OH,DADDY DEAREST (2)

He had been sitting at the dining table since eight o’clock sharp, waiting for her. The chair across him was vacant. The soup had been served. He glanced at his pocket watch. Almost a half past eight. Her sudden soft footfalls made him turn around.

Delilah almost floated up in a white flowing gown, her face radiant and refreshed, her long luxuriant brown hair flowing freely to her swaying hips. The sight of her took his breath away and he felt his initial anger evaporating.

“Good evening, Mr. Carson.” She said, her voice as musical as silver bells. “Have I kept you waiting?”

“Well, yes.” He feigned anger. “We prefer to do everything in a timely manner, Miss Harris. This being your first day, I can grant you leave.”

“You make this sound like a job.” She laughed softly. “And you can call me Delilah, or Delia. I am, after all, your wife now.”

“Yes, I suppose that would be appropriate.” He nodded.

“Try the turnip soup, Delia, you’ll love it.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She sat down and looked at