afraid itâs far more serious than that. Weâre both at our witsâ end, Chelsea. Youâre our last hope. Youâve always been so close to her. Ralph and I were hoping you could make her see sense â¦â
âAbout what?â
âAbout Slade Ashford,â Ann said grimly. âSheâs absolutely infatuated with him. Nothing either Ralph or I say to her makes the slightest difference.â
âCalf-love,â Chelsea informed her, trying not to smile. Ralph and Ann were extremely protective of their daughter, and a high-spirited girl like Kirsty was bound to rebel. They had been the same with her. Ann, for all her placid nature, seemed to have an imagination that worked overtime when it came to the fates that could befall an unprotected girl. In Chelseaâs view, Ann was almost an anachronism in this day and age; a woman who was quite content to be a stop-at-home wife and mother, and who moreover was still as deeply in love with her equally staid husband as she had been when she first met him.
âLook, I know you donât want to admit your little girl has grown up, but girls do fall madly in love at seventeen â¦â
âIâm well aware of that, Chelsea.â Ann eyed her sister frowningly. âIf it was a boy her own age, another teenager, it wouldnât matter, but Slade is far from being that. Heâs in his early thirties at least.â
âAnd Kirsty worships him from afar,â Chelsea grinned, still refusing to take her sister seriously. âLook, love, I know Kirsty is a very pretty girl and the apple of your eye, but a man of thirty-odd isnât going to be interested in a schoolgirl.â
âYou wouldnât think so,â Ann agreed, âbut he isâand interested enough to keep her out until two in the morning the other night. Ralph was furious!â
âHas he tackled him about it?â Chelsea asked frowningly. âDoes he know how young Kirsty is?â
âThe situationâs a very difficult one,â Ann told her. âSladeâs company has just bought out Lutons.â
Lutons Engineering was the largest firm in the small town of Melchester, and Ralph had been the Works Manager there for several years. Chelsea could quite see, without her sister needing to put it in as many words, that her gentle brother-in-law might find it rather difficult to tackle his new boss on the subject of his liaison with his young daughter. But surely the man himself must realise ⦠Contempt darkened Chelseaâs long blue eyes. Surely the man must know that Kirsty, for all her prettiness, was no more than a child ⦠a little girl still, despite her frequent attempts to appear more sophisticated â far more sophisticated than she had been at seventeen, Chelsea thought wryly. But then at that age she had not had the advantage of Kirstyâs ripe prettiness. Well could she remember her too thin body and straight dark red hair. But at seventeen girls didnât consider themselves children. She