Page 17

‘And how about you, Alexandra? Are you judgemental?’

She scoffed. ‘I certainly hope not.’

‘How else do I surprise you?’

‘Are you fishing for compliments?’ she asked, her tone light, amused.

‘Always,’ he replied.

‘Well, I’m impressed that you don’t share the traditional view on women and I’m especially intrigued by you helping me today. You seemed to know what was needed to aid me while not offending my parents. That’s quite a fine line you dance.’

He looked down at his toes. ‘I have a soft tread and take a small shoe size.’

She gave a gust of genuine amusement. ‘We wait here for the tram.’ She pointed. ‘Now you’re mocking me.’

‘Would I dare? No, Miss Frobisher. I’m completely fascinated by you. I’m laughing because you’re a girl who has everything and yet what you want most is simply to be ordinary. You even walk and take the tram rather than being transported by your family’s driver. Incredible.’

‘I want to move freely as an ordinary girl might; I certainly don’t get excited by ballgowns and all that ballyhoo. Anyway, how did you know . . . I mean, about me angling to get into the chocolate factory? I might add, you seemed to sense what I wanted –needed, perhaps – even before I did!’

‘I could tell you had become trapped in a fib and that you preferred not to give an outright lie to your parents.’

‘But how could you tell? They couldn’t.’

They dropped back to wait closer to the wall of the building nearby rather than in the queue itself. ‘A fibber knows a fibber.’

‘I see.’ Instead of being offended, she was surprised by feeling a private smile of admiration for his candour. ‘And what are you fibbing about?’

‘That my arrival at Tilsden was coincidence.’

She turned and fixed him with what she hoped was a gaze that could intimidate but all he did was shrug.

‘I need a wife, Alex. You could do a lot worse than me as a husband.’

They both looked away from each other when the tram to Haxby Road sounded its bell as it rumbled up for people to troop on. It was a dry, milder morning than expected so most passengers headed upstairs to smoke or enjoy the fresh air before spending the day in the factory. She and Matthew found seats downstairs. This activity gave her time to digest his directness. The vehicle lurched off and within moments was swinging left to pass the grand railway station.

Alex knew he was waiting for her to speak again. ‘You say that astonishing fact like I might mention I need new riding boots,’ she admonished, not fully hiding her dismay.

‘Well, if we’re both entirely honest, then we’d admit that in the society we both belong to, shopping for a spouse is little different. How sturdy are they? Are they reliable? Is the stitching sound? Is that polish deeply ingrained?’

Alex didn’t smile at his cunning comparison; she could only frown back at him. ‘Are my parents aware of this?’

He shook his head. ‘No, in this they are blameless but clearly your mother is onto the notion.’

In an effort to avoid feeling despair at being cornered to marry to a deadline, she switched topics. ‘I presume you used the York train station to arrive here?’ Alex nodded towards the vast, elegant railway station they were passing.

‘Its 800-foot sweep of roof held up on those iron columns had me gawping, I have to admit.’

‘Yes, it’s built on a rather amazing curve.’

‘Someone told me it’s a monument to extravagance and was the largest in Britain when it was built. Why are we avoiding the real subject I want to talk to you about?’

Alex stared out of the window as they rattled past the vastly beautiful building of the North Eastern Railway Headquarters that her father was likely seated in this moment. Matthew reached for her elbow and she shifted her head to stare at his hand that gripped her. Alex noted the fingers were neatly kept, with clipped, smoothly filed nails. He took more care with his nails than she did with hers, she was sure. His looked buffed, polished to a near gleam. Matthew dropped his hold immediately. ‘Forgive me. Let me begin again. My parents are keen on yours. Dare I risk vulgarity by pointing out that our family is wealthy enough to match it with the Frobishers, and while I’m third in line there’s plenty to go around? If you became my wife, you wouldn’t starve or have to wear hand-me-downs, I can promise you that. Furthermore, I would make no demands upon you, not even to give me a family, if that didn’t suit you.’

Alex must have bristled, she realised, because he was suddenly holding up palms in placation.

‘I told you, what I want is a wife – a companion whose company I can enjoy and, above all, someone I trust.’

Trust? Important for a marriage but an odd qualification in this discussion’s context, Alex thought, but he was talking again and it would be impolite to interrupt.