‘I knew I had a devastating effect on women, but that’s the first time one has thrown a fit at the sight of me. Is she highly strung, or something? She certainly took some calming down.’ ‘Sensitive,’ Daisy said loyally. ‘Reserved.’ She poured tea from a brown pot. ‘She’ll be okay when she’s got over the shock. She feels things more than most people do.’ Neurotic, Sam had decided straight away. Unappetizing, unfeminine and not his type. He dismissed Florence from his mind, and looked properly at Daisy for the first time since knocking at the door. He had been imagining her the way he saw her last. In the blue print dress with a string of beads like mint imperials round her neck. With soft curls blown round her face, her cheeks glowing from the sun and the brisk Blackpool breezes. The Daisy he had said goodbye to, dry-eyed and pale, he had preferred to forget. Now her hair was tucked away beneath some sort of scarf knotted above her forehead, and her eyes. … ‘I never knew you wore glasses,’ he said.
