Chapter 7
Arthur smoothed his white shirt and crisp blue waistcoat as he picked over the breakfast selection. Settling on a piece of toast and a lacklustre slab of ham, he turned back to the table to see his wife’s head wobble ever so slightly as she cut her toast into bite-sized pieces. Cynthia Crabbe wore a light mauve dress and sat opposite his father in quiet morning reverence.
Setting his plate down with a thud, Arthur ignored her nod of greeting and instead reached for his empty teacup. Cynthia filled it immediately with strong and steaming tea.
Ten years his senior, and a seven-year marriage of convenience, he could barely stand the sound of her rustling skirts in the hallways, yet alone her expectant gaze in the morning. She wanted from him what most wives wanted - attention. Sh
