Tainted Love. Alison Fraser

      ‘What for?’ the boy immediately protested.

      ‘You know,’ his father retorted. ‘Either apologise or go to your room.’

      The man clearly meant it. The boy’s mouth went into a resentful line while his eyes flashed angrily in Clare’s direction.

      ‘Apologise!’ his father insisted, a definite warning ring in his voice.

      ‘Look, it doesn’t matter.’ Clare didn’t want any pitch battles fought on her behalf, and, before Fen Marchand could make a bigger issue of it, she escaped to the kitchen.

      She was preparing another batch of toast when Miles sidled into the room some five minutes later. He didn’t speak but hung about at the door, his face a picture of sullenness.

      He was a handsome boy, with the same blond hair and well-cut features as his father. He also had the Marchand eyes, a clear, penetrating blue that seemed so honest in Louise’s case, and so chilling in the man’s. On Miles, the eyes were windows of a troubled soul, following her as she moved about the kitchen.

      ‘Can I get you something, Miles?’ she eventually asked.

      It gave him an opening and he blurted out, ‘He says I have to apologise.’