‘Come in.’ It was his secretary, Miss Williams, and she was carrying a sheaf of letters in her hand. ‘I have these ready for signing, will you do them now or shall I leave them on the desk and you can ring for me when you have read and signed them?’ ‘Yes, leave them on the desk if you will, Miss Williams, and I’ll attend to them shortly. I’m afraid this is one of those days when I really don’t have the energy or the will, for work.’ When his secretary had closed the door behind her, Cyril let out a deep sigh. It was seven years now since Charles had been killed in action, and those years had not been kind to him. He had aged considerably, both physically and mentally. He had never come to terms with the loss of his son, and not a day went by when he didn’t grieve for him. Charles had been the reason Cyril had built up a successful business, and become one of the wealthiest merchants in Liverpool. He loved his son dearly, and wanted to make sure he would never lack for anything in his life.
